That same night, no one could rest. Karabanov roamed the corridors of the base, listening for any sound, sharpening his senses to detect any lewd activity. Bakarne, who was occupying her room with Eli, Emil and another recruit that was absent, did not have much of a problem, since she did not mix with the rest, but her companions were clearly frustrated. Just before dawn, a member in another room had been kicked for daring to masturbate. After that, without any more noise, Bakarne managed to sleep quickly, due to the exhaustion of the day. At least she wouldn't spend another night making more firecrackers on Lázár's orders, and hopefully she could talk some sense into the new boss to change the method of production.

Her dreams were not so pleasant. For some reason, she remembered her time playing in the swamp as a child. But what at first seemed like a childhood dream - turned into a nightmare. Innocently, she was called to see some animals. The wet sand was clearly felt on her feet. As if she was really there. When she got close enough, she was able to see a large lizard. "How cute. I want to touch it. Musker, etorri, muskerra!” But her heart stopped when calling the attention of the lizard, what received her was a grotesque face with the eyes of a dead fish and with large lips that gave way to sharp teeth that began to chase her.

“Ack!” She jumped up when the terrible abomination reached out to bite her foot, ending the horrible dream. What was real was the blow against the top bunk. Though metal rang with the hit, Elizabeth was still asleep in the upstairs bed. The crutch that they had lent her to be able to walk was black, adorned with diamonds and a carved red flag, with a more than well-known and not so appreciated symbol today. As the less fancy girl lay back on the pillow, she heard a loud fart, courtesy of Emil. “Fuck…what time is it…?”

She poked his head into the center of the room, where there was a digital clock. The figures 05:56 were clearly illuminated. Fuck it, it's time to get up... She began to prepare her clean clothes to go to the shower and by the time the alarm went off waking up her classmates, she was already out.

***

"Are we going to see Uncle Besser, dad?"

"So are we, boy. Now be good and sit down."

George looked thorough the window of the car. Passing the suburban neighborhood as his father played some old time tunes. Grabbing a G.I. Joe figure on his little hands. He always loved to go uncle Besser's. His father and he would talk for hours, and he was able to just play to his hearts content on the back garden without his mother pestering him he was messing the flower pots.

In fact, uncle Besser's backyard was the only one he knew that it was all completely unkept. Full of dry dirt and structures to climb and hide in. Lots of dartboards full of holes. When arrived, he was left to hold on a fake weapon and start playing as the adults spoke.

"Not even a hello to me, little rascal?" Besser asked to the empty hall while he heard George's excited squeak. "He is as energetic as usual. I guess Grace has a hard time with all of the children at home."

"She manages, somehow." George's father shook his jacket and put it away.

"And do you manage?" Besser commented.

"I try."

"Let's grab a beer." Besser offered. They walked in the kitchen and the father just tiredly sat in the chair, defeated. "Are you okay?"

The man grabbed the bottle and looked to his old friend in the eyes. His own hair was unkept, his clothes all messy and full of sweat.

"I just want your word."

"What does makes you think I won't keep it?" Besser sat in the chair in front of his friend and opened the caps out, violently. "We even signed the papers already."

"Time is running fast... I don't doubt you, but... If you let something happen to him, you will be the one taken responsible for it."

"He will be taken care as if he was my own child." Besser nodded.

George was hiding in one of the tubes of the backyard, with his toy soldier in one of his pockets and an airsoft rifle in the hands. The heat had made the metallic spot a burning mess, but he kept himself there, waiting for someone.

"Hey, little fella-"

Kapow!

"Aaargh!! What did I say about shooting at faces!?" Besser had to retreat after the sting of the small bottle in his nose. "No, even more - I still didn't give you permission for using those!" He grabbed the fake rifle from him to put it away.

"You were the enemy! I was following orders!" George took a step out and looked at him with a face of not having broken a glass in his life. "Is too hot here."

"Yes, is very hot... What about some lemonade?" Besser was already fixing some by opening a powdered juice over a jar of iced water and some lemon slices. "Then you can go to play some more. Also, we have to talk."

"Where is dad?"

Besser looked at him, in silence. He just served him a glass.

"Where is dad, uncle?"

Besser smiled.

"Your father is dead, George."

***

George felt his stomach almost repulsed and woke up violently. He looked crazily at the ceiling before finally starting to check his surroundings. He was still in the infirmary. Still patched up and his leg lazily arranged with some wood tables to keep the bone straight. It hurt like the devil himself chewing on his shin.

"Oh, fucking hell."

His head heavily fell on the nasty yellow pillow and closed his eyes again. If there was a moment where he didn't want to remember his childhood, that was while being in such a state. Left alone with his mind alone to fight. The tickling watch distracted him. He looked towards the direction of the noise and saw the clock marching towards 5 o'clock. He looked once. Twice. He checked his own wristwatch that was left in the table besides his bed. Then for third time, he directed the eyes to the clock in the wall.

"That clock is one hour late." He mustered, annoyed.

"But even a broken clock is right twice a day."

George, El Chamán, felt his heart jumping from his chest for a moment. Frantically, he looked around, and he saw the redhead girl in the beanie, sitting on a chair not far away from him.

"Since when are you been here!?" He looked at her.

"Ever since you were pouting things in your dreams." She smiled and allowed to rest her cheek on her fist. Her eyes shinning on the reflection of the few traces of light coming from the small vent on the wall. Her curly red hair falling on front of her visage. Her freckles on her pale skin. Somehow - George felt his body tingling at the image on front of him.

After all, he was half Irish, so... was the call of the greener lands pulling him towards finding where to put his own Caladabolg, introducing his own hard blade on the grass and don't pull back until he gave his seed. He felt guilty for a moment. But before he could retreat his own imagination running wild, desiring to see what more how her body was covered in freckles...

"I'm talking to you." Fanny was on top of him already - and she was looked down at him. "You weren't listening to me!" Her face wasn't really bothered, tho.

"I am too tired for this shit." George pouted. "Get lost."

"Don't play the rough guy with me." One of her gloved hands moved upwards and took some of the strands of hair behind her ear. "For someone that is trying to keep the cool Mexican narco appearance, you are really the shittiest actor. I have seen kindergarten plays with more passion and accuracy than yer' lazy ass not speaking even Spanish properly."

"I haven't even spoke Spanish to you."

"Can you now?" Her smile curling deviously.

"..." He was lost in thought for a second. "Puta."

Oh, he had done it. Her body arched all the way back, laughing. Loudly. Too loudly that it resonated between the cold tiles of the infirmary room, hurting his ears. She had to stop herself, putting her hands clumsily over her mouth, but failing to contain how her body still was shaking. The loud laugh started to fade and just slowly cracked down to a giggle as her face started to come back close to him. One of her hands moved violently and had to hold the tummy, clearly in pain as the breath was drawing shorter.

"Oh, for fucking lords... Yer' surely the most stupid one they could have sent us!"

George looked at her.

"I've just... called you a whore. Why are you laughing!?"

"Yer' so much a narkey hole... You can only think that for an insult? Really? Don't yer lick arses get taught to say worse in the military? If you were in Belfast years ago, you'd have grown balls. Not like those computer games you guys are trained of with."

"Ehhr..."

"I will say more, you fucking eejit, if you even take account of good advice when it comes yer way. We are not playing just games here. Your kin has just gotten the bad weeds plucked out of all gardens and throw ourselves to die, to then ignore us unless shite hits the fan of your own house." She licked her lips. "Where you guys have been during the wars? Licking your own dicks until we here had all the work done. You yankees boast so much for what you truly do."

George didn't know what point was she trying to make except ranting. For once, at least, it was refreshing someone show their anger in a more familiar way, than the odd acceptance of the rest of the members toward their innate enemies.

"Listen to me, fucker!" Fanny grabbed his chin and forced his face to look straight to hers, barely some inches away from each other now. Her breath overwhelming him. "If you got any fucking balls left after your baby training, maybe grow a spine and fight with us instead to come as watchdog for those bosses of you. That is what makes a difference, unless you want to die as a bystander and a footnote not worth of mention in textbooks."

"Is that it? You guys fight for glory?"

"We fight to make a difference, unlike the diplomatic dorks letting the world burn."

"You are nothing but animals that love violence."

Fanny looked at him, but what was expected to be a free way for her to bite back, didn't turn as he wanted.

"Yeah. We most of us are, that's true." She shrugged it off and gestured with her shoulders and hands a pose of opening her arms wide, dramatically. "Is not a lie. We gotta' enjoy life too, if we need a meaning to protect it."

"That's a lame reason to justify terrorism." George pointed and got his back straight, finally sitting. "If you want some noble fight..."

"There is nothing noble in fight." She cut down. "You guys know the best."

His throat felt patched and dry. If he had no knowledge of what his own agency did, he would probably come to brutalize her throat with the nastiest threats, but he couldn't. And no matter how much he pretended to, he was not immune to propaganda, and knew just enought to hate it... Yet, he wanted to attack back. But there was no way he could. His rigid training didn't allow to dip in the insecurity. He only stood there.

Fanny sat down on the side of the bed.

"Boy, believe in whatever you want. I'm not the one that has to tell you what to do. But don't be cocky enough to push your morals here. This is not a war or honorable battle. We are here for one purpose." She looked at the broken clock and then her own. "Shite, someone should fix those things."

"So... what are you guys here for?" He felt the cold hands of Pujay touching his face. He felt freaking out and tried to shake it off, while they desperately attempted to cover his ears. Fanny looked at him with a look of someone witnessing a person suffering an attack, uncomfortably, but her face looked now void of all emotion. George smiled and made an gesture for her to answer. She opened her mouth gently, while he watched her silhouette backed by the first stray rays of sunlight coming inside, only her emerald like eyes to shine in the contrast darkness.

"Suicide."

***

Bakarne wasn't the only one who was already awake. More members were already on their way to the communal showers. She waved reluctantly at those she had dealt with, and walked into the girls' shower. The place seemed more like a prison for masochists, with many of the tiles torn off and forcing oneself to be careful when stepping so as not to end up with injured feet. Slips and shower fatalities weren't very common, but more than one casualty related to those accidents was enough to be vigilant about it. Bakarne stored her clothes in one of the lockers and carried her soap in a plastic bag tied to her wrist. Not because she could drop it and some of the recruits would take advantage of an assault with a makeshift harness, but simply because some women were too stingy to use their own soaps, so thefts were common.

Hot water. As if they were being cooked to be a meat broth, the girls who were already there were enjoying one of the few privileges they had in the place. Bakarne took the opportunity to rub herself soapy at ease while her mind wandered to the strange dream she had had. She didn't want to devote a second of her mind to the new boss any more than was necessary. As her head went nowhere, a high-pitched shriek almost made them all deaf.

"Fuck!" The girls moved to the center of the showers to look out the doors. As it was easy to guess, the doors of both showers were non-existent, so you could see what was in the opposite room. One of the younger recruits had walked out of the guys’ room. There was some teasing at his size first, but they began to see all the men taking the showers slamming them shut. It didn't take long for the reason to be crystal clear. The same women's showers began to release cold water as if it were a waterfall. They all moved away from that frozen water and only one or two dared to go back to pick up their soap or brush.

"Did they all break at once?" Eli had just arrived, and she was already naked, but she didn't go in. He just stared at the recruit who had come out screaming and called out his size. ”Hey, was für eine süße Knackwurst!”

“Someone, call Lázár. I won't shower with water like that." One of the male members yelled.

“Wow, wow, what a short memory some have.” A metallic sound caught the attention of everyone, all of them darted their eyes toward the exit of the hall. "Have we not agreed that your complaints now go to me?"

Everyone looked at Karabanov, already dressed again in the same uniform as yesterday, humming happily. The noise came from his hands. In the dark gloved hands, two metal knobs rested, being turned and fringed against. The red color of the cap indicated that he had pulled out both of the hot water faucets. “You all have an hour to shower and come to the gym. There I will evaluate you in alphabetical order.”

“We are not going to shower with the cold water. Almost gave me a fucking heart attack.” The member who had been the first victim of the new water policy approached with his protest. A gun was pointed in less than a second at his forehead and he didn't continue. Karabanov smiled and put his Tokarev in his pocket. A very clear gesture that this gun was the nominated box of suggestions.

“Any more complaints, molochnyye terroristy? I don't have all day to listen to spoiled kids."

"In your land bears may bathe in cold water, but we are people here, asshole." Bakarne came forward, annoyed, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Rurik turned to her. Having made his suggestion policy clear, no one should dare to challenge him, but it seemed that the woman was determined not to shut her mouth, like a rational being would do in such a situation. This time, having fun, he knew he had to take a more subtle route than threats.

"In my land, bears didn't have as much fur as that bush." The words were sharp enough to make Bakarne blush, more because there were some girls who laughed despite the tension of the moment. Public humiliation was worse and more effective than violent correction. “The clock keeps ticking. At seven, in the gym.” And the figure turned back to leave the group, whose did not know what else to do, and tried to shower with the cold water.

***

"Asshole. Pretentious piece of shit. Sack of vomit turds brought from the hell and back.” Bakarne was in her workshop, kicking the wall. The sounds of boots echoed throughout the bleak, cold room filled with working apparatus, dangerous chemical ingredients, and boxes filled with finished explosives along all the weapons for the members. "What the fuck is wrong with that guy?"

“The moment when he started taking it out on your pubic hair was so much fun. I didn't think he was going to pull it and everything." Eli was sitting in a chair, fiddling with a gun in her hands. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

"Do whatever you want." Bakarne was already getting tired of venting her anger physically. She was completely red with anger. Her entire body steamed from the heat she felt. Until now, she had simply done what she wanted and kept her distance from the authorities, but between the shower scene and how the sick Soviet man had taken to pulling her pubic hair during the medical exam and nonstop insulting her, he was managing to put her in a worse mood than she already had working for Lázár. “On one of these nights I plan to put a firecracker under his bed. If he even does sleep, because no one knows how the hell he's been watching out all night."

“At least he hasn't kicked you, like others. Furthermore, I am surprised that Emil has been forgiven, being the little brat barely an eyesore of a twink.” Eli put a finger to her lips as she examined the gun. “The truth is that he is packing well.”

"What? Who? The vodka drinker or Emil?" Bakarne spun around.

“Emil. The truth... he is half a shit, but boy, does he have some chorizo on there."

"Fuck. Did you screw Emil? You? But you hate him." Bakarne made a face of disgust. "And I thought you had more self-esteem."

Elizabeth put the gun back in her jacket, giggling. She seemed amused by her partner's confusion. “It wouldn't hurt to start taking an interest in people a little bit. Plus, it's not like there's much to do in this joint either. At least we can pass our time fornicating.” She got up to go to the door. "You need a good rod between your legs one day."

“Go fuck yourself. I do not have time for that." Bakarne sat at her work table as Eli walked out laughing boisterously. As if that wasn't enough of an insult she had endured all morning. She still had to wait for the verdict of the new leader to see what to do with her production.

For a few moments, she was able to mentally escape and rest her eyes as she sat with her head on the table, cables and dangerous tools close to her face. To the point that the tiredness began to win. Slowly her lashes covered her eyes and finally her mind fell into the arms of Morpheus. A nap wouldn't be too bad…

BAM.

Bakarne felt her ears hurt and her body reacted instinctively, sitting up. When her eyes were centered again, what she saw was far from what she would have liked. The imposing Slavic figure surveyed the room as he lifted a cigarette to his mouth.

"Smoking is prohibited in this room." It was the first thing the small woman could comment, without any intention of hiding her bad mood.

"First, the animals should wash their mouths before answering." Karabanov began to reach his hand through the shelves and check the finished explosives. Bakarne put her hand to her mouth, which was salivating from having reached a point of sleep that was pleasant enough, despite its brevity. "I know you're dying to sink your teeth into my kolbasa, but damn, have a little class, please."

“I'd rather be dead than put that dirty thing in my mouth. And again, STOP SMOKING IN THE WORKSHOP! Fucking kakazakua…” Bakarne got up from the chair. “I guess you came to ask how the supply chain is going.”

"I'm not here to ask anything. I know it’s shit. I already broke in this garbage room at night to check everything.” Rurik offered her a wicked smile, knowing very well the effect his words would have on her. Bakarne couldn't believe that her workplace had been assaulted without her permission. Redder than a traffic light, she started to compose a mental list of insults. Her teeth gritted with fury. At any moment, she would end up throwing herself at that individual's neck and twist a knife on it.

"Very well. So…” Bakarne took a deep breath. She needed to settle this matter as soon as possible. “You will understand that we have been putting quantity over quality.”

"Yes. From now on, no 100 dynamites a night that are completely useless.” The young woman breathed a sigh of relief. “I want 200 and double the power.”

Bakarne opened his mouth. This abnormal bastard couldn't be serious. She was the only one in charge of explosives and, without help, that was an absurd request. She began to babble angrily, trying to find the worst insult she could throw at the Russian. While her mind was busy and burning with rage, she didn't notice that the man was barely inches from her face.

A gloved hand clamped down on the girl's thin jaw, and effortlessly, he lifted her face so he could stare at her. The exhausted eyes with deep dark circles looked directly at those of the Soviet, gray and cold that seemed to stick like spikes into her body. She was still feeling anger inside, but her body went completely still, unsure if it was because she knew beforehand that she couldn't fight him, or on the contrary…

“Hum. At least, within your uselessness there is some animosity present… Yes, you and I are going to be very good friends.” The face was clearly more mature and wise, and he was getting closer and closer. With his free hand, Karabanov removed the nearly finished cigarette from his mouth and blew a puff of smoke into her face. The only thing she could see was almost darkness, as the figure was backlit, as well the only thing she could sense was the smell of tobacco, of the musty cologne she seemed to be wearing, and some strong alcohol from his mouth. All of this overwhelmed her to the point of weakening her body.

“Pgh. ugh!” She didn't bother to hide her discomfort. “Txoriburu zikin…”

“In English, please. I don't understand that language of savages." Karabanov took a closer look at Bakarne's face, which was spitting angrily. "Wow..."

An unrecognizable malice flashed in the man's eyes. An especially wicked smile spread across his face and before she could react, he placed his thumb on her lips, never loosening his grip to keep her very still in front of him. Bakarne could just tell he was actually licking his own lips in a feral manner.

"What the fuck are you..."

"Fuck, man... Your file says you don't get along with the other members... what a waste." Karabanov puffed on his cigarette again. "With those lips, you could please any man, huh."

"...What."

The room fell silent as the heavy breath with alcohol flavor intoxicated the girl. The sweat from earlier anger had turned cold and ran cruelly down her body as she remained under Karabanov's spell. A less wicked smile but with a load of good humor began to appear on the hard face. Bakarne didn't want confirmation of the thoughts on his new boss's mind, but he had no qualms about making them loud and clear.

"Can't wait to make them debut with my dick." The thick, distant accent pronounced that sentence slowly, deliberately punctuating each word with a lewd tone. He was very close to salivating, it was obvious. It was a refined animal, but an animal capable of destroying its prey. Silent. Just as it appeared in the forest, after stalking them. His finger entered her mouth, and the taste of old wool flooded her palate. Her teeth tried to retain it without success, while she did not stop salivating at the intrusion. The whole head was spinning. No one had ever dared to touch her, much less like that. That stupid Russian was taking too many liberties. She tried to bite harder, managing to tear through the fabric and into the flesh, while her tongue was held by his finger. At any moment she could choke. "Come on, go further! Sink your fangs into me! That only makes me much harder.”

Finally, Bakarne was able to react, feeling how a torrent of blood ran through her body. She didn't know what it was, but her whole body received a heat other than anger. But it wasn't something she was going to stop to think about. An almost accurate knee hit. However, and although she managed to separate Karabanov from her and allowed her to get away, it did not take long for him to pin her against the table. She froze again as his full weight trapped her wrists against the explosive-filled board.

"You don't have what it takes." Bakarne challenged him, licking her fangs, where there was a trail of blood from his finger. Whatever that has to be. She clearly noticed a lump pressing very, very close to her most reserved parts, far from the others. Karabanov looked at her still smiling.

"You neither."

And he released her. No struggles at all. Bakarne was shocked for a second, blinking in confusion. The wrath left her free. The strong, foul odors receded along with the cigarette smoke. She sat up a little and looked strangely at the beast of a man who was in front of the door.

“It will be 50 a day. But they had better be powerful.” Karabanov took an eraser and removed the row of written numbers from the board to keep track of work. Then he wrote down the new one. “I mean the bombs. We'll talk about the blowjobs you're going to have to give me daily at another time."

He tossed the whiteboard marker into the air and left without saying goodbye. In the solitude of the workshop, completely silent, Bakarne could only try to get to her feet, confused.She put a hand to her chest, where she felt her heart had started beating a little harder than usual. Was that possible?

“Stupid vodka-drinker…” She gripped her jacket tightly, trying to find a way to express the cluster of emotions that were shaking her head. “Where the hell did you come from…?”

***

George felt the treads of cold sweat coming along his own forehead. How was that possible with the freezing weather? He was also surprised he didn't die from hypothermia.

"So coming here means death."

"Yes. That is what it means."

Fanny had come back in the evening to visit him. In fact, that was the only visit he had on the day - not even a nurse nor a doctor came to check up on his injuries. She also was kind enough to bring some food - a few scraps of bread and dirty water. The time felt eternal while his teeth tried to do their absolute best to bite, and his stomach to not force it back.

"Even the military rations would have been a better alternative to this. For how long have this bread stood in the shelves? You could replace weapons for the stale loafs."

"You can thank me they didn't give me any of the moldy ones." Fanny smiled. Unlike her initial presentation, she felt more familiar now that they both seemed more sincere towards each other. Still, he felt she had the smell of death and danger dancing around her - unshaken animosity ready for offensive at the minimal provocation.

"Thanks for the dinner." George left the plate on his night table. "Will you come tomorrow?"

"Hm. I'm unsure. The new turd of coach is becoming a pain in the ass and plans to re-train us, so I may be busy."

"I see..."

"Don't worry. I'm sure your girlfriend will come to see you, thought." Fanny grinned.

"Emmy? You mean, Banan?"

"Yeah."

"Nah, we are not... that was just a couple of years ago. Is pretty much buried."

"So are the corpses of many fascists." Fanny crossed her arms as she marched towards the door of the infirmary. "Yet their ghosts keep haunting us."

The quiet clack of the door turned the previously warmed up ambience into the inside of a coffin. And George felt like the corpse that could not die, looking once again to the ceiling, as even Pujay's presence had vanished.

***

Not a soul was willing to break the silence of the night. The authority of the new boss of the coop has imposed a new order. No one questioned his ability to shut out anyone capable of replying, and whoever did so got a hole between the eyebrows as a gift on top. Nor did Karabanov's own boots disturb the calm of the prevailing darkness. With a graceful, military march-like gait, the dark figure crossed the corridors of the base. Had he slept at some point? Or was he really a demon with the ability to manifest himself relentlessly to torture them?

Yes. This is my place. None of these brats are going to be able to stand against my plans. Here I can take what I please without having a bunch of faggots imposing their morals. And yet, there are also members who will be useful. Might actually build my paradise here… Just, I wish I was able to live on the outside better.

Slowly, a hand reached out silently to enter Lázár's office. The authoritarian old man was lounging in a chair, listening to music with headphones.

"Look, here he is. Couldn't be easier."

Seconds later, the old man was on the floor, and the carpet was stained a deeper red. The hand was clutching the gun without a silencer. But they didn't care. It was thrown to the floor so the killer could run away.

"Thank you for your service."