From the Story Arc: Bestla's Diary

Previous Story in the Arc: Testament by Bestla (Saturday, August 21, 2004)

Next Story in the Arc: Hooray! New York! (part 1 of many) by Bestla (Tuesday, November 09, 2004)

(posted Friday, September 10, 2004)

The snow field was barely illuminated by the distant lights of the barracks.

Once again we stood there, in his favorite place: a barren field covered from the snow ten months every year, in the middle of permafrost

Cold, bitter Syberia.



I could almost see him before me: his massive shoulders, the stiff geometry of his body, fists clenched facing the neverending storm. As the others, I can still remember very clearly the time spent in that field, waiting for a sign of approvation, desperatly trying to interpretate every possible movement he could make, always fearing for a harsh remark from him, or a cold, emotionless “Dismissed”. In the end, we were all his childrens. As children we spent good part of our youth in that field, wondering, fearing, doubting.


As an adult, still this place gives me creeps, even with the almost impalpable aura of heat shielding myself from the howling winds of the steppe. I tried to reach the hand of Mindy, but he took a step away from me “It’s all your fault, Bestla.”.

I didn’t even try to reply that, Mindy was no more. The high profile KGB operative, Mind Flayer, devoured all was left of my roommate, my best friend in the Pack. The grown body of my old time friend was just a shell now, for the cold logical mind of a spy, and probably, a black operative.


Not even half of the pack had a chance to see this day. Some were killed in missions, others were destroyed by their own powers, a few tried to free themselves from the grasp of the organization, and were quickly dispatched.


And now, only seven of us stood on that field, ready to honor our Master for the last time.

We all knew that the reason we were standing there, as free men and women, where that our Master had sacrificed himself to pay an old debt. Even if he still lived, for us the fact he was forced to join the WCO and do their bidding, meant his dead.

Then Viktor raised his calm voice over the winds, and started:


“It’s hard to belive he’s gone.

For all his triumphs I fear that even in death he will find no peace, nor will those who fought beside him. Still we must move forward, and while others will come to accept that his crusade has come to an end, for us.. it begins again.


In the world there are men that think an ideal can be forced upon people, crushing them under an iron fist. At those men I tell: we won’t let you pass. You can destroy us one by one, and still you won’t succceed, for we will pass the torch of hope to others.


I bid you farewell, Vanya.

Death is not defeat.”