05-05-2025, 01:08 AM
[Legionaria, Presidential Palace Under Siege, October 25, 5637]
Quote:The palace was in flames, surrounded on all sides as the most die hard members of the party and forces fought a battle for every room, every square foot of ground in the complex. The remnants of the battled presidential guard regrouped with the fanatical NKM brigade, and Lazar could hear the gunfire and explosions as the vibrations splashed his whiskey around in his glass.
This was the end.
Lazar had nearly finished an entire bottle of bourbon, his Lazar-11 bodyguards, his children, stood silently awaiting his orders as he fiddled with the wires under his coat. Smoking his 12th cigarette he swiveled his chair to them in a daze, as if living inside a dream.
"Men, this is the final hour. All I've done for our country, all we've sacrificed as a nation comes to a head in mere hours, maybe minutes. It was my honor to carry on the legacy of Sladek, it was my privilege to guide our people to their destiny, but fate had other intentions."
The Lazar-11 stood silently.
"My fate now is sealed, and I await eternal salvation with Sladek, my father, and my countrymen in heaven. My final command to you, hold the nearby rooms as long as you can, and give me a bit more time to reflect on what could have been. God, be with you all, ill soon see you in a better place that life on this terra gave us." They saluted in unison, wordlessly lifting heavy machineguns, rockets, grenade belts and marched as the floor shook under their weight into the hallways.
Hours passed, stray bullets piercing windows, screams and explosions shaking the building. Lazar sat silent, watching the horizon dip lower and lower, he thought of his life, the fate of his country.
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Yevgeny in his steel plate armor lifted his machinegun and sprayed the halls as Etxeans flooded inside, killing a multitude of them in a desperate firefight, but his nerves were unshakeable as he continued reloading, killing, reloading, and killing. The floors were slick with pools of blood, Yevgeny had been shot 4 times, but pain did not deny duty. Soon dozens of corpses filled the hall, his comrades in the other corridor reaped death upon whoever came inside until they too ran dry with ammo. He heard the other end of the hallway fill with screams and sporadic gunfire as his 7 foot comrades cut a swath through whoever came near with hand grenades and machetes.
Yevgeny loaded his last magazine and prepared two grenades, his time like his father Lazar would now arrive. His shifted his dented breastplate. He heard a multitude of voices he didn't understand, in at least 3 languages, seemingly arguing how to approach this obstacle. Yevgeny walked to the stairwell and took a deep breath steeling himself, closing his eyes he internally meditated, despite all the training from birth he still had a soul. His life had led to this moment, he would finally be martyred, and he would not die in fear nor shame.
Yevgeny descended the stairs and flung two grenades simultaneously into the hall cooked after 3 seconds. Explosions, screams, ringing. Hip firing his machinegun he kept firing until the barrel was bright red, and once spent flung it into the nearest soldier. He drew a machete and wielded another rifle from a dead body in his hand using it as a club, he swung in a daze of fury and obedience as arms, heads, legs were severed and Yevgenys own body was hit with burning pains of bullets time and time again. The drugs couldn't prevent the inevitable as he finished crushing the windpipe of some teenage Etxean soldier in his grip. Slumping to his knees with the last of his strength, he flung his machete grunting in pain down the hall striking a soldier in the calf, and did next exactly as protocol for capture demanded.
He pulled the pins beneath his blood covered armor, and closed his eyes. Peace at last.
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Lazar wondered what could have been. If he destroyed the camps, allowed more freedoms, had left behind some tenants of Legionarism. But he had stayed true, he had remained loyal to the party and Sladek. Even if Kundrati died in flames it would be better than submission, and Lazar with what little choice he had left in his future, would not submit.
The gunfire was ravenous outside his halls while he in a dream state continued drinking and smoking, until his doors crashed open as the last of his superhuman bodyguard fell face first to the floor looking as if he and his armor had been shot by a thousand rifles, a bloody mess, his face half removed from shrapnel. Lazar slowly swiveled his chair forward to meet whatever entered, and fondled the detonator in his palm under the table.
The hour had come.
Glory, To Kundrati.