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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 pistols concealed their firearms they immediately folded their arms. The seven with either the submachine guns or the rifles mounted the counter as they jumped down behind it, as Vadim looked up at them as he announced: «Don't you ever fucking dare again! Boots stay on the floor, or you'll be finding my fucking boot places you wouldn't want it!»

One of the Oymyakonian's now behind the table gave Vadim the finger, as Vadim shook his head and replied: «That is fucking it! No more fucking drinks for you, Ivan!»

The group laughed shakily, as the enter pub fell silent again. Mykola walked towards the door, as he then looked back towards everyone else. The group with the pistols walked to random tables or stalls as a few of them then sat down in the chairs provided to them. Mykola looked back towards Vadim, as the Oymyakonian looked back up to him.

Vadim's expression was completely flat, an expression that Mykola never thought he would see—at least not in a way that wasn't part of some sort of play or joke. Mykola could tell that Vadim was uncertain now, uncomfortable with the position he was put in for this little operation. Vadim always talked the talk, and got physical with the Ice Bastards when it was necessary. But now, this was all action—action in the pub he had forged memories with his friends in, a pub that belonged to him for years.

A pub where he could joke around, play card games and just talk to people in. All of this now could disappear for him, and even if they managed to succeed... it would never be the same, for better or for worse. There was a rumble at the padded door, as it slowly creaked open and a Novo Oymyakonian police officer walked through the door—armed with a M7 submachine gun.

He was followed by another officer, who carried the same submachine gun as well. They made way, as two-dozen unfamiliar shapes made their way into the pub as the last one walking inside closed the padded door behind them. They all reached up for their white-camouflage thermal masks, removing them as the two-dozen unfamiliar shapes padded off the snow from their uniforms.

Mykola could feel his heartbeat pounding, as he concentrated on appearing as calm and relaxed as possible. He stepped forwards slowly, as the eyes of the UNSC troopers turned to him. The Oymyakonian stopped only a metre and half away from the group, as he spoke in English: "Welcome to Romanov! I do believe you are UNSC troopers?"

"Yes, we are. Who are you?" One of the troopers asked, as Mykola replied: "I am Mykola Vovk. I helped organise this, after all we want to make sure you can speak Oymyakonian. Help communicate better!"

"Let's get it done, then. How are we going to do this?"

Mykola paused, looking at the number of troopers: 24 in total. He quickly made a plan as he looked back towards the 'volunteers' for this operation. He had six at the tables, meaning he could probably have two go to each volunteer. The other twelve would stay lined against the wall. Mykola feigned a smile, as he replied: "I will have two of you meet one volunteer. Twelve, and then we will rotate after we confirm you speak adequately. The other group of twelve stay at the wall of door!"

Mykola quickly looked back, announcing to everyone else in Oymyakonian his battle-plans—very cautious with how he said it: «Two will sit at a table per volunteer! Twelve at the beginning, we will rotate after we get the first twelve done! The second twelve will stand towards the door!»

Vadim looked towards Mykola carefully, as he nodded his head and pushed off from the wall he leaned against as he approached the bar to pick up an already opened bottle as he took a swig from it. Mykola looked back to the group of UNSC troopers, before he said: "They don't speak English, so if you have question—ask me. First twelve, approach!"

The Oymyakonian group waited anxiously, as a few UNSC troopers approached the tables as they took seats with the six 'volunteers.' Mykola folded his arms, as he looked back towards the police officers still armed with the submachine guns as they subtly nodded their heads to him. Mykola then ran his eyes down the line standing against the wall—awaiting their turn. He spotted four assault rifles in the possession of a few, as the rest seem to only be armed with pistols.

Mykola then heard the translators start the conversations, as he heard a variety of greetings:

«Hello!»

«How are you?»

«What drinks do they have at this pub?»

The Oymyakonian turned back towards the bar, looking at the drink in front of him as he hid his front as he slowly reached in for the pistol concealed under his heavy jacket. He turned back towards the police officers, spotting that the two officers already had their submachine guns raised subtly at the group against the wall. Mykola felt his heart beat harder, as his fingers curled around the pistol.

He used his free hand to grab the drink from the bar, as he lifted it and drank from it carefully—trying his best to seem as unsuspicious as possible. Mykola lowered the drink, touching it with the bar as he pulled the pistol from his jacket as he dropped it to his stomach. Mykola tapped the counter twice with his fingers, as he somehow felt the hidden Oymyakonians stand.

Mykola turned around quickly, taking aim with his pistol as he aimed directly at the first trooper he saw at the table. Everything seemed to slow down, as he squeezed the trigger multiple times at the first trooper he saw.

He heard a trooper cry: "Ambush!"

And then it all went to hell. The Oymyakonian 'volunteers' fired their weapons under the table, hitting the unsuspecting troopers at point blank. The police officers fired their submachine guns into the twelve troopers lining the wall as they tried to lower their rifles to shoot at the Oymyakonians who they saw fire at them first. The first bodies from behind the counter lifted up completely, as they targeted the troopers in the room as they opened fire at whoever they could with their line of rifles and submachine guns.

Blood splattered everywhere, as the brass from hot bullet casings bounced across the scene. Wood splintered, glass and mirrors shattered, concrete dusted and metal spar out sparks. All that could be heard was the cries of everyone involved, whether shouts of war or the screams of terror or agony as people were shot—either killed immediately or beginning to bleed out long and painful deaths. The smell of gunpowder was rich in the air, as the dry floor soon became a sea of crimson with floating bullet shells as boats.

Chairs and tables were flipped, as glass and mirror shards fell to the ground. Mykola took in his first breath since the massacre began. In the room, twenty-four dead or dying UNSC troopers and five Oymyakonian casualties. The police officers patrolled the room, finding any living troopers as they fired a single round into the head of each trooper that was still alive.

Oymyakonians flocked the dead bodies of the UNSC troopers, tearing off whatever equipment they could as they either attached it to their own person or pocketed it. Mykola approached the body of the trooper he shot dead, lifting up the lightweight rifle as he examined the design of it. It looked like an automatic rifle by all appearances, but it had seemingly no weight to it as Mykola bounced it up and down without feeling anything weigh it down.

He then reached down, pulling off as many magazines he could from the body as he also took and tore off the radio mounted to the troopers now-ruined kevlar vest. Mykola swore as his hands were covered in the blood of the trooper, as he proceeded to wipe his red-stained hands on the clean parts of the trooper's arctic uniform—staining the white with red.

Mykola stood up, as he threw his pistol to Vadim—who caught it half-heartedly before he looked at Mykola with the same look of despair. The rest of the Oymyakonians in the bar cheered. As a few shot their weapons into the ceiling, much to Vadim's despair as he sat down in a chair with a bullet still lodged in the back of it. Mykola was about to say something to Vadim, but then the voice of a police officer broke over the cheering.

«Comrades! Today we end the fucking tyranny of the UEG! Our police officers are trailing other fucking fascist patrols! It shall now be our duty to fucking eliminate any ice bastard we can find! Force them to fucking surrender, or fucking kill the ones we do not like! Today is our fucking day! And we will let all the UEG know that!»

Everyone in the bar cheered, even Mykola as he threw up his lightweight rifle in the air as the cheering continued. Vadim slowly stood up from the chair he sat himself in to collect himself, eventually joining in to the cheer as he raised up the pistol Mykola gave him. Quickly, everyone found and placed on their thermal masks as they headed for the door.

They opened it, as the Oymyakonians burst out onto the street as the group divided itself as they headed throughout all the streets. Headed out to find any Ice Bastard they knew, to find them and claim revenge.

To find them and spill their blood.


Three hours later... Shikarniy Pomest'e District, Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...

The snow storm slowed as there was now a visible range down the street of the Shikarniy Pomest'e District, the tipped transport which was seemingly hit by a UNSC arctic Warthog. A trail of red was dragged from the Warthog, meeting the end of one UNSC trooper. Windows around the district were broken, the thermal insulation on fire in some areas as chairs and other objects littered the street. A few collection of wooden objects were lit on fire, as a few Oymyakonian insurrectionist circled around the fire.

Mykola and Vadim made their way down the street, as the Oymyakonians only looked up and glanced at the two insurrectionists—before looking back to the fire on the street. The two had already visited several places, looking for the Ice Bastards. They found around 34 so far, five of which had woman or children with them. Mykola tapped the barrel of his rifle, trying his best to try to forget what he has done so far. He killed so many so far, regardless of who they were or what they did.

Mykola glanced down to the snow in front of him, trying to forget the other things he did to them other than kill. Everything he has done so far was criminal, extreme fucking shit that he wouldn't have imagined he would have done to anyone else. But to the UNSC? The Ice Bastards? Mykola thought they fully deserved what they got, but if he had did what he has done so far to a fellow Oymyakonian? Would it be the same thing?

Why did it matter? He was taking back his planet from other criminals that were threatening him, his friends and family—his people. It couldn't be crime, because it was liberation. It was freedom. It was revenge. Because if he didn't do it now to them, they would later turn back and do it to him, and his people.

The two passed a line of hanging bodies, one being a UNSC trooper, the second a naked and now frostbitten woman, and a line of four or so men. Each had a sign nailed into their stomachs:

THIS IS THE BODY OF ONE WHO TRIED TO UPHOLD FASCIST ORDER!

THIS IS THE BODY OF A WHORE WHO PARTICIPATED IN FASCIST ORDER!

THIS IS THE BODY OF AN ICE BASTARD WHO PARTICIPATED IN FASCIST ORDER!

Mykola read all these signs, as he lowered his head after he continued to down the street. Vadim and Mykola stepped up a staircase towards a white and grey building, the establishment of some well known Ice Bastards. But these ones were different, they weren't here to mine the resources as the others had.

These ones wanted to 'improve' Novo Oymyakon, create a system to take control of their system and brainwash them. Create a future generation of UEG sympathisers, so they could force Novo Oymyakon into the system. Mykola approached the door, as an insurrectionist was standing outside the door already.

«You fucking insurrectionists?» The man asked.

«Of course we fucking are!» Vadim replied, «We are here to kill this fucking Ice Bastard!»

The man nodded his door, as he lowered his pistol and started to open the padded door. «Be fucking careful in there,» he said, «they have troopers in their already putting up a fucking fight!»

«Fucking please! We've killed a few dozen so far! How fucking hard can a few fucking troopers be?» Mykola asked, as the insurrectionist turned around: «If you think you can take them, they fucking try!»

The door burst open, as instantly the sound of gunfire could be heard throughout the main room. The floor was completely made of marble, as there were stone pillars. Bookcases were tipped over and filled with bullet holes instead of books. Books littered the floor along with paper, and bullet casings. There was a body of a single UNSC trooper, with three Oymyakonian bodies.

Vadim walked up the staircase, followed directly by Mykola as they both raised their weapons. They headed to where they found gunfire, as it lead them to a large book room. Oymyakonians and UNSC troopers were firing at each other, hiding behind overturned bookshelves and tables. Looking at the UNSC troopers, Mykola noticed another door that was connected to the hallway he and Vadim were in at the time. It would be perfect to get the jump on the UNSC.

Mykola ducked back out, as Vadim looked towards him for an explanation. «What the fuck?!»

«There is a door right behind the troopers! We can get to it and flank them!» Mykola replied, as Vadim stopped and nodded his head.

Mykola crept down the hallway to the wooden door the troopers were at, before lowering his rifle to the wooden door. He heard the sound of gunfire on the other side, before hearing the cry of the UNSC soldier: "Fuck! I'm hit!"

Mykola smiled, as this confirmed his suspicion as he squeezed the trigger to his rifle. Bullets sprayed through the door, as Mykola tried his hardest to keep it accurate as wood splintered and flew. He heard the sounds of the UNSC troopers screaming and dying, as eventually the door was cut in half.

Mykola dropped the now empty magazine from his rifle, as he kicked down the shattered door and found any target he could. An injured UNSC hid behind cover, cowering as he had laid out his rifle in front of him. The second the trooper spotted Mykola, he tried to leap for his weapon.

But Mykola slammed a knee into the head of the trooper, before using his size over the trooper to lift him off as he slammed his back on the edge of the overturned table. The trooper cried as a snap was heard, as Mykola dropped the trooper onto the table now. The Oymyakonian then stomped his boot into the head of the trooper, as blood burst from the wound as he heard the trooper exhale his last breath.

«You are a fucking monster, Mykola!» Vadim retorted as he walked in to the room, «They teach you to do that shit in boxing?»

«Not really union approved,» Mykola replied, «just giving them a sense of how we play it on Novo Oymyakon!»

Vadim laughed as they turned back to the insurrectionists that now stood up from behind their cover. The Oymyakonians instantly turned towards the two, as they approached them as they looked at a set of double doors attached to the wall behind them.

«They are fucking hiding in here!» One said, «Thanks for the fucking assist, by the way. But we have an execution order to fucking fulfil!»

Mykola nodded his head, as he watched two Oymyakonians lower their rifles and fire at the handle of the door as it shattered and the door swung into an object blocking it. The group then pressed their shoulders against the door, as they pushed with all their might. The door slowly opened more and more as the object was moved out of the way more and more.

With the door now fully open, the Oymyakonians kicked the object down as they raised their weapons at the sound of a screaming family. Mykola turned in with Vadim, as the Oymyakonians rushed a man who was trying to raise his pistol up. They forced the weapon out of his hands, as two pursued a woman. She screamed, as they dragged her into another room—tearing at her clothes.

The children cried as another two Oymyakonians seized them, holding them against their will as the father continued to struggle: «No! No! Do whatever you want to me! But you leave them alone!»

«That isn't going to fucking settle it!» Mykola said, as he concentrated on the man. «This is payment for your fucking crimes!»

«No, please! All I wanted to do was teach your people! They don't have schools! I wanted to help you!» He said, «Please just let them go! Kill me if you have to but stop whatever you are planning to do to them!»

"Teach us what?!" Mykola then demanded in English, as the man looked at him in surprise: "We learn whatever we put our minds to! We teach ourselves! But you try to force us to accept UEG! Accept fascist ideas!"

"Most of your planet is illiterate! You are unproductive! Have the lowest life expectancy, and have the lowest employment rates! I wanted to help you learn so you can have a better life!" He said, "But you are right! If you can put your minds to it, you can learn! But please—"

"Spare kids?" Mykola asked, as he looked to the small boy and girl. They started at him, as the boy looked at him desperately as he said: "Please! I'm scared! Don't kill daddy or mummy! Where did you take mummy!"

Mykola felt something pull at the back of his memory as he child said this, as he looked back at the man. He kept quiet for a while, before speaking again this time in Oymyakonian: «The kids will stay alive, but you won't. Your wife's life will be the decision of these fine men here!»

The man reddened up as the room laughed, «You piece of shit! You leave Lydia alone! Get your fucking men away from her! Or I swear I will—»

A shot rung out, as the man bent over and cried in pain as the children started screaming and yelling. Vadim lowered his pistol, before approaching the man as he grabbed the back of the man's head and lifted up as he watched the man cry in pain.

The two Oymyakonians who dragged off the woman returned with her, her clothes torn up as she cried as well—shivering in terror as they dropped her naked body to the ground. She looked at her husband, as she lowered her head and cried even more. Mykola was handed a piece of paper by one of the insurrectionists, as he read over it.

«Give them their charges.» The insurrectionist said, «In fucking English so they all understand!»

Mykola nodded his head, as he lifted up the paper as he read: "Aron Nausir, you are to be executed on order of the people of Novo Oymyakon! For being a traitor of people, and teaching fascist ideas to corrupt our people! For taking yourself as priority over the people! For allowing people of Novo Oymyakon to starve, freeze... die on streets while you live in warmth!"

The children started to cry even more, as the boy tried to tare away from the man he was being restrained by. «Ready your weapons!» Mykola said, as Vadim dropped Aron's head as a line of insurrectionist concentrated their weapons on him. Mykola waited for a while, before dropping the paper as he stepped into clear view of the man.

«Fire!» Mykola then yelled, as the insurrectionists opened fire. Aron's body shook with the impact of five bullets, as he then fell limp as the two holding him up dropped him as the crying from his family became louder.

Mykola watched as a single Oymyakonian seized the woman, carrying her off at gunpoint to the room with that the other two did. Mykola then turned on his heel, followed by Vadim as they headed for the door. He heard the boy cry again, seemingly yelling at him: "Why have you done this to us?! Why?!"

Mykola shook his head, as he headed for the staircase, ignoring the sound of the crying and the yelling. He stepped back into the snow, as he smiled a bit under his thermal mask.

He looked up to the pinpoint sun above the city, looking at it's brightness as he took it in. Mykola thought there was a bright future ahead of them, especially with how well the insurrection has gone. The UNSC was crippled, and the UEG didn't have a hold over Novo Oymyakon anymore. And the Ice Bastards were finally getting the punishment they deserved.

It was bright.

A future.

A victory.

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