Beautiful music, like a waterfall, cascaded down and around him, and the crackling of the aged record was the sound of nature, uncontrollable and persistent. The violin was emotion itself, thrusting wave upon wave of feeling forward - passion, agony, romance and despair were all interwoven in a melody that overwhelmed conscious thought with breathtaking ease.<br/><br/>The man sat with his eyes closed behind the spectacles, and his head tilted back over the edge of the hard, straight wooden chair. He was serene, at peace, but to anyone else he would have looked indifferent, stoical and heedless of the music pervading his space. His mouth, thin and severe like the rest of him, was an unreadable straight line, and his slender, solid frame was perfectly still, but tense, as if he expected to spring into movement at any second.<br/><br/>The others were either beneath the dreary sky or in the ruined buildings around them, but the seated man did not occupy such conditions. His tent gave him control over his surroundings, and privacy when he needed it. Topside Moscow was no haven, aside for those who needed to be purged, but within the familiar canvas all was as it should be, as usual.<br/><br/>There was the crunch of footsteps outside, and the large, reddish-brown dog that had been curled up in silence near the man's feet stood up and approached the entryway. The hound took several steps, mahogany eyes fixed on the tent flaps, before looking back at the man who'd been listening so intently to the music.<br/><br/>A hand reached out and deftly lifted the tonearm from the record, and a silence fell as the needle broke contact with the vinyl. A moment later the eyes behind the spectacles opened, and the dog stiffened as they focused on him.<span style="font-weight: bold">"<span style="font-style: italic">Vorgehen</span>, Jäger,"</span>Graf said in a voice that was both soft and hard.<span style="font-weight: bold">"Proceed."</span><br/><br/>The dog, having obtained permission to speak, returned its focus to the entry and barked, two times, loudly and clearly. There was a rustling sound, and then a soldier was straightening up in front of the tent's two other occupants, looking from the dog to the general with a familiarity that still carried faint hues of apprehension.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Herr.</span>"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Marik,"</span>replied Graf, who stood up, his spine rigid and immobile like the rest of him as he surveyed the man in front of him, who saluted mechanically in response to the acknowledgement. The eyes beneath Graf's short, neat hair studied the soldier's face as the lips beneath the general's thin, painstakingly trimmed mustache remained its usual indecipherable line.<span style="font-weight: bold">"Report."</span><br/><br/>"Alger's unit has set up in the tower, Sir. The broadcast is operational, and the men will remain there until recalled."<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"What aren't you saying?"</span><br/><br/>No change had come over General Wilhelm Graf's face, but the slight hardening of his tone made the other man flinch. "Alger refused the additional unit, Sir," Marik said breathlessly, as if afraid of holding onto the words for another instant now that his commander knew they existed. "He left them to aid with securing the perimeter."<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Alger does not believe his instructions are worth obeying?" </span><br/><br/>"He… he and the men, all of us, we would never question you, Sir. But h-he thinks headquarters was mistaken, and that the manpower is better off spent with the main-"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Alger is not in any position to contemplate the wisdom of his orders. If the New European Union hands down a request, every word shall be obeyed as if it came from my own mouth,"</span>Graf said, taking a step closer to the other man, who flinched.<span style="font-weight: bold">"Unless I say otherwise. Is that clear?" </span><br/><br/>"Yes, Si-"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Ostankino Tower is imperative to our efforts. Wars are not fought solely with bullets, nor is bloodshed the only outcome. Minds must be educated, or peace is impossible." </span><br/><br/>"Yes, Sir. Havel's squad is on standby, shall I send them to reinforce Alger's men?"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"No."</span>If Alger wanted to put his neck on the line, Graf would afford him the opportunity. The man was a lieutenant, and a good one, so he'd be given the chance to demonstrate the value of his judgement. But if he was wrong, he would come to regret it.<span style="font-weight: bold">"What progress on the perimeter?" </span><br/><br/>"Completed without incident, Sir. There was a small engagement with tainted ones who'd set up a commune east of here, but they were disorganized and fell quickly. This city may hide more of their kind, and then there is the Underbelly, but within our perimeter all is secure. Rumors of organized resistance in the area have proven unfounded, and the men have been prepped for continued mobilization as you commanded."<br/><br/>Graf nodded, clasping his hands behind his back while Jäger grew restless, as he usually did when he picked up on his master's displeasure.<span style="font-weight: bold">"What aren't you telling me, Marik? I do not enjoy prodding you for information."</span><br/><br/>The soldier fidgeted, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. Like Graf he was wearing the hard suit armor typical of the Chernovolk, but without the clear indications of his superior's rank. Also different was the fact that his eyes were moving ceaselessly as he struggled with a fit of nerves.<br/><br/>"Some have reported that they… uh, they spotted something flying overhead as they advanced north. Members of the Tretiy Klyka Unit. The third. They claimed it was very large, and headed south."<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Were they able to identify it?"</span>Graf inquired, wasting no time pondering on the words.<br/><br/>"No, it vanished into the clouds before they could get a proper look. But they were deeply disturbed by the sight, Sir. I didn't mention it because-"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"It is fine, Marik. You did not wish to waste my time with idle chatter and senseless fears. If this flying vision is more than a trick of the light, the Chernovolk will handle it. As for now, we move."</span><br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Herr</span>," the man replied with a salute, and then he was gone, passing along word that they would be moving on. There was much to accomplish in this new, untamed land, and with the radio tower secured and functional there was no reason to linger. The good work of the Chernovolk was never finished, and in this endeavor it had only just begun.<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/><br/>Darren sat back with a groan, and took a look in his bag for the first time in a long time. After a few seconds of careful rummaging, he retrieved a small keychain. It was a trinket he'd won in a game of... checkers (the thought made him feel slightly nauseated) in the Underbelly, and he liked looking at it. It depicted a pair of dice, stationary within a circle, and although the words engraved over them were no longer legible it was still mostly in good shape. He smiled down at it, reveling in the temporary peace he'd found.<br/><br/>Until the tent came crashing down on him.<br/><br/>He flailed wildly, almost like he was swimming, until he emerged from beneath the depths of canvas, slightly out of breath. He stared around, hearing some isolated bursts of laughter, and then he spotted Liliana walking away from him. He stared for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again before slumping back down to the ground with a sigh.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Blondes.</span>