Happy New Year our dear readers, get ready for a new country to explore. Once we pass Siberia and go further east, we end up in the Governorate of Yakutia - a cold, cruel, underdeveloped place, that nonetheless has all the potential needed to become a second Klondike. Now, where do we start?

BRIEF HISTORY

Yakutia was subjugated by Muscovite Tsardom by the second half of XVII century, however not even at the eve of XX century was it explored well enough to be considered an integral part of Russia proper. Rich with metal deposits, as well as other resources, but lacking in infrastructure and really distant from the capital, this region, organized as Yakut Oblast’, was only transformed into a full Governorate when in July 1912, as a part of Stolypin’s reforms as a prime minister for Emperor Alexei II, governor Ivan Kraft conducted reorganization of Yakut Oblast’ into Yakut Governorate. Those reforms however remained largely superficial; in 1913, Kraft was replaced by Rudolf Witte as a governor, which changed literally nothing for Yakutia’s inhabitants. In 1919, administration of the Governorate supported the revolution, as governor Witte oversaw the incorporation of Yakutia into Far East General-Governorate (in place of old Cisamur General-Governorate) while Irkutsk General-Governorate (to which Yakutia previously belonged) remained divided over whether to support the revolution or not; however, the course of civil war (and shock among the Russian establishment after governor Witte was assassinated by a Yakut nationalist early in 1925) caused the administration, led by a respectable admiral Georgiy Stark, to switch sides and swear fealty to Kolchak less than a month after Rudolf Witte’s assassination.
Georgiy Stark since then was forever branded a traitor by Zheltorossiyans, but Yakut Governorate remained under the Russian Empire. With much of the Far East General-Governorate occupied by Russian Republic and Semyonov’s troops, Yakutia remained a de facto successor of the General-Governorate, not to mention a naval base for whatever remained of Russian Imperial Fleet in the Pacific. After the results of the civil war were acknowledged, Yakutia returned to sluggish existence. Many things might change soon though...

STARTING SITUATION

Stark’s regime is pretty autocratic yet paradoxically rather passive. Advisors of the old admiral are overwhelmingly of military background, as the Governorate’s administration remains centered around two things - navy and management of prison camps for dissidents from European parts of Russia. Suppressing the nationalist resistance of ethnic Yakuts is also a priority, as is containing any excessive foreign influence. However, with the effects of November 1935 Strike felt throughout the Empire, Yakutia is no exception. Once winter becomes a bit less cold than usual, the streets of Yakutsk might once again welcome a half-forgotten sight - demonstrations, mass meetings, and police crackdowns.
Yakut nationalists have two ways to turn this surge of anger directed at the Kolchakocracy’s representatives into something productive - either they rely only on themselves when organizing the mass protests, unifying around a group of ambitious democratic intellectuals led by Pavel Ksenofontov, or they accept the Japanese aid - even though it means accepting the fact that a newly “independent” Yakutia would be a Japanese satellite in all but name.
Stark, who could negotiate with the protesters (so that he remains in command of Yakutia’s navy upon being removed from the Governor’s office) regardless whether they make a deal with the Japanese or not, also could just barely get an edge over his opponents by deploying the police and the coastal guard in the epicentres of protests, preventing an overthrow of his regime.
How would the winter end for Yakutia? With independence? With a surprise coup from the Japanese? Or with the continued rule of a statesman who could only offer more of the same?

KSENOFONTOV’S ROUTE: FREE INDEPENDENT YAKUTIA

With Yakut demonstrators prevailing entirely on their own, and Stark relocated to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky for him to train a new generation of naval officers there, the governance of Yakutia is now in hands of republican intellectuals, chief among them - Pavel Ksenofontov, a longtime leader of a Yakut Confederalist movement, who believes that Yakutia in order to be independent should be a democratic republic with representation given to all peoples of this diverse nation - not just Yakuts and Russians, but Chukchi, Koryaks, Yukagirs, Itelmens, Evenks, Evens, Kamchadals, and many other indigenous tribes (as well as minorities among the European settlers, such as whatever few Ukrainians, Germans, Jews, Poles and even some Belarusians that could be found in Yakutia). Reforms of this new government would go beyond merely promising various reforms to both the people and the navy, as Ksenofontov genuinely wishes for the Constitution to work as intended, and for the people’s prosperity to be guaranteed. Which is why, to counter the fading Japanese influence, a free Yakutia would trade with the USA as well as British Commonwealth, securing free trade deals that would help to fund the growing welfare state. Finally, in the field of foreign policy, the Republic of Yakutia would have some interesting opportunities. In case Siberia is led by the Black Hundreds carrying out reprisals against the Asian natives, Yakutia would be able to protect them (or at least try to). In case Siberia is led by the Autonomists, Yakutia would find many benefits in modernizing the Yakut culture to assert the Yakut nation’s position as being Asian ethnically, but European culturally, which would especially useful if Siberia goes down the “Europe of our Own” route. Finally, regardless who rules Siberia, Yakutia could assert a Swiss-like neutrality or seek some additional prestige and security at the cost of letting unemployed British and Anglo-Canadian fishermen and labourers to settle in a couple of dozen of new settlements near Okhotsk Sea, reward for that being Yakutia’s membership in the Commonwealth of Nations.
(Full tree for Ksenofontov’s path is here)
But what if Yakutia remains under Stark’s rule?

STARK’S ROUTE: STATUS QUO

With the admiral’s position as the Yakutia’s governor being cemented, he would embark upon doing three things - improving the situation somewhat for his subjects, improving the situation greatly for the Pacific Fleet, and continuing Russian Imperial attempts at modernization by attracting more Russians to this part of the country - whether they be technical specialists, gold prospectors or convicted criminals. Like most other warlords who rule their own petty fiefdoms on the ruins of Imperial Russia, admiral Stark would be observing the situation in Central Russia carefully, with any decisions about Yakutia’s fate postponed until the Summer Coup would end with either side’s victory.
Reunification with Russia or any other legitimate polity claiming to be Russia?
Reluctant press conference in which Yakutia would be proclaimed an independent nation, even though Yakuts would have de facto less rights than Russians under such regime?
Same as before but with a more moderate, less autocratic rhetoric, aiming to secure the Autonomist Siberia’s favor?
Or maybe Stark, in case Boldyrev would have his victory, could voluntarily let Yakutia reunify with the Far East General-Governorate, since there would be no reason to postpone the inevitable?
(Full tree for Stark's path is here)
Sure, there are nationalists, there’s a pro-Russian path, but...pro-Japanese path? Well, you’ll see:

AIZAWA’S ROUTE: SURPRISE FROM MANTETSU

Situation in Yakutia interested many factions within the Japanese establishment for a long time (especially those that favored an expansion in the northern direction). Which is why governor Kishi of Mantetsu offered full support to colonel Saburo Aizawa
in his bid for securing these troublesome outskirts of Russian Empire for Japan. Enough gullible nationalists, as well as some carefully placed special agents in the provincial capital of Yakutsk and key port cities, can bring Yakutia under the Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere. While nominally independent, Yakutia would become a resource colony for Japan as well as its northern naval station in practice, receiving a significant stream of Japanese, Chinese and Korean newcomers in the first months of Aizawa’s takeover. (Side note - Aizawa IRL was the one who assassinated Tetsuzan Nagata, but in this timeline they both remained more or less neutral to each other, and Aizawa functions as Nobusuke Kishi’s protege.)
However, soon after Japan acquires this Klondike, it inevitably collapses upon itself in the civil war, which is apocalyptic news for everyone that hoped to avoid the Japanese Empire’s demise. How does the government of Yakutia respond to it?
Proclaim neutrality and hope that none would notice Yakutia after that?
Or maybe Yakutia becomes an official dominion of Japan, should the Imperial side win the war.
Or, in case the Revolutionaries win, the remnants of Imperial establishment, most of which flee to Korea and/or Mantetsu, might end up in Yakutia, proclaiming a new Empire in exile led by a relatively moderate emperor. Otherwise, if Revolutionaries win, there is also an option for Yakutia’s regime to fail spectacularly - with agents sent by Revolutionary Japan to sabotage Aizawa’s regime so that the far-left Zheltorossiya might be able to annex Yakutia without much bloodshed.
(Full tree for the pro-Japanese path is here)

YAKUTIA IS A NAVY WITH THE STATE

Regardless which path for Yakutia you pick, there is a matter which constitutes a shared concern for any government that might rule Yakutia - namely, the navy and the ways it might impact the rest of the country.
Much of Yakutia’s infrastructure is geared towards supplying whatever remains of the Russian Imperial Pacific Fleet after more than half of it was lost in the Civil War or defected to Zheltorossiya. Taking the navy focus tree helps Yakutia to modify its starting “Remnants of the Pacific Fleet” national spirit so that it only has beneficial effects for the state, not to mention that the research of new naval tech is what drives the evolution of Yakut armed forces, with army being composed mainly out of coastal guard and the air force still constituting primarily recon and auxiliary units. Focus tree helps improve the navy, not to mention it allows for a flexible composition of the fleet.
Should everything go as intended, Yakutia might be a very useful support nation in any major conflict, with its gameplay being more navy-oriented than that of any other Russian warlord state.
And that’s all, full focus tree for Yakutia is here, travel log number 6 is over, Happy New Year everyone, stay tuned for next progress reports!
For those interested, here are links for our Discord and TvTropes.

OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Giving thanks edition: Kickin’ around Caracas, Pt. 2

Continuing…
He smiles, pockets the money, and scurries off to accomplish his tasks.
I’m sitting in the darkened, warm, and well-used pub; sipping at my drinks, puffing on my cigar and noting that I was more or less alone here. I was enjoying my comfort of solitude and familiar surroundings greatly.
Suddenly, a gruff hand grips my right shoulder.
I hear a guttural voice complain “Why don’t you put out that fucking smelly cigar?”
My Hapkido training kicked in as I was about to spin around and clock the klutz that dared intrude on my seclusion and risked to grab my person.
However, there was something familiar about the voice that made me hold my hand in the split second before I was to deliver a stunning kidney-punch.
“Toivo!”, I shouted, “You gnarly bastard! What the actual flying fennec fox fuck are you doing here in Moscow?”
Toivo has already backed up, out of swing or kick range, and is laughing out loud.
“You should have seen yourself jump!”, he chortles, “I didn’t know you still had it in you, ya’ old fart.”
“Yeah”, I snicker back, “And you’re still one deaf MOFO.”
Toivo laughs long and loud as he helps himself to one of my cigars, and the seat on Mahogany Ridge next to me.
“Still, Toiv”, I continue, “You haven’t answered me. What the hell you doing in Moscow during this briskly foul month of the equally foul year 2020?”
“Just whorin’ around for money”, Toivo chuckles as he instructs the just returned barkeep to make with new rounds of drinks. “As usual. No one else out schmoozing for oilfield services during the lockdown. I can’t afford not to have work, so I’m taking advantage of having a working immune system and flying all over setting up contracts. Working a treat, I might add…”
“So”, I reply between sips, “Still have your own service company. That’s rare in this day and age. With all this COVID crapola, even the big guns are hurting bad.”
“That’s right”, Toivo adds as he filches my new Montgolfière lighter and fires up his cigar.
“They can’t just order people indefinitely indoors and want everyone to work from home. Does not work that way for me or my guys. Seriously difficult to do a workover or well completion over the phone. I pay real well and ensure my people take all precautions and get tested after every job. A few got the ‘Vid’, and I paid for everything until they feel they can return to work. Haven’t lost a soul and damned if I’m going to let that happen on my watch. But damned if I’ll let any of my people go, cut hours, half-time, or close-up shop either. Common sense, situational awareness, and ‘don’t be a fucking idiot’ goes a long way in the world today.”
“Having a well-tuned and actively working immune system doesn’t hurt as well”, I add, as I finish up the bowl of Irish Stew; which was incredible, as usual.
“So where you off to this time, Rock?”, Toivo asks. “Or are you just returning from a vacation out in Yakutsk? I mean, it is November…”
“Nope”, I reply between sips and high signs to our bartender for another round. “I’m only here for the convenience of some of my handlers. I’m actually headed to South America, and that’s as much as I can tell you unless I immediately neutralize you afterwards.”
“Ya’ know”, Toivo says without a hint of irony, “That line is a trite cliché. Except when it comes from you. Fine. Need to know basis and I don’t need to know. Gotcha.”
“Sorry”, I reply, “It’s really nothing personal, but the fewer who know what I’m up to these days, the better off the world will probably be.”
“Yeah”, Toivo replies, “I thought you were doing some academic schtick. Getting another couple of degrees or some shit like that.”
“Who says I can’t do both?” I chuckle in return. “Yeah, I’m teaching at [REDACTED] university and getting my DSc. In the meantime, I take odd jobs for fun and profit.”
Toivo accepted that and as long as I was on expenses, he decided to see how much hypermath he could use in running up an enormous bar tab. Over drinks and some bar snacks, he told me he was headed back to the US and home for the holidays.
“Shit!”, I exclaimed, “I completely forgot that it was Thanksgiving this week. Thanks, Toiv. I’ve got to make some calls and get some food catered.”
Toivo snickers and makes some reference as to how I can recall the chemical formula for Eggletonite [(Na,K,Ca)2(Mn,Fe)8(Si,Al)12O29(OH)7.11(H2O) if you must know], but can’t remember my own damn phone number.
“Priorities, Herr Toivo, priorities,” I say as I’m dialing the local caterer back home. I make certain Es and the girls have their Thanksgivings taken care of…
A few hours later, Toivo’s flight is called and we part after a manly handshake ensues. We pledge to get together, families and all, once the holidays are over. Maybe the new year might just be a little less revolting than the year we just endured.
Flight time from Moscow to Caracas is just under 15 hours and I’ve got at least two more to wait until boarding. I check the flight tote board and note that besides Aeroflot, there’s another flight to Caracas on another airline, this one from Turkey. It leaves in an hour, but a quick call to the airlines quashes the idea that I can get out of Dodge, as it were, a bit earlier.
So, I waste an extraordinary amount of time and money in the Irish Pub. I can’t smoke on the flight, nor in the waiting area, nor anywhere outside the Pub, so I sit and fume like a foundry chimney until they call my flight.
Once again, it’s Business Class on Aeroflot and once the snickering over my attempts at Russian die down, the flight crew were top-notch. The plane seems almost brand new, it was clean, painted where it was supposed to have paint, carpeted where carpet would be a good idea and even the heads sparkled.
After a short taxi to our take-off runway, we were wheels-up once again, heading west this time.
The flight was 15 or so hours long so I had several pre-nap tots, took a great snooze in the mostly empty aircraft, tried to watch the Russian version of an Avengers movie (The Guardians, 2017. Get a copy. You won’t regret it.) while trying, and failing, not to laugh too much. After a lovely Russian repast of black and red caviar, smoked sturgeon and salmon, blinis and borscht, I decided to have another nap, to bank some snooze-time as I had no idea what I’d be excepting once I land in Venezuela.
I am jolted awake by Captain Kangaroo and his overly bouncy touchdown at Maiquetía "Simón Bolívar" International Airport. Here we taxi for what seems like another eternity before we finally find an empty jetway and squeeze the oddly non-Russian-built Boeing 777-300ER into space for our deplaning pleasure.
Caracas airport is not world-renowned, or perhaps it is more than just infamous. Many, many airlines, including all US carriers, refuse to fly here due to labor strikes, crime, shortage of qualified ground personnel, stolen baggage, and problems with the quality of jet fuel and maintenance of runways. Needless to say, add the COVID to this stew of infamy, and the whole bloody airport is practically empty.
I’m off the plane, down the jetway, and am greeted by a for once, a non-euphemistically monikered brace of Federales.
“You are Dr. Rocknocker”, the one on the left, blocking my passage, asks.
“Yes, sir. That’s me.” I reply in my inimitable style of international amity.
“You will come with us.” The brusquely says.
“Ah. Well, umm, you see, no I won’t. There’s this little problem of identification.” I note, “You characters may know who I am and should be awed enough by that, but I have no idea if you say you are who you really say you are. Papers, please?”
Yep. That’s me. Giving the police and/or military the business in their own country.
“We need to show you nothing. You will come with us now.” The other unsmiling dolt says.
“Now gentlemen”, I say as I pull out my cellphone telephone, and hit speed dial. “Let’s see what Senor Nicolás Maduro has to say about all this.”
That’s right. I’m ringing the president of the country. I have a ‘special number’ to cut through all the red tape.
The two Federales look on in either hilarity or despair.
“Hello? Senor Maduro, por favor? Bueno. They’re going to connect me” I say to the befuddled guards.
“Buenos dias, Cilia...Com esta?” I cover the phone, “It’s his wife Cilia. Evidently Sr. Maduro is indispose.”
The two federales go white when I put Cilia Flores on speaker.
“Si, gracias. Just got in, and there’s these two characters here demanding I go with them. Did Carlos arrange a welcoming party for me? He did? Bueno. Their names? Let me ask…”
“You, on the right. Name for Senora Maduro?” I ask politely. “Come, come, let’s not keep the president’s wife waiting”, I say, snapping my fingers.
“César Fontana Braz” stammers the first.
“Armando Quadros Garcia” stutters the second.
“Cool. Cesar and Armando. Names go in book.” I say as I ring off the phone after politely asking Cilia to have Carlos give me a ring when he is not so occupied.
“Now, Cesar and Armando, where were we?” I asked, smiling like a reptile.
They were falling all over themselves getting airport transport so we could go and collect my luggage, and get the proper stamps through passport control and customs. They blanch when they see my Red Diplomatic Passport. The Russians are the only remaining friends of the current administration and that situation is tenuous as best.
Hanging by a Damoclean thread is more appropriate.
Once we breeze through customs and passport control without so much as a flinch, I get a message that my reservations at the JW Marriott hotel have been received and approved. The hotel is only a dozen miles from the airport and Cesar and Armando are trying mightily to ingratiate themselves by finding the least corrupt taxi.
As if by magic, Lucas shows up and makes a big scene that he will take the situation over from here. There is some staccato, machine-gun level hypervelocity Spanish going on, and I’m in way over my head linguistically.
So, I do what I normally do in such situations.
I pull out an emergency flask and fire up a cigar to await the outcome of this verbal boxing match.
Suddenly as it started, it ends with Cesar and Armando skulking off empty-handed and Lucas looking at my cigar longingly.
Of course, I offer him one.
And ask what that was all about.
“Each wanted a different cab for you as it was one run by his relations. Everything here is relations and kickbacks. You will quickly learn anything is available, just have to ask the right cousin, uncle or monster-in-law” Lucas chuckles at his own little joke.
“Right, Luc”, I quickly agreed, “Things never change around here. It was that way when I first came to Venezuela some 35 years ago.”
Lucas realizes he’s trying, metaphorically speaking, to teach his grandmother to suck eggs, as I was in Venezuela way back when even before he was born. Just a little humility lesson from the Doctor, free of charge.
Lucas stashes his filched cigar, grabs my luggage, and stows it in the boot of the car. I have to sit in the back of the sedan as Lucas has all his tat covering the passenger seat. Laptop, cellphone, GPS, several errant dossiers, a bottle of Diplomatico Reserva Exclusiva Rum, an eight pack of Cerveza Tovar, his service revolver and a couple of speed loaders, his sap…just the necessities.
I barely have time enough to sit and Lucas is punching the throttle, blaring the horn and we’re off to the hotel.
I do love driving in South America so much. I quickly tuck my hot-loaded Glock into a shoulder holster and don my Agency vest.
Just as a precaution. There are banditos at large around here.
But, they were all either siesta-ing or couldn’t keep up with Lucas as he careened around one corner and slalomed around another. Soon, I found myself standing as the only gringo. Hell, the only other vertical biped, at the front desk of the hotel, waiting for my check-in.
Suddenly, appearing apparently out of the vapor, one Chief Hotel Clerk, one Jose Antonio Hidalgo Juan Antonio Enríquez, Jr., asks if I have a reservation and if I was alone.
“Yes to both”, I replied as Lucas had someplace where I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell me where he was bunking for the night. Just that he would be calling around 0900 so he could partake of the hotel’s famous buffet breakfast, all 100 or so meters of it. Then he’ll take me to the Presidential Palace as I have an appointment with my old buddy, Herr El Presidente.
I am checked in and escorted by the bellman to my suite. I thought it was odd that when we got off the elevator on my floor, he was replaced with another person, one Chief Bellman Xabier, and he’d be escorting me to my room.
“Things is just plain weird in Venezuela”, I mused to myself as we made the slog down the long, carpeted hall towards my “Vice Presidential” suite. Seems the Presidential Suite was constantly on reserve in case the real President wanted a room.
As we’re shuffling down the corridor, I notice the nametag on my “Chief Bellman” looks as if it had gone through the laundry many, many times, it was that battered and washed out. And while he had one hand on my luggage as we wheeled along, he kept his other hand in his right front pocket.
“Must be concerned about pickpockets thereabouts”, I thought to myself.
We arrive at my suite and he asks for my card-key, which was unusual even in Venezuela. Most bellmen, particularly the Chief Bellman, would be carrying a master-card to unlock the doors for any swell or VIP (vaguely important person).
“Well, here you go”, I said with a flourish, as I swiped the card myself and let both of us into the suite.
Xavier entered first, and I followed close behind.
I tossed my briefcase with all my irreplaceable papers and emergency flasks and cigars on the bed when Xavier asks if I’d like for him to hang my clothes.
“Sure”, I said, from the depths of the minibar. I was interested in seeing if there was any Pisco Capel available, as I like that stuff just fine.
Xavier is taking his time going through a couple of shirts, a spare pair of pants, and my unmentionables from my Scramble Bag, when he sees that I have a spare wallet, a couple of Zenith's and my Breitling Emergency watch in a separate zipped close but unfortunately not independently locked case. He suddenly stiffens, as he doesn’t realize that I’m watching him from the mirror in the back of the minibar.
He looks at me, at the watches, at me, at the watches again, the door, out the window, and around the room.
He pockets my Breitling and Zenit watch quick as a bunny fucks as I pretend to be ever so engrossed in with what the minibar was stocked.
I’m making idiot noises to distract him as I see he’s finally hung all my clothes. Without turning, I ask him if he’s going to return those watches or if I will be forced to kill him.
He solidifies some more, stammers, and pulls out a scabby looking straight-bladed knife. He stands there behind me making the first overtures of a series of really bad life decisions.
With a fresh cold beer in my left hand, I turn around and point my Glock, of caliber millimeters ten, point-blank between his eyes.
“Now I’m not saying that you should drop that knife. Nor am I saying that you should return my watches. However, this is a Glock ten-millimeter pistol, one of the most powerful handguns in the world, and at this range would blow your damn fool head clean off. It carries eight ‘Eviscerator 145 grain Black Talon’ hollow point cartridges in the magazine, along with eight 10mm ‘Auto 155 grain Xtreme Penetrator Defense®’ loads with another up the pipe. The one question you have to ask yourself is would I miss ventilating your skull all 17 times or only 16? The real question really boils down to: ‘do you feel lucky, punk?’
“Well, do you?” I asked as I sipped my beer while tapping my foot in irritation waiting for his answer.
Xavier suddenly has an attack of the mutes. I think he’s trying to say something, hoping to whatever deity he prefers that they won’t be his last words. He is also transfixed by what appears to be the Holland Tunnel that suddenly appeared and is staring him right in the face.
I set my beer down on the table and rack a round into the Glock’s guts just to let Xavier know that I’m not fucking around. If he doesn’t make a choice pretty damn quickly, that I’ll gladly paint the back wall of my suite with a fascinating new color: “Hint of brain”.
He drops the knife to the floor, and slowly, painfully slowly retrieves my watches and sets them on the table. He also irrigates his trousers soundly as I snort all sorts of nasty, and personal, derision his way and nary vary my aim one millimicron.
“OK”, I say, “Good boy. Now, drop your wallet, keys, and anything else you have in your pockets on the table as well.”
“Oh, señor…” he begins to protest.
I nudge his forehead with the Glock and remind him I’m not anywhere near the mood for fucking around.
“Look, Scooter”, I say in my most threatening ‘you do know that you’re keeping me from my drink’ voice. “Either you do as I ask, or your family will be meeting to split up your belongings. When I see President Marcos tomorrow, we’ll both have a good chuckle about some idiot fake bellman and how they can’t catch high-velocity lead slugs worth a damn.”
“But, señor”, he continues to protest, “I am poor. My family is poor. I only have a few céntims…”
“I didn’t ask for your biography or family history, dick-cheese”, I growled, “Now give, asshole” as I pressed the Glock a few millimeters forward.
He empties his pockets and I eventually lower the Glock.
“Now run, you cur”, I growled even louder, “You run and tell all the other curs that Doc Rock is comin’ And hell’s comin’ with me. You hear me? Hell’s comin’ with me!”
He evidently didn’t get the movie reference, but he hit the hallway flat-out running as I slammed the door, parked the Glock back in its holster and called the front desk.
“Hello? Front desk? Yeah, Doc Rocknocker here in the VP suite. In about two minutes you’re going to see some sorry schmuck in soggy slacks come screaming through the lobby. He tried to rob me in my room, but I got the drop on him. Please send someone up to recover his possessions. What you do about and with them is of no concern of mine. And send up a bucket of ice, some bitter lemon and a bottle of best vodka. Got that? Cheers.”
“Fucking local idiots”, I muse.
The real concierge arrives a few minutes later with my order. He also carefully takes the departed miscreants' belongings, telling me that maybe they can get his fingerprints and have him prosecuted.
“One more minute and I’d have all the blood spatter analysis for DNA you could handle”, I snorted as I tipped him generously and bade him out the door.
I drew a bath and double-checked the doors were soundly locked. I’m not paranoid but it’s a good thing the Glock is primarily made of polymers. They don’t rust.
The next morning, I’m fresh as a daisy downstairs at the breakfast buffet with Lucas. Of course, I had on my best shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and Agency vest, but I decided to leave the Glock behind in my room in the safe. The magazines I left in the safe behind the check-in desk. Not every day you get a private meeting with the president of a country.
I need to be a bit vague about the meeting, but other than the fine rum and cigars I was offered, I was given a series of tasks by El Presidente in exchange for carte blanche travel in his country.
He wants a signed copy of the book I am researching in Venezuela when it goes to print.
He also wants a copy of the data I uncover before I leave the country. Believe me, the original data will be scrubbed and gone long before I present it to El Presidente. He’ll get the ‘Reader’s Digest’ version.
Finally, he wants me to extend an invite to Esme to come to Venezuela and meet with him and the First Lady.
I can’t promise anything, but if shopping is involved, I doubt even a shooting war could dissuade Esme.
Figuring that I’ve done a full day’s work as it stands, I decided to have Lucas drive me back to the hotel where I need to makes some serious notes in several dossiers. I also need to call Esme to tell her of the invitation at the behest of El Presidente and the First Lady.
I place a cellphone telephone call to my darling Esme and we have an absolutely lovely conversation. She’s thrilled at the prospect of going shopping with the First Lady of the country and hobnobbing around the land as a VIP. She regales me with the tales of Khan and the ravens. How they steal from his outside food bowl and he’s absolutely inept on chasing them because they take flight before he can get within 20 feet.
Perhaps if he wasn’t barking a blue streak, he’d be more stealthy and successful.
Esme tells me that Agents Rack and Ruin have been calling all day, wondering where the hell I was.
“Is there some problem there?” She asks me.
“Well, the country is on the brink of civil war. There is factional fighting. Rampant inflation: a cup of coffee now costs 1.55m bolivars; an increase of 6,639% in the past 12 months. The economy’s all but collapsed. Bolivars are damn near worthless, the US dollar is the hardest of hard currency. Millions have left the country and there’s widespread crime, cases of killings, torture, violence, and disappearances. Shortages of staple items, as well as medical care…you know, sort of the ‘Just after the wall fell’ sort of Russia Syndrome.” I replied.
“Well”, Es replies, “Rack and Ruin are having kittens. They’re desperate to talk with you. Call them and tell them it’s not all that bad.”
“Well”, I reply, “It’s actually worse, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Are you safe?” Es asks.
“Aw, hell”, I snort, “I’m fine. I’ve been through a lot worse. Still, if Rack and Ruin are antsy, best pull the big brown box out of my office. After I talk to R&R, they’ll probably be wanting to send me some bits and pieces. I’d prefer my own stuff if you know what I mean.”
“Will do”, Es replies. She knows the shorthand for ‘I want my own large-caliber weapons’ and associated items of personal defense.
“I’ll get ahold of Rack and Ruin”, I note, “They are going to want to send me some kit, if things are all that nasty, even though I only saw a bit of low-octane attempted crime. Just pull my ditty-box and I’m sure they’ll send someone over to collect it.”
We covered a few more items, professed our undying love and I rang off.
Once I had procured about 300 milliliters of Old Thought Provoker, on ice, I placed the call to Virginia.
Agents Rack and Ruin are more or less unflappable, but today, they were flapped.
They wanted me to exercise(!) extreme caution. They wanted me to only spend a few more days in-country. If nothing else, they wanted me to chuck the whole fucking project and hightail it home.
“Are you high?”, I asked of the perpetually sober Agent Rack. “Quit a job before it’s finished? You know as well as I that’s not the Agency way. And it’s not my way either. Perish the thought.”
Agent Ruin takes over the phone and tries to reason with me.
I reply that I’ve never failed to complete an assignment before and I’d be goddamned if I’d let a little thing like a shithole country’s 33 and 1/3rd revolution run my happy ass off location.
“OK, then”, Agent Rack exhales in defeat, “Then sit tight for a day or so. We’ll get you a parcel through the Diplo Pouch. It’ll contain a few items that will make us all rest easier here.”
“OK, that I can do”, I reply with a snort, “Pantywaists”, I sneer under my breath. “Since you’re sending some goodies my way, have someone who’s not afraid of huge dogs drop by the house and have them include my big, brown box in the DP.”
They readily agreed and told me to expect the pouch, which can vary from the size of a tin of tobacco to something big enough to overnight an aircraft carrier, within 24 hours.
“OK”, I relent, “I’ve got a bunch a writing to do after meeting with El Presidente today. This will work out great. I get ample time to update my dossiers and you don’t have to worry so much about your best agent getting a boo-boo.”
“Doctor”, Agent Ruin ripostes, “Please treat this situation with all affordable circumspection. This is no charade; this is a potentially real, and doubly dangerous, situation. Pay heed.”
“Agents”, I snort after pouring another 300 mils of Old Thought Provoker over ice, “You are speaking to a Doctor of Geology, one who is an international Master Blaster and plays with home-made nitroglycerine for shits and giggles. ‘Circumspection’ is my middle name.”
“We thought it was ‘Danger’…”, They replied as one.
“Well”, I chuckled back, “That’s my Confirmation name…”
Somewhat mollified, Agents Rack and Ruin again warn me to be careful and to keep an eye out for a parcel that should arrive within 24 hours.
“Thanks, guys”, I say before ringing off, “What would you ever do without me?”
I hung up before they had time to formulate a reply.
So, with nothing much else to do, I resigned myself to getting all my necessary writing out of the way. I needed to formulate another of my unbreakable codes, encrypt all my writings and do the dossier needful so I could send off the information before anything goes south.
To be continued…⇝

[Econ] Make Whole What Was Sundered

Rushing Through

Emerald fields and glossy rivers sped by in seconds through the plexiglass window as the gentle rumble of steel against steel filled the atmosphere. Dmitri Ivanov might have been a former President of the Federation, but here he was just any other citizen, one amongst thousands trying to get from St. Petersburg to the capital. Except, of course, most normal citizens wouldn't have a security detail travelling with them, nor a private railcar all to themselves. Dmitri chuckled breathily. The two guards which sat next to him were stiff and far too uptight. He hardly thought any terrorist or assassin would get him here of all places.
Sipping from a cup of water, the ex-President elected to turn his attention to the daily paper instead. Flipping through pages about sport tournaments, celebrity gossip, and daily goings-ons of the Kremlin, he reached the opinion column - always an interesting read. He supposed it gave people a different perspective, though he thought them slightly too hackish and partisan for his palate, especially in foreign news.
Ah. At the top of the page, in bold capital letters, was printed the words "THE GOVERNMENT CONTINUES TO BACKPEDAL ON POINT ONE", prompting a heaving sigh to escape Ivanov's lips. Always back to the Samara Manifesto, and to the one thing he hadn't had time to do. He had seen such headlines pop up since the winding months to the end of his term, but even Novitolsky's new promises couldn't stop a flood of complaints, threats, and demands. The people most hopeful had their dreams dash; they were furious, and the results showed - the CPRF had made huge gains in the presidential election.
For its inflammatory title, the piece did make a good point. The infrastructure of Russia was still not up to what it could be, and after decades of crying out for change, perhaps they were right to be outraged. Still, they didn't understand the pains of governing and the labyrinthine puzzle of politics. Sacrifices had to be made, compromises agreed on, and attention placed elsewhere. At the very least, his cabinet had authorized extra funding to maintenance and upgrades for publicly owned infrastructure such as roads - it wasn't anything extraordinary, but it was a far cry from Putin's regime.
He tapped the shoulder of one of his guards. "Alexei, remind me to set up a meeting with the President when we return to Moscow, please." The guard nodded in a jerking motion. "Good." Ivanov made a mental note to remind Novitolsky of his campaign promises, and bring home for the electorate significant reforms. No doubt he was already planning it.

The Faults In Our Stars

Derelict tracks. Long-abandoned railways. Roads and paths in disrepair. These are all common sights in the Russian Federation, should one look closely. In truth, since the collapse of the Soviet Union, much of the country's infrastructure has been neglected and overlooked, the attention of its leaders diverted to other needs domestic and abroad. Some half-hearted attempts at modernization and expansion have taken place over the years, yet none have succeeded in fully tackling what is slowly moving to become a crisis. Even President Ivanov failed to address the state of Russia's highways, rails, and roads, something promised within the Samara Manifesto and the Russia 2040 program - will President Novitolsky deliver on what he too has pledged?
Vladimir Lenin once said that "communism is Soviet power plus the electrification of the whole country." Indeed, despite the Soviet Union's myriad flaws, the state planning of the USSR was able to transform Russia from a barren, disparate, and undeveloped land into a well-connected country with heavy industrial development, electricity in the majority of households, and a large infrastructure network. The total transformation of Russia brought us into the forefront of the world in terms of geopolitics, and enabled us to not only win the Great Patriotic War but also compete with the Yankees in the Cold War. Now, forty years after the fall of the Union, many of the railroads and factories created during its time have fallen silent, even as flashy new projects are shown to the world and wonders bedazzle foreign businessmen; the people of Russia yearn for simple
While Ivanov's pioneering policies in automation, promotion of domestic production, encouragement of development and entrepreneurship, and anti-corruption have spurred a period of economic growth and investment, it seems that this has largely benefitted the middle and upper classes, as well as urban areas, more than it has the rest of the country. This came to haunt Novitolsky as Ivanov's legacy caused a resurgence of the CPRF and LDPR in the presidential vote - an area in which they have never done well compared to their legislative vote. The President recognizes that, for the nation to move forward, all of its citizens must too move forward.

Developing the Means

The programs implemented by Ivanov's government to promote innovation and technological advancement were successful in the development of breakthroughs in the fields of automation and machine learning, feeding into the creation of autonomous manufacturing complexes and the Industry 4.0 project. Will the same incentives, grants, and reward programs succeed in revolutionizing transport and transport infrastructure? Perhaps, perhaps not - but we must try to find out. The Center for Industrial Innovation (TPI) will be expanded significantly in size - with up to approximately 60% more employees hired - and have a proportionally upscaled budget to boot. The TPI will have new responsibilities to handle, namely a series of government programs to encourage innovation in making transport by any but especially roads and rail transport means more efficient, cost-effective, and rapid.
We will first aim to experiment on the theoretical most efficient conventional high speed railway, in terms of costs, power, and speed. Obviously, we will not directly apply these findings to real life - the volatility and fickleness of reality would certainly unwittingly doom one train full of passengers or precious goods to a catastrophic disaster of some sort. Instead, the TPI will hand out grants to companies, researchers, and research institutes to model and test various different settings to compile data, which will be sent back to the TPI and collected in a database. This information will be made accessible to all companies and researchers across the nation, and further reward and grant programs will be established to entities which produce a prototype system of high speed rail transport which performs well in the fields of safety, reliability, speed, cost, and energy efficiency, in both digital and theoretical models and real-world tests. Any improvements on the current inventions HSR system will be accepted, as long as they fulfill the requirements - whether that be by improving the train bodies themselves, changing the tracks or how they are placed, or otherwise other technologies as applied to this goal. $2 billion USD will be set aside for funding the TPI’s policies in incentivizing innovation in this field, to be distributed in grants and bounty programs for companies who make breakthroughs in this field.
Scientists and engineers alike at the various institutions of research and at the most prestigious universities will, in conjunction with the R&D departments of major rail companies and other businesses, also be incentivized to work towards a prototype of the famed vactrain or vacuum train. This long-fabled hypersonic railway, with its roots in concepts and blueprints dating back to 1799, would allow trains to travel at speeds up to 8,000 kilometers per hour - an astronomical speed compared to current standards, to say the very least. Such vacuum trains would rely on the usage of tubes, tunnels, and other self-contained passages which are vacuum sealed. This would reduce air resistance substantially, possibly to the point of being negligible. The trains themselves would use magnetic levitation rather than conventional locomotion, which would completely remove the factor of drag from friction between the train and the tracks - the tracks are nonexistent. This hypersonic type of travel has been on the minds of many for decades, from engineers ecstatic to overcome the hurdle of air resistance and revolutionize transportation to investors who see the massive potential for profits in the vactrain system. However, never until now has it seen such direct investment in and support from a governmental body like the TPI - it was seen as frivolous, farfetched, and economically unviable. We, however, see the possible futures that such a revolutionary development could create. The enormous distances between cities finally defeated; travel times cut from days to hours, and from hours to minutes. However, we do recognize the importance of economic viability - we will also encourage studies into the cost-effectiveness of such a project, and weigh the advantages with the disadvantages. All in all, we will invest USD$3 billion into research in vactrain technology and accompanying tech, in the same manner as detailed above.
Finally, we will apply that which we learned and innovated in the TPI's program to incentivize AI and deep learning research, as well as autonomous vehicles, to the field of transport. As detailed in the last post, our research into autonomous transport on the micro-scale in or between factory complexes will help us gain insight on developing safe and effective driverless cars, trucks, and even trains. The aim of this, of course, will be to begin the automation of transporting freight and goods across the country. However, we must also be aware of the disastrous effect this could have on those employed in the trucking and rail industries moving cargo, and thus pursue this goal in a cautious manner. We will approach it with the concerns of all in mind - the worker, the CEO, the engineer, and the economist. Our focus will be on developing AI algorithms to assist with but not overtake the jobs of train operators, train drivers, and truckers. After this is complete, we will focus our efforts and funding on prototyping a self-driving train with minimal external interference save for orders from a command center which will ensure the train operates normally and respond to any emergency situations. With the existence of autopilot programs, this should not be at all hard. We will invest USD$800 million into developing the infrastructure and algorithms needed to make this functional.

The Future of the Trans-Siberian

The Trans-Siberian Railway is the longest and one of the most famous railways in the world. Stretching more than 9,000 km from Moscow to Vladivostok, it has seen many expansions, improvements, and alterations over the ages from its first construction in 1891. It has seen the fall of the Tsarists, and has outlived the entirety of the Soviet Union. Both today and in the past, it acts as a vital instrument which connects Siberia with the west of Russia, comparable to the carotid arteries in the neck of the human body. Its dual use as both a freight transport link and a passenger rail line has made it doubly important as it controls the flow of both goods and people between the two edges of Russia. More than 30% of Russia's exports travel along the Trans-Siberian; even more importantly in this day and age, it has become a major route for transport of goods between the West and the East in general, not merely by Russian enterprise but by Japanese, Chinese, European, and other companies. It is truly the bridge that binds the continents.
Yet, this mighty railway, which has endured the tests of time and become a monument of Russia's power, has been dwarfed in recent years by more technologically advanced, more rapid, and newer systems of transport in publicity; the Trans-Siberian, while having its passenger form known throughout popular culture, is a silent titan in freight transport. We begin to wonder - should the Trans-Siberian not be in as advantageous a position as it is, if it was not as geopolitically and economically important due to its geography, would it have already been overtaken by other forms of transport? The world has already shifted towards a trend of cargo shipping and large tankers, as well as air travel, rather than conventional trains. We cannot remain complacent, despite the Trans-Siberian remaining very profitable and important. Is that not one of the great boons of capitalism - innovation arising from competition? Our monopoly over this route allows us the liberty to stagnate and to neglect advancement; there is no real competitor as of yet, so to speak. However, it is almost certain there will be soon a service capable of rivalling, nay, outperforming the Trans-Siberian. Before this can become reality, we will move to improve the railway through the implementation of new technologies.
Firstly, a project will be undertaken to fully modernize the Trans-Siberian Railway and accommodate faster speeds for its freight line. Currently, the highest speed cargo-carrying trains travel at on the railway is approximately 100 km/h, and even this is not universal across the entire railway. In ideal terms, this would mean that travel of goods between the western Russian border and the Far East would take approximately seven days - not bad, but not optimal, either. In 2009, we unveiled the "Trans-Siberian in Seven Days" plan. In 2033, perhaps we will unveil the "Trans-Siberian in Five Days" plan, and later even the "Trans-Siberian in Three Days" plan - but that is for the future. A new project will be initiated to allow for all parts of the track to accommodate for speeds up to 105 km/h, with 100 km/h being the target for actual train speed. Tracks will be refitted and rebuilt if needed for safety purposes. We will apply parts of what we learn in our research on the optimal design of a high speed rail system to improve upon the Trans-Siberian, taking into consideration any solutions which are not unique to HSRs but can be used in conventional railways. We expect this to be done by 2035 at the latest.
After this, we will begin the second part of our Trans-Siberian improvement plan. This will be upgrading the entire cargo service to a speed of around 130 km/h, with an average speed of approximately 1,690 km per day. This would make the full journey for freight around 5 and a half days in ideal circumstances, accounting for breaks in active travel for a variety of reasons - legally mandated rest for safety reasons, for instance. Like previously, all the knowledge we have pooled on optimizing rail travel will be applied if possible to make the journey faster, more energy-efficient, and less costly. However, here is where we will also apply another field where we have innovated - two fields, in fact: AI and autonomous transport. Transport times are currently constrained by human limits and concerns over worker safety - these could be removed entirely with the introduction of self-driving trains. As detailed above, we will move towards a system where on-the-ground drivers are replaced with self-driving programs and command center employees for the sake of efficiency - this will hopefully allow us to drive trains indefinitely (so long as we have power) and nearly double our total distance travelled per day. Once completed, this would cut the journey's length in half to three days - a revolutionary speed. We expect the speed improvement to be finished by 2038 and the introduction of self-driving trains to be done by 2040 at the very latest. All of the above improvements and upgrades will be conducted by the state-owned company which owns the railway: Russian Railways.

Regional Connections

Aside from the Trans-Siberian, Russia boosts a robust network of smaller but equally important railways. These connect regional centers and cities, and are an essential enabler of the flow of people between the urban regions of Russia, whether for business, pleasure, or other purposes. However, due to the sheer vastness of Russia, these train journeys can often take upwards of three hours or more for average inter-city travel or more than an hour even for relatively close cities, which has always driven demand for faster yet still cheap rail transport to make our cities more interconnected and convenient for commuters. Our solution? High speed rail.
The various state-owned and private enterprises which own Russia's myriad of railways will be encouraged to slowly switch their conventional tracks with those capable of using high speed rail, and to replace their old railcars with vehicles suitable for HSR use. A government grant program will be established to help this transition, with minor tax subsidies as further incentive for private companies. The state-owned enterprises will simply be directed to begin the switch - one of the boons of having said companies directly controlled by the government. Important will be the designing of said vehicles, which must be far more aerodynamic in shape and have installed various parts such as regenerative brakes which allow for the recouping of energy when braking - though these are no new technologies to the train market.
Existing regional connections such as St. Petersburg to Moscow and Novosibirsk to Krasnoyarsk will be upgraded to HSR lines, significantly reducing travel times. "Clusters" of these high speed lines will be built connecting large cities to surrounding regions - for instance Moscow and cities such as Ryazan or Vladimir - as well as nearby areas outside of the main urban zone but close enough to have significant traffic from commuters going to the large cities for work and taking the trip home every day. Upgrading these railways to HSR will cut commute times and greatly convenience the people living in these areas. Demand for other direct connections between cities and large towns alike will be reviewed and taken into consideration, with the rights to construct and thus own these new lines being fairly auctioned off to private corporations or SOEs. Setting an ambitious goal of finishing these high-demand connections by 2040, projects not auctioned off will be given to local government companies or one of the major rail SOEs to complete. Progress on all of these projects will be tracked to ensure they are worked on at a steady and acceptable rate while also adhering to the standards set out by the administration.

Parts of A Whole

We will then move on to building and improving infrastructure on a smaller scale. These projects might seem less significant on their own, but added together, they will make a momentous difference in the big picture. Our focus will be on building and renovating roads and railways, although we will not be averse to also pursuing energy and electrical infrastructure projects. This, we hope, will bring all of Russia together into the bright future we seek, and regain the trust of the people amongst rural and suburban regions farther away from population centers who feel neglected.
The first project we will undertake is the Comprehensive Rail Development Plan. This plan will involve laying down thousands of miles of track to bring the joys and conveniences of rail transport to even smaller towns. USD$2 billion will be invested into subsidies and direct funding for railway construction, with the rights to construction being once again auctioned off to both private and state-owned corporations. The Department of Transport will draft a detailed plan of all the lines desired, and hopefully the companies will deliver given our incentives. These lines will be small in scale and mostly just connect several towns with a larger urban center, from which passengers can transfer lines to get to other regions. In some areas, freight lines will also be planned to improve towns' access to goods and economic connection with nearby cities, importing goods and exporting products their own industries may have manufactured.
Then, we will proceed to the National Road and Highway Improvement Scheme, which, as the name suggests, will focus on building new roads and highways, as well as repairing, upgrading, and otherwise just modernizing old ones. Unlike the previous project, we will not use any corporations in the process of completing it - not even state-owned enterprises. Work will be directly administered by the federal government, with all labor coming from the new public works department, the Federal Works and Development Program (FEPRA). Workers of FEPRA working on this scheme will be assigned to tasks in their own federal subject and local region as much as possible for the sake of logistics and morale - see “Per Aspera ad Astra” for more details on FEPRA, its operations, and its policies. Below, there will be further elaboration on the role of the FEPRA in other projects listed in this post.

Turn to the Far East

The Far East is Russia's least developed region. A harsh climate, frozen landscape, and infertile land have meant that this vast region, stretching from Lake Baikal to the Pacific Ocean, was historically always sparsely populated and undeveloped. Before the arrival of the Russian Empire, Siberian tribes and clans ruled over small areas of a few villages at most, never having the ability nor drive to unite. Various peoples filled these wastelands, many nomadic. Then, the Tsarist banner was planted on the Far East over a period of decades, and with it came Russian settlers, knowledge of the wider world, and contemporary technology. Yet, even as paved roads and later tracks replaced dirt paths and as forts and towns arose out of tribal settlements, the Far East continued to lag behind - only a few select towns and cities were truly developing to the standards of the West, and the Siberian tundra remained untamed. Even during the rule of the Soviet Union, while the Far East did experience a boom of industrial and infrastructural development, Eastern Siberia would remain a massive, sparsely populated land, with pockets of civilization, especially as urbanization meant that rural and remote areas would not grow.
We will never truly tame the cold of the Siberian winter - it is simply inhospitable to the human body and to the development of civilization. Yet, in this most desolate territory, we still find significant economic potential. Oil, natural gas, minerals, precious gemstones, and other natural resources hide in plain sight, buried just beneath the soil; the mighty ebb and flow of rivers already power hundreds of thousands of people's homes through dams and HEP stations. The Far East, almost paradoxically, is our most valuable geographical possession - it links us to the Pacific Ocean and to the economic opportunities that entails, and it is the land bordering China, another great player on the world stage and a trade partner. Great efforts must be made to invest in infrastructure in this crucial region to not only develop its economy and unleash its potential, but also to secure all of its locational benefits.
A new plan uncreatively dubbed the "Far Eastern Plan" will be drafted with the stated aim of building a robust network of pipelines, highways, and both passenger and freight rail, to bridge the huge gap that spans any two cities in the region. USD$4 billion will be invested into this plan, employing local labor through the FEPRA system for its workforce. As in the National Road and Highway Improvement Scheme, seemingly small but important roads, paths, and highways will be built in accordance with modern standards, and existing roads will be examined, with those not up to these standards renovated - for instance, some dirt paths might be paved if regular foot traffic is relatively heavy through that area compared to others. The track laying, meanwhile, will involve both smaller, localized building of tracks for use by rural and town populations, and large central projects themselves individually more significant. Rights to build these connections will be auctioned off fairly again, with some exceptions for particularly small but strategically important rail lines and the major projects, which will be brought into SOE folds. These projects will include a new Yakutsk-Magadan and Vladivostok-Khabarovsk-Magadan line, both with freight and passenger rail, as well as a high-speed connection between Novosibirsk, Irkutsk, and Vladivostok.
Simultaneously, the ports of Magadan and Vladivostok will be significantly expanded for the growth of Pacific trade. The ports’ capacity for freighters will increase as new and larger wharves are built, and facilities for the transport of cargo such as cranes installed. Existing equipment and machinery will be reviewed and replaced should they not meet standards. Our aim will be to use this increased capacity and better technology to move cargo on and off ships at record speeds for the maximization of efficiency. Companies exporting oil or natural gas to parts of Asia not directly connected with Russia will be encouraged to use tankers through these two ports rather than any intermediary infrastructure in other countries such as China. Speaking of energy exports, new pipelines will be laid to export our excess fossil fuels to neighboring countries, namely both Koreas, Japan, China, and Mongolia. We will propose to the DPRK and ROK the construction of another Trans-Korean Pipeline, providing even more gas for consumers and companies in both countries and lowering costs for both Korean and Russian gas corporations. We will ask that this be a joint venture between Gazprom, KOGAS, and North Korea’s state-owned gas companies.
Sakhalin has always been a point of contention between Russia and Japan, but perhaps we can bridge our differences with, well, a literal bridge. Connecting Hokkaido and the outermost parts of Outer Manchuria in Khabarovsk Krai, we will finish the Sakhalin Tunnel, a project which has laid dormant and incomplete since 2009, while asking the Japanese government to cooperate with us on the construction of a Sakhalin-Hokkaido bridge with highways and railway tracks. Accompanying this will be a new oil and gas pipeline, the Okhotsk-Hokkaido Pipeline, to make the transport of both resources easier and less costly across the two nations. The costs for these projects will be shared between Russia and Japan. Furthermore, we also wish to build a new pipeline, the Manchuria Stream, to connect with China and Mongolia, again cheapening energy transport. Gazprom will cooperate with Mongolian and Chinese companies, with jurisdiction over their respective countries’ parts of the pipeline.

On The Role Of FEPRA

We will make an effort to mobilize the population in this grand infrastructure reform and make use of FEPRA to provide employment to the people. For publicly owned works such as roads and some railways, FEPRA labor and with few exceptions only FEPRA labor will be used to build, replace, and upgrade our transport systems, with our aim being to employ workers from a specific federal subject or area for projects in that area for logistical reasons. However, larger-scale projects which may require workers from outside the federal subject will have offers for workers to stay in temporary residences built on site to house them, in exchange for a minor pay cut (as stated in Per Aspera ad Astra). For projects involving corporations, private or state-owned, FEPRA will act essentially as any other construction company. Whichever corporation is in charge of the project or the part of the project will auction off a contract, in which private construction companies and FEPRA will all compete with each other.

Curiousity question: Do flights from Moscow to Irkutsk and back operate normally, when there is like -50°C in Irkutsk?

What's a Russian's view of global warming?

The dream of getting to know Russia.

An Island Where No One Lives (part 3)

Part 1
Part 2
I landed in Moscow half an hour ago. I'm exhausted by the long flight, and I still need to get to Yakutsk. I have about two hours ahead of me to keep telling you my story. I'm fairly certain you don't believe me and think I'm crazy by now. Too bad.
After the vurdalak climbed out straight of my mirror, I followed him to the pechka room. He didn't pay any attention to me at all. I was now angry rather than frightened because I didn't want the monster to hurt my grandmother. It didn't matter that I had no idea she existed a couple of days ago. I had met her now, and I wanted to protect her as well as the rest of the family.
The vurdalak walked in this unnatural, wobbling kind of way and turned left to the part of the room reserved for my dead cousin, ignoring the grandmother. Was the vurdalak going to devour the dead body or something?
I had to stop, because my heart felt like it would jump out of my chest. I realized then what it meant when people literally died of fear. Their body couldn't take all the stress and the shock. I tried to calm myself, to tell myself that the vurdalak wouldn't hurt me, but in truth, I didn't know anything. I didn't bother asking Andrei or my grandmother what they were protecting the mainland from on their forsaken island, why they were covering the mirrors... I know now, looking back, that I was stupid and ignorant.
I crept forward, to the curtain. The vurdalak ripped it off, exposing my dead cousin to the rest of the house. There was something horrible, something indecent about the way he did it. Something predatory too.
I was still quite far, and I didn't dare come any closer because the vurdalak climbed right into the coffin.
Even as I type this, I still shudder with irrepressible horror. Had this really happened to me? The rational, educated, very normal me. The woman who laughs out loud when she watches horror movies. Surprisingly, I wasn't laughing as I observed the vurdalak, hiding behind the pechka. Not laughing at all.
Tiptoeing, trying not to attract any attention to my miserable self, I approached the separation, the invisible line that used to be protected by the curtain. The vurdalak, huffing and puffing, was sitting astride my dead cousin. Then he sort of lay on top of the body, stretching his arms and legs. I whimpered.
Unwelcome images populated my head, images of the monster devouring my cousin, chomping on his flesh, blood pouring down his chin... I gagged.
But the vurdalak wasn't doing anything, just lying there, motionless. Suddenly, he began to melt into the body, as if absorbed by it. For a while, nothing was happening. The vurdalak vanished gradually, and the dead body, with its arms folded across the chest, was still. I almost persuaded myself that no one climbed out of the mirror and that I dreamed up the entire thing. It even sounded plausible for a while.
I took a shallow breath and turned to walk away, when it seemed to me that the coffin shuddered as if the body jerked inside of it. Stupid, right? I rubbed my eyes, persuaded that the lack of light and sleep was playing weird jokes on me. The coffin shuddered harder.
I made a cautious step back, ready to run out of the house and swim all the way back to the mainland if I had to.
My dead cousin, whose name I didn't even know, sat up in the coffin. I yelped.
He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes wide open but unseeing... There was something wrong with those eyes. The color seemed alright, a grayish-blue, but they didn't look human, didn't have the light of the soul or whatnot inside them. Just two glassy balls.
I let out a single, small scream.
He wrapped both his hands around the sides of the coffin and got out of it. Just like that. Casually. Like it was normal. Like similar things happened all the time on their goddamn island.
The cousin was standing right in front of me, looking at the door behind me. I jumped to the side, letting him pass. He walked out of the house, a bit unsteady on his new (borrowed, stolen, occupied?) legs, leaving the door wide open.
I started screaming. The sound grew louder and louder until I could hear nothing else but this wretched noise. And I couldn't stop, either. My throat felt raw. I couldn't stop anyway.
Suddenly, cold water poured into my face, effectively shutting me up. Andrei, who stood in front of me, shook me by the shoulders for good measure. I stared at him wide-eyed.
"Why did you uncover the mirror?" he asked.
"W-what?"
"The mirror," Andrei repeated, shaking me again. "Why. The. Fuck. You. Uncovered. The. Mirror."
His harsh biting tone, accentuated by hard shakes, brought back necessary clarity in my foggy mind.
"Stop, Andrei," the grandmother said, stepping up from behind him and putting her hand on his shoulder. "We should have told her why it was dangerous. She didn't know."
"You can tell me now," I said, stepping a little away from them to give myself space.
"The Nechist comes through the mirrors," Darya explained.
I hadn't noticed she was there at all, but her presence made me feel better. As if she could magically fix things.
"Why not just remove all the mirrors in the house?" I asked.
"Because we need them to see what's happening on the other side," the grandmother answered.
I didn't know what to say anymore. This was so over my head. And quite frankly, despite seeing the vurdalak with my own eyes, I still didn't believe them. They looked, talked and behaved like crazy folk, legitimate nutcases.
"I'm sorry," I said, and I'll willingly admit that it was not my best moment, right there. "I'm sorry I screwed up with the mirror. I really am. But I want to go home now."
"Not before we catch the vurdalak and send him back to his dark places," Andrei snapped. "You are going to help us."
I started backing away, shaking my head. Tears poured down my cheeks. "Please, just let me go home."
"You're one of us," Darya said softly. "That's why I called you. When my son died... We need someone to take his place."
"Take his place? That's nice."
"Natasha," the grandmother said in her calm but firm voice. "I know you didn't ask for this, and you weren't prepared like Vasily has been his entire life. But we have no choice."
I needed to resort to Andrei once again, who translated through gritted teeth. I could tell he was mad at me. Not that I blamed him...
"We'll go when it's daylight," the grandmother said. "Go, sleep now, child. I'll tell you what you need to know in the morning."
"Sleep?" I repeated. "I can't sleep."
"You have to," Andrei snapped, cupping my elbow. "Or else you'll do something stupid again."
I wanted to protest but decided it was better to keep my mouth shut. So far, my presence on the island created nothing but trouble, and I didn't like it. I let Andrei take me to my room and climbed into bed. Without a word to me, he covered the mirror, then left me alone.
Unsurprisingly, I couldn't sleep a wink. Whenever I closed my eyes, I would see the horrible vurdalak climbing out of the mirror and taking possession of Vasily's body. It was all my fault. All of it.
I sat up abruptly, persuaded I heard voices. What was it this time? Witches, vampires, mermaids? I got out of bed and got dressed. Enough of walking around in my nightgown. I also scanned my belongings for some weapon, but the best I could come up with was a pair of nail scissors. Would do for now.
The voices grew louder and more animated. They sounded normal, human, but what did I know at that point?
I walked out of my room again, for the second time during that one horrible night. People were talking in the main room, arguing. I strained to hear them better, wishing I had been more willing to learn Russian when my mother persisted teaching me.
I walked closer, careful to stay out of sight. I can't be sure that I heard and understood everything correctly, considering my limited linguistic skills. I'm relaying their conversation the best I can below.
The most vocal person of all was Andrei, unmistakably furious with me and what I had done.
"She needs to go home immediately," he was saying. "I'll take her."
Why had he changed his mind about me helping them?
"No," came the grandmother's terse reply. "She's our blood. She must become the Watcher in Vasily's place."
"That's impossible, Anna," an unfamiliar male voice said. "I don't blame her for tonight, anyone might have made such mistake without knowing the consequences. But being a Watcher requires training and knowledge she doesn't have."
"The mirror showed me a message last night," the grandmother, Anna, said. "Natasha is staying here."
Multiple voices started speaking over each other, arguing. I couldn't make out much. I just knew they were arguing about me. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. I was so dreadfully tired. But I needed to know more. I needed to understand.
"Others would agree with me than she's a nuisance," Andrei said when they calmed down a bit.
"Others," Anna replied coldly, "officially approved her presence here and asked me to conduct an initiation."
Boy, did I hate the sound of that...
They started arguing again, then I heard Darya speak up, "We need to stop the vurdalak and get my son's soul back from the Dark Places. Natasha must help us."
I started shaking my head. This wasn't real. If I repeated it long enough, I would wake up at home, safe and sound. It would all be over. Because nothing of this was real. Nothing of what I witnessed so far existed. It was an elaborate fantasy and—
"She would have us all killed," Andrei stated calmly. "I'm vetoing this decision. You know I have the right to, Anna."
"Yes, you do," she answered softly. "But you won't."
"She's a selfish brat. She can't be trusted."
"She's not," Anna continued. "I thought we had more time to warn her, but I was mistaken. Andrei, you can't treat a human being like a dog. You tell it to sit, and it sits. Even the dogs don't like blind obedience. We should have contacted her way before Vasily died. It's such a shame that Verochka, her poor mother, didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore..."
Anna quieted down, and even though I couldn't see her, her pain was palpable in the air.
"She wouldn't accept it," Andrei snapped. "You'll see. She's too used to her little comforts and—"
"I am accepting," I said in Russian, stepping out of my hiding place and into the open. "I must repair my mistake."
Everyone turned to look at me. They were over a dozen people present, and I only knew Anna, Darya and Andrei. Upon seeing me, Anna stood from her seat, walked to me and wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back, feeling like I would break down in hysterical sobs any moment now.
Letting go of me, she turned around to the others. "The council is over. Everyone should leave now. I must talk to my granddaughter."
No one argued as they started getting dressed in their winter coats and leaving. Andrei threw me a cold, angry stare.
"Please, stay," I said softly. "I want to be certain I understand everything grandmother will tell me."
Without saying anything, he shrugged out of his coat and sat down on a bench.
"Do you want to know how I became the Watcher?" Anna asked. I nodded. "I was very much like you, actually. That's why I'm not angry at you because of the mirror. I made a much worse mistake when I was younger. A mistake I still cannot fully pay for. And I didn't make it out of ignorance, like you..."
I'm in Yakutsk now, and I have no idea how to reach New Siberia, to find my family. No one's meeting me this time. They don't expect me to come back, not even my dear, sweet grandmother. I told them I would never return, and I meant it. But here I am. It's in my blood. Being the Watcher is in my blood.
It's quite late now. I'll take a room in a hotel and will try to ask around how to get to the island. Someone is bound to help me. When I get a free moment, I'll tell you what grandmother Anna told me about her youth. Now, I need to go.
Wish me luck.
Part 4

An Island Where No One Lives (part 4)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Guess what? I'm stuck at the hotel in Yakutsk and no one can tell me how to get to New Siberia. Most don't know what it is, others scoff and say that no one lives on those islands, and it's not a place for the tourists. I came up with a ridiculous excuse that I'm writing a paper, but I'm pretty certain no one believes me.
I'm getting desperate. I can't tell anyone that my family lives out there, because I don't want to make trouble for them. What should I do? How can I find them now?
At first, I'm going to have to remember the trains Andrei and I boarded. It's tough, considering I couldn't even pronounce names of the towns we went to, let alone recall them. But it's important for me to be there, to return to the island. I have no doubt about it now. Maybe I could hire a driver, hoping that the money I brought with me would suffice.
But first I must tell you Anna's story. I'm a nervous wreck, but if I don't finish, nobody will ever know about the Watchers because once I reach New Siberia, I don't know when or if I'll have reception again...
It's important for me to tell you. Even if you don't believe me. Even if you think I'm just one of those lunatics spreading their fake-creepy stories all over Internet.
It doesn't matter. There are Watchers all over the world. They protect the living from the... well, the unliving. And you must know that they exist.
Below, I relay what Grandmother Anna has told me. I exclude interruptions and hesitations due to certain places where I had to ask Andrei to translate for me.
Anna was born and spent her youth in Tver, which is quite a big city and has nothing to do with tiny villages I always pictured in connection to my family. Her father was a respected journalist, working in a local newspaper. Her mother stayed at home with her, sometimes helped by a grandmother, Anna's father's mother, whose superstitions and beliefs weren't welcome in a modern, educated family.
When Anna was nineteen, she met her first love, a handsome young man called Sergei to whom she got quickly engaged. They were very in love with each other, and Anna dreamed of building a big family.
About a month before the wedding, Sergei got sick. No one knew what was wrong with him. The doctors would only shrug, advising him to stay in bed and rest until it passed. But it, whatever it might be, was not passing. Instead, it was intensifying. Sergei got weaker and weaker, pale like a sheet, but he refused to go to the hospital, and after the way he was treated in there, like some faker, Anna couldn't blame him.
Anna stayed with him, trying to heal the unknown disease with the herbs she had from her grandmother. It didn't seem to work.
One night, she woke up in her camp bed installed in her own room that she had given up to Sergei. She felt that something had gone wrong. It was dim dark in the room, but when she tried to switch on the lamp, it didn't work. Sergei was sitting up, looking at something on the wall ahead of him. She could see his pale face bathed in moonlight pouring from the window. Anna felt a jolt of fear at first, but then there came a burst of joy. Sergei was finally recovering!
Anna rushed to him and threw her arms around him, but he didn't move, didn't hug her back, didn't say a single word. He felt stiff and cold in her embrace. When Anna pulled back to look in his eyes, she noticed that they weren't as vivid and bright as before, but had this strange glassiness about them, as if he couldn't focus them on her, or didn't see her at all.
She talked to him, tried to make him answer but nothing worked. Concluding that he was still sick, Anna gently pushed him back on the pillows and left him alone till morning. Yet, once morning came, nothing changed. Sergei was as unresponsive and silent as before. He ate his breakfast, then lunch and dinner, all without speaking to anyone.
When the night fell, he put his shoes and coat on, moving with strange, unsettling jerkiness that should have triggered something in Anna's brain, but she was too busy trying to stop him. He left anyway, without a glance or a word for her.
Anna had quite nearly gotten sick herself of worry. She didn't understand what was wrong, nor how she could help. She called her grandmother.
When she came, she locked herself up with Anna in Sergei's room and made Anna tell her everything in the smallest details.
"We must find and kill him," Anna's grandmother said.
"What? What are you talking about? No!"
"Don't you understand, child? Sergei died last night. And in his place, came a vurdalak. You didn't cover the mirrors, did you?"
Anna shook her head. "You told me yourself, it's very bad to cover the mirrors when everyone is alive in the house. And Sergei didn't die, anyway. He's alive and well. You'll see for yourself when he comes back."
"When he comes back, when it comes back, we must kill it."
Anna's body felt like it was frozen in terror. Her grandmother couldn't be right. While Anna knew about the vurdalaks, she refused to believe that her Sergei had become one. Yes, he did seem strange, scary even, but that's only because he was still sick. He didn't die. Anna would have felt it deep in her heart if he had died, and she felt... Nothing. The emptiness surprised her. She thought of herself as a sensitive person, someone capable of sensing what others couldn't. But when she tried to feel something about Sergei and what happened to him, there was just this gaping void inside her chest.
Anna started crying. Yes, he was a vurdalak, and she didn't save him. She didn't cover the mirrors; she was asleep the entire time. She let this happen to the man she loved, and his soul was now stuck in the Dark Places.
"Can we save him?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"No," her grandmother answered tersely. "We need to find a way to send your parents out of the apartment and get ourselves ready. Do you remember how to kill a vurdalak?"
"Drive an aspen stake through its chest, but..."
"Do you have them at the ready like I told you to always have?"
"Yes, but..."
"Anna," her grandmother said, taking her by the hand. "Anya-darling. I know that it's hard for you, that your heart is broken. But you must do what needs to be done. There's no other way."
While her grandmother was gone, shooing Anna's parents out of the house, she went to her hiding spot under the bed, where a few floorboards were loose. Anna pried them off to take out the aspen stakes, some holy water, a sack of salt and a cross she had gone to a church to bless.
While Anna was not initiated yet, she still knew the basics of banishing. This would be her first. And God knew, she didn't want to do it. She sat there, the stakes scattered on the floor before her, tears flooding her face. Her grandmother had made a mistake. She misjudged the situation because she didn't know everything, she hadn't seen Sergei.
Anna took one of the stakes and straightened up.
Someone rang on the door.
Anna rushed out of the room to be there before her grandmother, whose hearing was getting worse with age. Sometimes she didn't hear the doorbell. Anna sprinted to the foyer and threw the door open. Sergei was standing in front of her.
Looking at him, and despite all her love, she could no longer deny it.
It wasn't Sergei anymore. Before her was an uliving creature, a vurdalak, its glassy eyes, staring past her, its face ashen. He was now taller and broader, his features were altered somehow, everything human about him gone. Anna wanted to scream but no sound came out of her mouth. His arms were reaching to her, but not for a hug. To murder her. To tear her live heart out of her chest. Anna made a step back, shaking her head, her vision blurred because of tears.
"Go away," she whispered. "I don't want to kill you. Just go away."
He kept moving towards her, like he hadn't heard at all, like he was unable to understand human speech anymore. Anna was paralyzed by fear. She couldn't move, couldn't tear her eyes off his terrifying face.
He was getting closer.
And closer.
He put his hand on Anna's shoulder and turned her around, his chest pressed against her back. He felt so cold. Not alive. Anna couldn't doubt this anymore. She stopped breathing as he put his hand on her chest, right on top of her heart.
"Please, don't..." Anna whispered. "I know you're still in there somewhere. I know you still remember me. Please, don't hurt me."
She felt the vurdalak shudder behind her, as if something startled him. He released Anna, backed to the door, opened it and vanished seconds before Anna's grandmother ran into the foyer, brandishing an aspen stake.
"Where..." she wheezed. "Where is it?"
"He ran away," Anna said. "I didn't have a chance to kill him."
Her grandmother stared at her. "You let it go, Anya?"
"No, I..."
"Don't lie to me!" her grandmother boomed. "He's no longer human, Anya! Everything that you loved is gone. What's left behind is just a shell. You need to understand that and let go of your feelings. They're crippling you."
Anna tilted her chin up. "Must I become like you? Heartless?"
That earned her a slap in the face, a harsh slap across her cheek.
"Don't dare judge me, child."
She turned on her heels and left the apartment, banging the front door shut behind her. Anna stood still, her heart like a piece of ice in her chest...
The rest, I learned in bits and pieces, since my grandmother's story started trailing off and lost its flow. I could tell that as we neared the part where my mother, Vera, was born, it got harder and harder for Anna to talk.
Apparently, her grandmother refused speaking to her after that night, and Anna didn't know if she managed to find the vurdalak. Despite everything, she didn't want for him to die.
But the Watchers from Moscow had found Anna anyway and initiated her. A new life had begun. A life full of vurdalaks, drowned witches and all the other scary beings no longer alive but still lingering in our world. Anna felt like she was gifted at what she was doing even though it wasn't giving her happiness.
It's among the Watchers that Anna met her husband, my grandfather. They had a daughter together. Vera. But Anna didn't think she could raise a child. It was too dangerous. Besides, her group of Watchers kept traveling across the entire Russia, and Anna knew it wasn't a good life for a baby.
Thanks to some remaining influence of her parents, the little girl got adopted in the USA. My throat got dry at this point. I never even knew that my mother was adopted. I knew that she had roots in Russia, somewhere, but I didn't realize that my beloved grandparents, who died quite early, weren't my real grandparents.
Tears rolled down my face. "And Darya?" I whispered. "Why did you keep her?"
"Darya came much later when I..." Anna looked away, but I could still see tears in her eyes. "Natasha, my darling girl. You must know that I always-always regretted giving my Verochka away. I found her and wanted to take her back, but it was already too late. Her adoptive parents adored her. It would have broken their hearts if I took my daughter back. When she grew up, I contacted them, and they allowed me to tell her the truth."
"Wait," I said. "She knew? She knew and didn't tell me anything? Why? Why was she taking me to see some distant family if I had you and Aunt Darya?"
"Verochka... She hadn't forgiven me. She didn't want me to see you, to know you. I will forever regret abandoning her."
I couldn't help but wonder what my life would have been in Russia, raised by the Watchers. I couldn't repress a shiver. A vurdalaks-free childhood was a gift I would always be thankful for. To both Anna and my mother.
I saw tears in her eyes again, got up from my seat and crouched before her.
"I don't blame you for anything, grandma. I love you."
She held me close to her for a while, then released me, her eyes dry again.
"We must go on with the initiation now. We have little time to recover Vasily from the Dark Places. It would be a dire and dangerous journey."
"I'm ready," I said firmly. "I must repair my error."
Anna looked at me for a long time, then nodded.
I really must start preparing my trip to New Siberia now. I'll tell you the rest later if I can. Wish me luck.
Part 5

Climate change: “Virtus vermum” (Part 2)

Part 1

With our assistance, Ivan made it out of the crater. Once on solid ground, he lay on his back and stared up at us with a wide smile showing behind the plastic of the hazmat suit. He unclipped the metal jar from his suit and held it up to me. “Look Alicia. Look Bradley.”
I unscrewed the lid and looked inside. Five or six worms were writhing around, glowing red. I showed them to Bradley. “Those are really bioluminescent worms down there? Jesus Christ, there must be a million of them.” For a moment, the intense grief gripping his face had dissipated, and he looked interested in life again.
Ivan stood up. “Just so. A million. I have never seen it. I have never seen even one such worm, that glows red.”
I looked down into the crater one more time as I screwed the lid back on the container. I knew that it was an amazing discovery, one that would shock the world and be plastered over the internet; a million glowing red worms at the bottom of a mysterious crater. I handed the jar back to Ivan. “I presume that you got what you came for, then? We should be getting back.” I looked at Bradley. The sour look had returned to his face.
“Of course,” said Ivan, smiling. “Let us retrieve Amy, return to our camp, and radio the helicopter. You will allow me a few photographs from above first?”
“Take your bloody pictures and be quick about it,” said Bradley.
Ivan shot a dozen photos and then we walked back up the hill. When we reached the top, Ivan snapped a few more photos and said, “I think it is safe to take off suits.” I took one last look at the crater before I took off my hazmat suit and headed down the hill with the others, back towards Amy’s corpse.
As we got closer, I saw that Bradley was crying again. I felt like crying as well, but I didn’t. I would save it for later, when I was with Carlos in bed; after business had been attended to. As we turned a bend in the path, we saw it. A wolf, large and grey, was hunched over Amy’s body, pulling her intestines out with its teeth. I felt my stomach lurch.
“GET AWAY FROM HER!” shouted Bradley. The wolf turned its head and growled at us around its meal. “Shoot it Ivan!”
Ivan pulled his gun out of his coat and fired it, not at the wolf, but at a nearby tree, causing a chunk of bark to tear loose and soar through the air. The wolf ran -- a string of intestines still in its jaw, trailing behind – and disappeared into the thick forest.
Bradley dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Ivan walked over and, to my surprise, put his hand gently on Bradley’s shoulder. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” growled Bradley.
Ivan lifted his hand and sighed. He walked over to Amy’s body, unrolled his hazmat suit again, and wrapped it around her midsection, covering the gore. “Turn around,” he said. I did, but Bradley did not. When I looked again, the arrow was gone from her head. He must have pushed it through, rather than pulled it, or else her forehead would not have looked so clean. “I will lift under her arms, Bradley, and you lift her legs behind you.”
“Fuck you,” said Bradley. “I’ll take her under the arms.” He walked over and began to lift her, but turned pale and dropped to the ground himself.
“I’ll take her legs,” I said. “Ivan, you take her arms. Bradley, you lead the way.”
Bradley turned his head and was sick. Then, still quite pale, he stood up, wiped his mouth, and said, “Okay. I’ll lead the way.”
And that is how we proceeded through the woods, with Bradley in front, followed by me, holding the cold dead legs of my colleague and friend, with Ivan in the rear, his jar of worms clipped to his belt. The foul odor of Amy’s mutilated viscera moved with us every step of the way.
*
When we emerged from the woods, I saw a dozen or so men, including Carlos, standing in front of Alyosha’s house. Alyosha’s corpse was at their feet. Carlos saw me and began walking over, his face overtaken with worry. “Alicia….” Then he saw that I was carrying Amy’s body. He began running. “What the hell happened?” he shouted.
Bradley was scowling at Alyosha’s body. He spat in that direction as the villagers watched. Their faces were expressionless, watching us carefully. “Bradley,” said Ivan. “I will talk to them. You stay here. Alicia, we put Amy down now.”
We set Amy’s body on the ground and I hugged onto Carlos who was staring in shock at the corpse. Now the tears were streaming down my face, and I was sobbing. Carlos patiently stroked the back of my head in silence. But still, matters were unsettled. I took a deep breath, blinked away the tears and broke away from Carlos in order to watch Ivan. He had reached the villagers and they were speaking calmly over Aloysha’s body – too calmly, it seemed to me. Ivan pointed first at Alyosha, then at Amy, then himself, then Alyosha again. It was clear that he was recounting the order of the killings. After some discussion, two men broke away from the group along with Ivan and headed towards us. One of them bent over Amy’s head and inspected the arrow wound.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” said Bradley.
“Bradley,” said Ivan in a completely flat tone, “I will shot you.”
Bradley scowled, but said nothing more.
The villager lifted Amy’s head and looked at the back of it, where the arrow had been pushed through. He turned to Ivan and said something; Ivan responded. The man then pointed to Amy’s abdomen, still wrapped tightly in Ivan’s hazmat suit. Ivan talked for a minute, and then the man stood up and the two villagers walked with Ivan back to the group still standing over Alyosha. They resumed their conversation for several minutes.
At last, Ivan walked back to where Bradley, Carlos, and I were standing, over Amy’s corpse. “We are okay I think,” he said. “I told them that we are calling for helicopter now. We can stay until it comes. They will burn Alyosha in front of his house tonight.” He paused, looking down at Amy. “Now we must decide what to do with her. They will let us burn her, behind the house.”
“No,” said Bradley. “She’s coming home with me.”
Flies had begun to gather around the body. The stench was overpowering now. “We should burn her, Bradley,” I said. “I knew Amy well.” I checked the urge to add that I knew her much better than Bradley did, who had only known her for a week. I checked the urge to tell him that he had no right to make this decision – least of all to bring her back to London. I checked the urge to tell him that by the time we made it back to civilization, her body would be rotten, and by the time we made it back west, it would be weeks later and the funeral bills would be astronomical. That plan was insane, as was he, at the moment. Instead, I simply said: “This is what she would have wanted.” And it was true, I felt.
Bradley bit his lip. “God,” he said, “she was so excited to be here. Said it was so beautiful here.” He began sobbing. “Do you really think this is what she would have wanted?” he asked, his face torn with pain, looking at me.
“Yes,” I said. “We will have a service for her tonight. We will talk about what a beautiful soul Amy was.”
“Okay,” said Bradley, now with relief. “Okay, yes. We will burn her tonight.”
“We go inside now and call helicopter,” said Ivan. He pointed to the villagers. “If we pay them, they will watch over Amy, to make sure no animal comes.”
“No,” said Bradley. “Fuck them. I’ll stay.”
Ivan shrugged and Carlos and I walked with him towards the house while Bradley stayed with the body. The villagers stepped aside for us, and I looked briefly down at Alyosha’s corpse. There were three entry wounds: two in the chest, and one in the center of his forehead. We passed him by and went inside.
*
Carlos and I went into our room while Ivan used the radio. I told him everything that had happened, sobbing through the portion where Amy was killed, and then again when we came back to her body. Carlos wept quietly as well. When I was finished, we lay holding each other for a long time.
“This is going to sound insensitive,” Carlos said, “but what is burning in my mind just now is that crater. All of the others that I know about have been barren… maybe a frozen lake at the bottom with no life growing within. But a seemingly solid mass of glowing worms? That is absolutely incredible.”
“No,” I said. “We are honest with each other. That is what I keep coming back to as well, despite the horror and the tragedy. It was the most mysteriously amazing thing I have ever seen with my own eyes.”
Carlos sighed. “I wish I could have seen it. But we have to go, don’t we? The situation with the villagers isn’t tenable.”
“It’s not,” I agreed. “Nor, I think, the situation with Bradley. He has convinced himself that he was in love with Amy. I don’t think that he will last in good health for any amount of time here. We have to get him back.”
“We should probably go back out there and keep him company,” said Carlos. “It’s not good for him to be alone, I don’t think. I just needed to know what happened.”
“Yes, let’s go. But we can see Ivan first. I want to show you the photographs that he took of the crater. And the worms.”
“I would like that,” said Carlos.
We got out of bed and went into the communal room, where Ivan was drinking from a bottle of vodka. “Day after tomorrow, helicopter will arrive,” he said. “Tomorrow, we stay low.”
“Can you show Carlos the pictures you took of the crater?” I asked. “And the worms you brought back?”
Ivan grinned widely. He reached across the table to where his digital camera was sitting, turned it on, and found the photographs of the crater. Carlos paged through them in wonder. “My God,” he said, “it’s incredible.”
Then Ivan set the jar of worms on the table. He had already transferred them from the metal jar to a glass jar with a metal lid, into which he had poked several air holes. They were writhing around in there, red and glowing.
*
That night, we built a pyre for Amy and burned her body, while we passed the bottle around and talked about her. Even Ivan had a few kind and humorous words to say, garnered from correspondences and the few days that he had traveled with her. We heard wild shouts and music coming from the other side of the house, where Alyosha’s funeral was being conducted. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting meat, and I had to keep it from my mind that it was the burning flesh of my colleague and friend that I smelled. The vodka helped a great deal. Finally, we retired, while Bradley stayed by the fire, still drinking from the bottle.
In the morning, I awoke before Carlos and went into the communal room to make coffee. Ivan was standing there, and when he saw me, he pointed to the table with a pained expression on his face.
The glass jar that had held the worms was empty. They had apparently eaten a large hole through the lid, and were nowhere to be seen.
*
Ivan, Carlos, and I sat at the table, sipping bitter coffee, staring at the empty jar. A search of the house had turned up nothing but Bradley sleeping in his room on the floor next to two empty bottles.
“I must go back,” said Ivan. “I must bring samples.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Carlos immediately.
“No,” I said. “Alyosha was trying to stop us from reaching that crater. That’s clear to me now. Who will be in the woods this time, arrow notched, waiting? How many will there be?”
Ivan shook his head. “Alyosha was crazy. The villagers know this. That is reason we are not all dead.”
“We should get permission,” said Carlos. “We should talk to them beforehand, let them know that we are leaving tomorrow and must make one more trip to the crater.”
Ivan waved his hand in the air. “Fine,” he said.
“Even if it were safe to traverse those woods again,” I said, “it is not safe, what you did yesterday, Ivan, the way that you climbed down there with just a rope.”
“We can make a harness,” said Carlos. “That’s not a problem. Alicia. I want to see that crater in person. And while I’m out there, I want to take some measurements. After all, that’s nominally why I’m here.”
I sighed. I knew that I had lost. “Okay,” I said. “But I have to stay here with Bradley. He can’t go out there again and he can’t be alone.”
“He’s a grown man,” said Carlos frowning. “I had hoped that you would come too.”
“No,” said Ivan. “She is right. Bradley… he is crazy.”
“He’s grieving,” I said.
Ivan waved his hand in the air again. “Fine. Grieving.”
“One more thing,” I said, looking directly into Ivan’s eyes. “You give the gun to Carlos, and he carries it.”
Ivan frowned. “We will be safer if I have gun.”
I thought back to when Amy had died. Bradley and I had been ready to turn around and carry Amy with us. Then Ivan had pointed the gun at us, with a wild look in his eyes. “It’s non-negotiable,” I said. “Carlos carries the pistol.”
Ivan waved his hand in the air a third time. “Fine,” he muttered. He stood up, went over to his sleeping matt, withdrew the gun from under the foot, and then dropped it on the table. Carlos looked at it uncertainly.
“Take it,” I said.
Carlos picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and set it back down. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll carry it.”
I heard a groan, and then Bradley was running past us, towards the exterior door. He opened it and retched. Through the doorway, I saw a few villagers still sitting around the smoldering funeral pyre of Alyosha, bottles in hand. They looked in at us impassively. Bradley wiped his mouth, shut the door, and sat down with us, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Bloody hell,” he said through a dry mouth whose reek reached across the table to my nose. “Tell me we have some strong painkillers in the first aid kit.” His eyes were bloodshot; almost pure red.
*
By midmorning, my husband had left with Ivan, and Bradley had retired back to his room. I heard him groaning in there, as I sat down at my laptop to begin to write up my experiences. I like to write important experiences down, shortly after they occur, or while they are occurring, in order to keep a record of how things really happened, unmolested by the tricks of memory. The result of that morning’s writing was much of what you have read so far.
By noon, it had begun to rain, lightly at first, and then in a heavy, steady downpour. I grew worried, hoping that my husband and Ivan were on their way back. The climb into the crater had been dangerous enough the day before; slick with rain, the walls would surely be impossible to scale. But something told me that Ivan would attempt it anyway.
My thoughts were pierced by a terrible scream coming from Bradley’s room. I rushed in to find him sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Y… yes,” said Bradley, weakly. “Just a nightmare.” All of the color had drained out of his face. Two red bloodshot eyes stared out of a deathly pale face.
I brought him some water and sat down on the bed next to him. “Tomorrow, we will be out of this place,” I said. “I want you to see a doctor in Yakutsk before we head back to Moscow, yes?”
He lifted the glass with a trembling hand and drank, spilling much of it down his chin. “No, no,” he said, “I’m fine, just a bit much to drink last night, eh? Jesus though,” he said, attempting a chuckle but achieving more of a choked gasp, “what a fool. Ach, my head feels like it’s going to explode, but I’ll be just fine Alicia. Just need to sleep it off.”
Nothing about him looked fine. “At least let me take your temperature.” He nodded, so I went out and rummaged through the first aid kit to retrieve the thermometer and some acetaminophen, in case he had a fever. As it turned out, he did have a fever, of 105 degrees Fahrenheit. I made him swallow the pills as I held the water glass steady, and told him to keep resting.
“Thanks, doc,” he said, giving an anemic smile. He lay down and I began to leave. “Alicia….”
“Yes?”
“You’re a good friend. Amy was lucky to have you in her life. I know I’m a mess just now. I’ll come out of it. Don’t worry about me. Yeah?”
“Sure, Bradley. You just get some rest, okay?”
He gave me a thumbs-up with his trembling hand, and I closed the door on my way out of the room.
I wrote a few more paragraphs in my electronic journal, made some tea, and picked up the history of that region of Siberia that I was half way through. I read for a while, trying to put the anxiety – anxiety about my husband, out there in the rain-soaked forest, and anxiety about Bradley, who looked to be on death’s door. But anxiety got the better of me, and I had to put the book down.
Anthrax, I thought. He has anthrax. Maybe I did, too, as well as Ivan, and now my husband.
I heard Bradley scream again. I put a towel over my face, on the chance that I was not yet infected with whatever he was infected with, and cracked the door open to look inside. Bradley appeared to be asleep, but was muttering something. I opened the door a little further, and strained to hear.
My knowledge of Latin is limited to scientific classifications, and a few hazy memories of undergrad courses. But that was enough to make me shudder in terror as I closed the door and backed away from the room.
“Virtus vermum,” he was saying, on repeat. “Virtus vermum.” It means “the virtue of the worms.”
*
Two hours later, the front door opened, and my husband walked in, soaking wet and laughing heartily. Ivan was behind him, patting him on the back and smiling profusely. But when Carlos saw me, sitting in a chair with my hazmat suit on, the laughter died on his closing mouth. I ran up and hugged him tightly.
“Why are you in your suit?” he asked, hugging me back.
“Bradley is sick,” I said, pulling away. “I think it may be anthrax. Or….”
Carlos frowned. “Are you sure it’s not just a bad hangover?”
“You’ll be sure once you see him. He has a fever.”
Carlos looked me over. “Anthrax isn’t contagious though, right?”
“It’s not, but we don’t know where he got it from. And I’m not sure it is anthrax. But it’s something, Carlos. Oh, God. He was….”
“What?”
“He was saying it over and over again. ‘Virtus vermum.’”
Ivan frowned. “Strength of worms,” he said, and looked down at the metal container clipped to his belt.
“Let’s have a look,” said Carlos.
“Put your suits on first,” I said.
Carlos and Ivan suited up. Carlos slowly opened the door to Bradley’s room to reveal Bradley, twisting around on the floor. He had soiled himself, and a puddle of blood-spotted vomit collected near his head.
“Jesus,” said Carlos.
Then Bradley stopped writhing and sat up. With eyes still closed, in a low growl, he said: “In omne terra et caelo et mare fiant vermes.” Then he fell back to the ground and began twisting around again.
“Jesus,” said Carlos again, closing the door.
“What was that?” I asked.
“In every land, in all the sky and all the sea, let there be worms,” said Carlos, frowning through his hazmat suit.
“We must be kind and shoot him,” said Ivan.
“We’re not going to fucking shoot him!” I yelled. “We are going to get him treatment immediately once we reach Yakutsk. Try the radio again. This is an emergency. Get that helicopter here now.”
“No good,” said Ivan, pointing to the window where a ceaseless torrent of rain was pounding. I knew that he was correct, but I demanded he try anyway. He shrugged and headed over to the radio. After a brief conversation, he looked at me and shook his head.
“We may want to consider that Ivan is right,” said Carlos as we heard Bradley began screaming in agony again. “I don’t think that this is something he’s going to come back from.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, pacing around the room. “We don’t even know what it is!”
After several minutes, the screaming died down. Ivan rolled up a cigarette and stepped outside, unzipping his suit. “What should we do?” asked Carlos.
“We’ll get him cleaned up and situated back in bed. Then I don’t there is anything we can do but wait until tomorrow.”
We went about the unpleasant task of cleaning Bradley. Then we lifted him back into his bed and left him there as he sucked in the air through ragged, wheezing gasps.

Finale

An Island Where No One Lives (part 5)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Before I continue with the story, I want to share some good news with you. First, I found my family. As I will tell you in a moment, it wasn't an easy thing to do, either. Second, I talked to my grandmother, I told her about these posts, and even though Andrei nearly killed me, she said that those who need to know must know. Whatever that means.
And third, Andrei will now be taking me on the mainland from time to time so that I can keep you in the loop of the latest events.
But that's it with the good news. The rest is... much less joyful.
I ended up finding a driver in Yakutsk who was willing to take me to New Siberia (he claimed he had a boat, too) for just fifty dollars. I tried to offer him more, but he waved me off. He was a nice guy with very limited English but a very sincere smile. The journey lasted for nearly the entire day, and I was exhausted by the time we reached the shore to take the promised boat. It was already dark, and the village on the mainland behind me was alive with lights. Ahead, though, only the darkness undisturbed by the moon or the stars waited for me.
"Are you sure you want to go there?" the man asked (I'm cleaning up his hesitant English to make reading easier for you). "There's no one on those cursed islands."
"I'll just take a look," I said.
The man shrugged, and we both got into the boat. The trip seemed endless. I was getting cold and scared, because unlike the first time there were no lights ahead to guide us. What if I dreamed it all up, and no one really lived on New Siberia like I was told? What if I made a horrible mistake?
I clenched my teeth and waited for us to reach the island in silence. When we docked, the man switched on a powerful torchlight he swayed left and right to survey nothing but rocks and sickly grass. No houses. No people. No nothing.
I started crying.
"Um... we should maybe just go back, eh?" the man said.
"May I get on the shore? I'll be quick."
The man frowned at me. "Why?"
"I... I'll just..." I didn't know what to say, what excuse to invent. "It'll take a minute."
"A minute. I won't wait more."
I climbed out of the boat hastily, my boots hitting the rocks. Hot tears poured down my face. Where were they? Where had they disappeared to? And the houses? People can leave, but houses don't just melt into thin air.
I sat on the ground and hugged my knees to my chest.
"Miss, if you aren't going with me, I'll go alone," the man called out to me. "I won't wait anymore."
I looked up at him but couldn't utter a single word.
"Miss," he insisted. "Come now."
I shook my head. "Just go."
There was regret and hesitation written across his face. He cursed in Russian, then turned the boat around and disappeared in the darkness.
I was all alone now. I didn't know what to do, didn't want to do anything, really. I was just so tired. Why did I run away? Why was I such a bloody coward that I turned my back on the family I genuinely loved?
I couldn't forget grandmother's eyes when I yelled at her that I didn't want to have anything in common with the Watchers and their crap. I mean, yes, I did say to her that I was ready to join them, and I had been, but then I was left alone in my room to rest and get ready.
I freaked out. I kept staring at the goddamn mirror, uncovered now since there no longer were dead men in the house, and I freaked out. I think I was screaming when grandmother came with Andrei. I was hideous to them. They didn't deserve it. I even stole Andrei's boat to get to the mainland and find my way home.
And I hated myself so much.
It's hard to say how much time passed in silence and emptiness of the island. I stood up and took my phone out of the purse to have some light. Ahead of me, there was this thick, menacing fog that could have been hiding anything. Including six houses and their inhabitants.
I walked forward with cold determination. I would find them. Dragging the suitcase behind me, I marched on and on robotically.
"Natasha!"
I knew that voice, calling out to me from the fog.
"Natasha!"
Andrei rushed to me and grabbed me in a hug so tight I couldn't breathe. Struggling madly at first, I leaned into him and closed my eyes. I hadn't been attracted to him before, didn't think much of him to be honest, but while he was holding me, I felt like he was the closest person I had in the world.
I lifted my head and kissed him full on the lips. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off the ground. We stayed locked up in an embrace for quite a long time.
"Natasha..." he murmured in my ear. "You're back. I knew you would come back. Even Anna didn't believe it, but I knew..."
"Andrei, I..."
"Everything is falling apart since you left. We need you. I need you."
I nestled my head in the crook of his shoulder. "I need you too. I need all of you. That's why I came back."
He pulled away and stared at me, his face ghostly in the light of my phone that I managed not to drop on the ground.
"Anna said you must find your way to us all by yourself, but I told her screw it. I'm coming to get you."
"I'm so sorry," I said, sobbing. "So-so sorry. I got scared after what happened with Vasily and..."
"I know," Andrei interrupted softly. "I never told you, pretended like I was born a sort of a vurdalak banisher, but I ran away too after my first encounter with these freaks. And I didn't return as fast as you did. I was hiding away with the homeless and junkies for a whole year before I realized that I couldn't keep running from my destiny, from who I am. I'm not in any position to judge you."
I hugged him again and buried my face in his chest. I was relieved but also very tired after my endless trip.
"I'm taking you home," Andrei whispered. "We'll go see the others later."
"But we can't..."
"I don't care," he interrupted in that firm, determined tone of his. "We'll talk to them in the morning. Tonight, you're mine."
I laughed. I was dizzy with relief. I was finally where I wanted to be with the people I wanted to be. I no longer had to force myself to stay on the job I hated with colleagues whom I couldn't even tell what I was hiding deep inside myself. I had never felt lonelier in my life than during those months.
I giggled like a girl when Andrei picked up my suitcase and pulled me by the hand after him. We broke into a jog. Finally, those houses were in front of us, and my breath caught. We veered left to one of the smaller houses. I've never been inside before. Andrei pushed the door open and brought me inside. There were candles everywhere and — as crazy as it sounds — red rose petals.
"What does it mean?" I asked quietly, even though the answer was obvious.
Andrei didn't say anything. He pulled me in his arms again but didn't kiss me. Instead, he stared in my eyes.
"Are you sure, Natasha? Are you sure you want to stay?"
"One hundred percent sure."
I won't tell you how we spent the night, so fast forward to the morning when Andrei and I went to see my grandmother. She gathered me in her arms wordlessly. Darya stayed behind and refused to look at me.
"We must go and rescue my son now. If it's still possible," she said, her voice lifeless.
"Andrei," Anna said. "Please, go make the beverage for Natasha. Darya. You'd better leave. Try to sleep."
"Mother..."
"Dasha, please go."
I felt familiar chill creep down my spine. While I was at home, surrounded by the modern life, I forgot this fear. I only remembered the sense of belonging. Not the visceral terror that chased me away from New Siberia. Just thinking about seeing vurdalaks again, feeling the ice-cold presence of their soulless entities made me want to turn on my heels and run again. Like a miserable coward.
Andrei squeezed my hand and walked out of the room, shortly followed by Darya. It was me and grandmother alone again. She looked at me and shook her head.
"You're not ready. But we don't have time to wait anymore. Darya is all but dead inside now. We must try to recover Vasily's soul."
"I'm sorry," I said.
I couldn't understand how Andrei managed to forgive me for my earlier hysterics. And I knew it would take time for all of them to trust me again.
"I'll initiate you anyway," grandmother said. "Then we're going to the Dark Places."
"Okay," I said. "But I'm scared. Terrified."
"I'm scared too," grandmother replied. "Only a very stupid person wouldn't be scared of the Dark Places and the things that dwell there. But the fear must be vanquished before we go in. That's what the initiation is for. Help you focus, strengthen your spirit."
"Okay," I mumbled again, even though I was shivering.
"It would haven best to conduct the ritual at night, but we can't wait anymore. We'll do it in a couple of hours. Until then, you mustn't eat or drink anything except the beverage Andrei will give you."
I nodded.
"And don't go back to your new house just yet. Stay in the room you slept in when you came here for the first time. Don't talk to anyone. Use this time to look inside you. I'll come for you."
Andrei returned then with a steaming mug and wanted to come close to me but grandmother halted him with her hand.
"Just put it over there and be on your way. You'll see her later."
He clenched his jaws tight together but didn't argue, just nodded. I looked over at him helplessly, and he offered me a small smile of encouragement. Grandmother turned to him.
"Andrei."
He nodded. "Stay strong, Natasha."
The front door closed after him, and I couldn't help but feel miserable again. Grandmother motioned to the mug on the table between us.
"Take it in your room and drink it by small sips, not everything at once."
I took the mug and returned to the room where I slept the last time. I made a couple of sips of the honeyed, spicy beverage and lay on the bed. It was so quiet out here, so peaceful. There were no sounds at all, no noises, just a gentler whisper of the wind outside.
From my vantage point, I could see the forest, those majestic trees that existed in the same plane as the mini-village of the Watchers. As I guessed, there were two realities, two separate realms that overlapped only for a short period of time to let us pass between them. And apparently, I was about to discover the third one. The Dark Places.
I tried not to freak out as my imagination conjured images of bleak landscapes, croaking ravens, vurdalaks roaming aimlessly... I shuddered.
Some time passed. I drank more of the beverage. It was lulling me to sleep, and I didn't know if I was allowed to or if I had to stay awake and alert. I closed my eyes, letting the memories of the night spent with Andrei calm me. I was falling for him, and I didn't want to hold myself back. He understood me. I didn't need to keep secrets from him. I could be myself, flawed and scared. He had one hell of a temper, sure, but I knew that it came from a good place. He wanted to protect those he loved. I respected that.
Bit by bit, I started drifting to sleep and dreaming.
At first, it was a usual mishmash of the recent events, including the terrifying moment when the vurdalak climbed out of the mirror. In the dream, it was even scarier. The room was pitch black, yet I saw him clearly, extracting himself from the frame inch by slow inch. He was breathing heavily, even though I didn't remember him making any noise in the real life.
What's worse, his face wouldn't stop to shift. He would look in turn like Vasily, then like Sergei — the way I pictured him from grandmother's story — and even Andrei. When he finally appeared in front of me, he looked like my father, then like my boss. I defied him with my eyes and refused to back away. Maybe if I stopped him from going out of the room, he wouldn't possess Vasily.
His features rippled again. With a strange hissing sound, he started moving backwards, then vanished. What did it mean? Had I won? I rushed out of the room. It was so dark everywhere, but in the dream realm I didn't seem to mind. I knew where I had to go.
The pechka room was much bigger than in reality. It had a cathedral like quality to it, and even before I approached the coffin, I knew it wasn't Vasily in it. Terror mixed with pain clenched my heart as I came closer and bent over the coffin to peer inside. It was Andrei. So pale, so still, so lifeless. Tears rolled down my face, and I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
I heard shuffling behind me and whirled around.
The vurdalak had come.
As I looked back in the coffin, I saw that Andrei had an aspen stake in his hands. I gently pried his fingers off the weapon to seize it. My hands shook but I steadied myself. I wouldn't let the vurdalak hurt Andrei, dead or alive.
But when I turned around to face my enemy, I saw grandmother. She was standing in front of me, frail and fragile as ever. The darkness shrouded her all around as if it would swallow her any moment now.
"Grandmother?" I whispered.
She didn't answer, and as I looked better at her, I knew she was the vurdalak, too. Her eyes had this glassy quality to them, this terrifying emptiness. But no matter what, I couldn't kill her, it, whatever. I couldn't kill the creature that looked like my grandmother.
Wait, Andrei is calling me (we're at the store right now to make our weekly grocery shopping). He doesn't like me making these posts, but I feel like I have to. I'll go with him now and get back to you as soon as I can.
Wish me luck.
Part 6

THE OFFICIAL RAP BATTLE ROYALE - Round one - Full Verses

These are the first completed verses of the tournament, and I think so far it's been a success! Break open the champagne everybody, we did it! Finally the representatives of each civ can rest for a bit, for now it is the judges turn. The judges will need to PM me their list of winners, and the rappers with the most votes will go through. 37 will become 16, so that means two things.
1) There will be no more byes and,
2) More people will go out this round than previously stated.
Without further ado, time to show the show!
A reminder of the battles:
•Chile(Atlas_Schmatlas) vs Incans (gagging4gags)
•Mayans (thetimelyspoon) vs Buccaneers (MillinerJones)
•Mexico (scully645)vs Texas (SabyZ)
•Blackfoot (Gresskarpai) vs France (ImperialismHo)
•Inuit (IAMA_MadEngineer_AMA) vs Iceland (Wigmaster999)
•Ireland (Blaiz1T) vs England (admiral_ifan)
•Norway (Nestourai) vs Sweden (Copse_Of_Trees)
•Germany (Lumen0602) vs Rome (TFCAliarcy)
•Poland (MaggotInBikini)vs Finland (twinsizewest)
•Sparta (CAPSSMOCK) vs Byzantium (Flarezap)
•USSR (not_enough_characte) vs Ayyubids (Luigiatl)
•Carthage (lol0star) vs Ethiopia (riskyrolf)
•Persia (JCPoly) vs Mughals (radster_x)
•Yakutia (Funhau5) vs Japan (Albinoredguard)
•Mongolia (wasgoodlilma) vs Tibet (Ossmosse)
•China (Protroid) vs Vietnam (SpookyWagons)
•Burma (EmeraldRange) vs Philipines (daniel14253)
•Kimberly (Steve_McKinnon)vs Australia (DecJ21)
•babylons(Mista_Ginger) get a week 1 bye
JUDGES:Mob_cleaner , Night_Man_ , TPangolin , silence_in_samarkand , Kropenfuer
Onwards to the show! oh wait, it seems the babylonians want to rap, even though they have a bye.
BABYLONS "DONT FUCK WITH ME" RAPS:
Even though I got a week one bye,
Thought I might spit verse for fun.
Let all the others know not to try,
Rap against Nebby, you're done.
Lyrics be nuclear like our subs,
Under ice we see you fight.
While you still fighting with spears and clubs,
Be too simple for rhymes I write.
Watch me win Babylon this battle,
I'll be king, call me Royale.
While you all sit and prattle,
I'll be chillin' at Nassau Canal.
In case you didn't hear,
Babylon gonna reiterate.
All you can kiss my rear,
0 out of 10 your raps I rate.
I take all challengers,
Got the battle in the bag.
Don't even need to try to win,
But you? Gag.
So come at me one and all.
Beating you will be a ball.
Got rhymes sharper than Spartan spears,
Already crushin' all my peers.
...
Watch me win Babylon this battle,
I'll be king, call me Royale.
While you all sit and prattle,
I'll be chillin' at Nassau Canal.
CHILE VS INCA:
Your name is gagging4gags, so here's a joke:
Who's only got 6 cities, and a pop that's broke?
Unlike your username suggests, here's to hoping you don't choke
-- Until the Chilean Renaissance when you're still livin' in Baroque!
No need to serve you, Pachacuti,
You're self-servin' like Tutti Frutti
Snipe your terrace farms for booty
O'Higgins, no scope, Call of Duty
Valparaiso should've been ominous,
Prepare for the red white and blue apocalypse
Fuck off Remus, this is Romulus
With failure you've become synonymous
First in military on the continent,
Wreaking havoc on your confidence
Combined with Eva and Brazil's incompetence
The only way we play is dominance.
Hey Chile nice start there - very mountainous,
I guess it's easy to defend but where's your growth?
Well we've got terrace farms but an annoying blot of blue,
So when we've finished feasting we'll grow off you.
Our expansions lookin' better no Colombia in game,
But your position with Argentina is looking quite the same.
Only this time they're lookin' angry and more strong,
I think they'll take your cities, doubt you'll prove me wrong.
Oh look what's that? Do I see Part 5?
Looks like we're gonna eat Brazil alive.
Generating more spots for our UI,
By the time we get to you you'll quickly die.
Your first rap must be some sort of Pre-Columbian artifice
What it lacks in length, it makes up for in artlessness
No food? Fucker we got the Temple of Artemis
As soon we start battle you're gonna wish for an armistice
I did some counting (without using a quipu, mind you)
You've got 25 combat units -- we've got 29 dude
Without including 20 triremes, oh shit, you're so screwed
You don't see our troops? Turn around and LOOK BEHIND YOU
You said you got terrace farms yet I haven't seen one,
Pachacuti's too busy making illegitimate sons?
Our cities unfortified 'cause we don't need 'em to be
Our empire already stretches from sea to shining sea
Eat all you want, 'cause we don't intend to build tall,
Lay off the food, and try and watch your mouth
Better send your bastard sons to man the wall,
'Cause in this part of the world winter comes from the south.
MAYANS VS BUCCANEERS
You think you got the high seas? I’ll put on your fuckin’ knees
You think you’ve got the land lead? I only see a desperate need
To spread your seed Make you into a gentile
And then I’ll defile Your precious canal
We’ll see who’s banal Build your terracotta army
But it ain’t gonna help Cuz Pacal is getting smarmy
You motha-buccin’ whelp When things are getting heady
Got atlatls ready. We gunnin’ for ya Henry
Coming straight from the Port of my plundering spree
We are the 12 sail terror of the Caribbean Sea
We do what we want because a pirate is free
The world's gonna fall to the b u double C
We gonna make the world crunk with our rum and distilleries
Gonna make the world burn with our ships and artillery
Gonna make it rain gold with our treasurer so glittery
Gonna make our opposition walk the plank-- literally
Well rattle your atalatals with our cannons & paddles
Cut you up like cattle win the battle
And take a victory ride through our canal at Panama
It's your apocalypse now, start retirement planning brah.
Congrats! Your first verse! You can make words rhyme!
But you can't retaliate for four hundred year's time!
Yeah you used your great writer It wasn't an exciter
now my fighters Have invaded, burn your palace with a lighter!
I saw your first verse full of land lubber blubber
And I've seen better shit from my poop deck scrubber!
So don't make plans, leave yo calendars blank
Cuz the B-U-double-C's gonna Make you walk the plank!
TEXAS VS MEXICO:
Hey, is that the sound of armies running away?
Well it must be the Mexicans getting bored today!
Let me tell y’all what will happen when you take a rash action
against the Lone-star faction, you get a reaction
that y’all just didn’t expect! We crushed your friends in the east,
but they tried at least but you cannot compete against Sam Houston’s Elite!
You’re next, so before you get wrecked,
y’all better show Texas some respect!
We’ve got Baltimore, Lincoln has lost your war,
but don’t be so quick to rush out the door
so I can make sure y’all get the arrows that y’all paid for!
So have your fun while I finish my steak brisket,
But if y’all want Austin, come and take it!
Benito – you’re too slow,
couldn’t get a good verse so I got another go!
No way you’ll win when y’all can’t repeat the Alamo!
Now go! Run back to your walls,
y’all have no balls, this is where Mexico falls
turn your land in to malls and shit on your legacy!
I need no glitches to put y’all in your ditches
then relax with my bitches on the gulf,
it’s my destiny!
I’m a cowboy, I destroy
stoppin’ invaders is what I enjoy
and so your little ploy ain’t impressin’ me
This is Battle Royale MAKK TWO!
The only loser here IS YOU!
And the when your empire falls and history calls,
the last leader standing will be SAMMY HOU!
BLACKFOOT VS FRANCE
I thought I was gonna rap against the sioux
But no, out of all people i ended up with YOU
Napoleon, famous for being a gnome
Too bad you can’t beat anyone else than Rome
Yeah, run away with your wine and your baguettes
Or else I WILL make sure you’ll have regrets
You want an empire? You’ll have to change yo’ plans
Soon you’ll see black feet all over yo’ lands
Just waiting for the world congress to convene
We’ll make you relive the 18th of June 1815
You know your new city, Neapolis?
Ain’t gonna be long before it’s a fuckin’ necropolis
I’ll do to you what the germans did to Lorraine and Alsace
Next part, to see your empire, you’ll need a magnifying glass!
Yeah, I see you there, Napoleon, trying to abscond
Just admit that you’re way too scared to respond
Just hang around I’ll tell you a story-
But only if you hand me the Louisiana territory!
Once upon a time you ended up on an island
But I’ll never let you come into my land
Yeah there ain’t a single way you can escape
You’ll have plenty of time to eat your thousand-layered Crepe
You guessed it, it’s time for your annihilation
French as you are; immediate capitulation
Make your way for the Blackfoot confederation
We’ll show you how to win a game of Civilization
Hint hint: It involves radiation!
INUIT VS ICELAND
I am Ingolfur Arnarson, leader of the Icelandic vikings
And I’m afraid that my appearance here bodes you some ill tidings
You’d better run and hide in an igloo, pathetic Ekheunik,
‘Cause I might be drinking from your skull at my next Icelandic picnic!
You can’t beat an Icelander at a glorious rap battle
Our UA’s geared towards Great Writing, so spare me all your prattle
Let’s face it, your civ’s basically just the Sioux’s little brother
Compare a rag-tag bunch of seal hunters to me? I’m a Viking warrior!
When you try to cross from the mainland, you’ll meet my longboat fleet
If you forward-settling bastards settle Greenland, you’ll be facing defeat
I believe it’s time for you seal-hunters to cede the lands of snow to us
Or we’ll take them by force and you’ll run away in fear, wuss
The only reason I can conceive that I won’t win this fray
Is if the Sioux get to you first and whip you anyway
Waddup, Iceland, ya gonna get beat
cause you be fucking with the true kings of the ice sheet.
This battles gonna end in our reykjavik-tory.
Your thingstead? Yo your things dead,
our rhymes are straight fire we skalding you,
So we think it's time that you inuksuk our dicks
If crouchin' in on my borders is what I feel Ima club u bitch,
just like a fuckin' seal. You think you come from the land of Ice and Snow?
All you know is how to blow!
Descendants of a Viking King
Destined to become My Bottom Bitch Queen
You came to my land once, tryin' to expand
I bitch slapped you, knocked you down, with my righthand
Selfish, you threw a fit, chickened out, it was neat
It's nice and warm there with those volcanoes for heat
But I will kindle my fires with your peoples feet
Your name is Bullshit, A lie, Deceit
Ingólfr Arnarson ([ˈiŋkoulvʏr̥ ˈartnar̥sɔn])[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_Icelandic]
You'll be kissing OurOwnAsses-son
Ingolfur Kissing-your-asses-son?
More like Engulfing Armies-now-son!
Oh, you made me sad, it’s enough to make a grown man cry ;-;
It’s so sad that your rhymes are so pitiful, but I guess, you tried :P
I’m afraid, tiny child, that the #Inuitcan’twinit this time
Since your rapping and rhyming’s so bad that it’s nearly a crime
I mean, look at your rhythm, the beat is bordering insanity
And even then, the only words you use are just so much profanity!
The only thing to save your civ is your massive fanbase
But even those biased fanboys won’t be your saving grace
That’s right, flee in terror from the fleet of Iceland
It’s a shame that my Viking fleet moves fast as the north wind
Even in your own rap you can’t stop yakking about seals
But those blubber-beasts won’t do you no good, get real!
My warriors’ whirling axes make the speed of light wish that it was faster
So please remember as I crush you that Iceland is everybody’s master
I would have killed you last except we’re adjacent alphabetically
So I guess I’ll just kill you first, and look on you sympathetically
Our skaldin raps will melt your icecaps Ingolf your land,
your knecks hanging by a strand
Your homeland volcanic like our raps satanic
We're an iceberg and youre about to go titanic
We'll spit and roast you like souvlaki
man your rhymes are so tacky to beat us you gonna have to get laki
we wear fur coats when we sink your boats
Our ice sheet fleet just cant be beat
You're nothing we confuse you for a store of frozen foods
we live in igloos youre all a load of poos
Iceland? Master? Gonna have to blast you faster
Less land and less population? All a sign of an inferior ice-nation
The Sioux don't threaten us So beat them we will
Then youre gonna have to Blackfoot the bill
Your cities have such stupid names We'll kill,
crush and maim Ingolfur Arnarson, Our raps are arson
Your viking navy not gonna be your saviour
So its time we beat you back to Scandinavia
IRELAND VS ENGLAND
Battle against Ireland? Shit, only one way to go
make a few- well, loads- of jokes about potatoes
You'll be in trouble when my guns are in Dublin
wipe off that smug grin, my subs'll have you unsubbing.
Your rhymes are weak, the famine's hit your brain,
you're not Battle Royale, you're the Hunger Games.
Your army's tame, mine is high and mighty,
making you flighty, straight outta Blighty,
you gonna strike me? I'm asking politely
before I come from York to Cork, fighting
knick knack paddy whack, sipping my tea,
Right after Germany I'll raze your cities,
Now I'm nearly finished, so finish your Guinness,
or whatever piss it is they drink in Limerick
And thank St Patrick, tomorrow's has-been
for all the land I'll take for God and the Queen.
Oh what country is this, England, barely a rival to great Éire,
Are you taking the piss? The Atlantic, not enough to stop our fire,
This marks the end of your empire, Which already leaves nothing of desire,
So what happened to your sun, Seems to have set,
Your own title, You'll need more than your queen, To have it met.
I hear you crying, don't worry pet,
Your nation will be finished quickly, For the love of God don't get upset
Clearly my last verse has got you frantic,
Think Eire's the empire of the Atlantic?,
You're not fire, shit's a pyre, time to panic,
You're going down faster than the Titanic,
Time for England, once more into the breach,
I'll slaughter in Waterford with my Triremes,
So many soldiers I could whip you easily,
You've just got a scout stuck in Mississippi,
You're even more fucked than your economy,
Verses like your potatoes, they so diseased,
But don't worry, soon you'll all be deceased,
cause you fuccbois more than a catholic priest,
Come on then, fuck with the English horde,
We could do with practising on little Leprechauns,
I got so many weapons ready in my forge,
To bitch slap you, for Harry, England and St George.
Grand, now I have to survive another round of your patriotic blabberin',
You're talk of submarines and your gunning machines have nothing to leave me sobbin',
What your queen and country is fit for is nothing more than a clobberin',
No wonder you're already at war, you seem to have not taken the hint,
The second one of your gunmen gets into a fight, poor fella will go off into a sprint,
Go on, mate, have your fucking tea and cake while you can,
Your soldiers can barely get a shot on a stray man, let alone an entire clan,
I'm sure our whole country would rather starve, than bother meeting a hun,
The one time they did, your petty "warriors" were drastically outdone,
Good luck with defending your puny colony of Hastings, and your untimely death by Nazi,
I can't be bothered with even tastings of your shithole called London, your "city" deserves little paparazzi,
Bet you're glad our war hasn't started yet, since your homes will become the result of a Japanese kamikaze,
You're finished before you even started, yet I know one thing-full hearted, you rotting twig,
Wellington didn't belong in a stable of strong horses, he's a fucking pig,
NORWAY VS SWEDEN
Okay y’all… We’re here in Northern Europe for MKII
And I know the fans are hating on me and on you
Now why the distain? It ain’t no mystery
Here in Civilization, fans love their history
Yo, school’s in session (school bell)
Class, today’s subject is TPang’s Battle Royale, MK I (sit up straight Mr. Kropenfuer)
Back then everyone was pissed about Mess-opotamia
Norway was sitting pretty, alone in Scandenavia
Shoulda' been a cinch! You had the whole peninsula
But you barely made war and you kept so insula’
So when Stalin burned Oslo you EARNED the name Snoreway
And now we’ve all been forced into a Nordic 4-way
I mean it figures, you’re just some two-bit mod
I’m a prime Firaxis, a diplomatic god
I’ve got a shit UA and shit UU
And I still took Eidsvoll away from you
This is Norway! The axe-wielding lion of the North
Come to foray, on rap battlefield to sally forth
Now that Round One is here, we see through Swedish veneer
And your tears make it clear that we are your worst fear
What’s that in your ears? Sounds like an army of cheers
For we’ve lined your frontiers with a carpet of spears!
Your homeland lays empty; not even a boat
Like your underwrote Vasa, your hype just won’t float
D’you see the ranked vote? Gus, you’ve been demote!
Ain’t much of a gloat to peg your chances: remote!
The one question left now is who’ll make the most gains
See, Hitler and Poland and Finland have laid claims
But this is our moment to claim your domains, for
Our banner maintains: Your losses? Our gains!
Once we take Stockholm, we’ll party; a gala —
And ‘till then, Norwegians will fight to Valhalla!
GERMANY VS ROME
Oh my you've made a mess of things,
I'll listen to you rhymes as they ping,
off my legions Segmentata,
whilst we conquer you lands we call Germania,
my empire inspired you Russia and The Ottomans,
and the French but we don't want your amends,
the Republic owned the Mediterranean,
whilst you couldn't even hit Britain,
Italy created your policy of Fascism,
but your people clearly study absurdism,
you might think your Panzers will scare me,
but I rap faster than a bullet to the knee,
your role model for nationalism is Arminius,
shall I introduce you to my Grand Nephew Germanicus,
you can bring Beethoven and Mozart,
but in a fight they'd be as useless as a fart,
as I am Imperator Caesar Divi Filius Augustus,
whilst your own gun brought you to justice,
now I am a known as man of means,
so I'll crucify you and your Nazis across the Alpennes.
POLAND VS FINLAND
Hey Poland, what's up homie
You should hear the shit that Stalin
told me Told me bout your stuggles in settling cities
and that you can't forward settle Germany
Ya gonna get eliminated that's for sure
Got four better civs, knocking at your door
The only balls ya got are comics
gonna disappear like the supersonics
we dealing with the nazis and Huns but they can bite us
while you're getting fucked by Leonidas
Falling through the rankings part after part
Folks jumping on the bandwagon now they falling off the cart
We be screaming Hakkaa päälle
Best that you get out of our way
Run back to Hitler no time to delay
Polish eagle ain't no bird of prey
Casimir is too busy being STRONK to reply.
SPARTA VS BYZANTIUM
My schedule's pretty tight right now, but I'll try to pen you in
Got dinner plans laid out for me in Rome, Warsaw and Berlin.
But when I have some time to kill I'll crush you like your kin
Cuz everyone knows King Leo is the only Royal you're gonna win!
I'll pwn you purple poser, when at war I'm a composer
Molon labe with your mother while I loot Constantinople
Verses purer than an opal with more vision than a Jew
Just ask the mighty legions of rappers than I've slew
You are weak, both mind and body, Rap or spear I'll run you through,
What more can I say? Even the Champa have pointier sticks than you.
Nice rhymes, Leo, now to put you in the trash,
aint nothing that can compete with Alexios’ raps.
You’re not special, you’re a glorified barbarian,
and you can’t beat me,
this empire stretches from Cyprus to the CCCP!
You’ve been in more wars than anyone else,
yet you got no cities to display on your shelf!
You fought against Rome, and that was just fine,
EXCEPT A POLISH SCOUT STOPPED YOUR ‘HELL DINE’!
Now listen up Leo, and listen up good,
your city Sparta? Ha, what a joke.
Everything you did? I’m the motherfucker that perfected it.
Come to war with me and my people be cheering,
I’ll be pumping out spearmen, Byzantium be leering,
victory is nearing.
Now if you’re gonna come to war with me, look out for a hunchback snitch,
unless you wanna die. DEUS VULT, bitch.
USSR VS AYYUBIDS
STRAIGHT OUTTA MOSCOW CRAZY COMMIE NAMED U/NOT_ENOUGH_CHARACTE
FROM A GANG CALLED THE BOLSHEVIK PARTY
EGYPT IS ON THE HIT LIST LIST FOR LENIN'S TEAM
CALL THAT SHIT A PYRAMID SCHEME
ALREADY ON YOUR BORDER, IGNORING ANY PLEA
WHY DO YOU THINK IT'S CALLED THE RED SEA?
SHOOTING UP SULTANS IN MARX'S NAME
HE'S GOT THE MOST GANGSTA CLIQUE IN THIS GAME
ONE OF US IS A SLAVE, THE OTHER A SLAV
NOW HAVE A TASTE OF MY MOLOTOV
SOON OVER SINAI WE'LL WAVE THE RED FLAG
WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME IN THE GULAG!
Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?
We’re not just some nation coming out of the blue.
We’re the proud, strong Ayyubid nation,
While the man who died of a nosebleed is giving you some forceful liberation.
We own a mountain important to everyone from the Jews to the people that are Coptic,
While your nation struggles to develop an arrow or an optic.
Our cities are known worldwide as the cities for trade and growth,
While if you said the same you’d be lying under oath.
We’re the pinnacle of the lands of North Africa,
While your ranking is worse than every single civ of North and South America.
You’ve probably had quite a bit more than one too many booze,
And tales of your incompetence and crudeness are told from Sydney to Santa Cruz.
It’s getting quite obvious who the real winner is here,
And it’s not the one here ranked on the bottom tier.
It seems that your lines are simply incorrect,
Since your citizens are shown such neglect.
You let your people fall to the hordes of the east,
Letting them be prepared for a Hunnic feast.
You think we’re going to one of your prison camps,
Then clearly your nation is run by a group of scamps.
We’re in the top third of the nations unlike your “motherland”,
Which managed to be ranked worse than Ireland.
You have no military, no science, no money-
And at this point your situation’s just funny.
We’ll burn your “new” Leningrad to the ground,
And this time you won’t rebound.
The people who are the slaves are the ones in the Soviet Union,
And the Huns would like a little reunion.
CARTHAGE VS ETHIOPIA
Look at the elephant, trying to face off against the lion
You’re historically and battle royally as big a threat as the Hawaiians
In our corner we got god incarnate Haile Selassie!
Shooting up shit with his archer carpets and Mehal Sefari
As fast as Tpang builds hype and throws shrimps on his barbie
He’s one bad ass emperor, the fucking Lion of Judah!
Everybody knows him, from Sydney to Berlin and even Tortuga
What’s your leader famous for? Cuz I’m not quite sure
That riding some elephants over some hills and then not taking Rome
And exiling himself from home Is quite cause for celebration
Trying to encourage participation? You’re pathetic,
we’ll be kind and quickly storm your capital
You’re gonna lose even more cities than fucking Br1 Hannibal!
The year is 20 sixty 5, down the valley old Hannibal flies
We staunched the ashanti of ejura,
a curse we were in the Drumroll war. Hannibal is literally the ice cube of Africa
Beating women in conquered cities creating a massacre
He may be intellectually bankrupt but he makes it up with the sword
Ambitious and dreamy He’ll send the ashanti skyward
He’ll turkey slap Ethiopia with his morning wood
And they’ll take it like how blacks take police brutality in he hood
We may be the Turtle of Africa’s west
But we get harbours in every city fuck yeah we’re the best
I forget how generic haile Selassie really is
He’s an autist, his only lover is his wrist
His parents probably think he’s a waste of jizz
And I end it here, carthage is open for business!
You talk big for someone that couldn’t handle an imperial power
Carthage ain’t on no maps, nothing but salt, not even a flower
Should have seen us at Adwa, if you wanted to know how to fight an Italian
Ethiopia’s as independent as a feminist Battalion
What’s wrong, need your elephant give you a kiss?
Are you still sad about what happened at Hippo Regius?
Look at you getting your ass whooped by fools worshiping a Golden Stool
Do we need to get over there and take you back to civ School?
Because you’re nothing but glorified elephant drivers Ethiopians are survivors,
thrivers, modernizers and decolonizers
So spread the word, lock up, lights out, tell your elephants goodnight
Because the Lion of Judah is about to take his first bite!
PERSIA VS MUGHALS
Good Job, you guys took a city, But only in part 4.
Truthfully told, you Mughals just really make me snore.
You're rated high in the rankings, but the Persians don't really care.
To you we say salaam kqarsalu,In english, "hello, fat bear."
Theres only one powerful civ here, Its most definitely us, son,
'cause before you can upgrade your spearmen to pikes, we'll be out there shooting our guns.
PERSIA? WHAT A JOKE! ONE OF THE WEAKEST PLAYERS!
CAN'T EVEN GET THEIR ARMY TO THE HIMA-FUCKIN'-LAYAS!
ACHAEMENID EMPIRE? BULLSHIT YOU WAAAAAY UNDER PAR!
YOU'RE EVEN TURTLING HARDER THAN MYAN-FUCKING-MAR!
ITS A WELL KNOWN FACT WE GOT A GAME WINNING STRATEGY,
WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ACCEPT YOUR EMPIRES A COMPLETE UTTER TRAGEDY?
YOU'LL BE MAIMED, ENSLAVED, ET-CET-ER-RA!
BET CHU KNOW WHATS COMING NEXT! - DEATH TO PERSIA!
Hey Nice Rap bro, did ya have to yell so loud?
In case you haven't noticed, you're in the middle of a crowd.
I think you'll peak early then fall flat on your face
leaving plenty of room for the persian master race.
Just cuz were under par doesn't mean we have no potential
if you look under the surface, our power is torrential!
We bide our time, just turtling in the shadows,
you have less a chance to win as finding El Dorado.
We'll make an impact in the world,
you'll definitely feel our presence,
darius raised an empire,
while you were brought down to peasants.
We were brought here for a purpose,
no question we'll deliver,
Cuz our flows so cold,
EVEN THE INUIT SHIVER.
From Afghanistan to Hindustan, to PK in between,
We're a cultural powerhouse that'll end your Persian dream.
You're up against a real superpower, it's really quite sad,
We'll stream-roll you worse than the Mongols sacking Baghdad! (backing voice then quickly shouts in the background "U MAAAAD?"
Your golden age will run flat, as soon as our armies attack,
Prepare to watch Persepolis go from golden to ash black.
Better learn how to read a dictionary, go look up assimilation,
It's only a matter of time before your lands are part of our nation
Even your women deserted you, they really loved our dope saris,
They even became our queens...d'ya even remember Mumtaz and Kandahari?
Oh wait I forgot...Y'all were all hiding in a satraps court! ,
While Akbar be banging all your Persian bitches down in his red fort!
Once we've stormed your palace, you'll surrender and plea,
Best pray that we don't sanction you even worse than Khomeini
(insert OOOOoooooooo! Here)
YAKUTIA VS JAPAN
Alright, cut me some slack because I don't do this ever,
But, Japan, you're in the midst of a depressing endeavor.
If, maybe, you stayed loyal to Oda Nobunaga,
You wouldn't be so boring in Part 4 of your saga.
You're trying to compete for the most pointiest sticks,
But you only seem to have the most littlest dicks.
You're tactics are whack, and you're proving to be useless,
Quit turtling, you coward, and do something ruthless.
You "shot up the Power Rankings like a Tianjin blast,"
Well, I'm sorry, but that's just Part 2 in the past,
And it's a shame, because I like that your start bias is coast,
But your performance, so far, has been nothing to boast.
Do us all a favor, and send some units to Seoul,
So we can all stop thinking you're a worthless asshole.
But if I ever see you make your way up to the tundra,
Just know that you're not gonna have any fundra.
Albinoredguard, why are you making this easy?
You didn't submit a verse. Are you trying to tease me?
For that, you should be given an automatic DQ,
But, first, I have some things I'd to like to say to you.
Your flair? Just dump it. You obviously don't want it.
You're lazier than a pothead who just took his eighth blunt hit.
You acted like a clown, except you made your whole team frown,
And, when they see you around, you're gonna get a beat down.
"But I'm sorry! Forgive me! I have an excuse!"
Were you busy letting someone pound your butt hole loose?
I heard Yakutia's Funhau5 is hung like a moose,
Which is why you're gonna struggle passing your next deuce.
I have nothing bad to say about your Emperor Meiji,
He did nothing to induce this atomic, verbal wedgie.
So here are 16 lines that only you deserve.
Remember this as the day your fucking whack ass got served.
MONGOLIA VS TIBET
Spiritual- my soul is free like Tibet
Dalai Lama reaps my advice and respect
Unlike Genghis Khan "villainy n death"
This pale blue spot not just a skin defect
You're horde's nothing but a band of whores
I got plenty of Condoms- this means war
I can't be stopped, I'm the reincarnate
Your swords strict but you betta get ya bars straight
I'm all about the peace, in the far east
I'll blow you away like a Himalayan breeze
Maximize all my religious beliefs
You're eyes burn from the holiness that is ME
This advice to you should not go unstored
Too many wars n whores can make a mind bored
Another turn You must grow- shed the sword
Or your nation will drop just like ya jaw
(you can listen to a recorded version here!)
I'm the great khan of the mongol hordes
I crush foreign lords, clash swords, we go to war
I want more, a roar of a battle cry
temujin flies up in the sky
with air strikes no matter the era, the fuck did you hear?
that genghis keshiks fuck you from the rear?
I roll through with catapults, landships to nukes
but my nomad blood keeps me close to my roots
like I won't let city states stand like my clan
eliminates bitches from kiev to yuan
my battle plan revolves around your destruction
my civ's influx of cities grant no fucks son
I'm a grandmaster of war, no denial
your basic monks stand no chance of survival
and when I die boy, your city burns
I stand by and fortify my troops, 10HP per turn
(You can listen to a recorded version here!)
You're mind's too caught up on war and fights man
Like a 4 year old who just learnt of violence
Grow the FUCK up, put down your Vicodin
It's time for bed, don't you still need a night light Gen?
A right end, KARMA will cut your life short
I see you shat your pants- Yakutsk's got ya hurt
I can see your future- insert burnt yurts
You'll live in poverty a palace of dirt
Genghis Khan a once great warrior lord
Genghis Khan a cunt to be quartered and drawn
I vent this par as I must stop your spawn
So shut the fuck up like I shut down this song
Yeah you could call me a pacifist
No need to pass a fist, I got my words for this
I'd rape your spirit once your life's been pissed
But you'd enjoy it too much you masochist
Jaw dropping? lets be honest that's the least of your problems
your weak prohpets are nothing, I leave no sign of stopping
just try and step up to the steppe, meet keshik arrows
you call yourself holy, well you're hole-y now bro
villainy and death? you're goddamn right
it's my goddamn right, to end your goddamn life
you bring your condoms along, but you're not my type
burn you like ancient tinder, imma leftward swipe
you get bored of war? I guess you don't have the stomach
you cower away in your temples, afraid to leave the summit
while your population plummets since i can never resist
to raid your little nation, complacent and sumbmissive
So you lay your bars down and you think that you're smart
but imma bring this rap "battle" right back to the start
who give's a damn about the fuckin dalai lamas respect?
because even in the future you're just china's pet
CHINA VS VIETNAM
TIME TO STRIDE BACK INTO SOUTHEAST ASIA
LOOKIN' A LITTLE ROUGH I'LL CURE WHAT AILS YA
ARRIVE IN THIS SHIT LIKE I DROP NAPALM BOMBS
BEEN A ROUGH THOUSAND YEARS FOR THE KINGDOM OF NAM
BETTER OFF AS MY COLONY WASN'T THAT COOL?
TURN MY BACK FOR TWO SECONDS AND YOU UNDER FRENCH RULE!
YOU FLOW SLOW, SPIT SOFT YOUR RHYMES JUST AIN'T STRONG
YOU SURE AIN'T A KING MORE LIKE A DONKEY CONG!
YOU STAND THERE HAUGHTY
ACTING LIKE YOU WAS JAPAN
WHILE YOUR ENTIRE CULTURE
WAS SHAPED BY MY HANS
I THINK I SHOULD CALL IT
YOU'RE LOOKIN' KIND OF BEAT
JUST GOT ONE MORE BURN IN ME
THEN MY VICTORY'S COMPLETE
IT'S THE GREATEST CHALLENGE
FOR THIS SICK-SPITTIN' RHYMESMITH
TURNS OUT THERE AIN'T NOTHING
THAT AGENT ORANGE RHYMES WITH!
IF YOU WANNA BATTLE US YOU'LL FIND
MAO JUST TOO LEGIT
YOU CHOSE THE WRONG SIDE
OF THE SINO-SOVIET SPLIT
BURMA VS PHILIPINES
Oh look, it's Burma, wanting to fight us on demand
To be honest, the world thinks of you as West Thailand
You had a useless war against Champa, that's a shame
But then again, you Indochinese all look the same
The 'Pagan Empire' founded Buddhism? Bunch of whacks
We'd rather follow the other with hookers and yaks
You say of the wrath of Anawrahta: "It's cool, it rocks"
We guess you're compensating for your little peacocks
Face it, Burma, you don't stand a chance against us now
Might as well run to your real capital Naypyitaw
The Philippines will bring the End of Your Strife (straight to Rangoon!)
Kaba Ma Kyei? Too bad, it starts with your life (with our typhoon!)
We'll await your return and feeble comeback, Burma
We hope you brought cold water, because we just burned ya!
While Rizal was pooping propaganda about freedom and oppression
Anawratha reformed religion, marking out a brand new nation
Infrastructure built with patience, intensive agricult'ral changes!
So see if you can cross our triple mountain ranges!
We've both built canals, but yours is in your capital
One measly hypertyphoon and you're outta this battle
Your start was so bad Tpang had to give you buffs
The result of Rizal's resolve was simply not enough
Got colonised twice and lost your surname identities
Can't keep your islands from your Chinese enemies
What's wrong with you?! Ya like the most eastern Western country!
Why don't you come visit Burma to see an Asian society?
We have generals who conquered all of Indochina!
You're on an stupid puny island so I'm gonna remind ya
You need to conquer people to win the Battle Royale
There's no way you're ever gonna win with that morale
So I heard your rap, it's entirely a hit-and-miss!
You fail to see what we've mastered in your previous diss!
Spitting shite, agriculture? I'll show you Banaue!
UNESCO Site, making Incans run for their money!
Magellan dared to come with guns and ships at his command;
We impaled that motherfucker for coming to our land!
You've seen the BR update? Your military's trapped tight!
Your empire's ready to taste, Tibet wants a fucking bite!
Let's be real, Afghanistan's the one that'll hit you hard;
Now we all know who is the first empire in the graveyard!
You couldn't hurt the Champa, war's never your thing anyway;
And what you couldn't defend is your settler in Mandalay!
Myanmar, can't handle me-an'-more of these bars, it's a pathetic and pitiful way to lose!
In BR, even when you got into two wars, your UA and UU won't ever be used!
With your dropping and turtling, where now is your leader general?
Gotta go fast, you poor thing, before I crush you like emerald!
Ha! You better switch your style cuz we're a cultural-phile
Burma getting Great Writers when I conquer!
Now I dunno if you know, but my raps so dope
I technically am Burma's Great Writer!
How much more Western can an eastern country get?
I mean your name's Daniel and you got a wierd accent.
While the Philippines did nothing, we warred against the Champa
I mean your nation's looking weak like a 130-year old Grampa.
No one can spell the name of your country. (Kantot!)
So come give Burma investment money! (We're hot!)
And I kid you not that I'll spend it all like a stereotypical Burmese!
Seriously, dude, you need some emotion
Don't you know the hype train's in motion?
this Burma's burning with counter-isolation!
You can't just put on some burnblocking lotion
KIMBERLEY VS AUSTRALIA
First of all - let me introduce myself I’m the badass muh-fucker From south of ya’ll Jandamarra, he’ll track ya down Put a spear through your leg And a hole in your crown Now Australia – I know you think you’re tough And compared to some, yah you might be rough But I was born to this Bred to this The outback is where I fucking bled for this So come now Australia, It’s time to settle the score For Terra Nullius don’t apply here anymore.

how cold is yakutsk video

With temperatures regularly falling to -40°C, Yakutsk, a city in Siberia, holds the distinction as the coldest city on Earth. Photographer Steeve Iuncker writes for LightBox about his project However, it has been known to be very hot during the day in Yakutsk in July (record = +38.4 °C (101.1 °F)). Yakutia’s capital—Yakutsk—on the other hand, is home to over 280,000 people making it the coldest major city in the world. The average winter temperature here is minus 40 degree Celsius. The soil is permanently frozen, so most buildings are built on raised stilts. The short answer: Very, very cold. Average January temperatures in Yakutsk usually range between minus 38 and 42 degrees Fahrenheit, according to AccuWeather. And that's the daily average, meaning... How cold and warm does Yakutia get? Between November and March, the temperature in Yakutsk never gets above freezing; and in January, average highs are around -42.7° Fahrenheit. Local people wear fur coats with hoods that stretch beyond their noses so they can breathe air warmed by their bodies. Nearly 300,000 people live in Yakutsk, reputed to be the world’s coldest city. Its port on Russia’s Lena River is a source of the fish that fill markets—and stay rigidly cold in winter. It’s really cold in Yakutsk, Russia, in winter, guys. -45C. And it’s hard to walk even when you eagerly want to. The skin is getting red and then – blue. Yakutsk, in eastern Siberia, is one of the world’s coldest cities; temperatures in January average -40C. Alex Vasyliev started photographing his cold and isolated home town to stave off tedium The lowest temperature recorded in Yakutsk was minus 64.4C (minus 83.9F). For students aged 12 to 14, schools shut their gates when the cold dips to minus 48C (minus 54.4F). Those aged 15 to 17 have to attend school unless the temperature plunges to minus 50C (minus 58F). In Yakutsk, the average high-temperature in Noviembre declines considerably, from a subzero cold -3.6°C (25.5°F) in Octubre, to a life-threatening cold -23.1°C (-9.6°F). Weather in Diciembre The first month of the winter, Diciembre, is also a dangerously cold month in Yakutsk , Russia , with average temperature ranging between max -34.3°C (-29.7°F) and min -40.4°C (-40.7°F).

Look Inside the World’s Coldest City - Magazine

how cold is yakutsk

how cold is yakutsk - win

People who live in big cities where temperatures regularly drop to -20° celcius or lower, how is life then?

Living in -67°C

Red Flood Progress Report 22 - Yakutia