Arknights story · People, A People
PA-8 A Thousand Years Later
On the eve of the battle, Antosha tells Ukusik his story and entrusts the letters to her. After Ukusik falls asleep, Matvey leaves her to Sonya. Pavlovich receives some special 'help'.
2 scenes, 485 lines
1. Before Operation
231 linesNo, can't write that.
'Cleanse the gray streets with snow water'? 'Bring a wet pack of smokes'? No, that's not right either!
By the pale moonlight he gazes upon the heavily-marked draft, lamenting his lack of inspiration. This poem was worse than his fellow student's sleep-talking on the bunk next to him.
The Unbound camp is eerily quiet after the fire, the winter wind like a blunt knife cutting upon the young people's faces.
The ones that still have strength left whisper to each other, wrapping themselves in moldy jackets, looking like mounds of dirt under the dark night, occasionally laughing softly.
...Give every star a name to remember.
Give those who want to forget a cup of cheap spirits.
Give me...
Give me a one-way ticket to spring...
Let me live in the wind that blows upon the tundra.
Boo—
?!
You again... I swear, one of these days, I'll be immune to your pranks.
You're writing those stupid poems again, Yura.
They are not stupid poems! I put my heart and soul in them. Besides, you can't even read them.
Don't want to. People who can read, people like you, always have such sullen looks on your faces.
Matvey's taught me how to read addresses. At the end of the day, whatever you guys are writing, I'm the one who has to deliver it for you.
Say it, Yura. Which girl am I delivering to this time?
Ouch—
This is for you, little brat!
You hit me! I'm taking this away so that you don't get to write it!
Come on, it's just a roll of paper, it can't have hurt all that much... but you can have it, if you want.
This time... I'm writing for everyone. Including you.
You're so weird... I'll put it in my bag, then.
Never mind that, Ukusik.
You should talk to Antosha. I think he has a lot of letters there.
Doesn't he eat and spend the nights with you guys? Why don't I see him around?
Who knows? He's in there. Ask him for me.
And pull that jacket tighter. He'll yell at us if you catch a cold.
That's because we are the ones he yells at, little brat...
I'm here, Antosha.
No need to be so loud every time, Ukusik.
Yura said you've got letters to give to me. Where?
Yes. There's quite a lot.
He goes to the corner and picks up a thick stack of letters.
Oh, bother... lemme see.
This one's for No. 34 Odoyev Old Street? The second is No. 15 Zheleznaya Left Bank Street, the third one to the spice market...
Wait, did you write all these letters, Antosha? What are these places?
No. 34 Odoyev Old Street is Yura's home, then Lev's and Vissarion's...
I wrote one for everyone. We'll see how many you'll need to deliver after we take that magistrate down.
If any fall tomorrow... I don't want their families to learn about them from casualty reports.
When did you memorize all this?
When someone entrusts their life to me, I must know where it comes from... I can never forget it.
You remember how I asked where you came from?
You just didn't expect me to be an orphan with no name.
......
Hey, what's that look on your face?
I've never been as depressed as you look, and I'm the one who had no parents and no name. Besides, I saved you a piece of paper.
Say, are you and Matvey's letters in this pile too?
Mine, perhaps, but certainly not his.
Matvey?
We usually meet before we do something big.
Do you have beer?
Last two bottles. Someone stuffed them under a pile of rotten vegetables, but List sniffed them out while we were preparing equipment.
...Give me one.
Can I try? I'm thirsty—
How old do you think you are? Forget it.
Zhopa!
Matvey pats her on the head, then sits beside Antosha and gives him a bottle.
Why did you say Antosha won't write home?
Why does he have me deliver letters if he thinks he won't die? Is he scared?
Hah, of course not...
He hasn't had any contact with his family for a long time.
Antosha?
It's alright. All in the past now.
The subject of Antosha came up in a conversation with someone else, not long after we met.
I accidentally called him Anton Shestov, which he happened to overhear. He was in a sullen mood for a month afterwards.
Anton Shestov? Sounds like some important noble.
I abandoned the name and the one who gave it to me before I went to university.
I expect they're more relieved to be rid of a troublemaking traitor than saddened by the loss of a son.
My grandfather killed the landlord who oppressed him and returned home a count.
He was the 'hero' that I wanted to grow up to be, so I imitated the stories, ate and lived with the serfs, and made friends with all the peasant servants.
I didn't care that my family didn't think it was proper. I thought that at least my grandfather would understand.
Until I grew older and wiser...
When an old serf accidentally knocked him over, my grandfather forced the man to strangle the pet musbeast he had raised for years with his own hands, right in front of us.
Antosha, you don't have to talk about this—
Still, I continued to fantasize... until that night when my grandfather held a great feast to celebrate my acceptance into a Grypherburg university.
A maid around the same age as me sneaked into the kitchen and took some food, hoping to give her mother and brother a treat.
The police wanted to take her, but my grandfather stopped them.
He said with a laugh, 'Today is a good day. I want everyone to be happy for my grandson's glory.'
......
A couple of days later, I saw a body by the side of the road as I was traveling to Grypherburg. There were bloody whip marks all over her.
The butler told me that the police would only keep her in jail for a few days. Only the noble right of corporal punishment could 'teach her a real lesson'.
But it was I who learned the lesson. I see the flies crawling over her eyelashes whenever I close my eyes.
That was when I learned that oppression will persist as long as the nobility does, as long as the only outcome of any struggle is to turn different people into nobles.
......
Tomorrow, by tomorrow, I—
She slurs the last few words and passes out on Matvey's shoulder.
With a start, Antosha snatches the bottle from Ukusik's arms. It is completely empty.
Ukusik—and I was wondering how you learned to comfort a man like that.
You stole my booze... why didn't you watch her, Matvey?
For the better, I suppose... don't wake her. I was just thinking about how to get her to leave.
It's time to take her away.
But you know that where we're going...
Heh...
I'll help.
So... did you write a letter for me too?
There's no need. I trust you.
......
I had Ukusik take a letter to my mother a little while back, when she could still get out through the hole.
What did you write?
'We'll be out of this place and back in the city in ten days, at most.'
It's time to go, my friend.
......
Remember to come back.
Matvey closes his eyes and nods.
Good night, Matvey...
See you at dawn.
How long is it gonna take, Rosalind? You've been fiddling with that all night.
It's a guitar, not some rag doll.
You dug this out of the trash heap without a single working peg. No way to fix this fast.
Well, tomorrow's the big day. We'll take all the notes you can give us.
Hmph... give me the clamps.
...Have you checked everything?
Yes. The building is structurally sound. The wounded will be safe there.
Good. Talk to Mykola and double-check the assignments on both sides of the street.
No mistakes, you understand?
Yes, ma'am!
...Bad timing, Sonya?
Thanks, but we're fine.
The way Antosha was talking back there... he wouldn't come to you even if he was starving to death, that stubborn hard-head.
I came because of her.
He turns sideways and shows the snoring girl behind him.
She smells of...
She got into the beer while we weren't looking.
I want to give her to you. Given the manpower and battle plans, she'll be safer with your group.
Phew...
Thank you. I mean it.
I was afraid that after your argument...
He may be ice cold... but we have to admit you are all great warriors.
...Antosha used to be more passionate.
He was a strange one from the day I met him. He had the demeanor of a great noble, but he kept pestering our teacher about where he could pick up odd jobs.
He assisted the professor in writing essays that criticized aristocratic politics. The council at the time did not punish them; they even promoted the professor to school inspector.
That day, Antosha took my hands and said there was hope for Ursus at least. People will no longer suffer, and we will all be free.
We planted a cherry tree in the school garden to celebrate the occasion.
Until our newspaper was shut down, and the professor died for us...
You...
We were expelled. The professor shouldered most of the responsibility in exchange for an 'amnesty' towards us.
The night before we left school, Antosha sat in front of the cherry tree, stroking its leafless branches. He sat there all night.
......
I should find Rosalind. Thank you again.
No, I made a promise tonight.
...Or long before that, perhaps.
Did it work?
Yay! I knew you were a genius, Rosalind!
NOW you try to sweet-talk me. How about you spend that time thinking what you want to hear?
Okay... 'On the Old River'? Or some Leithanian song...
Hmph, I'm not playing that soft sentimental stuff.
How about I improvise a few chords, and you guys sing something that fits the scene?
Isn't that a bit hard?
What did you take all those literature courses for? Start thinking about the lyrics, because here I go.
One, two, three...
......
Step over cobwebs of iron♪
Strip the night's hard shell♪
Come, brothers and sisters♪
The spring sprout will break through the frozen soil♪
Instead of waiting for a false dawn in the snow♪
Still no news?
How much time do you think has already passed?!
We've secured the sentry turrets on the two roads, but—
Was I asking about the turrets? I'm talking about reinforcements and supplies!
What about the crossbows that Daniila Treplev promised me? What about the artillery? The tanks? The armies?
I sent him a thousand letters, and he hasn't written a single word back!
Please, calm down, sir. The few of us here are well-equipped with crossbows and emergency catapult systems. We can assure your safety.
'Calm down'? 'The few of us'?
Are you telling me that I hired you so that I can pay your wages? You think they'll just let me go if I run away? How's that any different from being dead?
If you want your money, 'captain', you'd better do your jobs and kill those troublemakers!
But you only had the budget for the few of us, some of whom you sent to help Gromov, while there are hundreds of them—
I don't need you to tell me! I can hear them singing through my window!
They're singing my elegy!
...Who are you?
Good evening, magistrate. I am Captain Chicherin.
You must have plenty of supplies here, to turn the heat up so high that you are sweating so much.
You... no, no. You bring help from Duke Treplev? Please, take a seat.
No, His Grace is no longer interested in Katorga Raion.
Why?!
It is not my place to guess at His Grace's intentions.
However, while he did not send me, it is true that I am here to support you.
Yes... I knew the empire would reward my loyalty for my service in Katorga.
How many men do you have? How many heavy weapons? You can set them up at once. Put a cannon in this room, for all I care!
I'm afraid you misunderstood.
I do not have men. My superior assigned me thirty guards, and no heavy weapons.
What?!
However, he has prepared this for you.
The officer takes out a black, palm-sized box and hands it to Pavlovich.
It is an encrypted military terminal connected directly to an artillery position outside the city.
If you are truly desperate... press the red button, and we will provide 'suitable' firepower coverage.
What do you mean by 'suitable'? I want to level the whole district.
That would be impossible. Every shell has a cost, and every block is an asset, even in Katorga Raion.
What about Originium bolts? Explosives? Surely you could carry those?
All here.
Only then does Pavlovich notice that the officer is carrying two small briefcases.
This is to avoid the weapons falling into the hands of the rioters. After all, the supplies that were given to you have been taken by the students. We can only risk so much.
I... I did your dirty work, and you people just...
Your sponsors have shown plenty of good will by putting thirty elite men at your disposal.
Besides, I believe you underestimate the 'weapon' in your hands. Press it, and Ursus will bestow upon you the supreme 'glory'...
The magistrate ponders the meaning of these words as he clutches the cold communicator in his sweaty palm.
Yes... I cannot abandon hope... they will help me, I can beat that rabble...
Guards!
You called, sir?
How many of you are still combat-ready?
Three to four hundred, I think?
As long as it's more than the other side. Get them warmed up. I'll give them their revenge for Gromov!
Aye, sir!
You, plant explosives at the door. If they dare to come in, we'll all go and see Igor Velikiy together!
Uh...
As for you, Captain, I need you to deal with the Unbound.
Do not underestimate them. I've been fighting them for two months. They are few in number, but they are experienced.
More importantly, they kill any nobles they see on sight... harbor no fantasies about them. The council would not want to let them out.
Yes.
If my ears do not deceive me... someone is coming.
...Let's go.
It's time to teach these brats a lesson.
2. After Operation
254 linesForward! Tear them to pieces!
No conserving ammo! Everyone gets a bonus when we win!
Fire!
This will do a number, even on these nutjobs! Pin them behind their cover!
Instructor! Time to pull back!
Take the wounded! I'll cover you!
They can't take any more! Focus fire on that Vulpo with the shield!
Svolach! How dare you use the boss's stash against us!
Avenge Gromov!
The calls for vengeance swell like waves, as thugs rush forward like the tide...
Rosalind can't hold out much longer! We have to help!
Stay hidden. She'll be fine. Everything is going according to plan.
But they have more firepower than we thought. If they got supplies from outside, we—
Calm down... believe in your comrades.
I've served under the greatest tactician across all the lands. We will get out of here.
...Yes, ma'am!
Zima takes a deep breath as the tide approaches, following in hot pursuit of Rosalind's group.
Dur-nar puts up only symbolic resistance before turning and running away. Behind them, the thugs pursue like hungry manglerbeasts, squeezing into the narrow alley barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other.
They do not notice the viscous liquid beneath their feet, nor the unnaturally shut windows above their heads.
The brats are afraid! After them!
Ready, on my mark.
At the end of the alley, Dur-nar suddenly stops her fleeing steps.
She does not look back, only turning sideways and knocking her shield on the ground with a 'thump'.
Group One, Group Two, go!
The windows open at the same time, dropping burning torches and explosives onto the thugs with impressive precision.
Flames climb their flimsy clothing, and the alley is suddenly filled with screams of terror.
Countless figures emerge from the shadows, from underneath the shattered windows, from behind the overflowing trash cans.
Wielding pipes, spanners, and assorted weapons confiscated from Gromov's stash, they charge at their former oppressors with a roar.
Some wear school uniforms of various degrees of refinement, others wear old cotton coats, but all are wearing the same 'uniform' now.
On all their chests, painted in oil pigment, is a prominent symbol—a clenched fist, once raised simply to survive, now tightened to break its chains.
Ura—
Angry fists meet the thugs attempting to flee the siege in the alley.
One by one, the erstwhile jailers fall to the angry prisoners they have berated and persecuted.
Zima walks over the weapons on the ground to the head of the formation, gazing at the fleeing backs of their foes.
Medics, care for the wounded. The rest of you, we push forward.
Instructor, Rosalind, take some time to catch your breath.
I'm fine, Sonya! Let me—
Zima walks towards her with a smile that permits no question or doubt. She extends her fist.
After a moment of hesitation, Leto nods and lifts her right hand, knocking it firmly against the offered fist.
(Whispers) Good work, General Leto. See you later.
......
Sonya, they're pulling back to their lines and firing.
Take cover and assess their firepower.
Yes, ma'am.
They have reserves, General! Our right flank is pinned down!
I'm going back out there once the bleeding is stanched, and I won't let anybody stop me.
Don't force it, Leto.
Shh! Don't let Zima hear you, it'll distract her.
I wanted to help, so I asked Lyudmila to bring me along.
She even got some people to help us out.
Lyudmila? She's here too?
A group appeared ahead.
It is as though they just crawled out from underground; few in number, they nevertheless charge at the thugs on the right flank without hesitation, and soon their greasy clothes are stained with blood.
You're mine, svolotsch!
Ura—
We are not the only ones fighting against Pavlovich and oppression...
Explosion? From behind enemy lines... must be the Unbound.
Antosha and his comrades are bleeding! Forward, friends!
The boys can't hold them! We need to fall back!
Shit, shit, shit! That's their 'support'? A few shots and a fart?
Hui! Ten days ago those nobles were fighting each other to kiss my boots! How did it come to this?
It's time to go, magistrate!
We'll be taken prisoner if we stay!
Set a fire and go up the walls.
The duke, no, Ursus will save me. I must fight to the bitter end.
I will take these zasranets down with me, if I have to!
I made a round. It looks like the rest of them have retreated up the wall.
I'm back, Sonya! We've brought the explosives from behind. This is the right occasion for it.
But the walls are tough, and we need to put out the fire and collect the explosives that they didn't remove.
It'll take a lot of time...
We'll put out the fire first, then worry about the rest. Watch me—
...Sonya?
Hah.... hah....
Wh-Why don't you come in?
Sir... I understand your resolve.
But the walls are tough, and they haven't gained entry.
Can you put down the match? At least don't point it at the fuse—
Never!
...What about the people that Captain brought?
They seem to be struggling. We have not heard from them.
Sir, we cannot wait any longer! Hit that comm button and call in fire support!
No! What do you know?! I... I can't end up like that. I'd rather—
What's this sound? What are they doing?
Where are you going, Sonya? Come back!
That's where the statue of Igor is, but the fire hasn't—
The swing of the massive hamaxe shatters the ground, sending burning grease and debris flying with the shockwave, and brutally ejecting the air itself from the area.
Denied oxygen, the flames are stemmed for a moment, before being quenched by the stirring dust.
I see...
She steps forward and puts her boot on the ash where flames had burned a moment ago.
One strike, two strikes... sparks fall upon her hair and shoulders, as she continues to slam the burning earth, as though trying to forge a path where none existed.
Maybe toppling the statue in the direction of the wall will bash the gate open...
People start to gather behind her, following her to the end of this flame-forged path—
The statue of Igor Velikiy stands next to the gate of the quarantine zone, gazing down at the last corner of Grypherburg, and at the bearer of the hamaxe.
The young leader walks toward the thousand-year-old giant, whose stony head wears a golden crown of sunlight, the emperor admiring the centuries of creation and suffering that he began.
She clutches her hamaxe. Every breath she takes seems to be the roaring furnace...
Hrrah—
She raises her arm, for the voices trapped in her throat, and a gushing crack appears in the marble pedestal.
......
Follow Sonya!
Smash it, topple it! Grypherburg lies before us!
Here I come!
She brings the hamaxe down again, for those dreams frozen in the winter night. Cobweb-like cracks spread through the empire's foundation, and the illusion of grandeur begins to wail.
Look at the cracks! It's buckling!
Don't just stand there, Fedya! Give us a hand!
......
He peers up at the statue, once awe-inspiring, now trembling and teetering, his heart trembling along with the sound of every hit.
He cannot help but put his hand on the statue too. He hears the cries of young people all around him, feels the warmth of their shoulders rubbing against his.
Ura—
......
Magistrate!
Gosudar-batyushka—
Igor's pieces come thundering down on his head as he mutters his last words.
The dust has yet to settle. A bright ray of light shines in.
Someone's running! More Sixteen Warriors ahead!
Get them! Make them pay for their crimes!
For Ursus!
Igor's sword falls upon the wall, the authority wrought from stone shattered to pieces.
Igor's fist smashes the shackles. One figure climbs over the ruins, then a dozen, a hundred...
Zima's speech last night echoes in their minds.
...They told us to be ordinary.
Did they tell you that you would have bread and butter if you cut out your tongue?
Did they tell you that you would have a pardon if you shattered your kneecaps?
Did they tell you to polish your plaques and medals with your comrades' blood?
How easy it would be to enter the dustbin of history, the trampled weeds that feed the soil...
But no, we say.
We chose kindness and honesty. We chose to brave the storm and suffering, because we are protecting ourselves, protecting everyone who deserves a future.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more—
For all the children of Ursus who will not kneel!
The red sweeps the earth like lava breaking through a dam.
The Ursine students burst forth from the pale, frozen soil.
I, I was the only one who made it out alive. Everyone else—
(Sobs)
That's the fourth one to describe the battle... why do they all sound the same?
Don't expect too much of Pavlovich's thugs. I think the captain's soldiers will be more useful.
Keep your emotions in check, sir. The committee needs more details.
Captain Chicherin has... fallen honorably. However, you say you are aware of the Captain's exploits in battle?
Yes.
They, they killed almost all of the traitors, but most of them died in the explosion and the collapse—
...Police, remove the child from the room.
We've done an inventory check, General. We need to leave soon.
...How many casualties this time?
Medic team's still counting... not everyone made it.
......
Sonya. Rosalind.
We ran into a company of Ursus Guards while assaulting their rear.
Take this and press it against your chest. You'll be fine.
Mm...
Is it so late already, Matvey... it's dark...
The cold winter wind blows past, freezing the mud on her young face.
Yeah.
They're well-equipped. We can't keep this up. Antosha—
Antosha! Come back!
Antosha charges forward, an Originium bomb in his arms. A bolt whistles past, and his left leg buckles, causing him to fall in the mud.
Almost—
Footsteps approach like the beating of drums. Before he can react, a firm hand has snatched the Originium bomb from him.
Remember, Antosha?
I'm the nimblest amongst us.
!
Raise your weapons, svoloch! You will not kill freedom—
The Unbounded defeated them all...
Then, Matvey—
......
No... no...
......
We're alive because of him. Because of all of you...
I'll find him and the others before we leave and say a proper goodbye, Antosha. I—
No. Say no more.
There is one more thing that you must do.
You must defeat me.
What?!
You killed Pavlovich in order to walk out those gates.
Because you knew he was guilty, the persecutor of all who dwelled within Katorga...
Then why didn't you see the crimes of Pavalo, the crimes of the Ursine nobility?
People like him, the nobles who are even worse, and this 'Emperor' Fyodor, all throw their weight about in this miserable hole.
They watch as common folk bleed... they live off the rot, not a worry on their minds.
Think about our magistrate beneath the rubble. His pathetic life finally gave back to the oppressed at the moment of his death.
Their destruction brings the answer I seek, the total destruction of Ursus.
You're judging everybody, justifying execution by their status.
Wrecking things is just a means to an end. Sometimes it can be useful, but it's pointless if it doesn't unite people.
This again, this talk of flexibility, of taking stock of the situation...
Today, you leave them, their corrupt thoughts and methods to linger. Tomorrow, their 'better life' will claim your friends, and your successors.
And you think death and destruction can get rid of the corrupt thoughts, and wipe out all injustice overnight?
For the sake of a prophecy that hasn't even come to pass, we're not to unite and protect ourselves, but instead send our pure hearts to face the guns and warships of Ursus?
Enough talk, Sonya.
Since when did you pick up lecturing... we shall fight.
You're hurt really bad.
Pave the path to your new order with my dead body.
No.
Do you really think this is how you make your dreams come true...?
Or do you just want a poetic death because you saw your friends die?
......
I know how hard it is to be the only one left... but Antosha—
You're always talking up the value of destruction. You think that if I kill you, it will lay the foundation for some kind of future.
And I'm not about to go along with that stupid idea. Taking a life doesn't add anything to a dream.
I have to go find my comrades...
Wait, Sonya, don't go—
No!
Don't hurt them any more...
Enough is enough.
Your dreams, and maybe even you yourself...
It's all the meaning of their sacrifice.
......
That taste of rusty iron again. It is the second time that he has tasted such regret today.
Ukusik...
You don't know yet...
......
Do you still have the letters?
Your Majesty! Your Imperial Majesty!
You must have suffered such a fright! We summoned the Imperial Guard as soon as we heard—
Really? To do what?
To purge the traitors, of course!
Traitors, you say. Which traitors?
You mean...?
Your Imperial Majesty!
Witte?
We can discuss at the palace.
A car is waiting for Your Majesty.
Fyodor can see the red velvet in the black car parked a short distance away, even seems to smell the familiar aroma.
He pauses, then keeps walking.
Tell me, Witte.
Is that fire the culmination of all that we achieved over the last twenty years?
How did it come to this...?
......
Chairman, we can't let the people see His Imperial Majesty like this!
Let him go.
It is his wish...
Fyodor has lived in this city for decades. Now, for the first time, he walks its streets on his own two feet.
The snow falls upon him, equally cold in the ruins as it is in the palace.