[i][b]2 February, 1928[/b][/i]

[i][b]0932 hours[/b][/i]

[i][b]Hotel National, 5th floor- Moscow[/b][/i]

[i]A dazed vision is what blesses Oleg as he tries to awake from violent spat with death. He is met with a strong ringing sound that echoes through his mind like the church bells of St Petersburg. Trying to move became a near impossible challenge as his lower body was covered in a debris of broken floorboards and smashed glass. From looking around wearingly, he could tell that he had landed on the floor below after being sucker-punched by a Wildfire rocket launcher. He looked above and saw the chomped-off half of the 6th floor. The power of Chimeran weaponry was fiercely advanced. They, practically, were carrying the power of a tank within their mutated, demonic hands. This power along is able to make Frankenstein’s monster and the bogeyman look like a pair of small chipmunks.[/i]

[i]His vision started syncing itself back into place and he started trying to push the rubble of his body. He started coughing quite brutally. His face was covered in sheet of dirt, dust, and sweat with hints of blood. The coughs were the cause of an intentional inhale of dust during his fall. He sat himself up and a few metres away was Nikolai. His comrade was lying against the wall and pierced into the ribcage of his body was a giant piece of the 6th floor. The man in front of him was bloody and violent. Blood flowed down his mouth like a water fall and the open visible bones were gruesomely attached with small bits of organs. It made him wheezy and pant at the grisly sight of his comrade’s death. He looked to his left. A massive opening had now appeared thanks to the explosion. Within the time of a split second, a hand instantly surfaced from the outside. Fear struck Oleg’s nerves like a harp. A couple of Chimera were climbing the hotel too finish him and his comrade off; the job was half done.[/i]

[i]A Chimera popped it self over the broken wall, it’s roar struck black into the fear of men. Oleg ran into the direction behind him. Fearing for his life, he opened the door ran through to the other side. Small red balls of death flew past his head as he slams the door behind him. He started running in terror down the hall of the Hotel National’s 5th floor. His movement was clumsy and his body was filled with adrenaline as he starts knocking chairs and desks over in the hope of making some sort of small and weak barricade. He looked behind him to the corridor growing longer and trippy by the second. Fear was now in control. He didn’t have time to think or mourn over Nikolai. He had known him for a few years and was a good friend but he didn’t cry over him. Comrades were dying left, right and centre and it leaves no second for a man to weep over a lost life. It hadn’t even been a year and already Oleg was desensitized by this war. Normal life is now but a illusive speck that cannot be reached or clung too.[/i]

[i]He then looked forward but right down the path was a Chimeran foot soldier standing in the hallway. It roared with villainous glee as the soft sound of it’s Bullseye charges up and produces a fateful, orange glow in the barrel of it’s gun.[/i]

[b]________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/b]

[b]12 July, 1951[/b]

[b]0215 hours[/b]

[b]York base- Containment Cell[/b]

Oleg woke up with a startling howl as he instantly sits up from the crooked bed, panting and sweating heavily. He stunk of nightmarish flashbacks. For 23 years his brain has acted like a broken film projector that repeats memories in his head, night after night after night. It drives men insane but Oleg has endured the burden that is laid heavy on his head. He looks around the prison that he is being kept in. Oleg’s impressive streak has finally ended: he had been found by the military. His nationality made him a high class catch for any GI Joe or Jane that happens to notice his accent. Nobody knows what happened in Russia and there have been no human survivors recorded; that he knows of. He is gone be greeted by a welcome party of questions regarding his painful past. They’ll force him to relive memories of his comrades being either killed or taken by the Chimera. By the end of the carousal of catechizing, they’ll either release him, kill him or recruit him. Two of the options seemed quite favourable. 

He looked down at the clothes he was wearing. It was normal ruined military trousers that he has worn for years now. The wear and tear was quite visible to the naked eye but a change of clothes is not a privilege that came available to Oleg but with recent events, he’s pretty sure that a change of clothes is a privilege available to few. His boots were still on him and his white shirt was still intact. The only thing missing was his jacket, weapons and supplies. A moment of discord struck his realization has he noticed that his journal was not with him. He jumped out of the bed with anger and fury raging through the Russian’s heart. That journal contained information of Russia and the Chimera. At the back of the book was the name of every single comrade he has seen slaughtered by the Chimera. There were pages and pages filled with Russian names. Each name holds a dark vision of the Chimera butchering them right in front of Oleg’s young eyes. That part was a personal connection for him, which he doesn’t want tainted by the filthy hands of the Americans and British. It is unlikely that the western dogs will handle something that deep with care.

He stands up from the bed and looks around. It was a very concealed and plain room. Plain, brick walls surround him with no windows except one. The window was tricked out to look like a mirror but Oleg knew that it was a viewing point into the room from, what most likely is, the hallway outside. This was a multipurpose containment room. It can be used as containment for Chimera, a prison for convicts or an interrogation room for people of interest. A bed, a sink and a toilet is all that is there to comfort Oleg as he stands in his brick-box cell. He walks up to the window and looks at his reflection in the mirror of deception. He can see how old he has become. Time has hit him quite hard. He was no longer the young, eager private that he was once. All he sees now is another person. A broken man now stood in front of him. His eyes are what caught his attention. They were red, slightly puffy and teary. He looks deep into him but he falls into a chasm of alienation and misery. He saw nothing of the man he once was. He slowly places his right hand on his face to touch the effect of the Chimera War. He face had small noticeable wrinkles and it was very rough. He couldn’t believe how long it has been and how far he has came but for what?

He then stopped touch his face and banged his fist on the glass window in rage of his realization. He kept banging on it harshly and screaming to top of his voice. He was always brought up to believe in a god but what deity would allow any man to go under this much torment and torture. While hitting the glass, he looked up and started yelling in Russian.

“Pochemu, pochemu, pochemu!” Which translates too: why,why,why. 

He then stopped banging the glass and looked in front of him. The mirror/window was barely scratched by his anger. He sat back down at the bed and laid his head down in gloom, waiting for his inevitable meeting with whatever glorified grunt that runs this place.