The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

Plans

The gang of misfits that met in the basement of Pushkin's Palace was probably one of the more – erm – eclectic groups of people to ever be assembled. Frankly, it felt more like a combined meeting of people looking to get off alcohol, people that believed in aliens and government conspiracies that involved cheese, and people that wanted answers as to why the voices kept telling them to burn things down. There were eleven of them in total, including Arttüri, and most of them were old war buddies, the few that hadn't bothered to make a life for themselves after the war. They had all made themselves right at home in that basement, though: Aksi and the twins Benkku and Eelis, Arttüri's fellow Finns, were having pints with one another, Mikha the Sami and Ipatiy were playing cards from the looks of it, while the rest of them–Lev, Maxim, Rurik, and Arkadiy–were all having conversations about the non-existent girls they were wooing at the moment. All of them were worse for wear, and a little insane. Normally, getting that group of people together would've ended with something getting destroyed: every group had to have at least one sane person in it, as Virtanen liked to tell him. Otherwise, everything goes to shit.

Well, it was certainly a good thing that Virtanen was hiding in the city at that point, in that case: he was their sane person, though he probably would be after spending time with that group of idiots. He wasn't going to be doing much, since he was supposed to be back in Helsinki and the powers-that-be didn't need an international incident on their hands, but he would still be doing what he did best: being a judgmental asshole.

Virtanen looked over at Arttüri. He already looked like he was ready to kill everybody. "Please, tell me that everybody's here."

Artürri looked around. Aksi, Benkku, Eelis, Mikha, Ipatiy, Lev, Maxim, Rurik, Arkadiy...

"Looks like it," Arttüri said. He glanced over at Virtanen. "Guess I should probably get this meeting started, huh?"

Virtanen's eyes narrowed. "You'd better. Or I swear, I'm going to kick all of you into yesteryear."

Sounded good. He stood up and said: "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. If you bastards don't mind, we're going to get started, now."

Everybody got quiet. All of them were looking at him with eyebrows raised, apparently annoyed. What nutty plan are you about to tell us, this time? Why did we even bother coming to hear what you have to say?

Well, he guessed that he could see worse reactions. They could've just not come at all. They all must have had something resembling faith that this plan might be worth hearing. And, with that group of idiots, that was worth quite a bit.

"I'm planning on making this a long story short, if you don't mind," Arttüri said. "We're going to break into Peter and Paul and get a few people out."

For a few seconds, everything was quiet as the men began to digest those facts. It ended up being the calm before the storm: after a few seconds, everybody began shouting out their opinions. All of them were along the same subject: Arttüri, what the hell are you talking about?

What the hell are you thinking?!

Well, the answer to that question was simple enough: nothing. He was thinking absolutely nothing. Thinking brought on fear and doubt, and he didn't really want or need either at the moment. He just needed to coast on without a brain, and he could start thinking again when it would be okay to have a little fear in his system.

"I promise you, I'm not totally insane," Arttüri said. Of course, that voice in his head decided that that was the opportune moment to pop up. You liar. Not only are you crazy, but you're a liar. To your so-called friends.