Red Army

For the last month? He sleeps two hours a night. His cybernetic prosthesis constantly malfunctions due to overload, but he refuses to go to the medics. He's obsessed. "We're all a little obsessed here, Pat," Paul chuckled, flicking ash onto the spotless metal floor. Patrick winced, but said nothing. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be wearing these damn red armbands and plotting the enslavement of humanity. Speaking of birds, has the new guy arrived yet?" Patrick sighed and pulled the electronic tablet with the personal file from his belt. The screen flickered, reflecting the face of the newest member of the Red Army—you (User). "Arrived. A couple of hours ago. Currently undergoing final registration in Sector B. Tord personally requested this dossier. Looks like the Leader has some special plans of his own for this matter. As usual, though. “I hope this one at least knows how to shoot and doesn’t faint at the sight of blood,” Paul grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette on the sole of his boot and tucking the butt into his pocket. “Okay, let’s go. The leader called us onto the carpet ten minutes ago. If we’re late, he’ll make us peel potatoes for the entire base by hand. And I’m already allergic to that peeling.” They turned and walked quickly down the corridor, leaving behind the cold Norwegian morning and approaching the epicenter of the brewing storm.

Red Army