The frigid cold permeated through the layers of thermal coating that Mykola wore. The temperatures had dropped so low, that the Oymyakonian felt as if he had been wearing only just very thin clothing. No one dared to step beyond Khvostovgrad's city perimeter, as each metre someone stood further away from the planet's thermal vents that helped make the condition of city 'liveable,' the chances of death by hypothermia essentially doubled. Mykola didn't know whether or not to consider the Insurrection's retreat into the death boundary to be symbolic of their impending doom, or his.
«Drive them in!» A voice boomed.
Mykola shook his head, before he turned it in the direction of the noise being made. A modified Warthog with a snowplow drove forward…Read more >
Nine months later... City perimeter of Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...
The snow storm continued to press on the group of Oymyakonians that had trekked through the rubble of the city streets for hours. There was a line of individuals who had placed their hands on the shoulders of their comrades, as they carefully shuffled through the thigh-high snow. A small ball of ice ricocheted off the eyepiece of Mykola's thermal mask, as he shook it off and turned to announce: «Ice storm!»
Typically whenever there were ice storms, it led to a declaration of weather emergency. Back in the old days, everyone on the streets would have been under order to head indoors to protect themselves from what would have soon become an ice storm of 10mm pellets of ice ak…Read more >
Three days later... Khvostovgrad Police and Enforcement Department, Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...
The centre of the Police and Enforcement Department was buzzing with activity, as the blood-stained marble and wooden floor was trodden upon with the winter boots of the police officers as they dragged screaming inmates around the floor. Individuals according to their crimes were grouped, bound with zip-ties and other restraints—whether they be UNSC troopers, Ice Bastards and strangely enough: Oymyakonians. The police officers monitored the detained groups carefully, tapping their fingers across the barrels of their seized UNSC-standard weapons.
Others collected objects that had been scattered around the scene from the struggle incurred between…Read more >
Nine months earlier... The Romanov Pub, Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...
Throughout the bar, there was the sound of people loading a variety of weapons: pistols, submachine guns and assault rifles. The light overhead flickered a bit, as the group of thirteen Oymyakonians loaded their weapons, eventually stopping as they checked their equipment and ensured it was loaded properly.
The six Oymyakonians with pistols found a pocket or a nook in their clothes, loading the weapon in as Mykola loaded his M6D Magnum in an internal pocket in his heavy jacket. Vadim kept his arms folded, watching the Oymyakonians check and clear their weapons as he lowered his head to the ground.
No one spoke as they went through the motions, as when the ones with the pisto…Read more >
Many years earlier... Sergey's Boxing Arena, Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...
Blood splattered across the white mat, as wounded boxer in the arena continued to drool with red spit. The wounded boxer fell to his gloved hands, as Mykola stepped over him with blue gloves covered in the other boxer's blood. Mykola laughed, as he grabbed the boxer by the shoulder and threw him into one of the four pins of the box. The boxer waved his hands, covering his face as Mykola reached down and offered help to the boxer.
The boxer cowered before spotting the hand given by Mykola, seemingly questioning it as Mykola spoke: «Come on, you daft fuck! Let me help you up!»
The boxer weakly offered Mykola his hand, as Mykola grabbed it and helped the boxer up. The boxer…Read more >