A Rising Starikov

Roleplay Library
1

(OOC: I’m using this thread to chronicle a series of Strataric events, so please don’t reply to it.)

Warehouse in Raspubirsk, Stratarin, 1600 hours, 01.13.17

Sergey Vasilyevich sighed as he looked around the table at the current heads of Sem’ya. How the mighty had fallen. The greatest criminal empires in the world turned into barely more than an unusually strong street gang for want of one man.

Pathetic.

After Gregori Grigoryev was sent to one of the most secure prisons of Urth instead of being afforded a quick death, the morale of Sem’ya was coming apart at the seams. Due to deserters, informers, and an incredibly efficient police force, the days of the Strataric mob seemed to be at an end.

Well, I’d best start this off. Banging on a nearby table to get everyone’s attention, he began. “Gentlemen…”

He was instantly interrupted by the door being burst down. Three squads of Strataric police stormed the room. The guards stationed by the entrance were killed before even drawing their weaponry. The shouts of ‘Don’t move!’ and ‘Freeze!’ echoed around the room. After a minute, making sure the mobsters hands were restrained, one of the officers pulled out his radio. “We’re secure, minister.”

After a moment, Minister of Law Enforcement Mikhail Starikov strode into the room.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Glancing down at the unfortunate Sem’ya guards, he shrugged. “I do apologize for the mess.”

Sergey savagely struggled against the grasp of the officers that held him, but in vain. “You suka!”

Starikov allowed himself a small smirk. “I’ve been called worse before. Tell me, how has your organization…” he gestured around the room, “…fared since I jailed Grigoryev?”

Sergey responded with proud silence. The minister waited a moment longer, than continued. “Fine, then. Given the amount of stings I’ve been able to pull off against your pack of fools recently, I think I have my answer.” He began to pace a slow circle around his prey. “You’ve been having recruitment problems as well, haven’t you? That would explain the rabble my men have met recently instead of any sort of professional criminal.”

One of the lesser Sem’ya bosses spoke up. “What do you want, Starikov?”

A dark gleam shone in Starikov’ eye. “An alliance, of course. You see,” he approached Sergey, “you need me, and I have need of you.”

Sergey replied. “Why would we help you, vermin?”

“Imagine the Harbinger’s headlines. ‘Sem’ya Bosses Killed in Police Sting; End of a Criminal Empire?’”

The silence was thick enough to cut through it with a knife. Finally, Sergey looked down at the floor. “What do you want?”

Starikov smiled, and snapped his fingers. The officers holding Sergey released him. The mobster immediately lunged at Starikov with murderous intensity, and the sound of a gunshot suddenly echoed in the room.

As Starikov inspected his smoking QSZ-92 pistol, the lifeless body of Sergey Vasilyevich fell to the ground. “I can only help you if you help me,” the minister addressed the rest of the room. “Should you resist…” he gestured towards Sergey’s body, and let his unfinished sentence hang in the air.

One of Sergey’s lieutenants, Leonid Lychnikoff, spoke up. “What do you need us for?”

Starikov smiled. “I want you to kill the General Secretary.”

2

Raspubirsk, Stratarin

Leonid Lychnikoff straightened his tie as he stepped into The Tiger’s Eye, generally acknowledged as the best restaurant this side of the Bolvani River. It was frequented by those in the know for an entirely different reason.

As he crossed the threshold, Leonid was immediately greeted by a too-polite server. “Hello, sir, and welcome to The Tiger’s Eye! If you’ll sit down right over there, I’ll get to you momentarily.”

“I hate sitting,” Leonid recited. “It always makes my legs fall asleep.”

Understanding dawned in the young man’s eyes at hearing the code-phrase. “Very good, sir. If you’ll follow me to the back room.”

“Gladly.”

As he walked through the restaurant, he took note of the various attire of people dining here. Strataric fashion was incredibly modest by modern standards, and it showed plainly. The men tended to wear long formal jackets and colorless ties, while the women wore fancy yet incredibly long dresses.

Lost in thought, the voice of the server snapped him out of it. “Sir?”

“Yes, of course,” he resumed his pace as he was led to the back room, and then through it to a locked door. The server produced keys and, after a moment of fiddling with them, unlocked and opened it, revealing a set of winding stairs in front of him. “Have a nice day, sir.”

“I believe I shall,” he replied, then strode down the stairs.

As he took in the more welcoming surroundings, Leonid was reminded of the legendary Carnillica of old, said to have journeyed back from Koshmar to the land of the living by way of a hidden staircase. And indeed, it felt like he had walked down into a completely different world than that of the restaurant.

The room was well-lit, making its furnishings and occupants easily visible. Nearest to him was a small bar with a well-stocked collection of various spirits and beverages shelved behind it. Stools were arranged in front of the counter, where several fellow Sem’ya gangsters drank greedily. Near the center of a room, and scantily clad young woman deftly maneuvered herself around a pole, enrapturing several well-dressed men. All around were dotted various people, standing or sitting, engaged in ‘business discussions,’ and in the back corner was several card-players, male and female, in various states of undress playing a game of Dakha.

It had taken a lot of work to get the restaurant permit for The Tiger’s Eye, involving a lot of paperwork and having to deal with various bureaucratic committees, not to mention the blow to the owner’s pride of the store technically being government owned.

But for this untouched illegal paradise, it was worth it.

After a cursory glance around, Leonid ignored almost all of them, instead selecting a man in a black trench coat leaning against a wall. “Vlad,” Leonid greeted him.

“Leo,” the man responded gruffly.

“Starikov is getting impatient.”

“To Koshmar with him.”

“We can agree on that,” Leonid reflected darkly. “All the same, we made a deal with him.”

“A deal with a the devil, you mean,” Vlad snapped back. “And look at you, a crime lord now because of it.”

“I made the deal so that Sem’ya could survive. What else can I do? Wait to be hunted down here, or relocate to our Jackboot operation?” Leonid scoffed. “I’m a Stratarian, and I’m going to stay in Stratarin.”

“I hear the Jackboots are having a bit more trouble stomping us out over there, though.” Vlad protested. “Mainly because they care about rights and all that, unlike Starikov over here.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That, and they don’t know quite how extensive our organization is.”

“True enough, Setznan law enforcement isn’t exactly efficient,” Leonid agreed. “But, call me crazy if you want, I have no mind to move from my Motherland.”

After a moment of silence, Vlad nodded.

“Plus,” Leonid pressed, “Starikov’s immediate goal isn’t incompatible with our own. We kill the General Secretary for him, we can take care of him next.”

“Or he takes care of us.”

“That’s the risk.”

“Why did you call me here today, Leo? Do you want me to bump old Drugov off?”

“Actually, yes.”

“It’ll cost you.”

Leonid led Vlad over to the bar and whistled. Instantly, the barkeep ducked behind the counter, came back up with a briefcase, and slid it over to the pair. Vlad opened it, blinked in disbelief, then his grin slowly grew from ear to ear.

“I take it you’re in, Vlad?” Leonid asked.

The assassin nodded. “The General Secretary’s a dead man.”

3

‘The Dulled Sickle,’ Raspubirsk, Stratarin, 05.16.17

Vladimir Zvyagin, better known as Vlad, sat in a lonely chair near the back of the room, lazily reading the latest issue of the Coyden Harbinger. His eyes flicked through the various headlines, searching for any of interest. One large, emboldened headline he spotted, ‘Commemorative Parade,’ immediately attracted his attention. Quickly reading through it, then rereading it, he smiled like a shark catching a whiff of blood

He had almost forgotten about the upcoming parade celebrating the Drugov’s rise to power, but it would be perfect. Not only would it be the anniversary of the historical assassination of Drugov’s predecessor, which was beautifully ironic, but it would also leave Drugov exposed and vulnerable.

Which was a dangerous condition to be in when you were the prey in another man’s hunt.

Vlad checked the article a third time, to make absolutely certain he had read it correctly. It was almost too fortunate, almost as if some great benevolent force had planned it (OOC: its name is Strat).

Taking one last swig of his Mirovgrad Mule, he paid the barkeep and quickly left. There were preparations to be made, and only two days to make them.

4

Coyden, Stratarin, 05.18.17

Vlad, carrying a large briefcase, smiled menacingly as he slipped into the massive throng. The General Secretary, perched grandly in an OT-91 battle tank, was utterly unaware of his nearing demise.

As Vlad carefully crept into a nearby housing overlooking the parade, he cursed. It seems that security had been increased, as there were several guards stationed inside the building. He ducked quickly behind a wall. It seemed that they hadn’t yet spotted him, luckily.

They’ll have to die the old fashioned way.

He set down the briefcase and slowly drew a tactical knife from a sheath strapped to his leg.

[hr]
The parade was a grand affair, to be sure. It displayed both military might and how beloved Drugov was by the people.

But STP Major Dragomirov was not here for entertainment. He was here to provide security.

A lieutenant leaned over to him and shared a quick joke. Dragomirov chuckled slightly, then examined the nearby buildings and pulled out his radio. “Unit one, status?”

“All quiet, sir.”

“Good.” He tapped a button on the radio. “Unit two, status?”

“All quiet, sir.”

“Good.” Inwardly, he sighed. This repetition would get old quickly. “Unit three, status?”

There was no reply.

Frowning, Dragomirov tried again. “Unit three, what is your status?”

Still nothing.

Dragomirov handed the radio to the nearby lieutenant. “You’re in charge until I return.”

The puzzled lieutenant opened his mouth to ask a question, but Dragomirov didn’t give him the time. He quickly ran to the building to which team three had been assigned. As he burst through the door, he quickly identified the three bodies lying bleeding on the floor, throats slit.

Drawing his sidearm, the major sprinted up the stairs. The General Secretary would not die on his watch.

Or would he?

[hr]
From his vantage point on the top floor, Vlad could clearly see the General Secretary, waving to the crowd, completely oblivious. He quickly popped open the briefcase, retrieved his rifle, and set to work quickly assembling it with the components in the case.

After doing so, he sighted in the rifle and took aim.

His finger slowly dropped to the trigger, and began to squeeze…

“FREEZE!” the yell came from immediately behind him, and he startled. The bullet went wild, but what it hit was the last of Vlad’s worries at the moment. He slowly started to raise his hands in surrender, then quickly dropped one hand to his holster and drew…

A gunshot echoed around the top floor of the building.

5

'The Dulled Sickle, Raspubirsk, Stratarin, 05.19.17

With a trembling hand, Leonid dealt the cards in front of him. He was playing a solo version of Dakha, but couldn’t quite concentrate on the game.

Having never worked under Mikhail Starikov before, Leonid didn’t know what response failure was met with. He had a hunch, though, that it was severe.

As he reshuffled the deck, an individual wearing a heavy trench coat and an expensive hat which was tilted to eclipse the stranger’s face sat down beside him. Leonid recognized his voice as soon as the man spoke.

“You failed me, Leonid.”

“Starikov,” the gangster replied, suddenly intent on his deck of cards. “I’m surprised you had the guts to come alone.”

“Not at all,” Starikov chuckled for a moment, which sent shivers down Leonid’s spine. “Several of the current customers in this… this hole-in-the-wall are my men. However, I am not here to discuss them. I am here to discuss you.”

Leonid made a mental note to check any customers who were newer with the barkeep, but fear dismissed these thoughts from his mind. “Ah, yes. M-me. Care for a drink?”

“No. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Your punishment has already been exacted, as I hit and wiped out a major operation of yours in Draelis earlier this morning.”

The crime lord felt his blood boil in anger. “You… you…”

“You were the one who failed to live up to our bargain.”

Leonid sighed, defeated. “And I suppose you want me to take another go?”

“Hardly,” Starikov scoffed. “You were the one who failed me in the first place. Why would I employ you to find me an assassin? No, your services are not currently required. If they are in the future, you will be contacted.”

Without another word, Starikov left, leaving Leonid alone.

6

Velikolepnyy Building, Coyden, Stratarin

It was perfectly planned.

At least, it was in the mind of Officer Sasha Orlov, one of Starikov’s more trusted lieutenants. Everything he had to do had been clearly and precisely laid out for him. All he had to do was follow the instructions to the letter.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door to the General Secretary’s office. It was a plain wooden door, but to Sasha it seemed particularly imposing at this moment. From inside, he heard a voice clearly say, “Come.” With a deep breath, the officer opened the door.

He looked around the room, noting potential exits, cameras, and numerous other details. Drugov himself was standing, a glass of Wodka in his hand.

“Officer… Orlov, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was told you had a report for my ears only?”

Sasha knew that there was no way that he would make it out of here without being implicated. And it disheartened him, especially at the thought of his fiancée. But inwardly, he steeled himself and declared, “First Deputy Premier Yuri Kustarnik sends his regards.” With the speed of a tiger, he whipped his service pistol from his holster and fired.

To his credit, Drugov had reacted in the moment it took for Sasha to draw, and the shot narrowly missed. As Sasha brought his gun to bear again, Drugov flung the liquid contents of his glass into the officer’s eyes. Stumbling backwards, Sasha blinked quickly and tried to recover. Through his blurred vision, he saw that Drugov had quickly moved behind his desk and was retrieving something, maybe a firearm, from a drawer. Despite his stinging eyes, Sasha made a valiant attempt to aim his weapon again.

The two fired their guns at the same time. Sasha’s bullet went wild, lodging itself in the wall nearest to its target.

Drugov’s did not.

As the lifeless body of Sasha Orlov collapsed to the ground, Drugov moved to his desk and, breathing heavily, picked up the phone there.

“Get me Demenok,” he panted. “Now.”

[hr]
Classified Location, Several Hours Later

“Are you certain you want me to interrogate him?”

“Absolutely,” Colonel Demenok told the as-yet-not-promoted Major Dragomirov, the two men walking down a long hallway. “You’re one of the best interrogators in the STP. If Kustarnik has anything to hide, you will be the one to uncover it.”

“He is a respected member of the government,” Dragomirov said. “Or was. Are the methods available to me limited?”

Demenok shook his head. “Do what you must, by order of the General Secretary.” They reached an unmarked door, and the colonel stopped. “He’s in there. Report to me once your interrogation is concluded.”

Dragomirov nodded, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Several hours later, he met with Demenok, baffled. “It appears that Kustarnik was innocent.”

“Innocent? He was clearly implicated!”

“The word of a murderer means nothing,” the major replied. “What is the more likely is that it was a ploy to shift blame from the actual mastermind.”

“Do you believe there even is a mastermind?” Demenok asked skeptically. “It could be the actions of one individual.”

“True, but this many attempts in only a handful of days isn’t common. I sense a conspiracy.”

“I see.” There was a thoughtful pause. “What exactly did you do to Kustarnik?”

“Nothing permanent,” Dragomirov said, with a slightly guilty tone of voice. “He may need medical care for several days, but he’s still alive and should be able to return to duty.”

Demenok sighed. “I will go make my report to Drugov. Oh, and Major, no giving any information out. Unlike the previous and very public attempt on Drugov, to the world, this never happened.”

“Of course, sir.” As Dragomirov began to walk away, he stopped and turned back. “Oh, do I have permission to launch my own investigation?”

“Starikov has already organized one,” Demenok stated dismissively.

The major coughed politely. “No one, not even the Procurator General, is above suspicion.”

There was a brief hesitation in Demenok’s eyes. “Permission denied, Dragomirov. You are dismissed.”

7

OOC: Strat gave me permission to post here
[hr]

Dear Mikhail Starikov

The Oan Center for Law at the University of Serenity City, sponsored by the Ulua Foundation Chaired by His Royal Highness, Prince Oaloana Ulua, has awarded you the Ese Ulua Award for Most Outstanding Officer of the Law in the 2017 Annual Law Awards.

His Serene Majesty, Ese Ulua, has the following personal remarks in light of your award.

— Begin quote from ____

Tilani Kuali, Lecturer at the La Rochelle School of Law, once said, “Justice fails when the officers assigned to enforce it and the people who impart them their authority, lose sight of the merit of justice and the rule of the law”. I have chosen to confer upon you this honour because I believe that you stand for these values.

The difficulty of the law is enforcing it impartially. When faced with the challenges of a nondemocratic government, the prevalence of mafia Semya and the attempted assassination of Viktor Drugov, you have shown remarkable leadership, and skill. I want the Centre of Law to work closely with the Stratarin law enforcement, to expand the discussion surrounding the law, its interpretation, application and enforcement to dynamic and diverse economic, political and social circumstances.

We would like to invite you to lecture at the Ese Ulua Law Lecture at the University of La Rochelle. I hope that we can maintain a strong relationship. As a leader in your own right, I hope that we can lead - together.

With respect
His Serene Majesty
Defender of the Oan Isles
Ese Ulua

— End quote

8

Zakon i Poryadok Building, Coyden, Stratarin, 05.28.17

The Zakon i Poryadok Building was a feat of Strataric architecture, and also acted as the major base of operations for all Strataric law enforcement. In this capacity, it acted as a home away from home for local Procurators, members of the STP, and other various officers.

And, of course, the Procurator General.

Starikov arose from his desk, barely glancing at it. It had neither the size nor splendor of the General Secretary’s.

Soon.

He pulled his coat off of its hanger, donned it quickly, and departed his office. As he did so, Colonel Demenok walked up to him. “Sir, what was your response to the Oan award?”

“I accepted the reward, which a representative has already been sent to retrieve, and politely declined to lecture.” He stated, his voice void of emotion. “Instead, I have received a… different offer that I must attend to. You will have to see to the final preparation of the plan.”

Demenok’s usually cool demeanor briefly revealed confusion. “What is this about?”

“Let’s just say that I need to look at the bigger picture.” His eyes seemed to bore into Demenok’s. “Trust me. This will be most profitable for us.”

“Yes sir,” the colonel replied, still unsatisfied.

“Fear not, Colonel. You will finally be rid of that pest of a partner, and my ascension will be even more complete before the next week draws to a close.”

At the thought of Dragomirov, Demenok’s lips curled into a smile. “Of course, sir. I look forward to it.”

Starikov smiled humorlessly and turned to leave, then stopped himself. “Oh, you are aware of the sizable Sem’ya brotherhood in Raspubirsk?” Demenok nodded, and the Procurator General continued. “It has outlived his usefulness. Do not leave any Sem’ya filth alive.”

Demenok nodded, and the two men parted ways.

9

Velikolepnyy Building, Coyden, Stratarin, 2339 hours, 05.29.17

Rurik, for all his previous doubts, had adjusted well to his temporary position. The government still ran smoothly, the necessary functions were still carried out, and he was miraculously not stressed.

All in all, it had been a good day.

A knock sounded from his office door. He called ‘Come!’ smiling slightly at the thought of how he generally heard that same call from the other side of the door.

Major Lenya Dragomirov stepped inside. “Sir, I was told you wanted to see me?”

Rurik frowned. “I made no such request.” Another knock came from the door, and the confused politician sighed. “Come!”

Dragomirov snapped a salute as he recognized Colonel Demenok. “Sir!” he said respectfully, as Rurik examined the colonel. He was in a combative stance as he walked into the office, and something seemed… off about him. Dragomirov noticed it too and asked, “Is everything alright, sir?”

“Just fine, Major.” Both of Demenok’s gloved hands reached inside his coat. “Just… fine!” He quickly drew two pistols and fired both.

Dragomirov was dead before he hit the ground. Rurik wasn’t so lucky as he slumped onto the floor, a spot of blood rapidly appearing on his previously unblemished uniform. “What…” he wheezed, then began coughing. After a moment, this fit subsided. “What… have you… done?”

“What is necessary, General Secretary. Or Chairman, or Minister. Though your title hardly matters now.” Demenok knelt to the floor near Dragomirov, lacing the deceased man’s fingers around the gun Demenok had used to shoot Rurik. He stood, meeting Rurik’s eyes. “You only have several seconds to live, by my estimation. I would shoot you again, but a second shot would look suspicious.”

“May you… burn in Koshmar…” With these words, life departed from Rurik Ivanovich Lukin.

Demenok’s lips curled into a smile as he walked over to the more recent corpse. After confirming its death, Demenok quickly ran out of the office, yelling, “Help! Lukin is dead! Help!”

He just hoped that Starikov’s men had indeed been manning and would edit the security feed tonight, as he had been assured.

[hr]
In matters of succession, the Strataric government is extraordinarily efficient. Indeed, to avoid anarchy and dissent, it had to be. Should the Premier and General Secretary (for they could be one and the same, such as in Viktor Drugov’s case) or substitute leader die, it passes temporarily to the highest ranking member of the government nearby, then to the official next-of-succession as soon as possible.

General Secretary and Premier Viktor Drugov was thousands of miles away. First Deputy Premier Yuri Kustarnik was hospitalized, and even if he survived, he would not be released for at least another week. Chairman of the Council of Ministers Rurik Lukin was recently deceased. Administrator of Affairs Isaak Kotov had mysteriously vanished.

How fortunate it was that Procurator General Mikhail Starikov had arrived at the Velikolepnyy Building to file a report at almost exactly the same moment that Demenok rushed from the General Secretary’s office.

10

(OOC: This ties into the ‘Oan News’ and ‘Embassy of the Militarized Communist State of Stratarin’ threads)

Zakon i Poryadok Building, Coyden, Stratarin, 06.13.17

Mikhail Starikov had thought that, due to his knowledge of how his predecessor operated, Fyodor Lyvov would be the ideal choice to replace the late Rurik Lukin.

It was one of the few mistakes the General Secretary had made thus far.

Lyvov had effectively added fuel to an Oan-made fire. Though Starikov doubted that the Isles would portray anyone at a high position in the Strataric government in a favorable light, this was a time for tact.

Of course, Lyvov had protested that he had only been defending the Motherland. Which, in a way, was true. The Oan Isles was clearly trying to turn Stratarin’s closest allies against it, frequently referencing Setzna in its news service and a missive sent to the SEPC SC. And, in the case of Tretrid enacting sanctions, the Oan propaganda machine had at least one victory. A small one, for in Starikov’s mind the government of Tretrid was not difficult to manipulate, but a victory nonetheless.

But there was defending the Motherland, and there was fighting fire with gasoline. And in attempting to do the former, Lyvov accomplished the latter.

Starikov took the necessary course of action, and planned for the removal of the soon-to-be ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs when the word was given. Thanks to the Oan Isles, there already was a simple alibi: marital strife caused him to step down. Of course, a replacement needed to be found before any such action was taken.

There were precious few whom Starikov would trust with such a role, and even fewer who would smooth the tensions between Stratarin and the world.

And as a light rain pattered against the windows of his office, the General Secretary grew more and more frustrated.

The hours of the day soon began to wane, and Starikov found himself combing through older issues of the Coyden Harbinger. As he scanned over every visible detail, an article dated May 13, 2017 caught his eye. Re-reading it several times, he pressed a button on his desk.

“Please email me any available files on the Domoy Foksa uprising in May.”

“Yes, sir,” a female voice replied. Within minutes, the email arrived at its destination.

Despite it being a relatively minor uprising, the information contained was apparently top secret. What was Drugov hiding?

As he read the largest file slowly, then reread it, Starikov mouth formed a hunter’s smile. This was perfect. Not only would a psychological blow be dealt to an old enemy, but perhaps the presence of a familiar surname would relax the currently aggravated foreign powers.

[hr]
One hour later, Yekatarina Drugova was brought into the General Secretary’s office.

11

(OOC: I wasn’t really sure where else to put this. Although this doesn’t even technically feature Starikov, I do believe it can be assumed who masterminded this)

Coyden Senate, Coyden, Stratarin, 1600 hours, 10.6.17

Several hours later, and Anatoly Baryshnikov couldn’t believe it.

After a decree by a completely unified Supreme Council, with the backing of Central Committee, he was no longer the Chairman of the Council of Ministers.

Or the Minister of Defense, for that matter.

It had been declared that he would now act in the humiliating role as the Deputy Minister to whomever was to replace his position as Minister of Defense. Although who exactly that would be hadn’t yet been revealed to him, he had already been informed that the new Chairman would be Sviatoslav Alexandrov: Minister of Defense Industry and avowed Party Member.

As he sat down in what was soon-to-be no longer his chair and had a glass of Wodka, he contemplated how… quick it all had been. It had taken so little time for the Supreme Council to be organized and revoke his position.

The government never moves quickly unless it’s against me, he thought grimly, taking another swig of the alcohol. Glancing down at his glass, he sighed. “I’d better stop now,” he thought aloud, setting it on a nearby table.

The intercom on the desk that was formerly his buzzed. “Mr. Baryshnikov, the new Minister of Defense will be right up.”

Muttering his thanks, Anatoly moved away from the desk and stood up straight and respectfully.

Into the room stepped Pyotr Dementyev, wearing his general uniform and a triumphant grin. “Hello, Anatoly,” he chuckled, then looked around the room. “Nice office I’ve got here.”