████████ Moscow, Russia, U.S.S.R

████████████, Second Era

████████████████████

████

TO: General-Secretary Mak Molotok

CONCERNING: Number sequencing, pattern application and test results

Recording 001… Start…

Greetings, General-Secretary, this week's trials yield interesting results. I’ve managed to apply Mendeev’s last teachings into practical and useful science. His discoveries in the Neurochemistry field combined with our Neuroscience may prove to produce exactly what you’ve been searching for. These results are promising. Before you get into the documents proper I’d like to express my personal gratitude in allowing the team to continue our experiments despite our numerous failures prior, your decision will be paid back in kind, fully. Thank you.

Recording 001… End…

HYPOTHESIS:

Recording M001… Start…

In brief, through our extensive data collection, research and observation I’ve deduced that pattern recognition is perhaps one of the core building blocks of intelligent life on Affra. And nowhere is this more evident than in Yordles. From the things we see in our own daily lives and somehow formulate into evidence of a higher power to the simplistic example of seeing faces in the clouds and shapes in the stars, everything is fundamentally patterns. The greatest achievements to-date owe their success to patterns. Of course, I speak of numbers. Numbers are the building block of science as we’ve come to know it. I believe numbers were constructed by the mind to convey patterns in a more tangible manner.

There are patterns within numbers; essentially patterns within patterns. Odd numbers, triangular numbers, prime numbers, fibonacci numbers, numbers divided, subtracted, added, multiplied- The list goes on. Our current thinking is that this is no coincidence! Our goal is to unlock our true potential, to create a successor to Yordle-kind, and we believe the process to unlocking this potential is through patterns.

There is currently no estimate on a timeline for when our end goal will be reached- We’re… Not even sure it’s obtainable - but nevertheless, for the sake of the Soviet Union we press on into the unknown!

Recording M001… End…

TESTING PHASE:

Recording Ex004… Start…

As mentioned previously in Experiment Log zero-zero-two, we’ve reached a metaphorical glass ceiling with our research on animals. Doctor Mikhail Rosovich has taken it upon himself to lift one of the German war prisoners from the camp near ---, just as with the very first iterations of our research into the --- Project. His name is --- and he claims to be a part of the Twenty-third Panzer-Division. He was the most healthy of the ones they were willing to offer us. He is relatively young, we assume no older than three decades.

Our results for the experimentation phase yielded far more results than we expected. It seems a set of number sequences combined with different sets of stimuli seem to affect the brain differently. Mister ---, which we’ll refer to as “Benchmark” from this point onward - became unreasonably paranoid after we issued a certain set of numbers to him. This leads me to believe that numbers have a subconscious and intrinsic meaning. It’s like we are machines, converting equations into final answers in the form of emotions or actions.

So far we are only able to glean so much from Test Subject Benchmark, I’ve issued a formal request to the Commissar of the internment camp. With your signature we can begin pulling more test subjects with the intention of creating a control group.

Recording Ex004… End…

Recording Ex009… Start…

My fascination has peaked, General-Secretary! Our control group has exhibited patterns. The sequences in conjunction with stimuli have proved a portion of my theories correct. Remnants of our ancestors from millenia ago still survive within us and can be manifested under the right parameters! Pythagaros once said: “Everything is numbers.” His meaning, whether intentional or not, was twofold. Numbers can indeed calculate and explain the world as we’ve come to know it - but I believe numbers are a manifestation of our Neocortex - a real and more easily understandable solution to our overly complex brains.

During experiment zero-zero-eight Test Subject Zero-Seven reported a sudden loss of hearing after being introduced to our most recent number sequence. Unfortunately this is just one in a plethora of generally negative side-effects. Test Subject Zero-Two suffered an unprovoked epeleptic seizure ten minutes after being issued an experimental number sequence and additional stimuli. I know they’re the enemy, but seeing that young soldier convulse and expire left me with a dire sense of remorse. I’m sure it’s fleeting, but I’ve asked myself a number of times today; How moral is our work?...

…Regardless, the fate of the Soviet Union lies with us - my moral compass is ultimately irrelevant.

Recording Ex009… End…

Recording Ex014… Start…

Hello, General-Secretary, more updates. Test Subjects Zero-Four and Zero-Eight have expired due to inexplicable strokes. From further testing I believe the cause may lie in their individual experiences, or, to clarify - their lives as lived up to this point. I can’t say definitely - but I think the water is muddied, so to speak. To access the Neocortex and quote unquote “inject our equations into it” we must first filter out or entirely remove the learned patterns from one’s life experiences. This is easier said than done, the last three tests have been attempting to write a sequence that can isolate certain parts of the brain which will prove useful for further experimentation - namely the Neocortex and the portions of the brain that most closely relate to instinct.

From Mendeev’s research into Neurochemistry there seems to be a solution to our problem hidden in his notes. I’ve set my team to work deciphering it yet again. Upon first glance it has to do with the chemical balancing in the brain. This makes sense upon closer inspection seeing as how chemical imbalances are loosely linked to certain mental health conditions.

At the rate in which our test subjects are expiring I think we’ll need a new batch. I've sent another formal request for prisoners, it needs your signature, General-Secretary.

Recording Ex014… End…

Recording Ex025… Start…

We’ve done it. After administering numerous trial doses we’ve come up with a serum that will reduce brain activity in certain regions of the brain - thus allowing a relatively risk free input of our number sequences. We have managed to completely shut down all the unimportant faculties of the brain with regards to our intentions for it. Depending on the dosage this effect can be mild or extreme…In our most recent experiments we’ve effectively made one of the prisoners brain dead to the point of irreversibility…

I apologize if I sound unenthusiastic, General-Secretary. I’m well aware of the consequences that would befall our nation should our work here not be completed, but our team has been laboring for --- on end, a brief respite, even if only for a few days would be much appreciated. Please consider the written request attached to this log… I haven’t seen my children in quite a long time… I hear the constant pounding of shells above and I worry for them…

Recording Ex025… End…

FORMAL REQUEST FOR VACATIONARY LEAVE DENIED. CONTINUE WORK.

Recording Ex038… Start…

Hello, General-Secretary. Work has progressed with spectacular progress… At the cost of some lives. Test Subjects Thirty-eight through Forty-five have suffered fatal brain aneurysms, but their deaths led to a crucial breakthrough in the applications of our number sequences… I’m sure you’re pleased to hear. Essentially we’ve forged a set of codes that can activate particular parts of the brain now that the influence of their memories has been severely dampened. I believe we’re very close to making a major leap forward.

Our intentions for now are to isolate the sequences that activate each part of the brain, beginning with the Neocortex. Each test subject, now a husk of themselves - responds almost exactly the same to the stimuli we apply - with minor exceptions. I’ve come to terms with the fact that no matter how we go about this the fundamental differences in ancestral lineage will create micro-deviations - thus resulting in some subjects receiving the sequences without issue while others responded unpredictably. In one instance a soldier’s eyes opened and he became conscious for a split second before reverting back to a vegetable state. The memories are still there, they’re just heavily suppressed.

With our most recent strides in research we’re also now capable of implanting memories into a test subject via audible suggestion. The process requires activating the hippocampus before verbally reading a detailed fiction of what you want the subject to believe. In all but two out of the five cases the subject in question awoke believing they were the wicked witch Baba Yaga, a children’s story we used as a baseline.

Recording Ex038… End…

Recording Ex060… Start…

I apologize for not getting this log to you sooner, General-Secretary-... I’ve been overly consumed with my work after my daughter's death - it’s the only thing that keeps my mind from wandering, I hope you can understand. Anyways… On with the results.

Now that we’ve reliably isolated the sequences that activate each part of the brain, our current task is to combine it into one sequence. Doctor Rosovich calls this the Aurelian Sequence - a fitting name. So far our implementation of its earliest iterations have proved unreliable. In ninety percent of tests the subject suffered fatal brain hemorrhaging, but in the rare ten percent the brain seemed to become… Self-aware? When the subject awoke they reported a distinct feeling of emptiness, but they were capable of speech, locomotion and free-thought.

Ironically the Test Subject Benchmark was among that ten percent. He reported severe headaches which we could only assume is a result of his brain activity spiking. It’s a proven myth that Yordles only use a fraction of their brains on a daily basis, but it is true that we’re incapable of using one hundred percent of our brain capacity on any one task. Until today. Test Subject Benchmark was presented a simple jigsaw puzzle. He put it together in under ten seconds. We continued to increase the complexity and he continued to solve them at a rate much faster than the average Yordle was capable of.

Our next test was a simple game of Chess, which Test Subject Benchmark confessed to having played in the past. With his memories wiped we had to explain the game again, and we intentionally removed certain context for the sake of the experiment. On the fly he improvised. It was as if he was twenty steps ahead of his opponent at all times, simultaneously assuming correctly the rules of the game that we left out by studying his competition. The subsequent games were child’s play for Test Subject Benchmark. Our final test was attempting to measure his reaction time with buttons that would pop up and fall back down when pushed. Test Subject Benchmark’s reaction was so far beyond the average not a single pin rose above the surface of the board. Absolutely spectacular.

We’re attempting to harvest and perfect the sequence used on Test Subject Benchmark and the others. With additional funding and improvements to our equipment we’ll be able to begin applying the Aurelian Sequence to any Russian soldier of your choosing within the ---.

Recording Ex060… End…

Recording M002… Start…

General-Secretary! I implore you to reconsider, we’ve only just begun the refining process of the Aurelian Sequence, its long-term effects haven’t been fully tested! The Germans are a significant threat to Moscow, yes, but a soldier powered by the sequence could very well do more harm than good! Please, please, please, General-Secretary, give us two more weeks at the very least - I promise you, you’ll only receive a sharper soldier!

Recording M002… End…

REQUEST FOR DELAY OF DEPLOYMENT APPROVED. ALLOTTED TIME: ONE WEEK.

Recording Ex100… Start…

Our rapid-fire testing has resulted in a swath of discrepancies and irregularities that can’t begin to be deciphered in just one week. Our manpower is stretched thin attempting to process the fifty soldiers you sent us. Another week’s time is absolutely necessary, General-Secretary. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on these kinds of things but if my expertise as a Neuroscientist means anything to you- please, give me another week.

Regardless, here’s the update… We’ve discovered that some of our once successful German test subjects are showing signs of mental fatigue. At first we thought this was a temporary side-effect but it seems to be persisting for longer than expected. I’m worried that the soldiers you sent over from the Three hundred-and-sixteenth Rifle-Division would be at risk if we were to administer the Aurelian Sequence to them without first seeing how their predecessors react in the long-term. If we’re going about this intelligently, I’d recommend another month under the microscope, but I doubt you have that kind of patience…

Recording Ex100… End…

REQUEST FOR DELAY OF DEPLOYMENT APPROVED. ALLOTTED TIME: ONE ADDITIONAL WEEK.

Recording M003… Start…

I know what you did, Mak. I know how you stole these men off the train and had them rerouted here. General Panfilov thought this was merely propaganda to promote your quote unquote “brave Russian doctors working tirelessly behind the lines”. You’re a sick bitch, Mak. Every time you visited the lab you said you would be sending volunteers, letting them know what they were signing themselves up for! Instead you just sent me more prisoners of your war, this time flesh and blood Russians instead of malnourished Germans.

I can hardly stand to look at you, let alone record these logs anymore. Thankfully I won’t have to, your super soldiers are done, Panfilov and all twenty-seven of them. Yeah, twenty-seven. The other twenty-one bled out of their ears and noses until their brains filled with enough blood to pop like a water balloon. Here’s the list of the remaining soldiers. This will be my last monologue - I quit.

(PTYP-Alpha) Major-General Ivan Vasilyevich Panfilov

Nikolai Ananiev

Nikolai Belashev

Grigora Bezrodnikh

Yakov Bondarenko

Piotr Dutov

Piotr Emtsov

Nursutbai Esebulatov

Dmitri Kalenik

Vasily "Diev" Klochkov

Grigory Konkin

Alikbai Kosaev

Abram Kriuchkov

Nikolai Maximov

Nikita Mitchenko

Gavril Mitin

Ivan Moskalenko

Ivana Natarov

Grigory Petrenko

Musabek Sengirbayev

Ivan Shepetkov

Duishenkul Shopokov

Nikolai Trofimov

Dimitry Timofeev

Ilarion Vasilyev

Grigory Shemiakin

Danily Kuzhubergenov

Ivan Shadrin

Recording M003… End…

CONCLUSION:

Recording M003.1… Start…

H-Hello, General-Secretary! Doctor Mikhail Rosovich, here, as requested! We’ve detained Doctor Dima Sannikov on your order and are beginning the mind-wiping process effective-immediately. We should be done within the next few days… Pardon my asking, but… Are you sure you want to wipe the mind of the driving force behind the Aurelian Sequence? An order is an order and I’ll follow it willingly no matter my personal opinion but I can’t help but feel like she’d be more useful here in the labs even if it were against her will rather than fighting alongside the twenty-seven soldiers you’ve sent in defense of Moscow! Should you change your mind, we're perfectly capable of reversing the effects - but once the Aurelian Sequence is implemented, it will be significantly harder to do so.

Recording M003.1… End…

Recording… Start…

Hello, Doctor Rosovich, so good to hear from you. Regarding your last message… Absolutely not. Doctor Sannikov has shown herself to be a traitor to the Soviet Union and as such she will be punished. I saw no better way to do so than to roll the dice of fate on her life with the very genius creation she designed herself. Go ahead with the process, in fact, find a way to make it permanent. Dima served me well, and she will continue to serve me as a soldier on the frontlines, fighting with her comrades in arms.

Additionally, should word of this project be leaked to the public in any way - I will have one half of your team executed by the other via firing line. After she’s been sequenced, send Dima to me and continue perfecting what she started. Her legacy is now yours, Doctor Rosovich. Don’t disappoint.

Recording… End.

(PTYP-Alpha) Major-General Ivan Vasilyevich Panfilov

Nikolai Ananiev

Nikolai Belashev

Grigora Bezrodnikh

Yakov Bondarenko

Piotr Dutov

Piotr Emtsov

Nursutbai Esebulatov

Dmitri Kalenik

Vasily "Diev" Klochkov

Grigory Konkin

Alikbai Kosaev

Abram Kriuchkov

Nikolai Maximov

Nikita Mitchenko

Gavril Mitin

Ivan Moskalenko

Ivana Natarov

Grigory Petrenko

Musabek Sengirbayev

Ivan Shepetkov

Duishenkul Shopokov

Nikolai Trofimov

Dimitry Timofeev

Ilarion Vasilyev

Grigory Shemiakin

Danily Kuzhubergenov

Ivan Shadrin

(PTYP-Omega) Dima Lyudmila Sannikov

“So, you mean to tell me the Aurelian Sequence was once a weapon?”

Mak closed her eyes, a deep sigh passing through her nose as a wave of emotion traveled through her and over her. Hearing her past self so callously order Doctor Rosovich around left her with a grumbling pit in her stomach that threatened to implode her. The Director’s look of bewilderment only made that pit grow inside her. He was now privy to one of if not the deepest, darkest secret she harbored. She could hardly justify her actions in the current day given the outcome of her prototype super-soldiers.

She could remember the hour she ushered them out onto the frontline. The Germans were only fifty or so kilometers away from Moscow, the stubborn defense breaking in several places, her soldiers retreating and Commissars reporting shooting dozens of deserters. She told herself no matter the price, she would pay it to see her country delivered from the jaws of Nazism.

“I was desperate. The Union was desperate!” A flimsy shield to hide behind.

“If I may speak freely, Madam…” Aleksandr swept back his hair, ears reclining against the top of his head.

She gave him a nod of granted permission.

“What you did, no matter how dire the circumstance, was no better than what Tresa did to the Jewish peoples. You knew first hand about their concentration camps, how could you damn so many innocent soldiers fighting for your regime to such painful deaths? Brain hemorrhaging? Strokes? Aneurysms? Some could argue that’s a fate worse than gasing. We have done some very questionable things in our tenure as leaders of the Union but…”

“Don’t lecture me, Director. Were you in my shoes you would’ve done the same.” Mak fired back, her posture straightening behind her desk, a shaking palm grasping for her mug of coffee. The office was deathly silent, the sound of the old disc still turning without audio was the only thing bridging the quiet.

“I wouldn’t have. I can say that with the utmost confidence.” Aleksandr disagreed and was almost offended that she would claim otherwise.

“What else could I have done?!” Mak stamped her fist on the desk, spilling coffee from the mug just as it had come within range of her fingers. “You don’t know what it’s like to have worked so hard, risen armies in defense of a nation, watched them fall and rise again within the span of just a few years! To have to slay your own Generals for fear of them turning on you! My greatest triumphs and most vile failures are there for everyone to judge, but you’re shielded from criticism because of me, you work in my shadow, take my orders - delegate my commands! You have no earthly idea what kind of responsibilities I have!

“I’ve lived for almost two-hundred years! I’ve fought in wars, seen soldiers die and orchestrated wars where I’ve sent soldiers to die! You think I did what I did lightly?! I sentenced Dima Lyudmila Sannikov to a fate I consider worse than death! She has completely forgotten herself, all of her miraculous achievements are never to be known, not by the world and not even by herself! This is something I’ve lived with for forty decades! I understand better than no one else how backwards my decisions were because I have to live with them for the REST. OF MY. LIFE!”

By the time she had concluded her wrathful shouting she was standing up and pacing about her own office - tugging on her pigtails like an asylum patient. Spit lathered the corners of her mouth and her eyes were red from keeping back tears. All of her past mistakes manifested here and now in a brutally violent fashion that tore at her from the inside out. All the secrets she kept, the weight on her shoulders, the unceasing thoughts - they all boiled out of her.

Aleksandr was both sympathetic and terrified. He had never seen his Premier in such an unhinged state. She was a calm and collected leader with an iron sense of self, never to be doubted and never doubting in her own opinions. How could she have spiraled so absolutely and so quickly? Aleksandr swallowed as Mak braced her hands against the far wall, head hung low and forehead making contact with it. She looked as if she were sulking under a showerhead, but there was no warm water to wash away the grime of her past.

“What really happened to Panfilov’s Guardsmen?” He asked, quietly.

Mak couldn’t help but laugh at that question. More terrible truths for her to uncover. But she was here now, she might as well dig it all up. “...The stories aren’t entirely a myth. They were partly created to ease my conscience. Panfilov, Dima, Ananiev, Shemiakin - they all were deserving of their posthumous awards and the statues I had erected in their honor - but they didn’t die to bullets or bombs. They succumbed to brain related trauma. Most of them suffered fatal hemorrhaging during the battle of Moscow that killed them outright. Others descended into madness or depression, exhibiting schizophrenic behavior… About one half died in the field test. A quarter became insane and were put down but a smaller fragment lasted far longer than their comrades, they’d probably be here today if I hadn’t had them killed.”

“You had them killed?”

More bitter laughter followed. Mak turned about, her cheeks wet with tears. “Yes, Aleksandr. I had them killed. And you know who I sent to kill them?”

The Director remained silent, hoping she would answer her own question, but her foreboding stare told him she wasn’t going to speak until he inquired further. It was almost as if the Premier was both reluctant and forthcoming with the truth, at once afraid of it and wanting to be rid of the burden. “...Who?”

“I sent their creator to kill them. Of course she didn’t know… I sent her because of that monologue she left me. Monologue zero-zero-three. I-It played in my head like a spinning record, the needle forever stuck and scratching against the inside of my skull. I hated her for what she made me realize about myself so I played God with her life. I told her she was special - I gave her the finest weaponry in our stock piles and I sent her hunting under the pretense she was seeking spies and traitors to the Soviet Union… And in so doing I only proved her right… I’m not a good leader… I’m a terrible person.”

Mak pressed her back against the door, slowly sliding to a sit where she hugged against her knees. “Of course I had to wipe her memory again. I was fearful she might slip her programming and become aware of herself. I locked away the true potential of her mind behind layers and layers of lies. I sent her into theaters of war hoping the new and terrible memories she was making for herself would cover over the old ones. And maybe… Just maybe, she might die of a stroke or collapse into a writhing mess…”

“I had her put down revolts, I embedded her in our foreign legions and sent them to the worst fighting in Korea hoping, praying that she would die. She came back. I had her secretly drafted to the Spetsgruppa. I sent her squad deep into German territory. She came back. I sent her to Vietnam, stuck her in the middle of the Tet Offensive, still she lived. I involved her in the Sinai - hoping she might burn up in that god-forsaken desert. Nothing was working. I made one last bid for America - sent her and her squad in alone. The only way to make sure she dies is to collapse the whole country around her and hope she doesn’t make it out of the ashes.”

Aleksandr nearly choked on his own saliva at hearing that, standing suddenly from his chair. “You’re risking everything to get this scientist you cursed killed?!”

Mak smiled and shook her head. “Not everything. My intentions are still strategic, but I won’t lie and pretend her demise wasn’t a powerful driving force behind my decisions…”

Now Aleksandr was laughing, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re insane. You’re actually insane! Why not just have her killed yourself?!” He cupped his hips, eyes wide with misunderstanding.

“I-... I can’t bring myself to. At this point it's probably a mercy but I just… Can’t.”

Aleksandr sucked at his teeth, no longer sympathizing with his Premier but loathing her more and more every second. “You have to set this right. You have to extract Bheka, find this Dima Sannikov and explain to her--”

“Explain to her?!” Mak screeched. “Explain what?! She can’t recall a thing about what I did to her let alone the life she led before!” Her fury subsided into a mellow and somber shell of itself. “She would look at me like I’m crazy… I am crazy…”

“Well you have to do something, you can’t sulk in your failure like this! I’d suggest reversing your decision to enact our plans prematurely, first off.” Aleksandr was a ball of stress - coping with the bombshell of information just dropped on him as well as the imminent descent into chaos they were lingering on the edge of. “Just. Do. Something, Madam.”

The urge to completely undermine his superior was great, but Aleksandr wasn’t so bold. Even in the Premier’s moment of weakness she could have him shot under any pretext. He had spoken to her less like a leader and more like a child. He hoped his honesty wouldn’t come back to bite him. For now he left it there, prying the door open against Mak’s weight to slip out and into the hallway. She needed time to think, that much was apparent.

Byk and Myslitel had been sat in the hospital room for almost a day. The ins and outs of doctors monitoring Krovo’s health was starting to become disconcerting. They whispered constantly - trying their best not to worry the two. But it only made their suspicions worse. Whenever the staff vacated Byk layed close to Krovo, occupying one side of the hospital bed with an arm wrapped around her. The feeling of helplessness had grown since their argument on the roof and she couldn’t help but feel like this was a product of her outburst. Maybe all the stress had culminated in an episode. Maybe Krovo would die in this hospital bed.

Her tired eyes looked across the room to Myslitel, slumped over in the chair - one elbow on the armrest and her cheek mushed into her open palm cradling her skull. She had told Myslitel to head back to the flat a dozen times and each time she denied her with a silent shake of her head. If nothing else it proved they were more than just a squad. They were a family.

Her eyes droned over to the box television suspended in the corner of the room, playing some silly little cartoon featuring a young boy the name of Gary Gulliver and his dog. She couldn’t grasp much of the plot, it was just mindless filler to keep her from being entirely bored looking after her lover. A calming and gentle hand stroked against Dima’s thigh, her lips finding the sleeping soldier’s forehead every now and again.

On her latest attempt to kiss Dima she found her forehead had strayed from where it once was. Her eyes turned down to investigate, finding a pair of bright-purple eyes staring back. She nearly jumped out of the bed with surprise, her initial shock transitioning to uncontainable joy. “D-Dima? How long have you been awake?”

Where Dima’s eyes normally softened at the sight of Vechiya there were unusually cold… Dead even. There was a gravity behind them that Byk couldn’t quite explain. Her half-smile slowly diminished as the question went unanswered. Her hand retreated from Krovo’s thigh, feeling like she had upset her partner in some way. “Dima…?”

Still she glared, unmoving - her eyes unblinking. She looked focused, as if deciphering the very fabric of Vechiya’s reality through her emerald eyes. Her mouth opened slowly to speak. The voice that fell from it was so backwards it might as well have not been Dima’s at all. She spoke with a level of sophistication never demonstrated in the past. The kind of voice one could hear without context and assume belonged to someone of great intellect, like an Albert Einstein, a Nikola Tesla or a Marie Curie. There was also an underlying tone of violence - often only heard when Krovo was about to split necks with her bayonet.

“Get off me.”

Vechiya blinked hard in confusion. “W-What? Are you still ma--?” Before she could properly react she was shoved off the bed and onto the floor with a thud against the tile. “Dima!”

Without hesitating Krovo ripped the electrodes from her body in large swaths, discarding them. The heart monitor set to beeping and Myslitel was jumping up the moment she realized something was amiss.

“Krovo? I don’t think you’re well enough to be moving around.” Myslitel explained, her hands outstretched to ward Dima away from the door. “Meduza doesn’t want you leaving until the hospital is ready to release you.”

Dima scoffed, an amused exhale following. “Ah, Merrill, always the dutiful subordinate. Step aside.”

“Wh-... Why are you talking like that?” Myslitel’s brows furrowed.

Myslitel’s confusion was brief however. She glanced to one side, noticing Byk had risen to a stand and was creeping towards Krovo’s flank. Her eyes fell back on Krovo, intent on keeping her distracted so Byk could restrain her. Before she could even open her mouth Krovo was reacting - adjusting her stance and posture at breakneck speeds to deliver a jumping back-kick directly to Byk’s nose. Her bare foot crunched against the Lieutenant’s face - causing her to stumble into the IV pole, knocking it flat along with a tray of stale food.

Myslitel blinked as if trying to reset the pace at which the world was moving. Her head was hardly screwed on straight when Krovo started advancing on her. She stepped back, reaching for the door handle with the intention of escaping but was too slow. A flying knee struck her in the gut with incredible force - sending her slamming through the cracked-open door and out into the hallway.

Krovo stepped out and Byk came running after her. She leapt with arms outstretched in attempts to tackle the Yordle, but as if Krovo was four steps ahead she spun and threw Byk over her shoulder, planting her spine-first on the floor. Myslitel was rising again, a hand gripping her stomach. She closed the distance, starting with a falcon punch that cut through the air. Krovo’s head slipped the strike, her arms coming up to hug around the half-airborne Merrill. Krovo pivoted and shifted her weight downwards, slamming Myslitel onto the floor beside Byk like a sumo wrestler would.

They were left in a groaning pile on the floor - surrounded by a sea of concerned nurses and doctors. One of the armed policemen separated the crowd, weapon drawn. By the time he had emerged into the circle of onlookers Krovo had slipped out the opposite side. Myslitel lost her as a nurse ran up with the intentions of assisting.

“Ma’am, are you alright?!” The nurse cried, bringing a palm to the back of her head.

Myslitel was hardly concerned with her well-being, scanning for Krovo. She found her amidst the crowd near a wall a short five seconds after she had disappeared, gripping a scalpel, her hand enveloped in a bundle of rags. She jammed the scalpel into an electrical socket - sparks and flashes erupting from it to set the rags alight. The breakers tripped, leaving the doctors and nurses in a state of acute panic. The crowd dispersed in the darkness as a second police officer came at the request of the first via radio. Myslitel and Byk made their way to their feet just in time to see Krovo emerging from the smattering of people with a scalpel raised.

Myslitel made an effort to stop her but she was ultimately too slow, watching the scalpel run around the officer’s neck, blood cascading onto his collar before he collapsed to one knee. Krovo tore the sidearm from his hand, a standard issue Model 28 Revolver. She sent the chamber spinning, all six rounds accounted for - turning it on the second police officer before he could get a hand to his holster. Three shots to the abdomen felled him, and the next three were used to cut down three fleeing doctors, their white lab coats stained crimson.

A wicked look washed over Dima’s face, sharp teeth bared and eyes wild with a bloodlust she couldn’t deny. The screams of the innocent swirled in mass hysteria throughout the sterile hospital halls. Myslitel and Byk watched on in stunned silence as Krovo lifted the other officers’ weapon off his corpse to begin massacring more doctors. Only doctors. One older doctor had his brains pushed out the back of his skull to paint a far wall. Krovo ran down another, striking her over the head to ground her, placing a foot on her shoulder to keep her down while she executed her. A nurse nearby wretched at the brutality - spilling her lunch across her lap.

Myslitel tugged at Vechiya’s shoulder. “Byk… We have to go…”

Vechiya was frozen by each flashing of bright light from the muzzle of Krovo’s revolver. Not because of the carnage, but because Dima, her one and only flame - had just broken her nose and left her stranded without remorse or regret. Krovo was unhinged, but never towards Byk. That was another person entirely.

“Byk! Come on!!!”