Penis

Mikhail opened the door and looked out into the hall. The only light emanated from a single bulb, suspended from the hall ceiling by a chain. There was silence. The sound of a TV, fuzzy. The sound of a rat inside the wall. The air was cold, and the fur jacket he wore was beaded with specs of ice. Mikhail’s breath shone in the air, and fell to the ground, dissipating. Turning back to the room, he faced Vlade and Schovik who were still seated at the table. Spread between them on the table was 1 billion Rubles, 2 revolvers, a document and a pen. Mikhail stood in the doorway, afraid, and also confident. He had been in this situation before. Mikhail was 23 years old as of last week. He had a scruffy black beard (if you could call it a beard). His nose was always running. The thing he was most proud of was his smile. Perfect, white teeth, each one aligned exactly as it should be. He was also proud of the custom built AK47 which rested under his arm, and the tailored body armor he wore under his jacket. There was no heat in the room, or anywhere in the building. The last of the heating oil had been used 2 years ago.
Mikhail walked up to Vlade and extended his hand. Vlade looked up at him, expressionless. Mikhail waited there his hand feeling heavy, yet holding it there, confident. Vlade was motionless. There was the sound of a slight dripping from a faucet somewhere to Mikhail’s left. Schovik looked on, twisting his ring around his finger. Heavy snow was falling outside the room’s small window.
Vlade stood up and grasped Mikhail’s hand. “Consider it done” A thin smile appeared, showing Mikhail’s white, perfect teeth. “A deal that will make you rich, my friend”. Schovik took the document and signed it, emphatic. Vlade swept the heap of money into a canvas bag under the table. Folding the document into his jacket pocket, Mikhail pivoted and walked towards the door, and out into the snow.

***

Travis was 19. One year after graduating from North High School in Hilliard, Ohio, Travis was completely broke. Ohio State had refused his application for admission, and the Panera Bread store where he’d been working was being closed for the winter due to inadequate heating oil. A lot of businesses were struggling, but Panera had been reliable, at least for a year. Everyone wanted to go to college. The public colleges had a special arrangement with the government where they were given permission to create heat using plutonium fission. But Ohio State was only taking on 50 new students per quarter, and Travis was up against 595,000 other applicants.
Travis laid on the cot in his tent, shivering. There was a group of people outside huddling together for warmth. Travis was alone, thinking. “Where are my parents”? Travis’ parents had walked west looking for wood 6 months ago. That was the last time he had seen them. “I can’t stay here like this... The rent is due tomorrow.... I have no money...” Unwelcome. That’s how Travis felt. As though he were completely disconnected from whatever story the world happened to be telling. An extinct creature, waiting for mortality or chance to extinguish his very cold and quite inadequate flame. Soldiering on through hunger and cold....
An idea! There was one organization, besides Ohio State, that had permission to generate heat. One that was still accepting all applicants. Travis tightened his jacket, hoisted his pack, and walked out of the tent, into the wind. He left one flap of the 1st level tent door open, a gesture used to indicate the tent was available to the next interested resident.
The recruiting office was dimly lit, but very warm. Shuffling through the entryway, then the anti chamber, and then the lobby, Travis shed his jacket, hat and gloves, and left his pack in an open locker. The lobby of the recruiting office was lined with metal desks, each occupied by a petite girl in tight shorts and a thin green tank top. Lines of men waited at each desk. There were probably about 50 people in the room. 5 girls and 45 men waiting in line. Travis noticed signs above the desks indicating the lines were organized by age. He got into the line for 18-22.
“Why are you here, Travis?” The girl at the desk was probably 40 but her body looked 25. Her blond hair was tied in a loose ponytail. “I’m here because I want to join The Organization” “And Why do you want to join?” Travis hesitated “I want to fight the Parchynists” “I don’t believe you, tell me the real reason” “I want to serve my Community” “You’re lying again! Don’t you know we can measure the truth of your statements? Every time you speak I’m looking at a percentage probability that you believe what you’re saying is true. Don’t waste my time. If you’re going to lie to me, get out of this line and go back out to the old” “OK! I am losing hope out there in the tent field! I just want in; I’ll say anything you want me to say, just don’t send me back out there to shrivel up and die. My parents haven’t been seen in 6 months. I have nothing. My job disappeared. I have no siblings, no relatives, and no one even knows I left my tent. All my friends went to Ohio State and they’re not allowed to leave the secure perimeter. The Organization is my last chance”
The girl looked at Travis for about 30 seconds, then she touched her ear, listened for a moment, and addressed Travis in a softer tone.”Your pack and your cold gear are on a plane to Tennessee. A sanitized corpse was placed in your tent, and your tent in the tent field has been shredded. The Panera location where you worked has been ‘looted’ and all remaining evidence of your existence has been destroyed. Walk through the door to my left and you will receive your instructions”

***

Mikhail’s Embraer XIV jet lifted off silently from the snow covered plain. The dim lights of St Petersburg were visible from the window, thought there was heavy fog generated by the temperature difference between the jet and the outside air. He pulled the contract from his jacket pocket. Schovik’s signature was the last step in his bid to gain control of Russia’s most powerful resource. Wood. On the planet, there were a total of 300 acres of forest left. With the contribution of Schovik’s family holdings, Mikhail was in control of 200 of the 300 existing acres. This all came at a staggering cost. One billion Rubles, a 15% stake in the company, and guaranteed immunity for Schovik, Vlade, and their 62 living descendants. The death, by freezing, murder, or starvation of any of these 62 would void the agreement and forfeit 500 million of the billion Rubles.
It was getting hot in the jet cabin. Such a pleasurable feeling. Mikhail took off his coat and handed it to one of the attendants. “Janice, would you pour me a Vodka c’ Apple. I love the way you make it” Janice was one of 23 women on the flight. Mikhail traveled with an entourage of all women. The pilot was female, his driver was female, and all his inner circle of advisers were female. Janice was a master of sever ancient and modern forms of martial arts, but she was not with Mikhail as a bodyguard. By his own preference Mikhail always conducted business negotiations alone, and without backup or protection. He liked the thrill of sensing danger, and the challenge of being the only one responsible for his own security. He preferred to out smart rather than out gun. Janice arrived with the Vodka c’ Apple. An expensive and rare drink reserved only for the privileged few. Vodka was abundant and cheap (potatoes grew easily in the cold), but the apples were precious and rare. 1 of Mikhael’s 200 acres was an apple orchard. The bottom edge of Janice’s blue skirt brushed against Mikhail’s shoulder as she delivered the drink. “Is there anything else I can get for you Mickey” “No, thank you. This Vodka c’ Apple is excellent. You are such a talented mixologist! Katya, would you put on a record? Let’s enjoy this flight. If you girls start dancing, I’ll join you in a moment. Lacey, turn up the heat in the cabin a bit. I want to sweat!”

***

Travis was jolted awake by an electric current pulsing into his metal bunk-bed. A silent alarm, it felt like a pulse directly flicking on a switch in his brain. Travis jumped into action, somersaulting off the bunk, hitting the concrete running, swiftly down the hallway and out onto the airstrip in the middle of the base. The air was warmer in Afghanistan than it was in Hilliard, but still too cold to survive without proper clothing. 6 other young men fell into place in line next to him, fully clothed and both physically and mentally ready to act. The Organization mandated that all employees be fully clothed and wearing shoes at all times, even while sleeping. The helicopter became visible on the airstrip as the active camo was lifted. Travis and his men ran up the loading ramp and into the helicopter, and they lifted off quickly, the thin blades beating at 7,000 RPM, but making no perceptible sound. They flew low over the mountains, invisible and inaudible. After a 5 minute flight, the target appeared in front of them: an indistinguishable bump in the desert landscape, circled by green light in their internal visual display. Travis jumped out of the helicopter, feet first, and landed on the mound with a small thud (the aircraft was flying about 5 feet above ground). The ground looked like sand, but it felt like concrete. Travis eased forward, taking small steps, his hands held in front of him. His visual display was indicating that they were perhaps 10 meters or less away from the target. Suddenly his hand felt cold steel, though all he could see was air and sand, Travis knew this was the target, Priority VI. A pulse from his electric rifle quickly disabled the door, and a well placed kick revealed the way into the lair, and 30 bandits clothed in black, and a swarm of bullets headed his way...

***

Mikhail walked into the meeting, knowing this would be his finest hour. He was wearing a grey suit coat, leather gloves, and leather shoes. His custom AK47 hung loosely around his shoulder. “Dimitri! It’s been too long” “Mikhail, how are you friend? To what do I owe the pleasure of hosting you at this very early hour?” “Friend, I’m here for one reason only, and that is to relieve you of your command of this country” “You’re joking, again, always trying to keep me on my toes” “I am not joking, Dimitri. Your service as Premier has ended” “Nonsense!” “I have signed Affadavits from all the major stakeholders in this country appointing me as supreme leader, and I now own 51% of the land in Russia, 75% of the natural resources, and 95% of the uranium, plutonium, petroleum, and 100% of the Forrest.” Dimitri looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. “Dimitri, you can either step aside nicely, or I can make this hard on you. I have already anticipated every possible response you might have to our confrontation. Your immediate security personnel have no ammunition in their weapons. The peripheral security personnel have all been hired by me as of yesterday. The fuel has been siphoned from your car, your plane and your helicopter, all the phone lines to this building have been cut, and there is a plane hovering overhead disrupting all wireless communications and transmissions. Additionally, there is an explosive device in your jacket which will explode if I touch my right thumb to my right forefinger.” “I trusted you! Mikhail, how could you betray me?” “Dimitri, I will let you live as long as you agree to leave Russia immediately”...
The conversation was interrupted by an explosion. A grenade detonated steps away from where Mikhail and Dimitri were standing. Travis emerged from the smoke firing his electric rifle, pointed at Dimitri’s face. Lunging for cover, Dimitri’s jacket hit by the electric rifle, triggering the implanted explosive device and killing him instantly. Mikhail rolled to the side, making an evasive maneuver, spraying bullets from his AK47 in the direction of this mystery intruder. Travis was hit in the left eye, and twice in his left cheek, as he fell to the floor, he pulled the pin of a grenade. Mikhail, suddenly, realized this was something he had not planned for. The grenade detonated, obliterating Mikhail, Travis, and what was left of Dimitri.