Vasiliev fell to his knees as he scanned across the open, bloody courtyard, still in search of the woman he had shot. There were plenty of corpses to look through, and it was clear that the damage caused by the rifles was great: many of the victims that were shot in the stomach had organ spilling out, blood pouring from the entry and exit wounds. Some were still alive, either crying out in agony or choking on their own blood, a majority of them being beyond any sort of treatment. There were plenty of unlucky people out there that had limbs blown off, though only a couple had the willpower to stay conscious from such traumaâ€¦they screamed in both pain and panic, their eyes wide as they gazed upon their lack of limbs, many of them begging for death to end their suffering. To the other soldiers who had broken ranks to look for survivors, they felt there was an obligation to put them out of their misery, so shots could be heard ringing out across the entrances of the palace.<br/><br/>Despite the screams and sights which attempted to bore themselves into Vasilievâ€™s mind, he pressed onward, determined to find, and hopefully save, the woman he had shot. Finally, after a minute of searching or so, Vasiliev found her, and to his relief, she was alive! There was a lifeless, trampled corpse laying on herâ€¦the poor bastard had probably been run over in all the panic and confusion. With both his arms, he pulled the dead man off of her, and inspected her wounds. He had hit her in the stomach, and it was clear the bullet had missed everything important, the entry and exit wounds being clear of any gibsâ€¦though there was plenty of blood. He looked into the womanâ€™s eyes, forcing a smile as he put pressure on her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. â€œDonâ€™t worry,â€ He reassured, â€œYou will survive this day.â€ The woman made attempts to speak, but they were stopped by the blood which came up from her mouth. He put an index finger on his mouth, gesturing her to be quiet as he made a calm â€œShhhhâ€ sound. He turned his head toward the soldiers whom were searching among the dead bodies, and called out to them, â€œComrades, I need help!â€ Those who heard his cry (all four of them) rushed to his aid, crowding around the girl and Vasiliev, where they attempted to treat her wounds with salt, dressings and plenty of pressure on her wounds. Vasiliev got up next to the womanâ€™s head, taking off his bloody gloves as he began to clean her mouth, speaking to her in a reassuring tone as his friends did their best to treat her. She wasâ€¦very pretty, in his eyes, anyways; such a young girl, and yet she, too, was up in arms against the Tsar; perhaps his course of action today would sway the people in support of the workersâ€¦Vasiliev knew who he was supporting.<br/><br/>In a matter of moments after the men began their treatment, medical personnel swarmed the bloody entrance of the palace, rushing off the victims they could save to the hospital. Vasiliev rose to his feet at the sight of them, shouting, â€œMEDIC!â€ at the top of his lungs, and soon, nurses pushed away the soldiers and carefully (though very quickly) lifted the girl off the ground and into a stretcher. Vasiliev helped carry the stretcher over to the carriages they were using as transport. He was about to climb in with the girl, but the nurses pleaded for him to stayâ€¦he soon conceded to them, knowing that they needed his help. He got into the carriage only for a moment and looked at the girl, grasping her hand. â€œIt is up to you to surviveâ€¦stay strong, and the doctors shall do their work. Remember my name, miss, for it is Vasiliev.â€ With that, he hopped out of the carriage, and it took off toward the hospital, full of other wounded innocents who fell victim to the carnage that day.<br/><br/><br/>---<br/><br/>St. Petersburg, Russia...1917.<br/><br/>Another year has passed, and soon, Vasiliev would have a long and quiet drink to remember what was now "Bloody Sunday", the day he and his comrades were forced to murder the very people they swore to protect. It was not the blood of that day that haunted him...the horror of that day failed in comparison to the great war he had just fought in against Germany and Austria. He lost so many friends, having watched many of them die at the hands of artillery or mortars, rather than actual bullets. It was the face of the woman he had nearly killed that stuck with him the entire time, the one thing that kept him up at night (given it wasn't the images of the war).<br/><br/>Her face was what he would drink to, as he always did on the anniversary of that horrid day. But before he could retire for the day and share a bottle or two with his close friends, he would have to take a trip to the local elementary school.<br/><br/>The revolutionaries had held protests, started riots, killed policemen, soldiers, and Tsar loyalists...the air was charged, to say the least. They had armed men attack government buildings, pro-Tsar newspapers, and even the soldiers of the Russian empire. The air was charged, only with violence being the cause, rather than peaceful protests like on that faithful Sunday. The government was getting very suspicious, and began to arrest anyone they found even remotely connected to the revolutionaries...even school teachers were at risk, and now, Vasiliev had the very task of walking into a school, a loaded weapon and other men, to arrest a teacher suspected of aiding the soviets in their past bombings.<br/><br/>"Tereshchenko! Let's move!" Cried out Vasiliev's superior, who was already out of the truck and near the school entrance. Vasiliev nodded at the order, hopping out of his seat and following him. There were two other men at the entrance besides Vasiliev and his officer, and they quickly entered the building, any staff that saw them receded into their classrooms, locking the doors behind them. None of this mattered to the group; they knew exactly what room to go to, and soon, they found it. It was a small history class at the end of the school, and it was clear from the voice echoing inside the room that it was a woman...<span style="font-weight: bold">Vera Pavlova</span>, to be exact. The officer looked to Vasiliev. "You know what to do." Vasiliev nodded, entering the room and closing the door behind him, his rifle in full display.<br/><br/>He briefly looked over the children, who stared at him in awe. Vasiliev nodded to them, then stepped forward, his gaze falling upon the teacher. "Miss Vera Pavlova? I am Vasiliev Tereshchenko, I would like to..." Suddenly, his eyes widened. That face! He knew that face! It was the very same one from that distant, blood ridden Sunday! He took a slight step backward, his mind having trouble piecing things together.