The door opened swiftly and Vodko peeked inside. The walls were a blank gray concrete, featureless and empty, and the table in the middle of the chamber was a bolted down, stainless steel piece of furniture with rounded edges.

  A man wearing a warm light brown padded jacket with a ribbed design sat on a chair in front of the table and adjusted an aged peaked cap designed for Luftwaffe Officers on his head. With the quilted trousers, it looked like the man’s clothing had been pilfered from a museum’s world war two section, not just from the Russian section, but the German one as well.

  In front of the man were long rows of pews and seats, enough for fifty people, but with only twenty occupied seats nearby, listening intently. Another twelve sat in a corner and played with cards, each participant with a rocket launcher secured over a shoulder by a strap.

  The man’s right ankle buzzed, sensations synced to the implants in his skull as the man stomped his mechanical right leg on the floor and swept a gaze over the crowd with his artificial left eye and right brown eye. The left eye was replaced by a gleaming red cybernetic one with a metallic mount around the outer edge. He gave Vodko a nod as he walked inside after having opened the door, followed closely by Doc. Vodko gave a nonchalant wave with his hand as he slowly walked through the room. The man shifted his gaze, leaning forward over his desk, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and spoke, his voice taut with intensity.

  “Hello comrades, today we are learning of how to into home defense from jamals and kebab. Of easy. Follow steps to remove jamal like profession.”

  “Step one; you must of always sleep in the naked. Otherwise when woman come home and say 'Ivan, affix into me your man bayonet,' you say, 'Blyat cyka, I am of clothes.'”

  Doc’s face wrinkled into a frown of confusion at the statement as he followed after Vodko who was slowly walking through the room towards a set of metal doors on the other side.

  “Step two; when hear jamal/kebob mating sound, affix bayonet to comrade Mosin, comrade Kalashnikov, or comrade AR if you are of baby man with capitalist piece of shit.”

  “Step three; when reach of stairs and see jamal, confirm jamal or kebab, you are to be cheeki breeki down stairs, nimble like cow in mud season.”

  “Step four, remove jamal or kebab, if jamal or kebab is of ammunition, you run because you are not ammunition but bravery heal all bullet wounds after medical officer tell you yes.”

  As Vodko entered the other end of the room, he placed his hands on the set of metal doors and pushed with all his might. It finally gave way with a loud groan, allowing him and Doc to step inside as it slammed shut behind them with a metallic clang. Inside, the entire chamber was a virtual circus of activity - men shouting orders into comlinks in Russian, personnel running information across the floor, even rusty maintenance droids attempting to do repairs to the rapidly aging building despite the warranty of the droids having expired a decade ago. If one judged from their focus and efficiency, one could almost assume they had entered an army installation instead of a hidden underground mercenary headquarters.

  In the corner in front of six screens hanging from above with an overhang of black cables supplying power, two people were heard chatting about something displayed on the screen.

  “Is ufo, Lyudmila.”

  “Shut up Dimitri, is no ufo.”

  The woman, Lyudmila, made a few keystrokes and the channel on the screen changed. On the screen, a duo consisting of a smiling Asian man and a fat Caucasian man was in the middle of reporting news.

  “--It has been a year since the ‘Relámpago del Catatumbo’, or the ‘the everlasting storm,’ stopped. The event has long confounded scientists across the globe. For centuries the indigenous people of Northwestern Venezuela called the phenomenon ‘rib a-ba’ or ‘river of fire in the sky.’ Allegedly locals have claimed that a series of archeological digs days prior were responsible for the end of the storm, but those claims were swiftly dismissed by reputable sources that have chosen to remain anonymous. Efforts have instead been put towards uncovering the origins of the lightning.“

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Early speculations were optimistic, such as the three potential epicenters: the swamps of Juan Manuel de Aguas National Park, Claras Aguas Negras and a location west from the lake. Testing at the sites, however, proved inconclusive. Other speculations spoke of the methane gas rising through the swamps having a key role in producing the lightning, perhaps by increasing the conductivity of the air, but this hypothesis has been rejected by atmospheric scientists. This is because the atmospheric concentration of methane in the region is not high enough to exert such an effect. While the exact cause of the Catatumbo lightning is unknown, the scientists deemed it probable that it is the result of the unique topography of the region combined with closed wind circulati-”

  “Is alien-” said the man dressed in an old worn suit while pointing at the screen with a sly grin.

  “No!” exhaled the woman in a fit of frustration.

  “Da, Lyudmila is right. Alien conspiracy is conspiracy. People too busy to findings gray men to findings real true conspiracy. Haarp waves.” Vodko peeked over her shoulder and commented, leading to her closing her eyes tightly and exhaling a deep breath to calm down.

  “Stop it!” Lyudmila exclaimed, “No more delusions for my husband. What do I need to do to get rid of you today? What is it that you want, Vodko?”

  “Computer. For usb.”

  “Actually, not just a computer. We need a secure terminal.” Doc clarified.

  “Is locked inside room over there,” said Dimitri, who pointed in the direction of the room, “Only Ivan having key. He be busy preparing speech for another dangerous op.”

  “Ah, cyka blyat,” Vodko exclaimed as he ran back and kicked the steel doors before remembering that they opened inwards and pulled them open, once more letting in sound from the other room.

  “Step twelve; Jamal/kebab is of remove. Bathe Natasha in her daily cosmoline bath for congratulate on removal job good done. And there you have comrade, remove of swift and not missing. If disgusting fat neighbor woman complain of noise you must be jamal to learn jamal. Thankings, Ivan.”

  “Ivan, come here. Also, we need key!” yelled Vodko as he interrupted the applause.

  * * *

  The dead man’s stare was cold as a fireless hearth as he laid eyes wide in the open midday streets in front of the steel mill. Life and blood had long since seeped out and formed a deep crimson that clung to his body; sirens from the garrison’s jeeps drenched the sky with its monotonic hum. A man in uniform crouched down next to the body with a calm and professional gaze. He looked at the man’s inhumanely bent knee and the gaping hole in his chest. The body next to the first resulted in a pained sigh due to the absence of an intact head of that corpse.

  “Command, this is Mike Delta Zero Two, I’m at the site,” the man said as he put on two plastic gloves.

  “Copy, this is command. Fireteam Alpha Three Bravo, spread out and contain the area. I can’t afford to lose more men today. As soon as Fireteam Alpha Three Bravo reports that the site is secure, Mike Delta Zero Two may start the verification process.”

  “Copy.”

  Back at the headquarters, the soldier moved his finger off the comms and reclined in his chair. He blew out a deep sigh. He didn’t think for a single moment that they could’ve taken out the enemy that easily but he had to be sure.

  “Sir. We’ve compiled a report on Doctor Niemec.”

  “Right. Sync it to my quarters, I’ll read it there. Report if there are any changes in the field.”

  “Sir.”

  The soldier went to his room with heavy steps without waiting for a reply and soon began to read the report. Within minutes, the creases in the soldier’s forehead could be compared to the trench lines in the First World War, and they were only getting deeper and more pronounced as he read over the data. The coffee mug in the man's hand fell from slack fingers, and he stared at the computer screen in mute shock before his helmet was flung into a wall due to the frustration.

  “Niemec.. It’s.. Polish.” the man whispered to himself through gritted teeth. “He literally waltzed around this place without a care for two weeks calling himself Doctor German?”