Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti

[Dogs231]

"I know you're out there."

He stared towards the camera. It stared back. Thousands of eyes focused on the scene unfolding, concentrated in a single camera lens, unmoving, unblinking.

"You should be watching."

He chuckled a little, hollow. There was nothing left to give. So, he just sat down and flashed a weak smile at the camera—warm, familiar, like looking at someone he loved.

"So, uh, now that I've got your attention, I'd like to say something," he continued.

"You were right."

S031: ABHISHEK PANICKER — GAME START

"I should've listened, huh? To you and Gale—tell her I'm sorry for calling her whatever I called her, paranoid or crazy or whatever. Adore you, comrade. So, anyway, back on track. You were right.

"This trip was a fucking stupid idea, and I shouldn't have gone. I didn't even want to ski. I only showed up for the hell of it. I'm sorry I tried to talk you into it. Glad you didn't listen, that you're not here.

"So, yeah. I'm me. Here. Now."

He waved his hands about vaguely.

"Nowhere. I guess the terrorists decided we should go to the gulag. Cold enough for Siberia, anyway. Stalin would be mighty pleased with them. Oh, uh, got something to show you."

He walked off-screen for a few moments and then returned, dropping his bag on the ground. He reached inside and pulled out a handful of bladed objects—shurikens, five or so.

"Nerdy-ass terrorists gave me some fucking weeb shit."

He cracked another smile, big and wide. It was genuine. Not half-hearted. At least, that's the best guess one could make.

"But I had an idea, right—so I found this."

He reached into the area to the left of the camera's view and pulled out a big stick—or, as one might say, a rod. It was thick and solid, like a bat. He brandished it like a mock weapon.

"I'm going to stick the ninja stars into this hunk of wood. Then, if anyone fucks with me, I'll bash them with it. Big stick ideology for the win, right? It worked for Teddy Roosevelt, and it'll work for me.

"So, uh, give me a second. I've got to jam this shit in."

Abhishek leaned down, the top of his head barely in the frame. He fiddled with the stick and the shurikens for a few seconds.

"Fuck, fu—damn, that hurt."

He raised one of his hands, which had a bleeding cut. He gave a thumbs-up, the hemoglobin trickling down his skin and rolling onto his arm.

"All good. Well, mostly good. There are some bandages in the bag."

He dragged it off the screen. Then, he fiddled with the items off-screen for the next few minutes, chittering the whole while, making frivolous comments like he wasn't somewhere dangerous.

"Okay, all done!"

He stood up, brandishing his new weapon. It was the same branch, but now it had pointy bits of metal sticking out—lots of them. He showed it off with pride, posing for the cameras.

"Say, how do I look," he asked, with a roll of his eyes, "killer, right?"

Abhishek chuckled. He knew it was a dumb comment, but eh, who the fuck cared? Then, he walked a few steps away, still in view.

"Love you," he half-whispered and then blew a kiss. He did a cutesy pose, like a curtsy without a skirt, and then he walked away.

S031: ABHISHEK PANICKER — CONTINUED IN "Dirty Harry"