SOVIET HELLSCAPE

Written and illustrated by the white devil

The heavens deluged sunless acrid rain upon the desolate and solemn wasteland, whilst a ravenous blizzard raged. Each gust of wind howled with the cry of billions of betrayed and forlorn souls. Forsaken by their leaders to suffer in fire and agony for eternity. The consequences of genocidal suicide, forced upon them regardless of their innocence. I shivered at the horrific sound, fright piercing my olden blackened heart of sin. It was a haunting sound, one that placed a deep fear in my hard heart. The ravaged construct hardly sheltered us from the devastating radioactive shower and catastrophic blizzard. An immense fire burned with a brilliant yellow glow, seeping lively heat. Its flames are fueled by several combustible materials. varying from rags to timber and paper soaked in petrol and oil. Yet the warmth barely starved off the frost and harsh Romanian environment. The environmental conditions were horrific to be lenient, the grievous radioactivity and freezing winds. Mixed with no sunlight and near-permanent darkness. Making life a living hell for anything that's still breathing.

Leonid sat across from me, attempting to fill his gas mask canteen with vodka, so he can hook it up to the mask's drinking tube. Trying to drink himself half to death, we've all probably been at that point in life. Putrified human flesh and dead rats hardly keep me from collapsing down a fleet of stairs and becoming a meal to the rats. I dread the inevitable day that'll happen and fear where and when my friend will beat me to death whilst I slumber. And cut off my flesh and eat it like a fucking steak. The knowledge sent chills down my spine and throughout my withered living corpse. It was horrifying and sent a divide between the two of us. I threw the empty can of cod caviar at a brick wall, right next to Leonid.

"What the fuck!?" Leonid exclaimed, nearly leaping into the air with an ear-piercing shriek. He got onto his feet and held a revolver in his hand, pointing it at my chest.

"Are you going to calm down, dammit? Or do you want to be punched in the face again?" I said with a deadpan.

Leonid huffed before plopping back down on a cinderblock, he looked back to me and scowled. "Asshole," He hissed violently with a venomous and hostile voice.

I snickered at his frustration, my aged voice nearly breaking as I tried to choke down a laugh. When I spoke again I sounded like that one old Spanish guy with a funny laugh.

"Oh, fuck your mother!" I laughed hysterically, pointing my finger at him.

His eyes meet mine after a laughing fit, his eyes glared into mine with sharp molten daggers. Loaded with snake venom and warfarin blood thinners. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, he just sat on a chair. Glaring at me menacingly.

Eventually, he spoke once more. His voice was deep and guttural with furious fury and righteous fire. Like Satan himself was speaking to me, if he was a furious human being.

"My mother is dead, you son of a bitch!!" Leonid shouted at me, his voice louder than a Mosin Nagant rifle. He reached for his revolver and pointed it at my chest, he cocked the pistol and gritted his teeth whilst he snarled like an alley dog.

"He-hey, hey! That's not necessary, Leo! it was just a J-joke.!" I stuttered in fear and messed up my words, holding my hands up.

Thankfully, however, he calmed down after a few moments of threatening me. "Damnit, Vlad! you know I don't respond well to jokes like that!" He scowled and stared at the floor.

"At least you didn't slaughter me." I retorted smartly, granting me a shitty look from Leonid.

"Fuck this, I'm going to bed." He yawned.

I grabbed my rifle with one hand and used the weapon for leverage to help me stand up. Every bone in my body screamed in arthritis-fueled agony. But I pulled through and managed to stand upon my two thin legs. Leonid stared at me the whole time I stood myself up, his eyes screaming many obscenities at me.
Okay, you sleep and I stand guard," I spoke cheerfully, Leonid scuffed at my comment before chuckling.

"A retard would do a better job of guarding me than your wrinkly old ass."

"Thanks for your gratitude, asshole,"

"Your desired bastard"

"Oh, fuck you, you fucking cocksucker!"

Standing guard was a tiring and stressful duty to perform, however, I had already been conditioned, hardened, and trained in the art beforehand. Giving me a major advantage over other people. I was eating some smoked sprats and chicken pate, my old rifle was propped up against the wall. Within an arm's reach in case anyone attacks the two of us. The pate tasted relatively okay for what it was. An acquired taste sure, but worth acquiring. I swiftly finished the chicken pate and most of the smoked Golden sprats in oil. My hunger finally satiated for a few hours until I'll probably suffer from starvation again. I relaxed a bit, taking a sip of vodka. I threw the two cans in a random direction because there wasn't a trashcan.

I slouched against the wall, allowing my legs to give in and slide down the old crumbling wall. My eyes moved left to right trying to scan the area for anything that could potentially jeopardize my existence. However, the thick suffocating darkness placed a damper on my mission. Frustration was quickly growing in my mind and began boiling my blood. After a few more frustrating moments, I stopped my search and huffed slouching further against the wall. I reached out with an arm for my rifle. One of my gloved hands wrapped around the rifle barrel.

I retracted my arm with a grunt and placed the weapon on my lap. The weapon was quite heavy, to be honest with you. Not uncomfortably heavy, but heavy enough to make it noticeable. Though the folding stock helped diminish weight substantially.

The rifle had tritium night sights typical of an AKMP rifle variant. Attached at the end of the barrel was a bulbous soviet PBS-1 silencer. The grip was a black polymer grip with grooves for the fingers, the same type used by the American CIA. The magazine was tapped together with another as to double the amount of ammunition. A thick rubber buttpad was attached to the metal stock.

These modifications turned the rifle into a mean 7.62×39 chambered killing machine. The weapon, however, wasn't in very good condition. Scratches, dents, fading paint, knicks, dirty, grime, dust, rust, and various types of damage. Any type of wear and tear was on the weapon and easily visible. But thanks to Kalashnikov's brilliant engineering, it still fires. And pretty damn accurate and smooth firing too.

Yeah, the AKM rifle is quite the fucking workhorse. Why do you think terrorists, militaries, and guerilla fighters around the world love it? Because it is cheap, versatile, the ammo is cheap and common, the rifle is incredibly durable, effortless to maintain in the first place, very simple to use. And it has over seventy fucking years of usage as proof of its supremacy.

Regardless the gun isn't fucking superman, the rifle does still need to be cleaned and repaired occasionally. It'll survive in harsh environments remarkably well, but you'll still need to clean it. America learned that mistake when they issued the original M16 to soldiers in Vietnam. They didn't chrome line the barrels of the rifles and neglected to issue cleaning kits. Because of that, the rifle was affectionately known as a jungle raped hunk of shit. Anyways, I apologize for my tendency to devolve into incessant rambling tangents. I'm afraid that'll happen rather frequently from now on out.

What has always irked me was how I don't remember anything from my past, yet I know so many things. Military techniques, survival skills, and weapon handling. Now, granted, I don't have memories of this probable training. It's like muscle memory or similar to a reflex, it comes to me naturally. I could pick up a weapon and have my body naturally go into an effective firing position. With varying degrees of success of course.

I poured a tiny amount of rubbing alcohol on a rag. Using the rag to wipe down the recoil spring, dust cover, firing pin, and the bolt. So much godamn fucking dirt and grime makes cleaning the difficult an infur-
iating task. Though the upside of doing the tedious and frustrating activity was the ad- ditional confidence I gained in my rifle. The weapon was in very poor condition but it still managed to shoot like my fresh pistol.

It took a couple of minutes to clean each part but I managed to pull through. Slowly, I piece the rifle together again, part by part and piece by piece. Because I had taken the entire rifle apart, putting it back together was far longer than usual.

Eventually, after placing every part into the receiver and fixing them into place. I finally put the dust cover back on and screwed it shut. I grabbed the magazine and shoved the metal piece of shit into the extensively larger hunk of shit. Then I yanked the bolt back with a loud clank and shouldered my rifle to test the sights. In front of me, I had set up a series of targets in varying distances. One at 25 yards, another at 50 yards, then 75 yards, after that 100 yards.

After 100 yards, there was a target at 200 yards then finally at 500. I illuminated each target with flashlights and spare road flares. Providing necessary luminance for accurate shooting. The good news is the blizzard had finally chilled the fuck out, I thought that motherfucker was never going to cool down.

.Focusing upon the weapon on the 25-yard target, I breathed in and held my breath. Adjusting the tritium sights for the range I'd be shooting at. The burning sensation grew in my lungs as my brain roared and hollered for air. My palms were sweating which made the rifle difficult to grip. My arms swayed but I managed to get it under control. The back of the receiver was pressed up against my cheekbone and the rifle was rammed against my shoulder. Thank god for the recoil pad, otherwise, I'm not sure the damn rifle wouldn't fucking shatter my godamn shoulder. The tension was real even at this distance, I wanted the best conceivable shot possible.

The trigger felt like it weighed like a brick house. My heart pounded against my ribs like a jackrabbit frantically attempting to escape its cage.

And then, a thunderous boom and blinding flash rumbled from the rifle, the bullet flew out the barrel like the concord. The bullet slammed into the metal plate and struck the bright red bullseye. Causing the metal to emit a noise similar to a Chine-se bong. I repeated the process several times with each target. According to my analysis, the rifle is still very accurate even out to 500 yards.

The Russian ammunition's corrosive properties showed to be problematic, but I could easily fix that. Finding good bullets for an AKM rifle is a pain in the wallet but feasible.

Bullets whizzed past my head with speed rivaling sonic the hedgehog, if only he was here right now. The bandits screamed random obscenities at the four of us, cursing our mothers and fathers, taunting us to leave our ruined shelter. Romanov provided much-needed covering fire with an old RPD, whilst Leonid used his old rifle to pick off any bandits who were estranged from the group.

The whole area turned into a godamned shitshow of epic proportions. Bullets flew everywhere as it was four experienced heavily armed men locked inside a building, up against twenty-three inexperienced poorly equipped bandits and looters out in the open.

My heart was ramming itself against my ribs and lungs whilst the adrenaline kicked in, I transformed from a relatively normal nuclear holocaust survivor into a heavily armed borderline psychotic lunatic armed with your grandad's fucking U.S army world war two rifle, your marine father's vietnam era grenade launcher, and a fucking AKMS rifle. It went about as well as you'd expect.

The grenade launcher was an old beaten-up piece of shit from vietnam and maybe the Persian Gulf war, the stock slammed into my shoulder as I pulled the trigger. A flash of bright light erupted from the barrel whereas the highly explosive projectile smashed against a tree nearby a few unlucky looters.

The explosion sent wood and metal shrapnel everywhere, shredding anything within twenty feet, the bits of metal and wood tore through the thick clothing and worn flesh of the poor bastards. They fell to the earth screaming in agony whilst blood pooled in their throats, one had his face completely torn apart by bits of wood. His eyes being converted into minced white meat, he tried to scream but a stray rifle round from Leonid's rifle.

He collapsed to the ground and never got back up, slowly choking to death on his very own lifeforce whereas his life faded away into the background radiation of the frozen winds. Another corpse in a world built off death. Many more bandits were slaughtered at the behest of a few men, several were torn limb from limb by the catastrophic damage of our lovely machine gunner. Others were brained by Leonid's British G3 rifle or my M79 grenade launcher.

Then suddenly, from my peripheral vision, I saw a large rocket soaring through the icy air followed by a jet of flame. Immediately, I pushed grygoriy out the way and jumped over the pile of sandbags and debris that shielded us from the relentless gunfire. And just in time, because that very moment, the rocket slammed against a pile of debris and blew up almost instantly. We dodged one bullet, but can we dodge several hundred more? The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a godamn knife. We were both in deep shit right now if we couldn't find cover.

I pulled grygoriy to his feet using my adrenaline-enhanced strength and motioned for him to follow me, we both ran across the dark sunless field, dodging numerous bullets and grenade shrapnel on our exhilarating trek into no man's land. My heart was pumping at an unbelievable speed right now as fear and anxiety coursed up every vein, artery, and capillary inside my ancient withered corpse.

Every hair stood up like an erection inside a 1980s porno. My palms were sweating as my breathing grew erratic, there isn't any way to properly describe what it feels to participate in a massive gunfight or mass shooting. Fear, excitement, adrenaline, apprehension, anything relating to excitement and fear.

We eventually came across an abandoned BDRM-2 armored vehicle when a looter came out of nowhere with a bulky handmade flintlock pistol made from driftwood and a rusty lead water pipe. He yelled some obscenities in Russian as he pulled the trigger. The gun boomed with a deafening crack as a musket ball struck grygoriy straight in the thigh dropping the bald man to the earth.

Instinctually I put my weapon against my shoulder and pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoed deafeningly as I watched the man stagger and fall, clutching his neck. The rifle round tearing through his throat and jugular vein, he died rather swiftly from blood loss.

I stood over the corpse in stunned silence, my mouth forced into a frown as mixed emotions filled my brain. It wasn't until I heard grygoriy moaning in agony and pain that I was broken from my silence. Quickly, I turned to my left and scampered up to the kneeling bald and lifted him onto his feet. He stood there gripping the bullet wound with his hand, small amounts of blood running in between his fingers, an agonized expression plastered on his face

"Damn it! Grigory, are you okay?" I inquired about his condition, "Aah! Of course, I'm not fucking okay! HE SHOT ME IN THE FUCKING LEG" Grygoriy wailed in response, his voice breaking under the severe agony.

In a fit of rage, he withdrew an old Makarov handgun from his jacket. He pointed it upon the nearly dead man, who writhed in anguish. He snarled at the bandit and pulled the trigger multiple times. Emptying the entire magazine into the poor bastard.

The gunshots had long since stopped, because of that Leonid and Romanov jogged over to the two of us. They were just as shocked and disturbed as me. Both were frozen in their places, however, Leonid eventually spoke up in a shaky voice. "Oh yeah, he's bleeding all over the fucking place." He murmured.

Grygoriy hissed as I tightened a tourniquet above the wound to stifle the severe bleeding. The bullet had torn through a myriad of arteries and an innumerable amount of veins.

"Damn it, Leonid, help me carry this bastard!" I grunted, trying to lift the man. This seemed to break the silence of the two catatonic states.

My boots trudged through the vast Romanian marshland, this land was located near the Ukrainian border. Romania has long since been annihilated by radioactive fallout and thick black ash clouds. However, the closer we approached Ukraine, the more the ash clouds faded away to reveal the great enormous ball-shaped nuclear reactor of molten plasma called the sun.

Its benevolent life-giving light and shine can finally reach the earth and penetrate the catastrophic clouds of ash. But even this light cannot bring back the life that we, mankind, slaughtered in genocidal suicide.

The trees were nearly dead, the wood had been charred to a crisp and petrified into a stone-like material. The leaves had petrified into hardened fossils that admitted strong amounts of radiation, so much that the leaves had mutated into a different color. Some thick groups of grass were scattered about the desolate marshland of death, large doses of radiation completely changed whatever life had survived the nuclear Armageddon that accrued barely a year ago.

The grass had been tinted bright yellow by the extreme background radiation, it also developed a very potent bloodborne venom hidden within long dagger-like thorns. These pesky thorns dug into my clothing, trying to pierce my withered flesh to inject their venom into me.

The environment was still incredibly harsh, still, the sun and sky remained blocked by thick ash clouds of radioactive debris and ash. Only small beads of precious sunshine pierced through heaven's heart of darkness.

The winds knicked my jackets with powerful gusts of frigid air, the wind didn't make transversing the foul swamp any less grueling, neither did the rain. Black rain poured upon the four of us, acid nibbled at our equipment and clothing causing noticeable damage but not enough to put it in jeopardy.

The mud emitted a loud sickening 'shlurp' every time I retracted my foot and took another step. Every step made me cringe in disgust at the twisted guttural sound. The rain pounded against my frail olden body, pushing me down towards the thick swamp toxic sludge people once called water.

Frost formed around the edges of the mask's glass lens, partially obscuring my already defiled field of vision, this same dreaded ice built up inside the filter and voice diaphragm making breathing and communication much more difficult. I sighed mentally, knowing that I'd have to do a shitload of work on the mask later.

My breathing was ragged and labored, the environment was gradually and deliberately suffocating me. This world seemed to hold a furious and burning hatred for myself and the other three jackasses. Dread was starting to tear apart my heart every time I took a step towards the deadly border. The Romanian wasteland wasn't ready to let me go just yet.

Grygoriy moaned in agony as we struggled to carry him through the dreaded marsh. He wasn't particularly heavy but between our loads and starvation and fatigue. Turned an intermediate task into a very difficult one. I groaned under the weight of hauling the severely weakened and distressed man. Thankfully though, I had two other yahoos to help me carry this jackass.

"Akgh... Almost shot my balls off-Agk," Grygoriy groaned in pain, his face contorted in pain whilst his breaths grew erratic. His skin started to become cold and clammy as it paled, the gunshot wound was still bleeding heavily even with the rubber army tourniquet.

"Calm down, Gregory, that cocksucker missed them by a mile," Romanov said.

"Well, if a giant lead bullet that punctured several of Greg's arteries and possibly a CNS nerve in his leg is somehow better than sterilization..." I butt into the conversation with a smartass comment.

"О, тише ты, с ним все будет в порядке," Romanov responded, giving me a shitty look. I dropped the conversation and we continued walking aimlessly, looking for shelter which was turning into a futile dream.

Each step became harder and harder to take, a mixture of fatigue and hunger was starting to take a serious toll on the four of us, especially grygoriy who had a large gunshot hole in his thigh. Which was rapidly bleeding, whereas the man's life was fading at an ever quicker pace. I was old enough to be the father of these retards. And the weight of a large man carrying an even larger load was not helping in the slightest. We really need to find shelter immediately, or better yet a tribal doctor. I think the jackalopes are around here somewhere, maybe we can find a patrol of Cossacks.

"Damn it, this is exhausting..." Leonid huffed in exhaustion, "Stop your fucking whining, I'm over 60 and I still have to carry this big bastard!" I frustratingly retorted.

Ek! cool your fucking... Ah! Jets... Rambo!" Grygoriy mumbled, his voice breaking and stuttering while he spoke.

"How about you relax, you're sweating like a fucking whore in church," Romanov said.

"I've got a hole in my leg the size of a fucking golf ball, and you're telling me to relax!?" Grygoriy retorted in frustration.

"Damn it! You're going to be all right, damn it!" Romanov yelled at grygoriy in obvious anger.

"HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THAT?! LOOK AT MY LEG!!" Grygoriy screamed back, "JUST FUCKING, BELIEVE ME, YOU FUCKING BASTARD, FUCK!!" Romanov bellowed in rage, glaring at the injured Estonian.

"BOTH OF YOU, SHUT THE FUCK UP, RIGHT NOW, FUCK!! SHOUTING OBSCENITIES AT EACH OTHER WON'T HELP!!" I interrupt the conversation again, receiving hateful and furious looks from both of them.

The day had finally turned into nighttime again, the ash clouds returning to their rightful place to block any moonlight from illuminating the marshland. My eyes were droopy from exhaustion as my stomach began to eat itself. Creating a painful knot inside my guts, it felt like a thousand molten metal pins were being stabbed into my groin. Whereas my stomach felt like it was being drowned in acid. I rasped in misery, pain was all I felt, literally.

The mud had finally reached our thighs, the landscape looked like the godamn battle of Passchendaele. Burnt out trees, craters, skeletons, thick clouds of ash, waist-high mud, and just as dangerous. A pit formed in my stomach the more I explored the land. But we didn't have a choice whether or not to traverse the wasteland. My eyes were hurting from a lack of sleep, making my life even more hellish. But when things seem dire, there's always a silver lining, or so they say. Used to say.

We finally got out of that swamp and were on solid land again. Even better, in the distance, I stopped a run-down old ruin with my binoculars. For some fucked up reason I could see in this environment. Granted not very well, but I still could. Though the building was incredibly far away. So we're still going to be walking. My frustration started to boil my blood and my patience was waning at a staggering rate. I growled in anger and nearly threw my binoculars onto the ground. Leonid noticed this and tapped me on the shoulder.

"What happened? What did you see with them?" Leonid asked me rather blankly, "Well, I finally found us some shelter..." I replied.

Leonid immediately brightened up when his frown turned upside down: "Good! Finally, we can sit down, sleep and eat something." Leonid cheerfully said, "Yeah man, I'm practically turning into a fucking corpse here! I'm fucking hungry."

"It's a couple of miles up the road, you fucking idiots." I stared at them with a serious face. I killed their cheerful mood and shat in their coffee. They groaned in frustration as we continued our grueling journey.

The diner was once a proud standing building that represented old-school 1950s Americana. The building radiated a strong nostalgic feeling which I couldn't describe, nor can I even all this time later. The land surrounding this desolate husk of the old world had become overgrown and wild. Many new mutated variants of fauna. Some looked like military Constantina wire, others used to be moss but had since turned dark crimson red with toxic spores, even a couple of strange new mushrooms were growing under the ash clouds.

One mushroom, in particular, had a bizarre mutation that caused an evolution of nine bloodshot tentacle eyes. Several smaller dagger-like tentacles had sprouted out of the dark brown base. The shroom was highly radioactive according to my military dosimeter, the device was going off the charts. It seemed to emit neutron radiation which caused me to immediately get as far away from the mushroom as possible.

As I backtracked from the dangerous plant a strange whoopie cushion sound came from under my foot. Glancing down to my feet, I saw a piece of driftwood that was covered by thick blood-colored mold. Small twigs spouted out from the flaky mold and toxic spores. However, my gas mask prevented me from breathing in spores.

A funnel-shaped spider web was in the middle of the mold. Then a large black mutated Japanese funnel-web spider bolted out of the ground and tried to bite through my combat boots. This damned thing was bigger than my fuck torso, both length, and width. Its fangs could probably pierce a grizzly's fat ass, of course, I did the logical thing and walked away. The spider hissed at me, that fucker was doing the monkey dance while hissing like a cat. It was the funniest and scariest thing you'll ever see, I'll never forget it. This godamn wasteland is the weirdest fucking place on earth, holy fucking shit.

I closed in on the ruined diner, the three amigos traveling behind me. My rifle was in my hands as I slowly walked up to the devastated structure. The broken windows and doors were fortified with thick beefy oak planks. Though, a couple of blows from an old wood axe swiftly solved that problem. But the doors were still locked, I wanted to just lockpick the door and enter. However, I feared that somebody might be waiting inside the building. Some asshole that wants to kill us all via an ambush.

But there is an upside, during the second world war the marines who were stationed in Iwo Jima had to go through grueling urban warfare. Included in this combat was tough and equally brutal door-to-door combat. So they developed a tactic to clear these rooms, the American military still uses this tactic by the way. It entails kicking open a door and chucking a fragmentation grenade into it.

Now, whilst this would be effective for brutally obliterating every sumabitch inside. It'd also do the same with a large majority of potential loot, but the cost of not doing so was far greater.

So, whereas I planned in my head how we were going to do this. I motioned the three stooges to follow me somewhere private.
We walked over behind a burnt-out tree and abandoned Zil-130 pickup truck.

"What's on your mind?" Leonid asked politely, for the first time in his cursed life. "Yeah, man! what the game and shit, nigga!" Romanov asked smartly, slapping me lightly on the arm and chuckling.

"So what's the matter, my dear glorious fucking leader?!" Grigory spoke blankly, clearly not in a very good mood. Getting shot in the fucking leg will unfortunately do that to you.

"First of all, Roman, don't ever call me your fucking nigga again. This isn't Grove Street or Ballas territory, you stupid jerk." I pointed at Romanov, chastising him for the nonsense he threw out a second ago.

The same shit any American fuckhead reading this probably doesn't understand because he can't bear the time to learn another fucking language. Something fucking useful because it takes time away from their, "jerk off to a pony's asshole" time.

Not that I am some kind of elitist, it's just that I had to grow up in the soviet union during WW2. You know, when people were eating jello made from cow shit, wood glue, leather belts, and putrified human flesh. So fun times!

That made me keep my priorities and not base my entire life on jerking off to Celestia. Yes, she probably has a magnificent flank that any man would eat out. But don't base your entire life around it, you may lose it at any second. Stalingrad and the siege of Leningrad taught me that. Trust me, you don't want to learn it the hard way through genocide and forced cannibalism. Anyway, sorry I tend to go on random tangents. It's a maddening trait.

Whilst I chewed out Romanov for his bullshit, jackass number two wanted to throw his sweaty ushanka that babushka forces him to wear into the ring. He laughed his ass off at the expense of Romanov of course.

Pointing directly at grygoriy I proceeded to tear his asshole a new fucking buddy. "oh, don't think your ass is off the hook, smartass. Try that shit again and I'll rip your fucking balls off!" I warned the man.

"Between your wrinkled old ass that doesn't have an eye and my fucking cheese leg. I'm going to cripple you right now, buddy!" Grygoriy remarked smugly, shit-talking about my missing eye and age.

I was about to open my mouth to sling some shit of my variety when Leonid stepped in to defuse the situation. "Okay, both of you shut up. Ahem, so what were you going to tell us, Vladimir?"

"Okay, so you see that building over there? The door is locked and there are probably a few guys inside." I explained they nodded their heads simultaneously.

"What I plan to do is to put two people at each door. One of them will open the door with the heel of his shoe. Then the other guy will unpin the grenade and throw it at this place. As soon as it explodes, you will break into the building and shoot it." I monologued to the three men who all eyed me.

My back was roughly pressed against the rusty metal outer wall of the diner. But thankfully I wasn't alone as Leonid was in a similar situation as me. We were both preparing to kick open the door and kill anything that moved.

My heart was beating at a dangerous rate whereas my lungs started to burn from the breath I withheld. I was feared the can of worms we'd open by doing this. However, it is either them or us, I'm choosing us. After taking one final deep breath, I swung to the right and kicked the door with my heel. Leo then unpinned his grenade and hurled the device into the building. At that moment we heard the other two men kick open the other door and throw a grenade inside.

After several moments, we heard a loud boom and numerous pained screams as the bandits inside the building suffered. Hahaha, fucking retards! Couldn't even find their ass if it wasn't attached to them. The four of us were giddy and chuckled like schoolboys who found some online nudes of the hot female teacher. A couple of assholes getting what they deserved! Fucking karma at its finest!

The inside of the building had lit on fire, the grenades must've detonated some shit or whatever. Many people were left to writhe in agony on the ground as they moaned. Leaving them pathetic sniffling wrecks of evil and villainy. But there was something wrong, however, why weren't they fighting back or cursing us. And they sounded alarmingly youthful, which raised numerous red flags. Going off a hunch, I entered the building with my weapon drawn. Ready to slaughter any would-be bandits and jackass looters. However, I found something that would nearly break my heart and soul.

The diner had been converted into a crude apocalyptic orphanage filled with children who wanted shelter. Now they've all been barbarically slaughtered by two grenades and innumerable bullets. The flames and smoke clouded our vision but once it died down, we saw the bloody mess. Thirty, no forty young children. Torn limb from limb and gutted like catfish by two grenades & a massive amount of machine gunfire. The walls were painted with blood and gore as the bodies slowly burned. The smell of slow-burning human flesh was a thing you'll never forget. Not in life or death.

My heart had stopped almost entirely, my soul was evidently breaking whereas a deep pit formed within the bottom of my stomach. Sadness filled my broken heart as tears rolled down my cheeks, you could not see them because of the gas mask. I gagged and almost puked what little food I had eaten all over the floor. But with sheer resilience, I pulled through.

We managed to put out the flames but that still left the horrifying scene. The kids were all incredibly malnourished, dirty and grime covering every inch of their skin. It was like they crawled out of Auschwitz, it caused Leonid to vomit all over the floor. I can't blame him for doing so, the scene was horrendous.

"О-о боже, я думаю, меня сейчас стошнит..." Leonid stuttered before he emptied his stomach and guts everywhere, creating a huge mess.

"Augk! Кто, черт возьми, делает что-то вроде Владимира?" Romanov gagged at the smell and obviously the scene. Whilst everyone sat on their asses, I decided to search the place for any loot or better yet survivors. And so I began walking forward.

My boots thumped against the bloodstained checkered floor, lifeless corpses and gore everywhere. Stepping over them was slowing me down, however, I didn't want to disrespect the dead. The diner's decor was typical of a 1950s era American-style restaurant, though some things did stand out more than others. Some mattresses were piled on the floor with mangled corpses lying face down on top. Some large boxes, crates, and sacks filled with loot were stashed in the corner of the room. A large petrol lamp and hand-crank radio were left on the counter, the radio playing some gibberish static whereas the oil lamp flickered on and off. A modicum of dirty plates and bowls were also stacked on top of the counter.

I grabbed the oil lantern and lifted it with one hand, using it Luminate the other rooms. Walking behind the counter, I kicked open the door to the kitchen. The metal door fell off its hinges and smashed into the floor with a loud crash, the glass shattering into a million pieces. I adjusted the lantern's flame to more effectively light up the room, after some slight tinkering the flame exploded into a vibrant orange flame.

The kitchen was completely submerged in darkness, the lantern barely solved that problem. But even that might be an overestimate. The kitchen smelled like decay, mildew, mold, and rat droppings which were frozen to the floor. Speaking of the floor, the rats undoubtedly visited the ruined kitchen. And more than once.

Leftovers and gnawed pieces of packaging were scattered everywhere on counters and even the floor. Alongside fragments of milk bottles and rusted cans with teeth marks. There was even a torn open bag of rye croutons with rat skeletons crammed inside.

Looking up revealed entire chunks of the roof had fallen apart. Exposing the rusted lead water pipes and electrical cables that powered the lighting and stoves. The pipes had burst open a long time ago, which explained the puddles of toxic water. Unless you want to call it rat piss. Bolted to the wall were a few thick steel cabinets with various cutlery and cooking supplies. Cans of tushonka, golden sprats, condensed milk, and a bag of buckwheat.

I approached one of the eight electric stoves, I wanted to check it for any useful spare parts I could either use for my reaso- ns or auction off for a good profit. The stove used to be painted black and white before the paint chipped and faded and rust formed on the unprotected metal. The pane of glass on the oven door was utterly broken and would likely be impossible to repair.

The stovetop was entirely covered in fallen debris and thick brown layers of rust, guaranteeing the appliance wouldn't ever be frying or boiling anything again. I kneeled down on my knee and clasped the side of the bulky communist kitchen appliance and tried to move the device. So I can bust open its metal back and salvage it for any useful components. However, the bulky rusty hunk of shit refused to move even in the slightest. I acted logically and attempted to move it again, yet the same thing happened as last time.

Trying several more times, my only reward for my unique perseverance was a big fuck you. No seriously, the thing made a squeak that sounded an awful lot like fuck you in Russian. Of course in my already frustrated and impatient state, having this hunk of shit call me a motherfucker drove me over the damn edge. Grabbing an old claw hammer I proceeded to slam the hammer onto the electric stove an innumerable amount of times all the while yelling a variety of slurs and obscenities directly at this fucking hunk of worthless shit.

Author's Note

Alright, so I finally completed the first chapter. It was a pain in the fucking ass tbh. I'm trying to make the best book possible, so any help from editors, proofreaders, critics, or fellow artists and writers would be appreciated.

Edit: originally I wrote the dialogue in Russian, so thats why the dialogue might seem weird.