Atonement

[Vogel]

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"You'll never succeed in idealizing hard work... The harder a man works, at brute labor, the thinner becomes his idealism, the darker his mind."

Light poured from the doorway, as if he'd stepped from one world into another. The maintenance of the station was evidently very selective.

Of course it was. Everything was selective. The best soldiers, the best politicians, the best scapegoats. Need the list be continued?

No, in fact it ended here.

Konstantin began striding down the new corridor at a brisker pace than was understood as the "norm," whatever that happened to be. Any onlookers would assume he were on important business, and perish the thought of interrupting him. And yet he was as dirty as a tank mechanic, and had the look of a man who hadn't slept in days, if not weeks, or years.

It was close enough to the truth.

The hallway abruptly stopped and turned a corner. With a precision he had practiced in another life, Petrovin rounded it on the end of his heel and kept moving.

Drill. Perfect drill.

To promote discipline, to encourage esprit de corps by presenting a formidable image, to evoke a sense of pride and belonging. Drill.

Lost on them. All of them.

Down the way a Captain was having a discussion with a technician; doubtless a conversation of some needlessly minute maintenance concern, even as the place he'd come from was decaying into dust.

At the sight of the mangy conscript marching in his direction, the Captain dismissed his subordinate with an haughty nod and turned to face the new arrival.

Petrovin stopped a few feet from the Captain and simply stared.

And stared.

The Captain lost his bearing for a moment and shifted his weight from one foot to another before clearing his throat.

"I believe you are out of line for not-"

"You know," Konstantin interrupted, "I was a Captain once."

"I- what are you going on about?" the officer demanded with indignation.

Petrovin looked the man up and down. Typical Coalition fare, pristine uniform with a smug face hiding what he could only describe as a cowardly charlatan. Charlatans, so-called leaders with their superiors' whips lodged so far up their rear ends that they could probably be considered no better than mindless whips themselves.

Haughty cowards. Afraid. Pathetic. Despicable.

"I killed many men to wear that uniform," Petrovin continued, staring at the rank epaulettes on the officer's shoulders, "Enough that I lost count."

The Captain opened his mouth but failed to find words he deemed appropriate. Instead he opted for the sidearm at his hip, clumsily reaching in its direction and missing the safety catch.

By then the Nagant revolver had already been brought to bear on the man's chin.

Konstantin still stared, his trigger finger so still that it was hard to believe he was a man instead of a statue.

"And I'm sure you've had your share of victories, Tovarisch Captain," Petrovin said coolly, "and done many great deeds in the name of our beloved people, and their dream."

The Captain's face contorted into a fearful wince.

"Or is it really their dream?" the stone-faced man continued, gun pressed ever so harder against the Captain's jaw, "Perhaps the dream of a few, and a lie to the many?"

Speechless.

Petrovin's face finally belied emotion, with a terrible frown.

"You don't deserve to wear that uniform, Tovarisch. In fact, I doubt you're even worth considering a citizen."

With that, his finger snapped down the trigger and sent a hail of blood and bone into the ceiling along with a 7.62 round.

His face was completely unmoved.

"Coward," Petrovin hissed as he lowered his pistol and once more shoved it in a pocket.

He knelt over the hideously defaced corpse and promptly ripped the epaulettes off of its shoulders. Clad with adhesive, the epaulettes were now slapped upon Petrovin's dirty coat, and were soon coupled with the dead man's peaked cap, a bloody hole in the top. He didn't even stop to smack the gore out of it before fixing it to his head and standing up.

The gruesome effigy of a Coalition Captain continued his brisk march down the hallway.

Silent alarms had already been triggered.

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