Prison of Puppet(eer)s

Prologue

Creeping warily in the shadowed alley, I hear the thoughts of two individuals: a melodious feminine voice pondering, That's plenty, Dmitry. Will I get more out of you still? Are you as gullible as you seem?

Then, less than a split-second later, a gruff, earthy voice seemed to bellow, Not enough?! Not enough Anastasia? As if! I'll play along for now.

The United Republic Of Polish Russia (URPR) sent me to investigate these criminals.

I can tell when someone speaks. The noises those thoughts produce are different. When people talk, the tones of the thoughts are accented, and they echo. That comes from hearing themselves speak I think.

"Dmitry, 100 billion rubles for the assassination of the Czar tomorrow, and twenty-seven billion to make the prosecutors of the court disappear is not nearly enough. I demand at least 200 billion rubles upfront, then three billion, each, for the dogs taken out of your sight."

Anastasia. I lie too much; even to myself. There's no way I can pay. Well here goes nothing. "I Agree. I will require you to come over to Adrik Boulevard to collect payments after your mission is completed." Then I—yes I— can be the one to cause her to disappear.

This is more problematic than I thought it'd be. I internalize this. I have to get away before they detect me.

Someone's here, both Anastasia and Dmitry think in unison.

Just. Great. Think of the devil— and he appears.

Anastasia then announces accusingly, "Dmitry, I'll handle our rat." She moves towards me.

I turn to run. At least that's what I had intended on doing. Why! Why! Move! Move! Move! Darn it! Why can't I run?! I continue in futility, bitterly cursing the cruel luck that lugged me here. Every so often I wish I hadn't obtained the powers I possess. All it causes is my powers getting caught by the eyes of significant people. Good. Evil. Mostly the latter.

Abruptly, once I initially identify her figure approaching, my body stops obeying me. Instead, it defies me. I move toward her.

You, my friend, would be better off working for me.

I should have jolted as an instinctive response to fear, but I didn't. . . I couldn't because I am being controlled - by her.

"Enlist with me instead, and you will be able to obtain all your aspirations. Meaningful power. Enduring fame. . ." She looks up and down my body, as a farmer would when examining cattle, "And your worldly fantasies, but I can already sense your answer. What a patriot."

There was the flicker of a glittering knife getting unsheathed in the pale moonlight. Her body had surged forward fluidly. The knife was thrust into my constricted throat and I tumbled backward to the cold cement. I feel the thick blood rush over the exposed sides of my naked neck. I taste the salinity of the blood that inevitably enters my mouth. I smell the humid air, saturated with the rancid odor of my gushing blood as it pools around me. My vision blurs, and I notice the profound stillness of the rest of the dynamic world. Just before my life fades into the background I hear Anastasia whisper to me,

"Do widzenia. Być może w następnym życiu możemy być razem." (Polish for Goodbye. Perhaps in the next life we can be together.)