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I know I've not been here in ages now but sh.it sons I'm like 21 today :O

“Have you been here long, then?” Lenin asked Goran.
“Months. I’ve heard so much, the amount of help I’d be to the government is unreal.”
“Saying escape and achieving it are two distinct matters...” Lenin said, rolling his eyes in the darkness, “and they must be recording us.”
     “Then we shall have to communicate via other means...” Goran muttered. Close your eyes a moment, and try not to think.”
“What are you going to do...?” Lenin asked in a low murmur of suspicion.
“Just to let you know...” Goran said,
     Lenin felt himself tilting backwards. Before he could say or do anything, much less let out the cry of panic that had frozen in his throat, he found himself in a different room, or at least, his eyes seemed to be seeing a different room. Somewhere in the back of his head, he felt a restraining pressure, the cold press of the chair against his legs.
      He turned his gaze to the room itself. It was Romanova’s office, the sun was just setting through the large window that formed the right wall. Romanova sat behind her desk, leaning back in a great leather chair. A few men were ranged in front of her, some in military uniform, some in suits. Lenin recognised a few. With a flash of anger, he recognised his intelligence chief, Felix, sat on a bench to the side of the room, his second-in-command, Gratya taking down notes. The defence minister, Vasili Zuganov stood in front of Romanova’s desk.
      “I have brought you here in order to discuss the present situation,” Romanova began, getting up from her chair in order to walk around, “You have all in some way... expressed a certain... ah... displeasure...” Romanova’s tone grew harsher as she settled on the word, and a deep frown, the same that she’d blasted Lenin with during their meeting established itself on her brow, “...with the current regime...”
      The assembled people looked around, trying to get some confirmation from the others. Romanova stood to attention, and tilted her head upwards, keeping her eyes on her audience.
     “You all have. And, I’ve contacted you with the purpose of bringing you here today.”
The audience looked shiftily about, all save for Felix, who fixed Romanova with a glare.
“My intelligence-gathering minions have done their work well, then...” Romanova said with an unsettling grin.
      Vasili Zuganov spoke up.
“What do you intend on doing?” he asked.
“Well, that remains to be seen to. Obviously, I don’t want to tie myself down to anything that isn’t concrete. Speaking as a soldier, the success of an operation comes entirely from the strength of its participants. I know you are all fed up of Premier Lenin and his mad policies.”
     “He’s driving us into the ground, that’s for sure,” a man, a Major-General barked.
“Too much taxes, too much borrowing, too much... Commissars!” someone else agreed.
“He won’t let us set up a proper surveillance system,” Felix said, his quiet voice somehow overruling the shouting and blustering. Lenin felt his fists tighten.
“Too many western Europeans!” Zuganov offered.
    “Well, that can change,” Romanova promised, “to my agents, you all seem genuine – and believe me, they’ve done their work – so I’d like to propose a solution to our red problem.”
      She snapped her fingers, and two soldiers heaved a heavy holographic generator to the centre of the room. They put it down, and opened it. Romanova flicked a switch, and the large window instantly dimmed, somehow filtering out the light until it became opaque. The room was dark, until the holographic generator hummed itself to life.
       It showed the SSR. All over, strategic locations were marked. Romanova began to outline her plan, and the map changed as she did so. The red SSR seemed to bleed a midnight blue as blotches emerged, and began to spread. Soon, the map was reduced to a mere few pinpricks of red where loyalists battled fiercely. Then, Romanova revealed the last detail of her plan.
      “The Red Marines and the Commissars will have to be exterminated. Every last one of them.”
     And with that, the red withered and died.
The hologram flickered, and morphed into a slowly-rotating hammer and sickle. Romanova titled her head slightly.
     “And so, the SSR will be no more. We will declare the Fourth Russian Republic.”
The hammer and sickle smashed into a thousand pieces, replaced by the old tricolour, the Roman numerals IV stamped onto the centre.
      The hologram faded, and the window once more became transparent, showing the last traces of orange flitting over the snow-capped mountains. The sky above was dark.
     “Why kill the Marines and Commissars?” Felix asked. Romanova turned to look at him, fixing him with an icy glare.
      “They won’t surrender. Ever. They’ll keep on fighting, one group through its physical strength, and the other through emotional dedication. Commissars and Marines would form a beacon for the old government and any resistance to the coup, so they must be dealt with.”
   Felix nodded, the dawning of comprehension on his brow seemed almost inflated, giving the impression of sarcasm. He proceeded to scribble something in his notepad, before handing the pencil to Gratya, who’d tapped his shoulder.
    “Does anyone have any objections...?” Romanova asked. She cast her glances over the room, almost daring anyone to speak out. But no, she had done her work well. Everyone in the room seemed angry enough, or to Lenin, short-sighted enough, to back her coup. He wondered what would have happened if someone had refused. Taken round the back and shot, probably, the bitter thought came to him. He wondered what the hell Felix’s game was. Lenin knew he was a manipulative fellow, but had always taken him to be loyal to the Revolution, certainly seeing as the Revolution had grown around Felix in its early days.
        “Then we are in agreement,” Romanova said, a sickly smile smearing itself over her face again. Lenin shuddered in revulsion.
       The room seemed to wobble, and Lenin felt a wave of queasiness, until the room re-established itself, the plush interior of Romanova’s office deteriorating into the dark and reek of the basement prison.
         “Well... that was interesting...” Lenin concluded. Goran hummed an agreement.

Quote from: LostExperiment on November 16, 2012, 11:32:33 pm

That is a Tina Branford from FFVI costume~ DAMN RIGHT NICOLE!

nope. it's Terra Branford.

welp, that meets my quota of being snarky for the day! man, Cynthia looks classy.