pirated stuff

I took deep breaths and fought to keep my voice tempered and soft. But my blood ran hot as fire; I could almost feel the flames flicking underneath my skin and licking at my fingers. The milk cooled the heat like cold water thrown across burning coal.

"General Theonau…do you have a phone nearby? I want to speak to Zettour."

My voice was straddling the fine line between a bellow and a shrill. I didn't hate the Kaiser but between a republic and a monarchy, I would always choose the republic. If Theonau weren't going to comply, then I'd just have to lead the Austrian infantrymen to revolt alongside the civilians. But he made the right choice and directed one of his butlers to call Zettour on my behalf.

By God, I want to wipe that stupid grin off of his conniving face.

When contact reached through, the Osterrian butler handed the phone over to me after giving the receiver my name.

"General Zettour-" I began.

"Ah, my dear little Bellona," came a different but familiar voice. I was thrown into a minor stupor; did the butler call the wrong phone number? "To think I have already grown to miss your voice, Argent Silver."

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Don't tell me you have already forgotten me. This is Field Marshal Mackenheim, my dear!"

"I'm sorry but I am trying to speak to Zettour -" I said.

"Our friend Zettour is currently occupied with other affairs; you know how he lives…always working to protect his home and country," Mackenheim replied.

Only all too well. I thought bitterly.

"What affairs is he currently partaking in? This is rather urgent especially when I met his colleague, Theonau."

"Ah, Theonau…I remember him. He is a good soldier and I hope you found his company rather enjoyable, at least compared to us elders."

"Yes, well…can you get Zettour on the phone? Tell him that I am trying to reach out to him - wait, why are YOU at his estate?" I questioned fiercely.

"A reunion among old friends, Argent Silver, I wish you were here to see us. Have you met his granddaughter yet? Lady Larissa has been dying to meet you in person." He answered.

A reunion of old friends?

"What is the status of Germania?" I spoke softly, "The trade tariffs-"

"Have halted all international, commercial, and industrial goods movement between Europe and North America. While I am not too familiar with the economic machinations of Osterry, if you consider the situation in Wien deplorable, Germania will have to endure worse." He explained in a cheerful tone. "Worry not though, we will survive the storm, just like you said."

"Yes…Osterry. I wanted to talk to Zettour about Osterry. This involves him greatly. Hence I must SPEAK to him!"

"Zettour is, unfortunately, unavailable at this moment…"

"I can wait, Mackenheim. Just let him know I'm here."

A long pause. A suspiciously long pause. I damn well knew that he did not leave the phone unattended. Just as he recognized that I couldn't be fooled by such a simple act.

"I think not," he replied with grim finality.

I took another deep breath to soothe my growing frustration and sudden spike of fear.

Not you too, Mackenheim. Anyone but you.

"Please…help me. From one soldier to another, I must speak to Zettour. I don't care how egregious it may seem for me to intrude…"

"He asked not to be disturbed by anyone at this time, even from you. Now, I would be more than happy to discuss other matters with you. Your followers have-"

"I don't care what they are doing right now. I want to talk to ZETTOUR!"

"Patience, my Bellona, this is an opportune moment to update you on what your subordinates have accomplished…"

"Mackenheim!"

"I'm not your enemy."

"I didn't say you were, I was just-"

"There is no need for hostility between us. We're allies in this general crisis. Your men have..."

"You're delaying…" I concluded bitterly. I already knew what my fanatics had done in my absence. They made no attempts to hide what they were doing from the press. "You're delaying…"

"A harsh accusation, my lady, I am merely trying to -"

"WILL I HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY FOR MY VOICE TO BE HEARD?"

Another long pause.

"In the name of God, everyone's point of view will be considered. Yours will be the first among equals. Upon your return. Immediately."

Suddenly, the line went dead and the phone hung uselessly from my hand. The butler gently removed the device and restored it to its original station, leaving me asunder with my thoughts. Either continue onward to Yugoslavia to restore trust with the Progressive Bloc or join the militarists and remove any doubt they had of me being an autocratic enabler. As of now, it sounds like I can only put my trust in Lergen. As the head of the Reichswehr, he is the last barrier that divides the Imperialists from politicizing the military and corrupting it into a violent putsch.

I laughed bitterly at the raw irony.

Here I was, denouncing the possibility of a military insurrection while throwing my support for a revolution.

Curse Being X and his overzealous fanatics!

Curse the fascists and the communists too!

Curse Visha…curse her and crush her…forever and ever…

Please Lergen. Please say no. Please refuse to go along.

"So, Argent Silver?" Theonau called out from behind me. "What's your answer? Have we come to a mutual understanding?"

Mutual understanding?

What a cruel joke.

The only understanding we have here is that the militarists would rather let the democratic project die if it meant they could govern the ashes. They're perfectly content letting the fascist and communist bastards tear at each other and wreak utter havoc if it means they can be perceived as the heroes. Dollfuss is unpopular and his opposition is only growing, every soldier and captain should be aware of that by now, but Theonau was aspiring for a higher cause.

By making the unpopular president dependent on the military for security.

Killing Heidler and crushing the revolution through fire and steel would not cease further dissent; it would alienate whatever moderates Dollfuss has left to court. Even Albion and Francia would have to condemn the naked display of unchecked brutality. Dolffuss would have nowhere else to turn to but Imperialists like Theonau to prop up his controversial regime. But once the Field Marshal is done killing the liberals, socialists, and communists, he'll turn his men against the fascists under the cause of "restoring peace and security" to Osterry. To remove the tyranny of Dollfuss' regime, the same regime that they had worked to protect…

Heidler's growing revolution was a boon for the Imperial fanatics: all of their political enemies were coming right at them and the Ostnationalists made the perfect scapegoat to cover their plans for Imperial reunification.

As if the public is that gullible…

But at the same time…what other choice do they have?

The democratic moderates are hated and rightly blamed for the national humiliation and economic hardship after the end of the war.

The communists are just puppets of the Russy Federation.

The Ostnationalists have a very narrow interpretation of what constitutes an "ethnic Osterrian," already alienating a vast majority of the population.

The pan-Germanic fascists are no better.

The militarists just want to bring back the Empire. Shooting Heidler and his revolutionaries would just make the Imperial movement the least bad option for Osterry to take.

The false dilemma fallacy of the highest order.

"Yes, we do," I grumbled, staring back at the commander. "But I have a condition of my own, one that is also equally mandatory for further cooperation between us."

His smugness could not be more obvious and insufferable.

"When I announce my support, I will also put forward the criteria for good leadership from a monarch. I want to lay down the foundation for a stable and functioning government, one that would prevent the follies of the Great War and allow the average citizen to dictate their past grievances with the Empire. The people should be allowed to decide which claimant to take the throne. As far as I remember, the exiled Kaiser has a son and grandson for Germanians to choose from." I stated as calmly as I could.

Delay. Distract. Disarm. They can't stop me from providing useful criticism of the monarchy. However, this will require some careful tact and charm to rally the republicans to go alongside this farce. Perhaps I could manage a compromise with a constitutional monarchy? Like with the Emperor in Japan.

Yes. I can do that. Placate both factions in one fell swoop and save Germanian democracy.

"We wouldn't have it any other way." Theonau nodded in approval, before snapping his fingers to alert his manservant to bring me a piece of paper.

It was a piece of paper, blank and reserved only for me; a petition to be signed and delivered.

The Field Marshal handed me his personal pen. "Everything you said and promised…write it down. Rudensdorf is going to love this."

At that moment, I felt like a spider being led into a glass jar.

"Ah, Argent Sil - I mean - Tanya, welcome back!" Herr Heidler set aside the newspaper to run and greet me at the doorway as if he were a parent seeing his child return from school. "I hope for some good news today. The communists threw a bomb at a rally while you were gone."

"Do tell," I muttered slowly as I set aside my handbag and the few chocolate pastries that Theonau gifted me.

"Those idiotic Reds couldn't set the fuse right!" He laughed cruelly, "Richard threw it right back at them!"

"How fun…" I grumbled as I went over to the counter to glance over at the newspaper. Already, what little joyous mood I had from the meeting was immediately taken away when the headlines mentioned the Steel Legion of Dacia. It seems that the only reason its genocide against the Gipsies was only mentioned was because the faux saber-rattling Magyarozag had done it at my behest.

Took Horvath long enough to say something. By God, he was dragging his feet since Germania's election. And yet, even though that regent did speak up on the issue, it seems nothing more was being done.

No call to arms for a regime change.

No attempts to embargo or enact sanctions.

Everyone pretended that they were good at keeping their eyes closed.

The worst of it all, the fascist regime proudly proclaimed that Dacia would be 100% "Dacian" by the end of the year. I suppose the Magyar annexation of Transylvania did the one good thing of sparing these Gipsies and other undesirables from being murdered in broad daylight.

That's assuming the country did not deport them.

Once again, this event was given the tiniest crumble of attention compared to the overall trade war between the Unified States and Europe. Tariffs upon tariffs upon tariffs…As a result, political upheaval and extremist movements have been gaining ground steadily in even the victorious nations. From the face of it, it looked as if the entire world had collectively lost its mind trying to cope with the aftermath of the Great War.

The trade war and the lack of international shipping have severed the postwar boom in Albion and Francia quite abruptly. While Londonium had to contend with worker strikes and contentious socialist labor unions, Parisee started to experience violent clashes between the liberal and social progressive establishment and the far-right, anti-parliamentarian ultraconservatives.

Oh, the lengths to which America would go to collect its war debts.

In the Land of Opportunity itself, the American First Party had gained a popular foothold in a majority of states as many Americans seemed content to retreat into isolationism. It is such a strange feeling reading about how Americans seemed contentious on the topic of being the world's policeman. In my previous life, Americans always jumped at the first opportunity to make their presence felt in all the worst ways imaginable.

"So…what did the General say?" Heidler peered over my shoulder. "Are they going to help us?"

"You won't have to worry about getting killed," I replied. "That's all you need to know."

"Well…that's good news."

"Yes, though - Heidler, do you miss the monarchy?"

The baker-turned-rebel leader blinked awkwardly. "Kaiser Fred? I mean…I can't say I dislike him. Nor do I consider myself his greatest admirer. I just think he is better off if he stays out of Germania or Osterry. No ill will towards him but I think in this modern age, we need a different style of leadership. That we'll do just fine without him."

"I couldn't agree more." The words tasted like ash in my mouth considering who the man was in my previous life. "Are you sure you still want to do this?"

"Now more than ever." he smiled.

I glanced back at the newspaper. Germania managed to scrap enough funds to conduct its first payment to the Entente but everyone could foresee that the Republic was already falling behind. There was too much instability and hatred towards Berning's regime. Poor Schlage. I should write letters to him to assist the Progressives in navigating this hostile environment.

As for Germania's neighbors, Pilsud's dream has come true. The Intermarium led by Pullska has encompassed every post-Imperial state except Osterry and Germania. Daneland and Lothiern have formerly forfeited neutrality in favor of mutual defense for obvious reasons. Even Waldstatte, that neutral nation squished between Illdoa, Francia, and the Empire, considered joining the pact due to many Pan-Germanics there lobbying for entry.

"Don't worry so much, Tanya," Heidler remarked. "God is with us. Our cause is righteous. He will stand by us. We just need to put our trust in him."

"And yet, where was God in 1922?" My voice was bitter and mournful. "Where was he in 1925? '28? '30? '32?"

"Well-"

"Heidler, forget about God and focus on the now! Don't forget that what we are embarking on is absolutely insane! If there is no coherent plan as to where to take the country from here, we might as well not have carried out this revolt. It's not enough to remove Dollfuss, we have to replace his wretched ideology with something better. Something more rational and enduring so his pathetic band of worshippers don't crawl out of the abyss."

"Hold on, Degurechaff. I don't understand where this is coming from." Heidler said, "This is about that meeting, isn't it? What did the brass say to you? You didn't have to entertain them?"

"What?" I was confused by his last question. "I was just a doll to be passed around and admired. Nothing more…"

I looked up at Heidler and tried to discern his face. He wore a very odd expression that I don't think I ever encountered before. Well, perhaps I did encounter it in my past life with my father growing up.

"We talked about the future of Osterry."

"And?"

"How do you feel about the Empire returning?"

At that moment, Heidler gave the biggest sigh of relief he ever had since meeting me. It was as if a massive weight was taken off his shoulders and allowed him to straighten his back. The joy returned to his eyes tenfold and gave me another massive, overly naive, smile as he patted me on the head.

"I think it would be a very good thing. It lessens the burden of having to reorganize the government that Dollfuss polluted. Well, I suppose the return of the monarchy can't be that terrible. I doubt Kaiser Fred could do worse."

Worse in other ways. I wanted to say. The man allowed his government and nation to be taken over by a military junta, bloodless as it was; still a gross breach of trust between the government and the military. The idiot was content allowing his country to fall deeper into war mania so as long as he got to live and dine like a celebrity. All of the joys and none of the burdens of running a massive state.

But that is Heidler's plan it seems: overthrow the wretch and reunite with Germania. That explains his lackluster drive to formulate a political manifesto to distribute among his peers. Oh sure, rejoin Germania. That will totally not invite retaliation by the Francois and Albish. It will totally fix the economic and social crisis the two nations are currently undergoing.

Where do I even begin to correct him?

Just then, the front door opened to reveal Ruth who carried the stench of smoke and blood. Herr Heidler noticed it immediately as his joyous demeaning was replaced with newfound rage and horror.

"Hello dear," she smiled warmly, placing her handbag on the table as if she had carried the world's heaviest rock after closing the door. She immediately slouched against the couch in utter exhaustion. Frau Heidler reached into her coat and pulled out a pistol to hand back to her husband.

"We're going to need more bullets." She huffed.

"A shootout?" He inquired with a chuckle.

"A skirmish. The president is getting very desperate. He's sending everything he's got."

"Not everything," I remarked glumly, remembering my deal with Theonau.

"He'll put this district under siege then," Heidler remarked, glancing in my direction. "Assuming he has the men for it."

It was only then did Ruth finally noticed me, prompting me to get off the couch and embrace me in a tiresome hug.

"Good day to you as well, Argent Silver." She said with a smile, "Also, I've heard that the strikes on the railroad have been called off. You did say your trip to Beograd was delayed because of the communists."

What a coincidence.

I weighed my options. No doubt it was Being X's work. He wants me to return to Germania. To forfeit my agreement with Schlage and work with the establishment that endeavored to turn the republic into a failstate. The conversation with Mackenheim has only put into perspective how off the rails the conservatives are. Whatever they're planning is not good for the future of the Republic.

Yet, I will not be a plaything to Being X. My course is already set. I must be expedient with my obligations with Heidler.

If someone had told Viktoriya back in 1925 that she would work for a Judean as a waitress after the war, she would have laughed in his face for sharing such a ridiculous concept. After the Great War, she would be in Moskva, sitting by a log and warming her hands by the fire—a fire fueled by the corpses of communist traitors.

There is nothing more humiliating for a White Russy than to work for a Judean.

Death was the preferable alternative than to subject oneself to the killers of Christ.

Every good, loyal, and honest soldier of the Tzar knows this. Every child held this as the truth.

Yet, here Viktoryia was, being employed by a Judean in a cafe two months after seeking refuge with Father Schugel. Her beloved savior was long gone to Yugoslavia, leaving her behind in the ashes and mud of the Republic. Rumors surrounded her war hero like a cold blanket, that Degurechaff was in Wien and riling up a mob to overthrow an unpopular president. The things Viktoriya would give to be with her…

She had half a mind to wish for Tanya to shoot her in the head and blow her brains out to spare her the shame.

If her father hadn't died of starvation or disease, then he would surely have perished from a heart attack upon seeing his only daughter being reduced to a servant by the eternal enemy of Rus. He had done nothing but preach the dangers of Judean employers as soon as the family learned of her mage powers.

Lessons that echo in her mind like banshees in a graveyard. Forever wailing and full of hate and misery.

The pay was terrible. The customers were rude. The working hours were long and unbearable. How did her life turn out like this?

She is a soldier of the Empire. The right-hand woman of the Argent Silver herself! Visha had fought without question or regret, endured all that war had to offer, and came back home braver than she had ever realized. She deserved better.

She deserved to be by Degurechaff's side as her ever-loyal and capable assistant! Not be a servant to this penny-pinching, long-nosed, lice-ridden Jud-

Viktoriya's hand immediately went up to scratch at her cheek. Despite it being months since she last saw her greatest hero, she still felt her presence on her skin. Like a hot branding iron pressed to her face and stomach, a permanent reminder of rejection—a reminder of shame, guilt, and confusion.

Guilt for what though?

To be ashamed of what though?

She was only doing what was expected best of her.

Degurechaff gave her blessing to be the leader of the Freikorps in her absence.

For once in her life, can Visha be proud of what she was doing? Can she at least be proud that she was a White Russy? Can she be proud that she was a Slav?

That look of disappointment in Tanya's eyes was the most terrifying part of her dreams; the beatings, the screaming, and the expulsion always ended when Tanya regarded her as a stranger rather than a friend. No. They were closer than friends. She knew in her heart that they were more than just friends.

Visha prayed every night to banish that memory. For God to take away that night of dishonor.

Try as one might, she wanted to lay blame on the Judeans for her plight.

After all, her father did the same whenever something went wrong.

Are food prices too high? It's the greedy Judeans.

Financial troubles at home? It's the greedy Judeans.

Her older brothers failing German literature and science courses in college?

Why, it's the perfidious Judeans trying to prevent White Russy from achieving higher education! There is no such thing as intellectual regression in Slavs.

Getting removed from her post in the Freikorps? It was…

It was…

Well…

Argent Silver wasn't a person who could be isolated and manipulated. Viktoriya admired how each thought, action, and formula that came from the Major was her own. A truly independent person free from influence and driven entirely by her own ideals; a great hero who will tear down the rotten foundation of the republic and store the Empire and Holy Rus in their righteous glory. She was untouchable, insurmountable, and everything that Viktoriya was not.

But if the Major wasn't the one being controlled, then that would only mean -

No. She banished the thought for the 100th time. She would never. Her heart was pure and her mind was barred like a fortress. Her love was real. Her admiration was genuine. There is no sliver of deceit in her adoration of the Major. So if the White Russy weren't the target of outside meddling, then whose fault is it?

Viktoriya could almost see the Major standing before her, iron and immovable while bathed in golden heavenly light, demanding answers for her actions that night. Answers she could not give for if the words were spoken, then Rapture would be unleashed. Time and time again, she had imagined this confrontation in her attempt to regain the Major's goodwill.

It is my fault. I'm sorry.

Yet her mouth disobeyed and remained forever closed. As always, she could not say it.

It is not my fault. I was scared.

Was she scared when she heard that her idol was attacked and nearly brought to harm in Konigsberg?

Viktoriya wanted to say yes. Her heart demanded it be known. Her fear was real.

But her mind considered it an opportunity. A chance to get even. To reconcile all past grievances between the Slavs and the Judeans.

You are the most vindictive, cruelest, and insane person I have ever had the displeasure to work with…

The cold, dispassionate voice of the Major reverberates in her mind and soul as surely as the sun sets and the moon rises. The veteran needed help understanding; these traits were not disqualifying factors to have in subordinates during the Tzarist Era.

Insanity was loyalty.

Cruelty was assurity.

Vindictiveness was honorable.

Why would these traits bring displeasure to the Major? They were a joy to read in Russy novels and history books.

In her mind, she had done everything right. She brought honor to herself, her country, her family, and her fellow peers. What did she do wrong?

Hate was Power.

Hate was Strength.

Hate was -

"Frau Serebryakov?" Said the manager of the cafe, slightly tapping at Viktoriya's shoulder. His name was already forgotten since last week's interview. "You've been staring at the table for the last five minutes."

So she has.

The rose bouquet that rested neatly in the glass jar was the most crimson that the White Russy had ever seen in her life. As red as blood itself and just as intense. She remembered she was supposed to set up the table after the previous patron left. Slowly, but gently, Viktoriya finished her task with the preparation of napkins and utensils.

"Herr Babo wants to speak with you. It is rather imperative." the man continued.

Viktoriya smiled sweetly and thanked him for the notice despite the gears in her mind already rotating to churn out spite and bile at her boss. If it weren't for the duty to pay back Father Schugel's kindness and charity, she would have avoided this career like the plague.

But this was penance.

To lower oneself in the act of true faith in God and to work as a servant to others.

Even if they were the enemy.

That was the one part Viktoriya wanted to contest but lost the argument when the elder theologian invoked Degurechaff's name. A dirty trick to pull off yet it worked on her. Regrettably.

She wanted to hate him for it.

Degurchaff's sanctity was hers to own and protect. Not for others to abuse and distort.

Onwards she marched, contemplating murdering her employer the entire way until she reached the main office at the rear of the shop. Knives, bludgeons, bottles, and other instruments of writing were considered potential tools in her efforts. Of course, Viktoriya remembered she still had her two hands. Nothing compares close to feeling fresh blood on the skin of her knuckles or the impact of her fists rupturing the organs inside.

Why should she be afraid of this Judean? How can he, small and weak, compare to a thousand artillery shells fired at once? How can his words frighten her when a million bullets could not? How can his voice, shallow and meek, compare to the screams of the dying and the damned? She saw broken men, burned men, and bisected men falling thousands of meters from heaven and making craters onto the earth. The skies rained blood as surely as the debris of downed planes. Through snow and rain, mud and sand, Viktoriya endured the hell that mankind has created for itself through the worship of machines and technology.

Who is he to decide her fate?

By all rights, it is he who should be afraid of her!

"Ah, Frau Serebryakov…" Babo attempted to smile, "I'm sorry for dithering at the issue but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"There's nothing to apologize for." Viktoriya smiled while her eyes moved from Babo's face to his calloused hands. She will enjoy ripping out the fingernails to make the miserable worm scream.

"As you know, Father Schugel took me aside to explain to me the…dilemma you have experienced since the November Boycott." He continued.

"Of course, I remember."

After the fingernails, she'll start again at his toes. She'll make this scum of the earth crawl at her feet.

"I was very skeptical to allow someone of your…background to be part of my staff considering how rambunctious a White Russy can be. Not to offend your heritage, far from it; my main concern was safety. For me, my business and my family. Again, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt that you are…striving to be better."

Vikoriya always wanted to try using a potato peeler to skin vermin. Her father did mention before that her grandfather and great-grandfather sought to be creative when interrogating enemies of the Tzar, especially when orthodox methods became lackluster.

"But my wife was determined to contest your employment ever since I chose to take you in. Regrettably, I must agree with her." Babo concluded grimly. "She lost a cousin in the November Boycott after all and she has not remained comfortable around any White Russites since then."

Forget the potato peeler. Viktoriya had the urge to shove him and his wife into the oven to be roasted for this insult. If only Tanya were here to see this injustice!

"I'm not trying to condemn you." he said with a huff, "I understand that there is a strong innate desire to find a simple outlet for anger considering what happened in Konigsberg. I understand completely - I was also angry and shocked when I heard that the Ace of Aces was attacked in cold blood. Just that-"

"No," Viktoriya spoke aloud, every syllable dripping in venom. "No, you don't understand. You can never understand…what's it like to be a White Russy. To not have a home; to not belong anywhere and have your God and culture be corrupted by the traitorous Bolsheviks."

Babo paused mid-sentence with an open mouth before slowly closing it as he took in her words. His expression was vague yet brooding and judgemental all the same.

"Perhaps you're right but I'm not your enemy. No one here is. We're Democratic Liberals, for God's sake. Regardless, I need to clarify that today will be your last day of employment. In addition for the reasons said above as well as recent economic troubles, you just don't fit in with the rest of the staff. They're not comfortable being around you and you…have a very peculiar way when greeting patrons."

Something snapped in Visha's mind. Of course, she is not good enough to stay. Nothing she does brings anyone joy, except the Major. Only the Major sees her for what she is. Only the Major can appreciate her worth as a soldier. Like a bear trap that bit off the ankles of a stag, her body was tense and prepared to draw blood while her hand reached up to remove the name tag pinned to her waitress uniform.

"From one veteran to another, I wish you all the luck in the world." He smiled with a hint of mournful exhaustion as he retrieved the name tag. "I truly mean it."

In her mind, Viktoriya imagined her fist connecting with his throat. A blow to the vocal cords to prevent a cry for help when her other first lands on his jaw. A flurry of punches. A hailstorm of violent kicks. Everything to reduce this Judean into a wet red puddle on the polished wooden floor.

What are you doing?

She could just hear her messiah behind her as if she were an angel sent by God to judge her. The words hit her like a splash of cold water.

What am I doing? Viktoriya wondered as she shook her former employer's hand. She thanked him for the opportunity to work and left his office with a pitiful sigh. She would need to return the uniform tomorrow yet her mind was the action she had just done. Allowing a Judean to establish himself as an equal to a White Russy… was a strange feeling. One that made her sick to the stomach.

This isn't right.

This isn't right.

He is the enemy!

Why is she greeting him as an equal?

WHY IS SHE-

Stop.

Just stop. Degurechaff's voice echoed in her brain.

Just Stop.

The veteran mage stumbled out of the cafe like a drunk, suddenly unsure of the world around her with legs of jelly. Where can she go now? This was the fourth job she lost. How come can't she do anything right? Why can't she do anything right? How can she ever repay Schugel for the kindness he provided her? How can she ever feel Degurechaff's warming embrace?

Her inner turmoil was halted her gaze passed over the crowds and landed upon one bald man with a peculiar mustache. She recognized him immediately.

Ludwig-Richter? What is he doing here?

"Ah, just when I thought Muller and Schugel led me astray." He smiled warmly as he reached over to pat Viktoriya on the shoulder. "Been trying to find you since the boycott. All I heard is that you've been expelled and the Argent Silver is in Wien. You disappeared from RNOD and none of your brothers were willing to speak the truth."

"I'm sorry for not alerting you earlier," she replied sheepishly.

"There's nothing to forgive. Now that I found you, we can get back to work."

"Work?"

"Of course, you are the most valuable member in the White Russy movement. Our champion to liberate the East from the Judeo-Bolsheviks."

"About-about that. The Major has made it clear to me that there is a distinction between the Judeans and the traitors in Moskva." Viktoriya explains, unsure if she believed the very words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Did she really say that?" Richter inquired, raising an eyebrow as he led her away from the cafe. "We both know not to believe in such naivety. The Germanic race is destined to rule Europe just as the Slavic race is destined to rule Asia. Our two races are brother nations, chosen by God to lead the world into a new age of purity and piousness. Hence why the Judeans sought to destroy the Empire and the Tzardom."

"Well, not in those exact words but…"

"But what, Serebryakov? What did she say?" he turned to face her. "Are we not trying to stop the red tide from taking over Europe? Do you want the Bolsheviks to infect Germania with its radicalism? We know what happens if they succeed."

Viktoriya furiously shook her head in a panic. Despite being disowned by her own father, she can't stand the idea of him being captured and tortured by the traitorous Reds.

"Degurechaff and I - we're both fighting for the same cause: a peaceful and united Europe. No more wars between our two cultures. No more bloodshed. The human race can finally progress as one. Is that not a goal worth aspiring to?"

Vikoriya wanted to say yes but there was that tiny seed of doubt that urged her to refute his points. Tanya did want to see the end of the war; the end of violence. But the method…

"That requires trimming the fat from the muscle," she stated, much to Richter's growing amusement.

"Indeed, the Republic is corrupt, rotten to the core, and its continued existence dishonors those who gave their very lives to defend the Empire. We are the only ones that are left who have a clue on what really went wrong in the conflict."

"But-"

"The Argent Silver will understand. When she sees the valor that we enact to stop the communists from destroying European Civilization, she will understand. She just needs to see it from our perspective."

"She was angry at me so-" Viktoriya whimpered.

"She will be happy with our results." Richter insisted, "I'll admit, I should have been with you to defend your judgment as you made the right call to demonstrate how the people of Germania will defend its greatest hero. You did nothing wrong."

"I-"

"Reclaim your honor, Serebryakov. Don't you want to prevent Germania from falling like Holy Rus? Don't you want to make the Argent Silver proud?"

"I do-"

"Then what is there to argue? Your country needs you, your family needs you, RNOD needs you, Degurechaff needs you! Not tomorrow. Not next year. Now! We need you to be the champion you were meant to be."

"I understand." Viktoriya mumbled, "I understand. She needs me."

"Exactly. Her enemies are everywhere. We must ensure her home will be a haven when she returns."

"I-I should go meet with Father Schugel first."

"Of course, of course, that strange priest." He nodded, "Is he an Orthodox or a Papalist? I still don't know."

"He is neither. I cannot make sense of his sermons even now—nothing but numbers, equations, and theories mixed in with God. There's something about the Rapture. About splitting Adam and Eve? Eve from Adam... feel like I'm-I'm..."

Too stupid to exist.

"Then perhaps you should return return home. If his gospel is nothing but a cacophony of pointless sounds, then go back to the church you were raised in."

"Like Father Gregori…" Viktoriya muttered, feeling extremely uneasy at the prospect.

"Yes. Exactly him. I met the man before and I'd say he speaks the scripture better than most."

"I'll think about visiting him. "

"You think or you know? Come on, Frau Serebryakov, you're smarter than this. Do you want to attend another sermon with Father Schugel?" He asked quite sternly.

The White Russy shook her head.

"Then the answer is obvious. Besides, your brothers are scared of you. It would be very good for you to return to them."

Her brothers…

Would they still accept her?

She should have reached out to them to stop their worrying.

She must.

She has to.

For her family.

It's been too long since she talked with anyone familiar.

Weiss. Neuman. Konig. Anyone from the 203rd. Where were they?

Elena? Where is she? Weren't they friends?

But, perhaps Tanya wouldn't be upset with her reuniting with her blood and kin. Right?