The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

The Escape, Part One

Arttüri stared down at Peter and Paul from the safety of that rooftop, scratching at the itch on the side of his face. The fortress was on lockdown for the night, guards patrolling the perimeter, all sorts of lights on that were supposed to deter people from coming in. Frankly, he couldn't tell all that much about what was going on: that wasn't really his job. That was more for Lev: he was the most stable out of them all, and as the most sane person there, he wasn't much good for anything else other than the things that required sanity. The man was looking through his spotter's scope at everything, trying to see if there was anything that they should worry about. Meanwhile, the other men were smoking, drinking from their flasks, anything to entertain themselves and keep the chill away.

"What are you seeing, Jew?" Arttüri asked.

Lev looked up at him, an annoyed look on his face. "You know, I know that you and the guys think it's funny to call me Jew, but I don't really think it is. I'd like it a lot more if you guys would just call me by my actual name."

"Whatever, Jew," Arttüri said. "Just answer the question."

Lev sighed, looking back at the fortress. "I don't really see anything that we should be too concerned about. Just the usual guards with way better guns than us that are way better fed than us with the capability to gun us all down in five seconds flat."

"Oh, have a little faith, like your Israelite cousins out... somewhere in the desert," Arttüri said, slapping Lev on the back, making him grunt. "This group of psychos can do anything it sets its collective minds to!"

Lev shrugged, sighing. "We are pretty terrible at getting killed: a war and a half, and we're all still alive. Somehow."

"That's the spirit," Arttüri said encouragingly. He looked over his shoulder at the men behind him. "Are you boys ready to do this?"

Arkadiy looked up at him as he slapped some cards down, much harder than he had that entire game of... whatever it was he was playing with Mikha. "Ready to probably die in a horrible way, never see my family, again? What do you think the answer is, boy?"

Arttüri frowned. "What family? Aren't they all dead?"

"I don't know that there was a family in the first place," Mikha said, deadpan. "I don't see how anybody could love a man like him."

"Meaning that I'd see them all again on the other side, and I'm not prepared for that," Arkadiy said as he glared at Mikha as he put down some cards down. Apparently, that hand didn't mean good things for Arkadiy, because he cursed and said: "You cheated! You have cards up your sleeve, don't you, you little Saami bastard!"

Mikha raised an eyebrow. "No: you just suck at cards."

"Good thing I didn't really ask you, then, isn't it?" Arttüri said, before those two idiots could say anything else to piss each other off. He twirled a finger in the air. "Suit up, everybody: we're heading out!"

"About time," Ipatiy grumbled, shoving his flask into a pocket inside his coat. "My balls have just about frozen off."

"What balls?" Aksi asked. "I thought you got experimental surgery to cut them off."

"Another word and you'll get that experimental surgery!"

Arttüri sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was a bad idea, wasn't it? These idiots were going to get him killed: he never should've gotten them together.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

***

Every single part of Sasha's body hurt.