Better off Dead

Better off Dead

Prologue:

“I hereby declare, Victor Alexsandrov, Rosa Alexsandrov and Dimitri Alexsandrov......GUILTY!” The Soviet judge called out with appealing cheers from the crowd below. “BUT WE HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG! YOU CONDEMN US WITH CHARGES OF TREASON, WHEN THE ACTS YOU'RE COMMITING TO FELLOW COUNTRY MEN IS TREASON!” Victor called out in disgrace, spitting in the direction of the judge. A quiet, weeping echoed through the vast, endless room. Tears flooded down from Dimitri's bloodshot eyes. They formed a puddle at his feet, not even half as deep as the corruption in the USSR.

“GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY!” The crowd roared with a passion you don't expect from a mass of people about to watch a family murdered coldly. But, there was one who didn't scream. He blended in to the crowd like a needle in a haystack, but pierced the air like a capitalist in a room of communists. Because, he was in fact, a capitalist in a room of communists. His feet housed 2 long, knee high boots; made of a tough, sturdy leather. He had strong cotton trousers and top that floated around him. In addition to that, he had a long, leather trench coat embroidered with beautiful, grey trims that ran all the way to the point of his hood that covered his dark, penetrating eyes.

The judge gave a quick nod to the Soviet soldiers, who were to busy trying to swat a fly with the butts of their rifles to notice the deathly gesture. The crowd made the judge's job of getting the attention of the ludicrously immature soldiers, if they are even worthy of the term, ten times harder, and made 'The one who didn't screams' job easier. Slowly and inattentively, he inched forwards. He took cover behind a huge pillar, engraved with ancient swirls that took refuge on the edge of the room. It had the unfortunate job of holding the huge, dome roof that threatened to crush everyone in the room at any moment. At the far end of the room, a huge 'Hammer and Sickle' star presented itself in front of the death-starved crowd, who were still cheering and roaring at the family of 3 that stood in front of the irritated judge – who was still trying to get the soldiers attention. The walls were painted white and certainly looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a good 4 decades. The place was like Stalin or any other politician. Beautiful on the outside, horrible and deceptive on the inside.

This place had certainly fooled 'The one who didn't scream'. He knew the Soviet standards in renovation were low, but he didn't expect the second most powerful country in the world to have standards this low. Miraculously, one of the drunken-like soldiers spotted the deathly glance of the judge, rushing to him. The judge whispered irritated words into the soldiers ear, hitting him with more force than his 7.62×54mmR rounds would hit the family of 3. He looked at him with the look a school child gives the teacher after being caned – A look saying 'I'm sorry, I won't do it again. 'The one who didn't scream' dragged himself up the stairs to the balcony, overlooking the court-room filled with the roaring crowd. He pulled out his Colt M1911A1 .45 pistol and shoved a fresh clip of rounds into the cold steel handgun with the kind of skill a samurai draws his katana sword. Hechecked the barrel was cleaner than the dirty pheasants that were clawing at the judge demanding bloodshed. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Painfully slowly, 'The one who didn't screams' watch, that latched itself onto his wrist like a leech having its tasty lunch, counted time. One. Painful. Second. At a time.

Finally, the soldiers had readied their Mosin-Nagant rifles, checking the barrel was clean and the chamber was empty. 'Patience'. 'The one who didn't scream' told himself. 'Not long now'.......................'NOW!'. He lept down from the balcony, which stood reluctantly staring at the upcoming kill. He was an eagle gliding over the crowd, who now fell silent, as he pointed his Colt M1911A1 at his feet. Towards the judge. 'BANG, BANG'. He fired two shots into the judge, who's head splatted into the floor behind him as the .45 rounds slammed into his head, crushing his skull effortlessly like a dog crushes a tennis ball. He landed, knees first, onto one of the soldiers necks. Snapping it into two. He instantly dropped to the floor with a loud 'THUD'. 'The one who didn't scream' landed in a break fall and engaged the next two soldiers in close quarters combat. Grabbing one of the soldiers Mosin-Nagant rifles, he slung it round to his back and around his neck. He spun the solider towards the second soldier who raised his rifle and fired into the first soldiers face – hoping to hit 'The one who didn't scream' through his newly appointed hostage. The second soldiers eyes exploded into a wide, staring gaze. He was petrified. 'The one who didn't scream' threw the body forward into the second soldier and thrusted a 17inch Tanto knife into the soldiers abdomen. The crowd had found enough of its sense to run around, screaming so loud even 'The one who didn't scream' wanted to block it out – and that's saying something. Blood oozed from the soldiers wound, creating a pool of blood at his feet reminiscent of Dimitri and his pool of tears. The entire contents of the dome building flooded into the street, worse than a tsunami, as people in the streets were getting crushed by the surge of people. Soviet soldiers (stationed at a blockade up the road) rushed into the dome building. It seemed that the corroding walls were more interesting than the shadow of a person who had just assassinated a judge and killed 3 soldiers. The only other people in the room were the family of 3, who had been shot moments before he intervened. He slipped away from the scene, he was a wolf. He had the killing instincts of a wolf. No. He had better killing instincts than a wolf.