For once he harboured no desire to drag the conversation out further—when there were five hundred other things running through his mind—pain and masked desperation at the forefront—there was no need for words. Conversation now was a vain attempt to silence one’s own fears and foster the misguided belief that everything was okay.
——One did not listen to the symphony of destruction and walk away UNAFFECTED.
The gravity of the situation was painfully clear when a a man who boasted a exponentially high threshold for pain faltered in his once proud strides. When each step betrayed weakness—the fleeting hesitation where it was ANYBODY’S guess if the next step would support his weight or send him toppling to the ground with everything just outside the window.
It might as well have been another world.
Panicked voices and discordant cries of his fellow men failed to reach his ears as he concentrated solely on reaching their destination. Twice he paused in his steps, hands never leaving his side to seek support as he waited out the particularly jarring effects of certain devastation. Ice, ice he could handle—the deceiving burn as one’s fingers slowly shifted from blue, to purple, to black, lethargy, the loss of mobility and finally feeling as colour and life slipped away, but FIRE? A Nation’s blood was meant to sing with the fires of patriotic fervour, not the searing pain of their land and people devoured by the burning jaws of humanity’s personal destroyer.
——What was worse? The unbridled fear and hopelessness surging through him from his people?
The physical pain growing worse and worse with each building levelled and life lost?
Not a single other soul could have provided him any comfort as they finally entered the room, and so they were all tuned out, his focus solely on maintaining composure and whatever words so kindly offered by a man who would never understand—who never truly did. Anger, pain, betrayal—a myriad of emotions swirled within those violet hues, representative of not only his own current affliction, but the world outside this pitiful excuse for a safe-haven. The first person to openly panic would likely be ripped into via harsh words and the painful reality that complaining solved no problems, followed by threats and forced removal from the room if the behaviour continued.
Slowly he folded his arms across his chest, watching his boss—leader; was such a title even WORTH anything now?—fixate himself with that map. The map that could very well be empty, wiped clean, growing more and more desolate as it was filled, leaving only—–
“It had better be sooner rather than later, for we are all aware that time is of the ESSENCE and we do not have the luxury of deliberation under these circumstances.” Maintaining civility was not going to be an easy task. “What we need to do is damage control and escort as many civilians as we can to safety, not attempt anything else unless you are planning on exploding each bomb before they reach the ground.”
He paused. “How bad is the pain? The pain is unlike anything you could ever fathom, sir, and I would not be surprised. Any destruction to Moscow will be more significant to my person than that suffered by other cities, but it all affects me regardless. I would not stop at the capital. Why would they?”
He listened to Ivan and felt his face twitch for a second. He was right yet again. Why the Hell would they stop at just the capital? He should’ve supposed the same, but it was still that burning hope inside of him that wanted to keep the fire alive. But what good is it now? He was sure everyone around him knew that by now it was pointless almost. Right now they needed to worry about other things such as the civilians or to mobilize again. But how do they mobilize? With what? Shattered armies that were all over the place? That was going to be a tricky task, obviously.
“--------Braginsky is right about one thing, the civilians should probably be escorted out of the city first, or anywhere in the shelters for that matter. Though the next crucial thing is to gather the army again. They struck us with air attacks first, so obviously they’re coming on land next time. Tanks are not going to be alien to us sooner or later. But we can’t let them get past the borders. No, not now. Not when we’re this to collapsing anyways.”
He announced. Everyone was quiet for a second, but sooner than later the outburst came and everyone, for a second, started to argue over this. Khodorkovsky sat there stunned for a moment. No one registered the leader whilst the quarrel lasted, but he was quick to be fed up with it. He slams his hand on the table a few times, to cut everyone off and shut them up. This was going to go nowhere if everyone was just going to start talking over one another like that. Khodorkovsky scoffed in displeasure, glaring at everyone.
“--------If all of you could just stop for a FUCKING moment and speak in line we’d get somewhere. Sullivan, you obviously looked opposed to what we both said, so what’s the problem?” Khodorkovsky asked, tilting his head and still keeping up the stern look he wore. He wasn’t surprised on one hand that Cirus was against what he and Ivan suggested about the civilians, but Khodorkovsky knew as it is that it was completely useless to take too much advice from him anyways. But what can he do when he has to listen to everyone? That was his job, however ironic it may sound.
Cirus, of course, doesn’t waste much time before he opens his mouth to speak. “--------Well no-duh, why worry about them now when it’s obviously gonna cost us more time? He suggested it like it was going to be done in a click of two fingers. And since we already agreed last time to send children to back-up the war front, why isn’t it a good idea to get every healthy and mobile person to start defending this Hell-hole? Cause believe it or not we barely have any soldiers close by to Moscow or within Moscow to defend ourselves from any of those enemy troops. Tell me again, how evacuation is important right now?”
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