Uncle CCCP Wants You!

From the Story Arc: Radoslav: The Chronicles of Agn Stratonik

Previous Story in the Arc: Finding My Place by Agn Stratonik (Tuesday, December 28, 2004)

Next Story in the Arc: M.A.T.A.H.U.R.I.A. by Agn Stratonik (Thursday, January 20, 2005)

(posted Thursday, December 30, 2004)

A steel set of doors are blasted open. Smoke fills a room in an underground base. Ten men storm inside the room, followed shortly by another. These men are wearing red, military, multi-purpose uniforms and jump boots that make a rumbling symphony as you hear them storming toward you. This is the 5th Column. They aren't your typical Neo Nazis or fanatics that just talk a lot. These guys are the real deal. Their villainous control sprouts all over Paragon City and remains a constant nuisance to peace. The Nazi plague was thought to be squashed at the end of WW2, but it is still present and growing. My grandfather must be turning in his grave right now.

More importantly, I wonder about the sacrifice of Atlas. He stopped the Nazis from a full scale invasion, yet, somehow, they still made it into Paragon. My opinion, though, is that Capitalism isn’t too far from Fascism, anyway, which could explain why these sadists thrive in this “land of the free.”

The 11th soldier is an Unterofficer, who commands this small unit of men. Barking orders, he instructs them to grab the materials housed in this room. As his men hurriedly begin to grab the boxes and crates that littered this room, the Unterofficer stood standing watch. Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Achtung, baby,” were the words I said with a smile, right before I landed a swift crane kick to his chest, sending him flying into two of his men. When the other soldiers realized what was going on, they turned around, drew their weapons and pointed them at me. I raised both my arms above my head and said, “Oh nyet, you got me, comrades. I am guess it is the end of the road for me, da?”

Not quite so. The Nazis opened fire, but a ball of protection raced in front of me and deflected every bullet that was shot. This ball of protection is named Chug. “Hullo,” he said to the soldiers as they stood standing in shocked amazement. Chug’s short, but hulky demeanor was greatly intimidating. Proudly, I crossed my arms across my chest. Members of the CCCP ranks began to fall in: Khrushchev, a tall, armor-plated monstrosity of a man, brandishing a huge gun. Fei Li, known as the People’s Blade, whose beauty and slender body hid inside the essence and soul of a true tactician and warrior, which she showed as she sliced enemies to bits with her kitana. The Soviette, a beautiful doctor and healer and a big reason why I still breathe. Bestla and Tengri, two fighters whose small statures hid fierce warriors that could withstand the likes of 20 or more Villains and barely come out with a scratch.

These men and women were only a handful that made up the great CCCP and Red Brigade, a sturdy unit that is an extension of the CCCP. The ominous presence that we had standing at the front entrance brought sheer terror to the Nazi soldiers that stood in front of us. So much so that they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their hands in surrender. “Kon govno,” I shouted, placing my hands on my hips. “I was hoping for to have a fight. Are you sure you are wanting to give up so easily, fascists?” They nodded their heads, vigorously, further elevating my disappointment.

Ten minutes later, Paragon City police arrived to secure the building and arrest the Villains. I stooped down in front of the crates they were trying to steal to take a peek inside at what was so important. I removed the top of the crate and furrowed my eyebrows. Chug tapped me on my shoulder and asked, “Can Chug have dat,” pointing at the crate top. “Da, sure,” I said as if coming out of a daze from looking at the crate contents. I handed him the crate top and he began chewing on it. Chug loves to chew on things. He sat happily on the floor and munched away. The females of the group, Fei Li, Tengri, Bestla and Soviette, stood in a circle chatting about current events. Khrushchev paced back and forth, holding his gun to his side and his head down, until he looked up to see what I was doing. He walked over and stood behind me as I assessed the contents.

“What is inside, comrade,” he asked, curiously. I held up a 20-inch cylinder that resembled the barrel of a double-barreled shotgun. One side of it held neon, glowing, blue liquid that was transparent. The other was a dense, murky, gray substance that resembled melted lead. “What do you make of it, tovarich,” I asked handing the cylinder to him. He took it from me and stared at it intently. “I wish I could tell you.” He looked closer and saw letters printed lengthwise on the side of the cylinder. “Matahuria.” “What,” I asked as I stood up. “It says, ‘Matahuria’ right here.” M.A.T.A.H.U.R.I.A was etched on the side of the cylinder, but what did it mean. “Commissar Blade,” I called to Fei Li beckoning her to come and analyze our find. “What do you make of this,” I asked pointing to the cylinder which Khrushchev still eyed intently. Squinting her eyes, she replied, “I am not sure, Agn. Did the police say anything about it?” “Not a word, ma’am.” Fei Li bit her bottom lip, thinking, then turned around and walked off. What was the liquid’s importance?

After that long day, I returned to the laboratory to begin more work. I sat at a table splicing retina cells in an attempt to create artificial sight. Suddenly, I felt a cold breeze across my neck, as if a Snow Angel stood blowing her cold breath against my skin. I turned around to see if anything or anyone was there. Nothing. I turned around and began to work again. “Agn,” an echoing voice called to me, the voice of a man. I turned around again, my eyes widening so much I could feel my pupils constrict. “Privyet? Who is there?” I stood up to begin searching, but a shaded figured appeared in front of me. Covered in a dark, murky haze was a man. I attempted to punch him in the face, but his speed was uncanny. Before I knew it, he was on my right, clearly avoiding the punch completely. “Do not fear me, young Agn.” “How do you know my name?” “I’ve been watching you, dear Agn, for far too long. I thought it would be best now to reveal myself to you.” The man’s accent was of American origin, but who was he? I came back to a standing position, arms to my side in fists and stared at him with an expressionless gaze.

He dissipated the aura that surrounded him and there stood a man in a black duster and a trench coat. His eyes glowed, like empty holes that poured out black air. Everything about this man was black, other than his skin which was pale like that of a corpse. “Who are you,” I asked with ferocity in my tone. “My name is Colonel Sorrow, formerly Julian Rayne. You do not know me, but I know you. I worked with your father in Moscow.” “Moscow? I never saw you in training session with Russian soldiers for Radoslav.” “I know, BUT I was working with your father on other matters.” “What other matters?”

He smirked and walked over to the chair that I was sitting in for a seat. I had a feeling that he was of little threat, so I sat on the floor against a wall in front of him. “Your papa may have never told you, Agn, but his military importance was far greater than just training soldiers. He was in charge of CREATING Super soldiers.” “Super soldiers,” I replied with sheer surprise in my voice. “Aye, Super soldiers, for the Soviet Army. Several of the Heroes that spawned in Russia during the Cold War were his creations. He obviously had to keep this secret for fear of what would happen.”

Looking down and sighing I asked, “How do you fit into all of this?” “Well, Agn, my story is a long one. I will get to that in a moment. A substance known as Stalingrad Serum was used to create these soldiers. However, mutants were only used as the soldiers. The idea was not to create a soldier from a mere homosapien, but to make an already powerful being unstoppable. Various Super Heroes that exist today in Paragon or Mother Russia are projects of your father’s program. I’m afraid that was his downfall though.” “Downfall,” I asked with pain in my heart so much that I knew the man heard it from the look in his face. It was that of a guardian who hated to see those he watched in pain.

“The death of your father wasn’t a stroke of bad luck, my boy. The soldiers that killed your father and nearly killed you were failed projects of his. Several different things were done in the project, for instance genes of hosts were spliced, while some were dipped in a metallic alloy and encased in it. Some awful things were done, but it was all done for the good of things, I guess. The killers of your father had their genes spliced and their DNA was horribly corrupting, causing a large number of problems within them.”

He took a deep breath and bowed his head. My eyes began to swell up with tears. He continued. “Usually, the failures were killed and cremated to prevent discovery, but these managed to escape shortly before the Berlin Wall fell. These men died 3 weeks after killing your father because their brains exploded within their heads because of the botched DNA they harbored in their bodies, but they took out the one man they sought to blame for it. I was in charge of training these soldiers in military tactics after they were transformed and programmed through large doses of Communist propaganda that was fed to their brains with devices that resembled electric chairs. The killers learned of you and your father’s whereabouts through a source that is unknown to me after all this time, but they achieved their goal.”

My heart was literally in my ass and was trying its damnedest to get out of my body. I had never felt like dying so much in my life. Everything I held about my father was now utterly destroyed. He was a great man, but this? This was too much.

I bowed my head as I felt tears rolling down my face. He leaned forward in the chair and looked at me, knowing that nothing he could say would make me feel better. “He knew this would happen, though, Agn. Which is why he asked me to watch over you when he was gone. I’ve watched you since the day your father was killed, until now. You’re a grown man, Agn. You have been since the age of 13. Nothing I can say could make you feel better, but your father did ask me to give you this.”

He took a piece of paper from his pocket and stood up. I lifted my head as he approached me, tears in my eyes, and took the paper from him as he handed it to me. It was a small piece of paper, folded in half. I opened it and things became clear and totally mind boggling at the same time. I felt as the word began to roll of my lips…”Matahuria.”

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