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| Pain and Gain; Ilya's personal evolution - NSFW | ||
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| Topic Started: Monday, 1. September 2014, 16:58 (407 Views) | ||
| Tsar Ilya the First | Monday, 1. September 2014, 16:58 Post #1 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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What should I believe? Second week of May, 2014: Rostik takes a plane from Berlin to London. He lands at Luton Airport and automatically takes some notes in his tablet. Who owns this place? The Airport is placed close to a small town that is not officially London. Who rules there? Is it a Camarilla small time Prince or an Anarch self proclaimed Baron? He sends his notes via email to his master's brother -his new master, in fact- and boards a bus towards the city. After nearly three hours, Rostik arrives to Enfield. Sad area, with sad people and sad architecture. It fits his master's purpose perfectly. He rests at his hotel before proceeding to start his business. During the following week, he walks around the area, trying to find a nice warehouse to set up shop. It is not as easy as planned, as there are not that many workshops there. However, Edmonton Green's shopping center catches his attention and, after two or three visits, he finds something that could fit his purposes quite nicely: a warehouse that served the market a while ago, now abandoned. It is quite a big building, creeping with rats and drug addicts. Nothing that a nice cleaning service can't take care of. After a short negotiation with the landlord -a negotiation that involves blackmail and terror, of course-, Rostik rents the place. The landlord will need some more persuasion in the future, but it will be the ghoul's master the one who will take care of that. The works can begin. June, July and part of August, 2014: The neighbors of Edmonton Green are fully unaware of what's going on behind their beloved market. The old warehouse is being transformed into something else. The two floors and the basement now have rooms with beds, high speed internet connection, security cameras and handcuffs chained to the walls everywhere. The windows get all blocked with bricks and the doors reinforced with steel. Although it still looks like a crappy building where junkies make their heroin nests, it has been transformed into a fortress. Its walls are there to protect from intruders and to keep guests from leaving. Rostik has done a good job, and his masters will be pleased. During the process, he has been taking notes on the most relevant business in the area, and around London; trying -as Maxim has taught him- to think out of the box. Who manages this used car dealership? Is there kindred involved? And what about this local supermarket chain? Who is in charge of the post office? Who controls the mailmen? Who is the owner of this minicab company? As instructed, he just makes the questions and sends his thoughts to his master. He just looks for the most obvious signs of kindred influence, but he doesn't actively investigate those signs. His main job is way too important. He buys a used dirty white van. There's a funny smell inside, as if some very human events had taken place at the back, not all of them pleasurable for all parties involved. He also buys an old motorbike, but he never rides it. Every two weeks, he takes a plane at Luton Airport and goes to Berlin, where he meets with his two masters. He drinks from them and gives them the reports. Nothing that they don't already know, but it's always useful to have a first person account of the events and to have additional information about what is depicted in each of the pictures Rostik takes for them. He stays in Berlin for forty eight hours and flies back to Luton. End of August, 2014: The works are finished. The fortress is completed and secure. One last video tour through the place, and his new master is satisfied. Rostik has been a good servant, and soon he'll reap the rewards of a job well done. In less than a week, the ghoul is waiting at Luton Airport, sitting behind the wheel of the nasty white van. According to his master's instructions he hasn't cleaned the vehicle. It looks really bad. Rostik's heart nearly stops when he sees his master getting out of the airport. There he is. He is wearing his signature red tracksuit and dragging a heavy looking suitcase. He doesn't look angry. Or happy. Or pleased. He has that blank expression in his face, with dead eyes. The usual. Rostik opens the door of the van and waves an arm. Like an insect, or like a robot, the master sees him and changes course. He puts the suitcase inside the van and sits beside Rostik. He doesn't say a word. The ghoul wants to greet him, to ask him if his trip was good, to start some small talk... but he knows better. He just looks forward and drives in silence. They arrive to the fortress, and Rostik hurries to open the door for his master. Then he carries the heavy suitcase inside. The puts the suitcase in the basement while the master walks through the place, inspecting every detail. 'What the hell is going in inside his mind?' Rostik wants to know, but there's no sign of brain activity behind those dead eyes. The ghoul doesn't want to think that his master might be just an automaton, but he has no evidence to support any other theory. After a long hour of heavy silence, the master speaks. "I need a knife. A sharp one" He stays there, in the middle of the main area, waiting for Rostik to fulfill his wish. The ghoul doesn't even flinch. He just walks to the kitchen and gets the biggest, sharpest knife he can find. He walks back to his master and presents the weapon to him. The man grabs the knife and looks at Rostik with some strange intensity. "What should I believe?" "What?" The master buries the knife deep inside Rostik's guts, and twists it. He stares at him while he stabs him, full of alien curiosity. The flight is just normal. A heavy metal tube flying through the night, defying all that Ilya's body believes, and dropping him safely at Luton Airport. Ilya Senkin is in the United Kingdom. He sneaks his handbag through security with no major incident; even though he has never used it, he always feels better having his gun at hands reach while traveling. Outside, the flesh machine waits for him in the nasty van. The vehicle is perfect. The machine too. He boards the van and the robot takes him to the fortress. During the trip, he tries to perceive all that surrounds him. He starts with the inside of the van; the smell, the sound, the touch of the seat and the dashboard. When he drains his surroundings of new, exciting stimuli, he switches his focus and starts paying attention to the outside world. The dark highway, with the trees and the buildings, the gas stations, the other cars, the dark sky. He gets his face close to the window and opens it ever so slightly. He smells the outside world. He feels the wind in his face. Is all of that real? The van stops and he follows the flesh machine inside the fortress. It's impressive. Something between medieval and postmodern, but absolutely functional. A castle for a king. A jail for a monster. A cage for the flesh and the will. He walks around. He tries to get to know every corner of the fortress. He starts with the basement, his home, and slowly walks up, inspecting every room and every detail. His trip finishes up in the roof. It's raining. He feels his tracksuit getting wet. Is any of that real? He walks back to the main area, in the ground floor. The flesh machine is waiting for his instructions. "I need a knife. A sharp one" The machine brings the knife without hesitation, like a good robot. He ponders the weight of the weapon in his hand. All those details... it is all so real... Why should he doubt? Who could have imagined the rain upstairs, the chains in the room, the blanket in his bed, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty fortress, the smell of the van, the cool breeze of air of the highway, the texture of the dashboard, the stuffy air inside the plane... Who could create such a fantasy and tell him the story? Why wouldn't all of that be real? Because it was all part of the plan. If the plan was a lie, then he had to break it, to go completely off track just to confirm he was not being lied to; just to make sure what he was living was real, and not another fake memory pushed inside his mind by Roman, or Ivan, or anyone. The only way of demonstrating his free will was derailing the operation. But that was his plan, and his operation. Did he really have to act against his own will only to check if his own will was truly his? "What should I believe?" "What?" Ilya stabs the flesh machine. He inserts the knife in the reset slot of its anatomy, and watches it turn off slowly. Still, it all feels the same. The sounds, the smells, the feeling of his clothes... everything around him is the same. Maybe this is not the right way of testing his sense of reality. He pulls the knife off the robot's body and slits his own wrist. He feeds the machine. It's a good machine, and it's performing all the required tasks with great efficiency. One does not destroy perfectly good machines for no reason. The robot starts healing itself, and Ilya's still distraught. With the bloody knife still in his hand, he climbs upstairs, back to the roof, back to the rain. He sits down in the floor, trying to find an answer to his question. His senses can lie to him. That's not the answer. But his only tools to understand the world outside his head are his senses. What should he do? Just let go and choose to believe whatever happens around him? And what if it's not real? Is he ready to get involved with new people, only to execute them afterwards, just because his mind choose to believe a lie? The knife gives him an answer. Not the best one, but an answer nevertheless. Anyone pushing a story inside his brain can anticipate him making those questions; they can even anticipate him trying to find a loophole in the story. But only a truly disturbed storyteller would anticipate what he does next. He grabs the knife and chops his left thumb off. The finger rolls under the rain and, in no time, it blackens and withers, becoming a small pile of dust. The pain is intense, nearly unbearable. He stands up. Now he believes. End of August, 2014: Shortly after Ilya's arrival to London, the first shipment of Roman's trading goods is delivered to the fortress. Ten young Russian girls. All of them tricked into giving up their passport, and then 'softened' by Maxim. They are all in the process of becoming high quality Senkin products. With the help of Rostik, the flesh machine, Ilya assigns a room to each one of the girls, and makes sure they are properly secured to the walls. He pulls his old spreadsheet in his computer and creates a proper schedule for the girls. The flesh machine is going to be really busy. Maybe he'll need to get his hands on a new flesh machine to help out. If everything goes according to plan, the trading goods will be ready to send to the upper floor in about two weeks. But mortals are unpredictable, and those estimations are always relative. The belief is fading. Edited by Tsar Ilya the First, Thursday, 4. September 2014, 18:35.
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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| Tsar Ilya the First | Wednesday, 10. September 2014, 10:01 Post #2 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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Why do you keep on doing this to yourself? Looking at his face in the toilet's mirror, Ilya sees a mass of cuts and bruises. His healing abilities are working overtime, and minor injuries are not a priority. Two missing teeth. One amputated thumb. A broken arm. Limping with both legs at the same time. Not a good starting week. And all of that, why? Is his obsession with being brainwashed just that, an obsession? But it isn't. It has happened before. Just the thought of being trapped inside a fake memory is repugnant to Ilik. Having no control over his destiny, and still believing he is a free, independent creature. But freedom is a tricky thing. As far as Ilya's memory goes, this is the first time in his whole life he is really free. Before this, he's been always sheltered by his family, or by the Red Army, or by the Sabbat, or by his sire... Always having a perverted support system to guide him and provide him with some structure. Right, he's been calling the shots in his family for the last few years, but he's been with them, in their company, not alone. Now... his only reminder of that is his ghoul, and that's just a machine, not the kind of soul soothing company he longs for. So, this is what he does when he is free, after a century of being pushed around in one way or another. He just hurts himself. That's it. He doubts his immediate surroundings, and makes his body pay the price for his incredulity. He doesn't even take care of his business properly. He looks at himself again. Not a great start in his new life, in his path of freedom and redemption. He walks out, and gets to the basement of the fortress. His cabinet is not as full as it should. His blood reserves will last him for a week. Two, if he manages well. The ghoul is way too tired to arrange a better supply line, so that responsibility is Ilya's now. That, or take the lead in the training process of the ten new products, the slaves. That would involve a great deal of psychological torture and physical intimacy. Not a very interesting subject. Anyway, Roman told him that he would have another shipment in two weeks. The ghoul could make these ten girls graduate to the first floor by then. Ilya resolved to pay more attention to the business. Later. First, some necessary healing. He drinks three blood bags, three of his precious reserves, and burns them all in healing his bones. Much better. At least, now he can walk normally and move both his arms freely. Now, to business. Getting a new assistant is becoming a priority. The old one is getting more and more burnt out every day, and Ilik doesn't want to be the one handling all the mundane aspects of his business. Or his diet. Someone had to do the grunt work for him. He connects his laptop, and goes straight into his favorite recruiting website: Craigslist. He places an ad there. That should do the trick. He goes back to the ground floor, where he meets with his ghoul. The machine looks really tired. All that training involves a lot of physical intimacy, and one man for ten women is seriously unbalanced. His levels of exhaustion are higher than his amount of respect, and that's saying a lot. He can't stop complaining, between apologies, about how hard it is to keep up with the job. He needs help. Ilya's already on it. However, he'll be unable to count on the ghoul's help for a while. Nobody's going to get a new bike for him, or strike a deal with any local doctor to get him food supplies. Rostik is anything but helpful, at that point. That's really bad. But he can't punish the machine; doing so will only make it less efficient, and Ilya needs to be surrounded by efficiency right now. He asks the machine to give him a tour through the products in training. He studies each case, and tries to find a way of making it easier on his ghoul. Some of them just need to feel some warmth. Nothing that a small amount of Presence can't provide. Others are way too attached to some old memory. Easy to erase, anyway. There are two in need of severe discipline. Teaching them that their will is not theirs anymore is a simple, yet rewarding exercise. At the end, they realize there's nothing they can do to avoid their destiny. He gathers the ten of them, plus the ghoul, at the main hall. There, he applies some of his supernatural charm on the crowd, and instills some love on them. He explains, as kindly as he can, how important it is to cooperate and to make the process easier on Rostik. He makes them feel as part of a team. They are the slaves, and their role is very important to him. Each one of them, whatever is their name, is dear to him, and he cares for each one of them. That's why he is looking only for the best buyers, for those who are going to treat them right. There are some tears and some apologies. After the heartwarming meeting, they all go back to their cells and adjust their own chains, trying to make their adored leader happy. He visits them again, and smiles at them with the warmth of an angel. His presence is soothing and, for one night, all is good in the fortress. After reprogramming all of his flesh machines, Ilya goes back to his basement and starts typing on his computer. He is working on his pet project: HoodWeb, a collection of proxies and anonymous servers that would allow him to surf the net and make monetary transactions in an untraceable way. It's a tricky proposition, as anything that involves online banking is generally tightly controlled, but Ilya's trying to find a loophole in the system using online five dollar job sites. He works on that for a couple of hours. Online invisibility is becoming another one of his priorities. He checks the hour. Around midnight. Time to get out and begin sorting out his feeding situation. He drinks three more bags of blood, healing his face and starting the regeneration process of his thumb and teeth in the process, and goes out. Without his bike, the white van is the only option. Maybe it's the best one, considering where he is going. Continues HERE. Edited by Tsar Ilya the First, Thursday, 11. September 2014, 17:06.
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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| Tsar Ilya the First | Thursday, 25. September 2014, 10:16 Post #3 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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NOTE: Comes from here. Ilya got into the fortress, limped downstairs and dropped to the floor, on top of his blanket. New contact. New alliance. Talking with another Vampire was refreshing. Dawson was a soft hearted psychopath, that was for sure, and his very core values were mostly against Ilya's principles, but their alliance was useful; necessary. He needed a foot soldier like Henry, someone more than happy to get his hands dirty and to put his neck on the line. He could respect that sort of bravery. But along the years he'd seen plenty of brave men burnt alive for their courage. Enough of that. He was getting to know enough people to realize that the infrastructure on this Anarch movement had serious issues. It was too complicated to get a lead into the community, and to take the first steps there. Building an army in that context was impossible. He needed a different approach. And he still had two days before meeting with the Anarch lady who put the note at The Dream. That should be enough time. He crawled towards his computer. Pain. Turning on. Workflow:
Happy with his creation, he turned the computer off, and crawled towards the freezer. The pain was bad, still. Nasty sensation. He just couldn't understand masochists. People who associated that terrible feeling with some sort of pleasure. It was just too hard to understand for him. However, this disturbing pain kept him on edge, gave him something to believe in. He opened the freezer, and pulled a blood bag off it. The reserves were running lower every day. Still not a huge problem, but a potential one. He drank it, and healed his bones just a little bit more. Regeneration took time. He crawled back to his blanket, laid down, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Outside, the sun was climbing the coast of Essex, creeping towards London at great speed, and the creatures of the night were all peacefully resting in their nests. |
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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| Tsar Ilya the First | Tuesday, 17. March 2015, 01:13 Post #4 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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The Network was working satisfactorily, and Ilya was finding himself, for the first time since arriving to London, surrounded by competent people he could trust somehow. He had sold the whole first and the second batches of flesh machines, excepting that mistake Olga, and was already training the third batch. He was even working hard in the reprogramming of his new assistant machine. The robot had some strong resistance, but that was fantastic, as he would have the same degree of resistance to losing his new programming once he was done. Still, one sequence of his last months kept on chasing him, being reproduced over and over again, as a low point in his unlife. Not that Ilya was one to dwell in past mistakes, or to let the shame over power his cold visionary enthusiasm, but he couldn't stop feeling let down by his own fail safes. It was that night when he invited the snake to his home. Not that the events that took place that night were not important, but the mere fact that he had to drag her to this hole of a fortress, like a barbarian, in such an uncivilized way. He felt like a father asking his daughter for money to pay for an addiction. In a tracksuit. It was unacceptable. However, his limited ways of understanding advanced social interactions did not make it easy for him to articulate those thoughts and ideas in such an eloquent way. He just knew something was wrong there, and he could not shake from his mind the image of the snake sitting in the bed, staring at her in all her majestic statuesque elegance, surrounded by filth and tacky cushions... That image. It somehow conjured a deep feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that made him want to turn around and hide under a rock. It was a conversation with Valera that made him see the light. She was better than him at understanding social conventions and, when he told her about his encounter with the slimy monster, she couldn't stop laughing for half an hour. Then she proceeded to explain to him the importance of appearances, like a mother teaching a child how important it is to have good tableside manners. Ilya was a dedicated student; all that he naturally was not equipped to understand, he could replace with attention to details and good memory. So he tried to take as many rules as he could from Valera's bag of tricks. After a couple of weeks of long conversations about protocol and good manners, he felt more prepared to be a good host for guests as respectable as this odious snake. But his living quarters were still not up to the high standards imposed by Valera. So he started looking for a new place, a secondary home where he could hold meetings with like minded individuals, and a place that he could use as a showroom for his products. A place that read class and elegance, and that served him both for his political motivations, as well as for his business transactions. He spent several weeks scouting the Anarch areas. He didn't want to go as far as Brent or Harrow, but he was aware of the difficulties of finding the appropriate spot in Enfield or Haringey. The answer was lying in front of him: Barnet. Once he cleared that X, finding the right spot was just a matter of hours. Using Maxim's ghost corporation as a proxy buyer, he promptly acquired the place that would soon become his secondary haven, the house where he would feel comfortable inviting other people, without that nagging feeling of being an underdeveloped brute eating him from the insides. That is how Ilya got to be the brand new owner of 314 Princess Manor, a luxurious home, in a magnificent manor, a place that used to be one of the most terrifying spots in old London: Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum, also known as Friern Hospital. 314 Princess Manor
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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1:15 AM Jul 11