A/N: New story! Yay! I wasn't going to put this up yet, but it kept deleting itself and I got sick of rewriting it so here it is!
Summary: I'm only going to write this once. The Blitzkrieg Boys escape from the Abbey one night, leaving chaos and confusion in their wake. Now, they plan to somehow testify against Boris and get the Abbey shut down. Boris doesn't want that, though, so he sends out a search party. Meanwhile, even the police become involved. This is not cliche (at lease I hope not) so read it! Post V-Force, pre G-Rev.
Chapter 1: The escape
Shrill alarms pealed throughout the Abbey. Red lights flashed on in every single room, waking its inhabitants up and alerting them that someone had escaped from its confines. Denis, the leader of the Abbey guards, threw his sheet aside. The thin, hard bunk creaked as he leapt up from it and made for the door, grabbing his revolver on the way.
"Dammit," he muttered angrily as he navigated the flashing hallways with ease. They were chaotic. Confused children were leaving their cells to find out what was happening. There were also many guards, hurrying up and down the corridors, trying to find the escapees. One nine year old child got in his way, and he struck him with the butt of his gun, ordering him to return to his cell. "They can't do anything right when I'm not around."
Turning around another corner, he came face-to-face with the head of the Abbey, Boris Balkov. Hurriedly taking a few steps back, he straightened up and saluted him.
"I expected better from you, Denis," he said nastily. Denis flinched, seeing his malicious sneer.
"I was not on duty, sir," he replied, waiting for the answer with dread. Boris' sneer became more pronounced.
"They have already escaped now," he said. "I do not know how they got past our heavily guarded security system," Denis flinched yet again, "But that is done. Now, I want you to find out exactly who has escaped." Saying this, he retreated into his office, leaving Denis to find out the identity of the fugitives. He spun around and, raising his fingers to his lips, whistled, a special whistle that he had developed with the sole purpose of calling his guards. Soon, they stood facing him, tensely fingering their revolvers.
"I'm disappointed in you," said Denis angrily. "But I shall talk to you about that later. I now want you to patrol each and every corridor, check each and every room, until you find out who has escaped! Go!" He barked the orders out. The guards obediently turned and filed away, spreading into the many different passageways.
Denis himself made his way to one of the most important wings of the building, the place where the four Blitzkrieg Boys were housed. It was supposed to be a high-security area, but… Denis glanced down at his watch. It was time for the changing of the shifts, and that used to take a minimum of five minutes. A certain dread made itself known in his heart, a gnawing fear that the most important soldiers in the Abbey had escaped…
Denis Putin was not a religious man, but at that moment, he prayed.
Finally, he reached the cold metal door that led to the Blitzkrieg Boys' room. He knew exactly what it looked like. It was completely bare and empty, except for four bunks, one against each wall. He even knew which bunk belonged to who. He stepped into the room, surprised by the chill in the room. It was colder than he could have imagined. Looking around in the dim red light, he saw with a sinking heart that none of the beds were occupied. Striding towards them, he ruffled through the sheets… although two of the sheets were missing for some reason.
He groaned loudly, realizing that they were all gone. If it had just been one or two, they could have been recovered, but all of them banded together?
Tala, with his exceptional intelligence, would be able to formulate a plan so that they would never be found. Bryan was ruthless and would stop at nothing to get what he, or in this case they, wanted. Ian, with his experience of firearms, would prove a lethal addition, and Spencer had shown a surprising aptitude for mechanics. It didn't help that they were all skilled in combat, either.
Groaning loudly, he made his way to Boris' office. Reaching the door, he rapped on it loudly. "Enter," Boris called coldly from inside. This room, too, was illuminated by red light. Nobody had bothered to switch the lights on. In actuality, this was Voltaire's office, but Voltaire never came here any more; he did not want to be openly involved in the Abbey. Due to this, Boris had adopted it as his own. It was by far the most luxurious room there was in the building. There were several plush sofas and armchairs, and a polished wooden desk, behind which Boris was presently seated.
The purple haired man was looking directly at Denis as he entered. Denis came to a halt right in front of the doorway as the door shut with a click. "Who's missing?" Boris asked. Denis nervously fiddled with the trigger of his revolver, something a careful, conscientious guard would never do. Boris instinctively knew something was wrong. But surely it couldn't be that bad?
"The Blitzkrieg Boys," Denis said abruptly. There was no point in beating around the bush. The change in Boris' countenance was sudden and extreme. His already lined face somehow looked even older, and his eyes flashed with anger. His hand began inching towards a mug of coffee that was nearby. Denis apprehensively noted that it was empty, and made of glass.
"How many?" asked Boris in a low, dangerous voice, hand even closer to the mug.
"I… well…" stammered Denis, hoping that Boris would calm down before his hand reached the mug.
"Stop dithering, man," said Boris, slamming one fist down on the table and standing up, snatching the mug from its place on the desk.
"All of them, sir," said Denis, his face betraying no emotion as the mug crashed into the wall only inches from his face and shattered into a million pieces. Boris brought his other hand down onto the desk too.
"Find them," he said through gritted teeth. "Find them and bring them back alive."
"If I may ask one question, sir?" asked Denis tentatively.
"Yes, you may ask one bloody question," replied Boris, clenching his jaw again.
"How many men can I take with me?"
Boris considered the question. The boys would undoubtedly be difficult to find, but Boris could not spare too many guards. Also, he was angry at everything and everyone at the moment, and he just wanted to punish Denis for his stupidity. He spat out his answer, "Two."
Denis opened his mouth to protest, but seeing a glass paperweight near Boris' fist, closed it again and left the office. He heaved a sigh of profound relief as something hit the door just as it closed behind him.
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"Suckers," cackled Ian, firing a shot into the air out of sheer joy. His dark purple hair was being whipped around by the air, because his head, along with half his body, was sticking out of the window of the jeep.
"Stop that," snapped Bryan from behind the wheel. The pale, lavender haired boy's eyes were narrowed in concentration as he maneuvered the car through the snow-covered roads. He did not manage to sound as angry as he wanted to, however. Escaping from the Abbey did that to you.
"Why?" called Ian, firing again for good measure.
"You're wasting ammo," came the curt reply.
"You could give away our position," Tala chipped in lazily. Tala was sprawled across three-quarters of the back seat, head resting against the window, which was why Ian was half outside the car. His eyes were closed and there was a smirk on his pale face. Spencer was seated in the passenger seat. The blond was, as per usual, completely silent.
"Do you think they found that guard?" he spoke up unexpectedly. Bryan sniggered. 'That guard' was, at the moment, rolled up tightly in a sheet, tied with the torn strips of another, and shoved under his bed.
"He's as good as dead," Bryan remarked, smirking.
"Nah," contradicted Tala. "They'll find him… some time."
"Do you think they've discovered that their weapons are gone?" asked Ian, thinking of the stack of weaponry in the boot of the jeep. All four of them grinned; they had raided the arsenal thoroughly before leaving. "Better yet, when do you think they'll find out that we stole Boris' jeep?" Spencer smiled at this; he had hotwired the jeep. It wasn't difficult; it was just a question of knowing which wires to use.
"So what's the plan?" Bryan addressed Tala after a momentary silence.
"Well, we get out of this city anyway," replied Tala. "We'll keep on driving, I guess, until we come to another city, and from there we'll collect supplies."
"Do we have money for supplies?" asked Bryan dryly.
"We'll figure something out," shrugged Tala. "I've brought some important stuff in this." He patted a sack that he had brought out with him. He had been filling it up for the past week in preparation for the escape. "It's not stuff of immediate importance, like food, but it could help us screw up the Abbey and Boris' career." Bryan nodded and kept on driving.
"What if they're tracking this jeep?" asked Spencer suddenly.
"That's why we're going to exchange it for another car in the next city we reach," said Tala as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer raised an eyebrow. It seemed highly improbable that they would be able to exchange a jeep for another car. Although this jeep was rather valuable. It had been purchased by Voltaire for 'strictly business purposes', but of course, Boris had disregarded that completely.
"And if they don't want to exchange?" he asked skeptically.
"Oh, they'll exchange," replied Tala with great confidence. Spencer craned his neck to look at the redhead, to see whether he was serious or not. His eyes were open now but the smirk was still there as he repeated the remarkable statement, "They'll exchange."
There was something in his voice that told them that if it was an exchange he wanted, an exchange they'd get.
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Denis surveyed the line of men standing before him, perfectly straight, revolvers resting against their shoulders. There were ten of them in all; Denis had picked them out as his best men. Now, the real problem made itself evident: which two men to choose?
"I need two extremely capable men to aid me in this task," said Denis, eyes narrowed. He still hadn't elaborated about the task to the men. "However, it is my opinion that anybody who was on duty this night cannot be included in this category. Who was on duty tonight?"
Six shamefaced men raised their hands halfheartedly into the air. Denis looked at them for a moment, expression betraying disappointment and contempt, before he ordered them to leave. He turned to the four remaining men, looking at them, sizing them up for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he said, "Ivan, Vladimir, step forward. You two, leave."
Two of the men left, leaving Ivan and Vladimir facing Denis. They each took one step forward and looked back at Denis stolidly. Vladimir was a tall, heavyset man in his mid-twenties. He had dark, close-cropped hair, and would be useful to Denis due to his strength and slight degree of sadism. Of course, it could not rival Bryan's sadistic streak, but it was something.
Ivan was the younger of the two. Denis had his doubts about him; he had joined the Abbey about a year back (rumour had it that he had been blackmailed into doing so by Voltaire), and he seemed more humane than the other guards. He refused to beat the inhabitants, and he was not particularly cruel. He was of medium height, and his build was wiry. He was an excellent marksman and a reasonably good strategist, which would prove useful to Denis. He had untidy fair hair which was, much to Denis' irritation, usually falling over his green eyes.
"You two must know the situation," Denis said suddenly. "The four Blitzkrieg Boys have escaped and it is up to us to find them. First, I want you to stock up on weapons. Go!" He leaned against the wall, arms folded, expecting a long wait, however, to his surprise, the two returned within minutes.
"Well?" he snapped, seeing that they had brought nothing with them.
"The arsenal is empty," said Vladimir nervously, fidgeting with his revolver. "The weapons are gone."
Denis was livid. "Get a hold of yourself, man!" he said angrily. "Weapons don't just run away!"
"He means they were taken, sir," interjected Ivan, perfectly calm. Denis passed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Get Igor, then," he snapped. Igor was responsible for the arsenal.
"Igor is missing, sir," said Vladimir apologetically. Denis clenched his jaw. Those boys! Suddenly, he remembered something. He groaned out loud; two of the sheets had been missing in their room. He hadn't considered it of much importance at the time, but now…
"Go search in their room. He will be there, I am sure of it."
Ivan and Vladimir obediently hurried down the corridors until they came to the door. They entered the cold, dark room. Vladimir reached for the light switch and flicked it on. It had no effect the room remained in darkness. He flicked it on and off several more times until Ivan pulled out his torch and trained it on the wall. A small scrap of paper was nailed to it, with the words, "Surprise… we sabotaged the electrical system. Lucky for you the security system has a different source. Good luck finding dear old Igor." Vladimir growled in anger as he stomped off down the passage, planning to inform Denis of this new complication. Meanwhile, Ivan trained his torch on each bed in turn.
They couldn't have had enough time to hide him in a very clever hiding place; they must have shoved him somewhere pretty obvious… the beds! Ivan bent down in front of each bed in turn, peering under it. There was nothing under the first two, but when he bent to see under the third, he could make out a dim form. He pulled it out roughly, and saw that there were torn strips holding it together. He ripped them off, and then unrolled the sheet to reveal the limp form of Igor, the arsenal guard. As Ivan watched, Igor slowly gained consciousness, sitting up in a bemused sort of way.
Ivan had never liked Igor very much, despite the similarity in their names. Igor was vindictive and cruel, and the only useful aspect of his character was his strength. Igor groped for his revolver while Ivan watched silently.
"Where is it?" he asked, looking around wildly. "Where are the boys?"
"The boys are gone, Igor," said Ivan nastily. "As are your weapons. All of them. Now stop weeping and go to Denis; he wants to see you." Igor groaned loudly. This was terrible! Just as he was about to inquire after the whereabouts of his boss, Denis came striding down the hallway with Vladimir in his wake.
"Oh, hello, Igor," he said in a flowery voice. Igor flinched. He knew that voice all too well. "Was your arsenal locked today?"
"Y-Yes sir," he stammered uncomfortably. "They must have picked the lock."
"Oh, yes, of course," he said. Suddenly, his tone changed. "I should demote you! Force you to go through training again. This is not a joke, this Abbey. It is very real and important, and thanks to you, we just lost four very valuable teenagers. Four teenage boys against whom you could not even defend yourself!" Igor did not bother to protest, although one only learned through experience how very hard Bryan's knuckles were. Denis spat out his last words, "You will go first thing tomorrow morning and restock the arsenal! Leave now!" Igor hurried out of the door after one last salute. Denis turned back to Vladimir.
"Now, what were you saying about the electricity?"
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"Stop!" Tala said suddenly. Bryan almost jumped; he had thought the redhead was fast asleep. He jammed his foot down on the brake pedal and brought the jeep to a halt. He peered out at the road; there was nothing to see except a small roadside inn.
"You're not seriously saying we're going to stay here?" asked Bryan skeptically. They had managed to leave Moscow with great difficulty and now Tala wanted to stop and rest at a cozy roadside inn?
"No," said Tala, irritated. "Of course not." He bent down and rummaged in the sack he had brought along and fished out a telephone directory. "I have to make a call." Bryan looked at him in disbelief. Then he glanced outside; there was a small phone booth in front of the inn. He shrugged philosophically and switched the engine off. Tala stepped outside into the cold night.
It was snowing lightly and there was a small breeze. The temperature was definitely below zero, and Tala wasn't even wearing a sweater. However, it was just as cold in the Abbey, so he didn't particularly mind. He crossed the road and entered the booth. Fishing out some loose change from his pocket, he slid it in and picked up the receiver. Flipping through the phone book, he found the number of a shop he had often visited on behalf of Igor, the guard whom they had knocked out some time ago. He smirked, his breath fogging up the glass next to him, as the rings went. Finally, someone picked up and there was a very groggy hello.
"Hello," Tala replied, disguising his voice. He enquired if this was the owner of the shop.
"Yes, yes, this is me," the man replied in an annoyed voice, "This is also my home number. What are you thinking of, calling at this time?"
Tala glanced at his watch and saw that it was around one o'clock. He grinned, and then, disguising his voice best as he could, replied, "Sorry about that, but I am calling to tip you off." A thought had struck Tala while they were leaving Moscow; Igor was a rather lazy man, and he had never gone to the shop himself to restock the arsenal; he always sent one of the 'soldiers' of the Abbey although it was his own duty. That meant that this shopkeeper had never met him before. "A man named Igor is going to visit you, probably early in the morning—"
"Who is this?" the shopkeeper was fully awake now.
"Never mind my identity. The point is, Igor will want to buy a large number of weapons. Don't sell."
"Why not?"
"Because," Tala smirked, planning to sow the seeds of suspicion in the man's mind, "This man is not part of the armed forces or the police. Why, then, does he need such a large amount of weaponry? Put two and two together." He put the phone down with a click. Opening the booth's door, he looked around to make sure the coast was clear before crossing the road. He entered the car, shutting the door with a bang. Bryan started the engine and began to drive again.
"Do you want someone else to drive?" asked Tala, not wanting the boy to fall asleep while he was driving. Bryan shook his head. Slowly, Tala fell asleep, leaving Bryan to drive in solitude. Several hours passed by. At last, Bryan reached the outskirts of a city. He seemed to be in suburbs of some sort. It was the break of dawn, and he definitely wasn't expecting anyone to be up and about. He was, however, surprised to see a teenage girl walking along the sidewalk.
He brought the car to a stop and rolled his window down. She inquiringly looked at him. "Do you know where the nearest showroom is?" he asked, looking at her narrowly. She paused to think for a moment. He tapped the dashboard impatiently. Finally, she told him the directions.
"What a strange request!" she added with a light laugh. Bryan hesitated slightly before asking her another question.
"Which city is this?" he asked casually.
She looked at him in confusion. "Lubertsy," she replied. Bryan saw that she was looking slightly suspicious now, so he forced a smile onto his face.
"So we did take the right turn," he replied. Her expression cleared; he had just wanted to confirm. "Thanks," he added, rolling his window up and driving on. He followed her instructions.
Presently, they rolled up in front of a large car showroom. It had a little flat above it. Bryan almost drove past it, but noticed it in time and brought the car to a loud, screeching halt. The other three had been awake for a few minutes now.
"It's closed," remarked Bryan, looking at the 'closed' sign hanging on the door. Tala looked at it too.
"Oh, they'll open it," he replied with a smirk, his blue eyes landing on the window of the flat situated above the shop.
A/N: How was it? No flames; constructive criticism is welcomed. I don't know anything about Russia and all my information is acquired via the net, so if anything is wrong, politely correct me. Again, don't flame. Review! Next chapter is better.