???, Poland
The sound of mumbled voices and a car engine flooded the darkness of Feliks' mind, as he came to in the back of a pickup truck. Looking around through blurry eyes, he immediately recognized the shape of the Russian who had pulled him inside before...
'What happened, again?' he thought, trying to blink away the blur.
“Hey, he's coming to.” said the Russian in a low, somewhat distorted voice.
Suddenly, another face was peering over him, taking up the entirety of Feliks' field of view.
'A woman?' he thought, as he finally cleared his vision, and looked down at his hands, taking note of the fact they weren't bound.
“Feliks? You okay?” she asked in a familiar voice.
Feliks tried to speak, but only managed a low grumble himself and he took hold of his spinning head. Suddenly, a soft hand took him by the chin, and lifted his head.
“Hmm... You're still recovering a bit, but you should be fine.” she said with a smile. “If you need to puke, please do it over the side of the truck. We're all a bit cramped back here.”
Feliks nodded, right as it all came rushing into his mind. Thin brown hair under a baggy hat, big round glasses like his grandmother used to wear, more layers than should be necessary, and skin so pale it could blind you after having the smallest bit of light shone on it.
“Bianka..?” he asked, incredulously. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Krakow.”
“I was. Well, I still am. You will be soon, too. That's where we're headed. The Rotewache were still searching for you, it wasn't safe to keep you in Lublin. I swear, Germans don't eat enough greens, and it makes them all so angry...”
Ignoring the babbling at the end, Feliks finally took a look around him. They were, in fact, heading West, but why? How was Krakow, of all places, better than Lublin? Wouldn't it be one hundred times worse there, where they have to worry about the szkops AND pawie's? She also avoided the first half of his question.
“Bianka. You didn't answer. What were you doing in Lublin? I thought you said you were never coming back after what the szkops did to your grandfather.”
“Welllll, Fellliks.” she started, putting emphasis on the l's. “It wasn't really my call. All of the good stuff is being wiped out in Krakow, so I have to head elsewhere to get my fix.”
Feliks sighed.
“You're still doing drugs, Bianka? I thought you were going to stop!”
“Yeah, and you were gonna break things off with Kacper's gang, but that didn't happen, did it?”
Feliks opened his mouth to argue more, but quickly realized he had no comeback, and changed the subject.
“So, uh... Krakow. What's it like? We only really get stories in Lublin, and you never know how reliable those are.”
“Well, it's interesting.” Bianka said, twirling her hair around one of her fingers. “Contrary to popular belief, the pawie's are actually a lot worse than the Germans.”
Feliks cringed slightly when she called the Germans by their proper names, but let her continue.
“The Germans are fairly lax on their regulation, and only really go after the large gangs. IE, my supply getting fucked. They also go after rebels, of course, but most of them stay on the pawie's side.”
Feliks scratched his head. “But... Didn't you say the pawie's were worse than the szkops? Why would the rebels gather over there?”
Bianka took off her glasses, a sign Feliks knew all too well. She swallowed hard, and looked off the side of the truck as she answered.
“There's a lot more places to hide in Austrian-Krakow. They are a lot harsher on criminals. They also have much harsher terms for what defines a criminal. Because of that, there are a lot more... vacant, homes. I heard a story from a friend. She said that she watched as the pawie's rooted out a rebel cell. She said they butchered everyone right there on the roadside. Even children.”
Feliks sat there, shocked and disgusted, as Bianka was comforted by the giant Russian, who he only just now remembered was there, and very likely was the one behind the bump on the back of his head. After all, what reason would Bianka have to be behind it?
“Is alright.” the Russian said, handing Bianka a handkerchief, as he rubbed her back. “Your people. They are strong. You will free yourself from the Imperialists soon.”
Sniffling, Bianka smiled at the Russian. “Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Sergej. I just wish we could do more to help. Maybe if we ask Kaiser Wilhelm nicely, he'll speak out against the Austrians!”
“Ha!” Feliks basically shouted, making Bianka jump. “You really think that fat fuck cares about our people in the slightest? Yes, he may not be as bad as the Austrians, but at least they have the courtesy to be blunt about killing us off!”
“I don't know what you mean, Feliks.” Bianka said, staring daggers at him. “The Germans are so much nicer than the Austrians.”
“Yes! They are! That's the problem! Have you not noticed, Bianka? While the Austrians are making you focus on them, more and more szkops are moving in to Poland, taking over Polish businesses, forcing their workers to speak German. The pawie's are taking our peoples lives, but the szcops? They are killing our culture! They are trying to train us to be good little Germans! It's no different from what the Americans did to their Indians, like they taught us in school!”
Bianka just stared at Feliks, mouth agape. Did she really not realize this until now? Or were things really that different in Krakow?
“I'm sorry.” Feliks mumbled. “It's a hard pill to swallow, but you must realize. The Germans are not our friends. They are our hypnotists. They distract us with shiny things and kind words as they slowly erase our culture. I've heard that people speak more German than they do Polish in Warsaw, even. There's a reason all of us North of Krakow call them szkops. It's not that we're still bitter. It's that we see them for what they are. If you want to get along with the imperialists, then you might as well sign up for the Jäger's right now.”
Bianka still said nothing, but her Russian shifted, and Feliks suddenly remember how he came to be in the back of a pickup truck after walking into him in the alley.
“Fuck my big mouth.” he said, as Sergej's fist met with his face, and he was back to the inky blackness of his mind.
