"And if we could tell Gogol / about our wretched life, / by god, he would not believe us." - Those are a few verses from a song I remember listening to and even singing back during my service years. I sometimes still sing it under my breath, altering it to fit her perspective.

Well, I'm Anatoly. Feel free to call me "Tolya", though. Yes, I'm the one who wrote the information sheet on her, who I also just so happen to have to guard, with my PPSh and my life. It's... not a job for everyone. Much less once you consider our current situation: being under Yuri's shadow, in the middle of Alaska. Even less so, given her situation, now that I think about it. Either way, I don't have anything much better to do. Shoot me some questions.

Say, mind telling me about your early life?

Ahhhhh... the Leningrad days. The best days of my life. Back when I didn't know about humanity's cruelty. Back when foolish me thought that humans were compassionate beings. Back when the concepts of brainwashing, seeing your homeland be invaded, and experiencing someone close to you break down horribly were pure fantasy. Back when inhumane things like war were a myth to you. I miss those days. But alas, reliving them is nigh impossible, even more so when your duty and your life's bound to one and one person only. And that person's not... doing very well, to add to what I've said.

I don't remember my full name, as I've told you. However, I do remember my parents' names: my father Alexei, and my mother Ekaterina. I remember calling them by Alyosha and Katya, though. I'm not sure exactly why. I think it might be because they'd also call me by diminutives like Tolya? Oh well, nothing that matters much now. That being said, I do remember what they were: English-speaking Catholics. Don't ask how, I still wonder how that happened. Or how they even learnt English. All that I know is that, well, I was raised with Catholic values, or at least, their interpretation of the Catechism. This meant that I was actually rather isolated from the rest of Leningrad for most of my childhood. It wasn't that bad, now that I think about it. And, of course, they spoke to me in both Russian and English. Mostly in the latter, though. They thought that I'd need to speak in that language later on in my life. And, to be honest? I have to agree with them, in retrospect. I think you probably know why.

That being said, they never took me to any school. I think they reasoned that it was all Soviet atheist propaganda? I'm not sure, to be honest, and I haven't asked any of my Russian peers what it was like to be in one of those. Probably out of fear of being called an illiterate idiot. Probably out of fear of being ousted, once again. Not like I've had any curiosity in the first place. I wouldn't trade away my entire childhood, just to experience what a government school was like. So... how did I learn to read and write? Well, let's just say that my parents were quite cultured in literature. I remember them having me read works by authors like Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, and the like. They started with the simpler ones, before moving on to more complex ones. They even somehow managed to get books that were banned by Romanov's cabinet, for reasons I still wonder about to this day. In case you want to know what specific books I read, think along the lines of The Karamazov Brothers. I think I read that one in both languages via a bilingual edition? I wish I could read their story again, including the part where they judge Dmitri for allegedly murdering his father Fiodor. Speaking of fathers, it was him who taught me how to write. First in Russian Cyrillic, then in the English alphabet. Soon enough, I would be learning to write short and simple sentences. And then... longer ones. It was nice if a bit boring sometimes.

But alas, all good things have to come to an end, and so did my childhood. And thus began what I like to call my downfall: the transformation into the walking husk that I am, even to this day.

What exactly do you mean by... that?

So... here's a fact about the USSR I grew up in: every male person who was 17 was supposed to do at least 2 years of military service, 3 if you got assigned in the Navy. I think you can tell where I'm going with this. But, to be honest, that wasn't the worst. Other than the occasional bit of hazing they'd do to us recruits and maybe some instances of light physical abuse here and there, they treated us rather well. As well as a conscript in the USSR of the late 70s could be treated, that is. I got assigned into the 51st Guards Artillery Division, in Osipovichi. My job in there was to act as a spotter and to use our gun's elevation mechanisms. Speaking of it, we also had to maintain it. I remember the names of the other two guys I worked with: the guy who would fire the gun itself, Nikolai; and the one who had to take out the spent shells and reload the howitzer, Pavlov. We actually worked quite well, now that I think about it. While we certainly weren't the fastest at operating the gun, we did manage to get it firing with no major teamwork issues. Before I move on, though, in case you were asking about the picture... yeah, that's from those days. And the notebook you see in it? I still have it, as you can see.

In case you wanted to know what exactly we did over there in Belarus, well... not much, to be honest, given we were still in peacetime. Most of our time was either spent training us conscripts how to use the guns, how to maintain them... the usual. Oh yeah, and they also had us do drills regarding situations we would likely face were we to be in a war, such as what to do in case our guns ever got overrun by the enemy. Or what to do in case our guns ever failed. Quite helpful, now that I think about it. Of course, there was also something about defending "Lenin's banner" somewhere alongside the classic "defend our beloved motherland". Maybe that's what my parents were on whenever they mentioned the so-called Soviet atheist propaganda? I don't know. Nor do I care at this point. I just did what I had to do, much like everyone else in there. I didn't find a lot of people that were really patriotic, to be honest. Sure, we gladly did our pledges of allegiance and what was required of us. But barely any of us really saluted the Soviet flag and even fewer people said they would gladly die for their homeland. Most of us were, in a way, very similar. We were all in our late teens, if not, in our young adult years. What nationalistic worries do people like us tend to have?

I ended my mandatory service in 1978, after two years of serving in the Division. The four years after that were... relatively peaceful. While they certainly weren't as utopian as the ones that had led my childhood and early teen years, they were much better than what was to come. During these four years, though, I returned to my native Leningrad. Tried to find my parents, but alas, they never gave me an address for the home I used to live in. Nor for the church we used to go to during Mass. I wandered around the city for a few days, living off what I had, asking for directions to the nearest Catholic church to everyone that just so happened to pass by me. I eventually found someone who knew which one and where it was. The Church of St. Catherine. A beautiful building, if I'm honest with you. I remember my parents telling me that Stalin would censor us Catholics and ransack the Church. They told me that all that changed some years before I was born. When Stalin died and got changed for Romanov. What a nice guy, I thought back then. Oh, how foolish I was back then. How naïve I was. But alas, that's besides the point. I decided to go into the church on Sunday, when every good Catholic would go to Mass. And, indeed, that's where I'd see my parents again. After two years in Belarus, I finally saw them again. I told them about my experiences down there. They didn't quite like me going down there, as murder is one of the Capital Sins. But, to be honest, none of us had any choice. They were glad that they hadn't sent us to kill fellow humans. Much less to die.

For the rest of those years, I spent them living similarly to how I had lived my childhood. By then, though, I was getting... dissatisfied. Sure, they were treating me well. But I just wanted a bit more... independence. I tried to raise this issue with them. They, however... weren't quite friendly regarding that. They thought that if I lived independently, that I would lose the Catholic values I was raised upon. That I would be a sinner. And, to top it all off, they told me that I would be lying dead in the Orthodox-filled streets of Leningrad. I objected, once again, to no avail. From that point onwards, I decided to obey them. No point in arguing with the ones that had raised me up to be who I was, right? Besides, I had a fear that what they were telling me would happen. I'd rather not gamble on things like these, much less when they're possibly life-threatening. Thus, I stayed. I continued attending Mass and praying the rights prayers to the Lord. I continued living with them, despite a part of me telling me how better it was to be by myself. Like I had been in Belarus. I... decided to not listen to it. I knew it was foolish. Or so I thought. Pure uncertainty of the moment, isn't it? Hindsight is truly a beautiful thing... Back to where I was. They kept caring for me, like the Anatoly they had raised with their sweat and tears. And to think I had acted like that to them. I still scoff at myself for that. Even though I probably have no reason to. Whether I was in the right or not, is something I still debate with myself about. Like a lot of things in life, really. Including whether I should be here, in Alaska.

Alas, one can't live their life completely peacefully, can they? Of course, no one can't. Why would I be telling you this story if one could? Why would I be here? And it all was because of a man's whim. All because of the one man I used to look up to. Romanov himself.

Could you elaborate?

It was a regular day in 1982. The skies were clear. I was in my home, living my daily routine, right? Then, someone knocked on the door. Who could it be? Mum decided to open it. A man would be asking if "Anatoly" was in the house. She decided to call me, and I came. The man told me the news: I was recalled from the reserves and reassigned into the 51st Guards. I asked him why. He told me that the USSR was going to war with America and Europe. Mum said that this was preposterous and that I shouldn't go. Lest I actually forget the values I was raised with. Alas, one can't really say no to that, can they? I had to wave her goodbye. Promised her that I'd be back as soon as all of this was over. She gave me a pocket watch so I wouldn't forget her while I was gone. [He'd chuckle awkwardly, before going back to his usual expression.] That didn't quite work out, did it? Anyways... I got sent back into the West, alongside Nikolai and Pavlov. It was... a relief seeing them again after this long. I don't know why. I don't know how. It just was. Back to where I was. The guys up there assigned us to support the grunts on the front via a continuous bombardment. Whether it'd kill our mates or not didn't matter. They would die for the Motherland, for all those up there cared. Besides, when working with artillery, you're detached from the frontlines. In both ways, now that I think about it. You see everything, with a pair of binoculars. Rather than your own eyes. And, let me tell you, those binoculars... they put you at quite the distance. I think you can tell where I'm going.

Early on, our offensive was moving very quickly. To the point where we couldn't settle our guns down, and had to move on. Once we settled down, though, that was when our guns fired. Constantly. It was no glorious thing either. Look down my binoculars for potential targets, elevate the gun, and tell Nikolai to fire it. Then, have Pavlov reload it, and restart the cycle. All of this, for the entire war. And that's if we discount the ever-present silence that marked our routine. Silence, fire a few times, silence, fire a few times. For every day of the war. All while advancing throughout Europe. I remember Pavlov commenting on the repetitiveness of everything. Nikolai tried to remind him that it was part of the job. I... however, had to agree with him. Are humans supposed to go through this cycle every day? If not, what were we? Machines, like those you'd find in factories? If so... that's what we were. Machines fighting for humans. Humans with ambitions, no less. Whether all of this was pointless or not, is something I still debate with myself. Even though it's been 4 years. 4 years since it all started. All because of Romanov's whim. All because he just couldn't keep himself calmed down. And look where it led me. Instead of being in Leningrad with my family, I am now in Alaska. With her. Whether I'm stuck or not... it's up to you to decide. I can't. I've lost all forms of decision-making a long time ago. Sorry for bothering you with this. I sometimes get lost easily. Even when speaking in short sentences. Where was I? Ah, yes, the war itself.

I can tell you a story from the war. The first time I killed someone. So... there I was, alongside Pavlov and Nikolai, standing by our gun. No orders for support had been sent. We... had nothing to do, but wait for further orders. To pass the time, we decided to talk about our civilian lives. We all wanted to go back to them. Pretend this never happened. I still do. So... what happened? Well, two European GI's had managed to get past the frontline and get to us. How they did it, I still wonder. Maybe via one of those HUMVEEs? I... don't know. What matters is that they caught us off guard. Rather than shooting us to death, they decided to shout. I'm not sure in what language, probably German? Either way, we... ignored them. They tried shouting again, to no avail. That was when they decided to use their M16s. They fired a warning shot to get our attention. Well, they did get our attention. However, we... scrambled to get our PPSh's locked and loaded. Instead of being friendly, we'd reply with gunfire. Nikolai and I, with our loaded guns, would spot the two Westerners. Without thinking twice, we fired a burst. I decided to check on the man I fired upon to confirm the kill. What I saw instead was... [He'd shudder.] It wasn't a quick death. I remember seeing a pond of blood forming around him. His deathbed, one could say... His breath was forced, as if all of his strength was now destined to that. I don't remember his last words. I think he was calling for his mother... The only two choices I had were either leaving this man to die a slower death, or ending his misery right there. I... chose the latter. In hopes that he'd get to Heaven. Poor man. Never got home again... Wish I could send my condolences to his family. Even though they may have moved on. Even though they may have found another husband. Even though it might all be worthless at this point.

Apologies for that... morbid story. It's something I still am ashamed of... If you want some solace, I... spent the rest of the war in relative peace. I didn't go further west than... the Netherlands? Our superiors assigned us to guard a Dutch FOB until further orders. Aside from a few Allied raids, it was mostly silent. A needed rest from sending barrages into the frontline, to be honest. And from... whatever that was. We returned to telling each other stories about our civilian lives. It wasn't much, but what else could one do in this situation? The war had calmed down on the Western Front. And it was here where my questions began. Questions over whether it was worth it. Over if it was necessary to invade Europe. Over if the "Red Army" was really that much of a liberating force. Trying to not lose myself, though, I checked the time. 7:12 PM. I told myself that it had to be earlier during the day. I checked my watch again. It had gone forward a minute. 7:13. And to think I'd spend the rest of the war in this almost utopian calm. I remember loathing these moments, but now? I cherish them. I yearn a return to them. If anything, as a way to escape from the reality of Alaska. From the Paramilitary and its coldness. From... everything, really. For now, though, let us continue, shall we? The war would end with us... winning over the West. Now came a period of Russian dominance. The calm before the storm, if you will. Before I go further, though... are my wardog stories tiring you out? If so... I can understand. The world has moved on. Instead of talking about the Allies and the Soviets... now it's... what is it?

I... think we should move on...

I agree. Now... where was I? Ah, yes. What happened after. 1983 was a relatively calm year. The Allied raids seemed to stop. We weren't allowed to go back home, though. For some reason. Instead, they had us do occupation assistance tasks in France. Yes, I'm as dumbfounded as you are. It wasn't bad, to be fair. Certainly better than watching over the middle of nowhere. For 24 hours, seven days a week, no less. Alas, it only lasted for a handful of months, give or take seven. Before they relocated us to Semipalatinsk. In Kazakhstan. The reason why? I still don't know exactly. I have my theories, though. But for now, all that matters is that we got relocated, only for the cycle to repeat. Ironic, isn't it? They tell you about how it's different, don't they? And yet... it's the same. I sometimes wonder whether the military is just a factory under another name. Would the Lord approve of this sight? But I digress. And it's besides the point, anyways. It was still... that loathsome calm. Even as 1984 approached, it was the same, monotonous routine. Sometimes it'd be broken up by cleaning some toilets. Sometimes, by drilling us again on our howitzers. But, alas, it was... the same. Apologies if I drone on about the same things. Bad habit of mine. I think it's time I change. To September. That month.

You see, that was when my homeland would have a parade. A parade reminding the world of its recent victory over the West. We were told to stay over here, though. The reason? Something about howitzers not being appealing for the people. In retrospect, that was... for the better. I don't know exactly what happened over there. Apparently, some terrorists decided to strike against it? I'm... only going off rumors here, though. If you hear something else from someone else... well, I can't really say that they're lying. I wasn't there. They probably were. Not like it matters now. Nor did it matter to me back then. I didn't know that it'd be the start of a war between... well, everybody. From Yuri's men to whatever Allied remnants existed. For now, though, it didn't seem to come over here. Instead, though, we kept guarding our post. As if there was no tomorrow. Until... orders came in to mobilize further into Central Asia. The reason? We would support an invasion of Western China with our guns. Why we were invading China, was not something they told us. I... spent the rest of that night questioning whether I should even obey their orders. For now, though, I'd obey them. Like the fool that I was.

The next day came, and that's when we'd be invading China. However, there was one key difference. We got told to leave our howitzers behind. Why? Because it wasn't necessary. Instead, we'd be using our PPSh's. A surprising change of pace, for sure. They didn't tell us the reason, though. Why would they? Just so we poor sods could flee? Alas, we had no choice but to obey. And obey we would. As we moved down south from Semipalatinsk into Western China, they'd order us to organize ourselves into 3 or 4-man fireteams. Something I couldn't help but notice was... how eerily empty it all was. You'd expect that an invasion like ours would have a significant response, but alas... nobody was to be found in there. Only a deserted landscape. Up until we reached Kashmir, when we found some signs of civilization. Only for our commanding officers to order us to explore and ransack what "could contain something useful". It was at that point when I just couldn't follow any more orders. Firing against combatants was bad enough, and now, to do against non-combatants... It was beyond me. No, I couldn't keep fighting for them anymore. I had to get out of here. Preferably somewhere where they couldn't get me. Anyways, I waited until the right opportunity popped up and... ran away, leaving Nikolai and Pavlov behind. I wonder how they're doing...?

But now... I had nowhere to go. I couldn't go back home, lest they get me back in the war. Instead, I decided to walk towards Siberia, even if it meant going through China. Using what MREs I still had, I'd manage to feed myself just enough so that I wouldn't die. Eventually, after days of walking through China, I'd reach the infamous Siberia. The march went rather smoothly, barring a few incidents with what little populace there was. If you're wondering about those, let's just say that uhhhhh... they don't really like foreigners walking around their lands. I can see why, to be honest. I certainly wouldn't be friendly to an armed GI walking around Leningrad... Back to where I was. So... I'd reach Siberia, and the march... wouldn't get any different. Well, aside from the incidents no longer being able to happen. That being said, the further I went in, the more and more I would check my watch. See if time was actually passing. See if I... was living. In a lifeless land, no less. Eventually, though... I'd find life. Life that was also wandering down a similar path to mine. More specifically, a group of people, whose hair was mostly short. Except for one person who had three ponytails pointing upwards, like antennae. A woman, from what I could tell. I... decided to follow them. They would, however, look behind their backs, as if they knew someone was following them. One of the males would yell at me in a language I didn't understand, Chinese. I, however, just said "P-Privyet?". Upon uttering those words, two of the males, would ask me "Russkiy?". I... said "Da", before asking if I could join them. They would also say "Da". The three-ponytailed woman would ask them something in Chinese, they'd reply, and then... back to normal. And to think that she is my boss...

During the journey, I remember asking one of the males, a fellow Russian, whose name was Sergei, what had happened for him to be here. He told me... quite the story. In short, that, one day, while he was defending Kazan from Epsilon, he couldn't help but notice some of his mates... standing right there. Not responding to anything. After a few seconds, though... [He'd shudder.] Let's just say... they began aiming their guns towards their old mates. As soon as one of them opened fire upon a comrade who just so happened to be there... He ran away, and there he was. In my case... I told him about what I nearly did in Kashmir. He told me that I had the mercy of a saint, in a world where even the most basic forms of respect were gone. I... decided not to keep that going, but, instead, to focus on walking. And walk all of us did, as you can see. It was... quite the journey. Or March, I should say. From a conversation with an Arabic man, where I'd have to translate from English to Russian. That wouldn't be the only time, now would it? [He'd chuckle.] To the time when Sergei breached - and helped us enter - into a container ship in Vladivostok. I miss those times... even if it was during those where I'd lose the pocket watch my mother had given me. To some of Epsilon's own bandits, no less. Such is life, is it not? The rest of the march... well, it's all history now, is it not? Any other questions?

Well, I've mentioned what my parents actually taught me while I was homeschooled. Let me be clear with you, if there's something I regret not having been taught earlier, it's basic maths. They did teach me the basic operations, but it did not go beyond that. Yes, I think it was just that? It would've definitely been useful to have known more, though, especially had I been the one to lead the Paramilitary, rather than... her. I also never learnt much about history and, really, science in general. I always feel like a dwarf when talking to her, as, even in the messed-up form that she's taken on, she always speaks like someone who actually knows what they're talking about. Something I can't quite replicate.

To be honest? I wish I could describe it. But my description would be inaccurate. Why? Because a walking husk-like me can't describe itself accurately. I could use every adjective I could think of. And yet, I wouldn't be able to describe what I am. I can tell you a thing, though, and it's fear. A fear that's taken me hostage. You see, I'm afraid of turning into someone like her. She, who has also been taken as a hostage by her own fear. Her fear of everything going to waste. That's why I speak in short sentences as well. To not send me into becoming like her. To keep me, Anatoly, from breaking down like her. The one who I believe has taken Yunru. The one who calls herself Yunru, while being nothing like Yunru. The one who I now serve. With my life.

I can also mention this: it... genuinely pains me to see people suffer unnecessarily. They're humans, and they shouldn't go through anything close to that, not even Hell itself. No matter how much they've done wrong. Even less if they've actually done well. If they've done wrong... isn't Hell the place where we humans are supposed to be punished in? For eternity? Why are we doing Hell's work then? Why are we trying to emulate it?

Apologies for that disappointing answer. I wish I had more to say regarding my personality. To make up for it... I'll give you something else. How I would like to be perceived. Where should I begin...? I'd... like to be known as one someone can rely on. Especially at that someone's darkest times. It's... actually part of why I'm still here. I'd rather not talk about the details for now. Another thing I'd like to be known for... let's see... Perhaps as a hard-working individual? I'll admit... my routine does get overwhelming at times. Even with my aforementioned pain. Seeing someone self-destruct in a way like that is... demotivating, at best. Repeat that for 24 hours, and that's my routine in a sentence. Therefore, seeing myself be perceived as a hard-working individual... it gives me some relief. Even if it's merely temporary.

- For some reason, I enjoy playing chess against those who are of lower skill than me. Especially if they're younger than I am. I have no idea why, but it just brings a smile to my face.

- Are you able to keep a secret? If so... here I go. I... sometimes come into her room when she's gone. Not... in that way. Just to get an idea of what she does in isolation. It's... how I got some of the facts for her information sheet.

To be honest? My environment doesn't allow for any words of mine to be immortalized. So... how about I give you some I remember?

"Our Father in Heaven, / hallowed be your name." - Those are the first two verses of the Lord's Prayer. The one I still do.

"Yunru, why don't you...? - That? It's one of the questions I always ask her. Maybe in a desperate attempt to bring Yunru back? I don't know.

I... can't really provide an English translation for this one. It's... not the friendliest thing towards her. Do you mind if I say it in Russian?

Go ahead.

"О, РАДИ ВСЕГО СВЯТОГО! С ТОБОЙ ВСЕГДА ОДНО И ТО ЖЕ! Я ПЫТАЮСЬ И ПЫТАЮСЬ ВЫТАЩИТЬ ТЕБЯ ИЗ ЭТОГО ПОРОЧНОГО КРУГА ПАРАНОЙИ, И ВСЕ ЖЕ, ВМЕСТО ТОГО, ЧТОБЫ СЛУШАТЬ МЕНЯ, ТЫ, БЛЯДЬ, ИГНОРИРУЕШЬ МЕНЯ, КАК БУДТО Я ПРОСТО ДОСАДНАЯ ПОМЕХА! ТОЛЬКО ПОСМОТРИ НА СЕБЯ! ТЫ УЖЕ МНОГО ЛЕТ НЕ ЗАБОТИШЬСЯ О СЕБЕ! ВМЕСТО ЭТОГО ТЫ ПРОСТО ПРОДОЛЖАЕШЬ ТРУДИТЬСЯ И ТРУДИТЬСЯ, КАК БУДТО ТЫ БЫЛ СОЗДАН ДЛЯ ЭТОГО! РАЗВЕ ВЫ НЕ ПОНЯЛИ, ЧТО ПОДОБНАЯ РАБОТА НА САМОМ ДЕЛЕ ВРЕДИТ ТОМУ, ЧТО ВЫ СОЗДАЛИ? Я ЗНАЮ, ЧТО ВОЕНИЗИРОВАННЫЕ ФОРМИРОВАНИЯ ВАЖНЫ, НО, ПОЖАЛУЙСТА! ОТДОХНИ НЕМНОГО! ТЕБЕ ЭТО НУЖНО! ТЕБЕ ЭТО ДЕЙСТВИТЕЛЬНО ЧЕРТОВСКИ НУЖНО! ИНАЧЕ ТЫ ДЕЙСТВИТЕЛЬНО УМРЕШЬ РАНЬШЕ! ТЫ ЗНАЕШЬ, ТО САМОЕ, ЧЕГО ТЫ ЗДЕСЬ ПЫТАЕШЬСЯ ИЗБЕЖАТЬ?! ПОЖАЛУЙСТА, ПРОСТО ПОСЛУШАЙ МЕНЯ! ПОЖАЛУЙСТА!" - I... sometimes wish I could say this to her in English. Alas... I have a feeling she'd take action against me.