37Shorts of The Metro
A/N:Hiya, guys. This is Anime Borat and I've got a new chap of Shorts, last time it was updated was from 21st of September 2018. Now, Exodus is released and Metro went open-world (well, semi-linear open world) and it has the most ambitious story for the series to date. This has done better than many triple-A Western titles lately. Now, I was given a set of ideas by Amachar928, one of the them being Baldi's Basics in Education and Learning, yet another example of indie games besting mainstream titles. The premise stated for Red Line chairman Moskvin to be given a starring role. Plus an old comrade would reappear again.
Sorry I cannot continue another OC-centric chapter yet. Ever since watching SMG4's If Mario was in... Baldi's Basics and OnyxKing's SM64: Mario's Basics (A Baldi's Basics Video), it was just too good an idea to pass up. Just recently, I encountered new material that I added to the story. With COVID-19 bottling up everyone indoors and putting the world in a straight jacket, I thought I'd give a nice cheer for everyone. Stay safe, my friends, and keep happy. And I apologize in advance for anyone who gets piqued by some of the humor used.
Disclaimer: Metro 2033 is the property of Dmitry Glukhovsky and 4A Games. Everything else not mine belongs to their respective owners as well. No copyright infringement intended. Any appearances of real people in said fic are entirely fictional.
Chapter 19: No Russian In the Tunnels:
Comrade Baldi's Basics in Socialist Learnings to Make Benefit Glorious Metro
General Secretary Moskvin was conferring with his officials on the situation of the Red Line and to a great extent, the Metro. The new gulag inmates were being sorted out, he was told, which he approved. The Red Line just raided a Reich outpost and captured a senior Reich officer, very good, he approved. Off for interrogation. The Rangers have made D6 their central headquarters, very bad. Beyond bad, it's horrible! It is an affront to Socialism.
"The Rangers of Sparta are offering some medical aid-" droned an aide "-to relieve any emergency health situations across the Metro-"
With a growl, his first suddenly crashed on the table. "This is an outrage!" It stunned everyone into silence.
"C-comrade Chairman?" one of his apparatchiki present asked hesitantly.
"All the supplies at D6 belong to the entire Metro!" Moskvin grunted. "Not just to some self-proclaimed reactionary knightly order! Who do they think they are!?"
"B-b-but comrade," stuttered his finance/munitions minister, "t-the Rangers of the Order are granted authority from Polis and have the support of most of the Metro."
"Those Polis cowards deputized mercenaries because they're unable to do it themselves," he grunted brusquely, "with their pretensious do-gooder mentally, those intellectual idlers have kept themselves knowledge that will serve the Metro and everyone work for them! They oughtta be shot."
"Excuse me, Comrade Chairman," General Korbut spoke up politely. "The Polis 'cowards' have every right to be concerned with keeping that knowledge intact in their heads. It would simply be counter-productive to shoot or starve it all out, don't you think?"
Moskvin gave a hard look at the neutral-looking Korbut. Of all of his subordinates, only the general displayed backbone and had no qualms about ruffling feathers. The fact he commanded the Red Line's army made sure of that.
He began gruffly, "Comrade General, Polis uses its accumulated knowledge to exploit and manipulate the Metro to its liking, just as the fascists seek to dominate it, and Hansa profits from the chaos and misery of the underground. The Order thugs-" he said the word venomously - "control the largest store of prewar supplies and technology anywhere in old Moscow."
"Naturally, control of such a treasure trove changes the balance of power in the Metro," the general agreed, "they have the leverage to make the other factions sit down and listen. Let's not forget they have the best defensible position throughout the Metro, not to mention an arsenal of nukes. And we're also expecting a shipment of provisions and ammunition from Hansa."
"Oh yeah," Moskvin commented after he was reminded of such mundane news. "Nevertheless! The Order must not have complete control of D6."
His minister for Inter-Metro affairs raised his hand to speak. "We set up a joint committee of all Metro stations that oversees the management of D6?" He stood in attention, awaiting Dear Leader's answer. Why does the Red Line have an Inter-Metro Ministry, do you ask? So it as soon as the Red Line triumphs throughout the Metro, it becomes the Interior Ministry. Gulags for everyone, fun for the whole family!
"Wrong!" he snapped. "Gulag for you!"
"What!?" the minister shrieked as he was taken away by Moskvin's rough-necked secret police.
As the man begged for forgiveness and not wanting to enjoy the "showers", Korbut carried on with business. "So what do we do instead? Trick it out of them?"
"No, we take it! Storm that fortress! Re-take what was once the people's property, commissioned by Stalin to survive the depredations of the capitalist-imperialist West!" he declared proudly. In his mind, golden light was shone down on him in the 300th Communist Party Congress while a large choir sang The International to epic grand orchestral accompaniment, being applauded and praised by his people.
"If I recall correctly," Korbut butted in, "China was the one who started this whole mess when Huawei tripped the Dead Man's Switch nuclear trigger while stealing information via their 5G network software." Doubtless, he imagined Moskvin's self-aggrandizing daydream the same way, except Moskvin was set afloat in Renaissance clouds, dressed up like a cherub, complete with diaper-like loincloth, wings, and carrying a fruity bow with arrows having heart-shaped arrowheads, without a flattering view of his flabby, unwashed, hairy body. The imagery was positively treasonous, far from pleasing, and certainly not for anyone who wants to sleep or keep their food down. Pompous fatass, he thought.
"Those dirty Maoist embrace capitalism! Chairman Mao would be ashamed of them!" he growled. And on and on he went on with his pointless pompous lectures. Korbut kept himself from rolling his eyes as he sat. Unlike the other slimy, spineless aparatchiki, the general remained cool sitting through the lectures and plotting his power grab, which would rid of those insufferable lectures for good.
As soon as the meeting was finished, Moskvin was cleaning off the dust from his table when a knock at the door came. "Comrade Chairman," one of his guards spoke out, "you have a package."
"What!?" he grunted in annoyance. "Send it in."
His security crisply marched into his office with the offending package in hand. Their boots crunched the floor in fast, precise fashion as they surrounded the central coffee table and laid the package. They inspected the whole thing carefully to make sure it was no surprise being sprung by the Reich, the Rangers, Polis, Hansa (greedy little bastards), Korbut, whose subtle impertinence pissed him off, or his homoesexual son, though the last one was unlikely. That prissy little fairy will give him a confetti bomb with an apology note for all he knew.
"Comrade Chairman! The package is SAFE!" The inspector's voice rang through his office in loudly like a drill instructor. "No bomb or poison gas!"
Moskvin felt like his ears would bleed. "Why do you have to be so loud!?" he snapped.
The captain of the guard recited, "Comrade Chairman! You requested an elite, hand-picked, well-disciplined guard of honor to protect you at-"
"Alright! I get it !" he cut them off. "Get out!" With a salute and precise click of their boot heels, they briskly goosestepped out in single file. He slammed the door after them. The tubby chairman was sure that Korbut was annoying him with his overly-drilled "guard of honor." Fatboy owed skinny-man his chairmanship, which only both of them knew. Also, Korbut, being Red Army commander, can replace him and have someone else to his liking to sit his ass on it.
"One day I'll put you in the gulag, Korbut," he muttered to himself. "You just wait."
On the box was the logo of an ominous red bird, a stamp that said "HIGH PRIORITY, FOR THE CHAIRMAN," and a memo attached from his intelligence service, stating this box had been found in one of the subsidiary tunnels near an outlying station. Witnesses claimed a figure in red was found taking said box to tunnel and a patrol followed him to a dead end - leaving only the box.
"What's inside this box that's urgent enough to be in my office?" He opened the box and it was a Tab. "A Tab?" He didn't expect to see one in this and age and didn't even know to this day what it was. "Some sort of glorified, oversized cellphone." When he pressed the button, it flashed to life.
The screen glowed. It featured the menu screen of a game. He was taken aback as tinny, jaunty music played from the device, something out of a 90s workout or training video.
"Oh, hi!" greeted a misshapen bald man-scarecrow-thing in a green teeshirt and blue jeans as he appeared. "Welcome to my Schoolhouse!"
It started dancing. "Welcome to Baldi's Basics in Education and Learning! That's me!" The intro began...
Solve math problems!
"You're doing fantastic!" Baldi congratulated as three math problems were solved in some primitive-looking device.
Make friends!
"I hug people for all eternity," garbled a roundheaded abortion of a cyborg whose body was made up of a steel frame box with a heart connected to his head and shitty kiddy hands by wires and moves on mini-tank treads.
Fun in recess!
"I wanna play with someone!" said some crude crayon drawing with a voice recorded with a potato.
It all ended with the title screen that has TAP TO START.
"Huh...?" Moskvin had to blink twice at seeing this... this travesty! "This is the only piece of prewar technology that functions properly? IF ONLY I HAD D6!" He angrily threw the Tab across the room, hitting the wall, bouncing back at him, hitting his head and knocking him flat on the floor. Surprised, he was nursing the bruise when Yes Man from Fallout: New Vegas showed up on the cracked screen.
"Prepare for a wonderful learning experience, Commie wanker," it promised in a robotic British accent, flashing to the image of the red bird, now more demonic-looking.
"What the-" A flash engulfed the room and everything went white and deaf.
Moskvin regained his vision and hearing. "What the fuck...?" He felt his whole body squeezed like sponge.
He found himself wearing not his uniform of formal service fatigues and peaked cap but a child's white sailor suit with a Donald Duck naval cap, which obviously didn't fit him properly. He was stuffed into his shorts and shirt like seven pounds of sausage meat stuffed into a five-pound casing. He felt like he couldn't move with his shirt and his shorts were constricting air to his nethers, also they revealed his hairy legs, with only white socks atop leather shoes.
He looked like a porky schoolboy from a bygone "reactionary" era. And he was inside a very contemporary American school interior, made with Microsoft Paint. "What the hell is this!?" he growled.
"Welcome to our Schoolhouse, comrade!" He nearly shrieked, jumped around back to see that scarecrow man from the opening intro, the only change he can see was the Hammer-and-Sickle pin on his shirt.
"Who the hell are you!? What's the meaning of this!?" he demanded rapidly.
"Welcome to Comrade Baldi's Basics in Socialist Learnings to Make Benefit Glorious Metro! That's me!"
"In that case, I demand you to get me out of here!" he growled.
"Now it's time for everybody's favorite subject: Math!" he cheered, gyrating his arms.
"Up yours with your Math!" cursed Moskvin, running for the nearest door. He desperately rattled the doors to open them but they never budged at all no matter what.
He tried kicking the doors open but they refused to give in.
"You need to collect 2 notebooks before you can use these doors," Baldi interrupted amiably.
"Blyat!"
He proceeded to the a classroom to find a way out of this.
"Now it's time for everybody's favorite subject - math!"
So Moskvin sat in Baldi's classroom, looking like a misplaced porkpie in his get-up. "This is humiliating!"
"Answer the three questions correctly, and you might get something special!" Baldi encouraged.
Then that crude-looking green kiddy device popped in appearance on Moskvin's hand It was labelled You Can Think Pad[TM].
"Problem one," he began in his normal voice, presenting the problem with some sort of game show jingle in the background, laying himself atop his desk like a sassy man.. "Eight plus one equals..."
Moskvin looked dubiously at the the device, especially at the screen where Baldi was flapping his mouth. "Nine!" he snapped, pressing the right number on the pad.
"Great job!" Baldi congratulated. "Problem two: seven - minus - two - equals..."
"Five!" he growled, already annoyed.
"Fantastic!" Excited, Baldi dropped to the floor on his chest and spun around in a sweeping motion. "Problem three: four - plus - six."
After like blinking his eyes for thirty seconds at Baldi's behavior, he pressed the button. "Ten."
"You did great!" the bald teacher cheered. "Come here and get your prize! A shiny kopeck!" A coin spun and shone in mid-air.
Matros Porky Cheeks blinked his eyes at the trinket. "Really? A kopeck? I demand to see the head of this so-called 'school!'"
"You will, if you want to go gulag," Baldi said in Korbut's devious voice.
"Whaaa...!" Moskvin almost fell of his chair.
"Now... today's session is concluded," he continued in his normal, semi-garbled voice. "Go to the classroom for the next one." He then floated out of the classroom door.
Moskvin blinked his eyes, wondering what had got into. "I need to get out of here," he whispered his sentiment.
Class over, the general secretary went for the next classroom. He felt like an overstuffed ham - the last one was eaten twenty years and two months ago and it killed the eater via food poisoning.
Moving with a lot of discomfort in his tight uniform, Moskvin went to another classroom. "What the hell do I do now?" And he opened the door to see Baldi waiting for him - and hastily stuffing the champagne, glasses, and purple, lavender-scented candles down his dress drawer.
"Hello," he greeted with zest. "Ready for another lesson?"
"How about you fuck off right now and get me out of here!" Moskvin snapped.
"Great~!" he cheered, waving his squigly arms. "Time for more Math."
"I know what Math is! Numbers!" Moskvin was getting irritated.
"The numbers, Mason! What do they mean!?" Hudson demanded from the PA.
"NUMBERS! Make them stop!" Mason screamed and ran off through the corridor. The Stalin wannabee wondered what was that all about.
"Oh," he cooed sadly. "That boy took off when we were getting to the interesting parts."
"Ha! I can see not everyone approves of your lessons or your methods!" scoffed the chairman. "Release me now this instant!"
"NO!" Baldi retorted in TF2 Heavy's voice.
"Why not?" Moskvin demanded.
"I object to releasing you without completing your lessons," he replied in German using Jodl's voice.
"What!? Fuck this!" He approached the door, which slammed abruptly.
Then the You Can Think Pad[TM] appeared in his hands.
"Now. Problem One," declared Baldy, flapping his gums at the bottom-left screen. "Three plus two equals-"
"Five!" he snapped, pressing the number.
"You're doing fantastic," he cheered in his Squidward tone. "Four times three equals-"
"Twelve!"
"Outstanding!"
"Piss off!"
"Problem 3..." then his voice was horribly garbled as the equation morphed into incomprehensible Zalgo text, or the Black Speech of Mordor, or Aklo.
"What?" Now Moskvin was puzzled. What the hell?
"Problem 3," Baldi repeated, followed by the ear-screeching static.
"I can't read this!" he exclaimed. "The text is glitching."
"Come on, I don' got all day," Baldy complained. He's clearly irritated.
Moskvin was thinking of a solution to this when he decided to give it a shot in the dark.
"Twenty-One," he proclaimed haughtily.
Then Baldy's smile turned upside-down. Then he turned her turned red and shook like a maraca. "Whaddya-whaddya-whaddya-say?"
"Ah, he's not threatening," Moskvin said confidently. "I shit on your math lessons."
That was it! Baldy went down and popped up back with a ruler, smacking it in his hands.
"Heeee'sss about to whip yo sorry assssss~," crooned Ray Charles in the corner through the microphone, declaring the Chairman's fate, who should be the Assman at this point.
"You get a spanking~," he threatened. He jumped like a rattlesnake and Moskvin dodged. "You're getting four across the ass!"
"AHHHHHHH!" Moskvin flew out of the classroom, the door amazingly wide open for him, running through the halls, screaming the whole way. "Now you're ten across the ass!"
His screams filled the nearly silent hallway which went from a buzz to a real man-scream as he came into view and rounded a corner. His chunky butt almost lost balance and had him skating across the floor with all the grace of a hippo ballerina before bouncing off the wall and landing on his backside.
"OW!" he whelped as his shoes squeaked the checkered floor struggling to get up. Then he heard the snapping sound of a wooden ruler on a hand like a metronome. Now the Assman shook like gelatin in Jurassic Park. His knees rattled audibly and he was sweating like a prune. Each tap seemed to dilate time and space itself, with three-second intervals and it felt like an eternity for him.
With his nerves on edge, he couldn't take it anymore, thus he slowly raised his head out of the corner to see.
Baldi, inching closer - at an inch a minute, clearing only one feet of the 40-foot hallway.
Moskvin went from from a conscript scared of his commissar to Stalin wondering why Hitler diverted his forces to the Ukraine. That poorly-drawn Mr. Garrison in green was just literally chasing him at snail's pace. "Ha! Baldi, let this be known as the day I escaped the clutches of your reactionary captivity!" he declared haughtily. "Dasvidanya!" He clicked his squeaky heels in about face and marched off proudly.
Baldi snapped, "Shit!", lagging behind, hopped mad in place at his inability to speed up.
While humming Farewell to Slavianka (his singing was terrible!), he came upon a figure dressed in red.
"I wanna play with someone!" said that that crude crayon doodle playing skip rope.
"And I do not care," he declared proudly and moved off when the figure jumped in front of him.
"Huh?" he exclaimed annoyed.
"I wanna play," it persisted.
"What? Get out of my way!" he snapped.
"I wanna play with someone!" It hopped in joy.
"Go play with yourself, you little cyka!" He rudely pushed the red-shirted figure aside like the apparatchik he is and continued on his proud way.
Then the skip rope snaked around his ankles and tugged him hard, causing Moskvin to smack his face on the floor like in an oldie cartoon.
Alarmed he looked at his legs. "What the-!"
"Jump rope ten times in a row," it demanded. "Once you do, I'll let you go! E-he-he-he!"
"Fuck off!" He struggled to release himself.
"My name is Playtime and yOu're GonNa likE it," it snapped demonically. He nearly wet himself. "Whaddya say?" Playtime asked.
Then he heard the snap of a ruler smacking against a hand. He nodded in terror.
"Yay, let's play!" It hopped excitedly and a cartoonish crayon timer appeared above his head.
"Wha-?"
-Let's Get Physical by Olivia Newton-John plays-
"Ready? Go!" Then the rope swung, cracking like a whip, making the fatass jump for his life.
"Oh my God!" he shouted, panting as his out-of-shape body struggle to jump, the skip rope whipping his ass with every hop. "Why is this happening to me?"
And his fat face tasted the floor again.
"Oops! You messed up!" it taunted. "Let's try again - from the top!"
"No!" Then he felt his ass snapped again. "Yeowww!"
"Let's play!" Playtime demanded. Thus he was whipped badly into shape.
Then Baldi appeared out of the corner. "Now where is that sweet summer child?" he cooed. Then he noticed poor Moskvin bouncing like the jambon he was. "There you ARE! I WANT THAT ASS!"
-record scratch-
Upon hearing that, Moskvin panicked, got his ankles caught again, and this time fell on his butt.
"Yohoo~!" Baldi greeted, shuffling forward.
"AAAHHHH!" he screamed girlishly, eyes bulging out in terror.
"Oops! You messed up!" Playtime jeered. "Let's try again-"
"NOOO!" Porky boomed.
-Intruder Alert (Team Fortress 2 OST) plays-
He tugged the rope, pulling Playtime forward and started spinning around, swinging it like a pendulum.
"Why didn't I think of this?" he exclaimed in triumph as he swung around. Playtime let out a high-pitch shriek, holding on to dear life.
He laughed in joy as the tables were turned. "One, two, three and blast off, suka!" Letting go sent Playtime barreling to Baldi.
"Holy sh-!"
KABOOM! He didn't finish that swear as he and Playtime crashed into a garbage can.
"YES!" Moskvin pumped his fist, savoring his first real triumph. "Now I can get the hell outta-"
He felt the floor rumble, like a rushing metro train. "W-What's going on?"
The rumble went louder and the floor got shakier, causing Moskvin to loose balance and almost fall down - again. Then a giant broom emerged out of the corner and proceeded towards him.
"LOOKS LIKE IT'S SWEEPIN' TIIIIIIIMME! GOTTA SWEEP, SWEEP, SWEEP!" It proclaimed.
"SHIT!" Baldi screamed.
"Please don't-a sweep-oh-me!" pleaded Playtime as they were literally swept away.
"Oh shit!" Moskvin took to his feet and started running away from the giant green broom.
"Run, Moskvin, run!" it taunted as it sped up.
"OH GOD! NO! NO!" He screamed as the thing was gaining on him. In terror, he looked for some place to escape this thing when he was in another hallway junction. He quickly ducked to his left and the accursed broom passed him by.
-Intruder Alert ends-
"Phew!" he sighed with relief, having shaken off his brush with death. "That was close."
"No running in the halls," scolded The Principal of the Thing, suddenly appearing behind him. "Detention for you."
"Detention-" But before our heroic hero of the people can protest, he was swiftly dragged across the floor, shining it along the way.
Now Moskvin found himself trapped inside the detention room. "This is just ridiculous," he grumbled. "Trapping me in a classroom? What fools!" So he walled up to the door turned the knobs. "Choyrt, I forgot about they locked me in."
He tried to open the window but there was no lock anything to grab onto - they're on the outside.
Then the door opened and before he can run out, a fat orange egg being with blue limbs was thrown. "Detenetion for you. You should know better."
"Oh great, yet another freak in this nightmare circus," the Red Line premier grumbled.
"Give me something GRᴇᴀᴛ," It's a Bully demanded.
"Great? You are talking to Maksim Moskvin,General Secretary of the Central Committee of Red Line," he proclaimed with granduer, trying to intimidate the Bully, with The International blaring heroically. "And you, fellow prisoner, will help me escape this madhouse immediately."
"Screw that!" snapped Bully, causing another record scratch. "Give me candy!"
Moskvin was offended. His awesome speech was rebuffed because this freak wanted candy? "What! I don't have any candy! There's some vending machines outside. Get your candy there" He got a bitchslap for that.
"OW!"
"We're inside the detention room and I don't wanna pay anyway. Give me candy!" Bully pouted.
"I will have you shot when I get out of here," Assman threatened. Then he heard the sounds of ruler smacks outside, causing him pale and lose his bluster.
"He's gonna whip your ass," Bully said in delight. "I'll let him in~."
He looked around worriedly, sweating buckets as he wanted to get out of here to kerp his sanity and bottom safe. Then he saw salvation under the desk. He scraped it off and held it out proudly.
Then the Bully snatched the old piece of gum and chewed.
Moskvin looked on in amazement. What an idiot.
Satsfied, it said smugly, "Thank you for the donat- HURK!" He bowled over and threw up.
"Oh God! Oh God-" and he threw up some foul-smelling creamed corn.
It's working, he thought evilly. "Man down!"
And as Baldi approached the detention room with malicious intent for spanking bottoms, sirens clang behind and he turned back to take a look only to be tossed aside ragdoll-like by the onrushing segway with a giant ominous red bird in doctor's coat.
"This medical emergency," it declared as it came kicked open the door and laid its black bag on desk.
"What's he doing?" he asked, looking on.
Omsk Bird pulled out a vacuum cleaner and began sucking away the large puddle of creamed-corn in the floor. "This is bad, the Garmonbozia is no ripe yet."
"Ha! Now is my chance!" Before he can exit, stage left, a midget dressed in suave red for a Friday night out of town.
"So - mUCh - pain - and - sor-rUw," he exclaimed in delight, "time -fooor - party!"
-Magic Mamaliga by OMFO (Borat OST) plays-
The whole detention room was lit red and both the bird and the little man started dancing to this weird derpy dance mix, swinging and swaying their arms about, moonwalking across the floor with style. Then came Borat Sagdiyev prancing around like a fairy in his "mankini," followed by Munamies, the Finnish eggman bouncing in joy, and Jack Sparrow, the worst pirate ever met, looking like he had too much Bacardi from The World's End pub, Gordon Frohman, and John Freeman, still looking for his brother Gordon, doing a Cossack hopa dance.
He blinked his eyes at this, not sure what to make of this scene. Especially the fact that he's still dressed in that awful schoolboy outfit.
Then Baldi crept in, giving Moskvin the stink eye. "There you are!" Moskvin squealed in terror.
"No skipping classes!" With a yell he launched himself at the Assman. Moskvin skipped out of the way and Baldi crashed into the stacked desks.
The Assman struggled to lift his bulk out of the window, inadvertently mooning the bald guy.
Baldi's eyes bulged. "Ooooh... dat ass!" And Moskvin slid through just as the ruler tapped the concrete he was on.
-Magic Mamaliga stops-
The overstuffed sausage flopped on the floor once again. He rose up shakily to his feet. "I need to get out of this unholy nuthouse."
And his day just seemed to get worst. In front of him was that honky-tonk robot thing.
"My name is First Prize. I have been programmed to desire your image," it said with a lovelorn voice.
"How about you tell how to get out of here?" Moskvin asked.
"Will you marry me?" It made whirring sounds that were supposed to sound romantic.
"Piss off, degenerate!" he snapped, outraged. And he spun on his heels and walked away.
Then more whirring ensued and First Prize lurched forward with hands outstretched to hug him, treads clanking, causing Moskvin to turn his head. "Eeep!" Not wanting to found out, he jogged away from the abomination.
"I am coming; ready or not, here I come~," First Prize proclaimed, thinking it a flirty tease.
-Papers, Please Main Theme plays-
Moskvin spent hours on end, sneaking away from Baldi, The Principal, Playtime, and that homo abomination called First Prize; all the while trying to find a way out of this infernal school. He used cardboard boxes, barrels, or just plain old guile which he can muster up to get away.
He tried ducking in different rooms to avoid them, with mixed results. He got in one.
"Wr-ong we-ey," said the dancing midget in red. Bacon backed out.
He even tried using the air vent shafts a la Half-Life but his fat ass won't let him, and he nearly got caught by Baldi.
"This place is like a maze," he said, tired and tense, "am I gonna going to be stuck here forever?"
"I have lost you. I don't like that," First Prize called out from behind, gaining speed.
"Blyat!" Moskvin hoofed it and ducked into the nearest room.
-Papers, Please Main Theme stops, Archimedes (Team Fortress 2 OST) begins-
Slamming the door behind him, he found himself face to face with Michael Rosen.
"Hello," Michael cheered in greeting, "I'm Michael Rosen and here is my wonderful English class."
"Fifty Shades of Gray is shit!" declared Saddam Hussein.
"NO! Boku no Pico is shit, you pederast!" bit back Muammar Qaddafi, drawing his knife. "En garde!" And he watched these two Arab dictators reenact Monty Python's Black Knight fight very badly with Magical girl wands, with cutting themselves up as much as they cut each other clumsily, how these collectible props achieve it was a century-old mystery. Qaddafi whacked off Kony's arm, causing Kony to howl in pain, who in turn stabbed the former Libyan dictator's, well, dick, making him scream and on and on did this nonsensical fight go on until they lost their limbs and were spurting red from every wound and still they fight on, headbutting hard at each other.
Moskvin smiled for the first time since this fiasco started. "That wasn't so bad." Then he thought of creating disabled gladiatorial matches so he can send the best against the Rangers. He turned to Michael Rosen, "Michael Rosen, what do you know of this school?"
"Oh, this institution was founded on the grounds of Vladimirsky Central," Michael said, "so this school is essentially a prison." Then his face lit up with evil red light. "You check in but don't check out." Now Fatty felt his bowels rumbling in fear at Michael's molester face.
"This is insane," he said to himself.
Michael went back to being friendly. "Not all of it is bad." He picked a bag of plums. "Today, we are gonna learn about protecting a bag of plums from the Skyfoogle."
"Plums?" he asked, puzzled.
"Yeah, 'cause I like them." He smiled. He ate one and clicked his tongue in satisfaction. "Noice."
"Hey, Michael," a young girl's voice called out, "there's chocolate cake."
Then Michael Rosen's eyes lit up laser-like. "CHOCOLATE CAKE?" He quickly stamped out of the room and in came four pretty teenage girls.
"Hey, guys, we gotta new member for our club!" exclaimed Sayori excitedly.
"Sayori, did you hit your head on a pole?" Natsuki asked, eek'd out by Moskvin's unappealing appearance. "Since when did you invite a lardass?"
Moskvin was outraged. "Little girl, I am not some fatassed pupil. I am Maksim Moskvin, premier of the Red Line-" Then a purple-haired girl knocked him out of the way in a blur, standing at the edge of the Saddam-Qaddafi blood puddle.
"So much blood..." she squealed. "I'M IN HEAVEN!" She dropped down on her back and made blood angels.
His dejection turned into bewilderment as he was dragged by Sayori to meet a ribbon-haired girl. "Monika, meet our newest member."
Monika looked like she saw a cat carrying a shrunken head to her. "Sayori, are you off your meds?"
"What makes you say that?" Sayori forced a smile in spite of her eyes looking very neurotic.
Moskvin noticed Monika and thought of her nice assets. "Oh... this is getting better." She is such a pretty little bird, wuth her long brown her bound by a white ribbon, her perky body and green eyes. His kiddy shorts felt tighter, causing him some discomfort-
-Archimedes stops-
"FBI! OPEN UP!" The walls exploded and in came the FBI, coming in spraying their guns everywhere. Moskvin ducked as the bullets flew, Saddam and Qaddafi got shot to bits and Yuri was basking in the rain of gore.
"Hold it right there, sicko!" ordered an FBI agent.
"I didn't do anything!" Moskvin protested.
"Sure, you did, you were ogling those underaged girls." He gestured to the four, especially as Natsuki was struggling to eat a loaf of sawdust bread, a traditional communist staple.
"Yeah, he's the man," said a talking sock puppet, "arrest him!"
- Battle II (Octopath Traveller OST) plays-
Then the Principal of the Thing appeared and gunned down the FBI agents, followed by Baldi, Playtime, and First Prize. "No Russian in the halls!" he shouted.
"I have lost you. I don't like that," First Prize said, sounding betrayed.
"You should know better," he snapped, toting his M249, "detention for you."
"NO!" Moskvin got a gun and riddled the Principal full of holes, who dropped down.
"Dead!" declared TF2 Heavy.
He sprayed and prayed at the other three but Baldi did some animu effects by spinning his ruler to deflect the bullets.
His gun went dry. "Shit!"
"I wanna play!" Playtime declared and whipped out its skip rope. Moskvin dodged that and Playtime was ready making a lasso out of the rope, ready for another go.
Thinking quickly, he saw Sayori and Toad from Mario. Instead going for obvious choice, he grabbed Toad instead and threw him in the way. Screaming in outrage, Toad was caught in the neck by the skip rope. "Yay!" Playtime cheered but Toad grabbed some grenades and pulled the pins, blowing himself up with the skip rope player.
Monika decided to make out with Sayori, engaging in yuri with her while Yuri is doing arts and crafts with the cadavers.
"Stop right there, criminal," declared the sock puppet. Moskvin grabbed it and jammed the screaming sock into First Prize's machinery.
"Oh no, I lost control," declared the cyborg thingy as it spun around in circles and crashed in the Principal, just getting off the floor, stabbing his chest with its pointy eyes.
"Argh!" shrieked the impaled principal, still stuck on the robot.
"The world has gone dark and stingy before me," it wailed before careening into an undamaged wall and exploding.
"I must get out of here!" Moskvin declared, continuing on his quest to escape.
"Ow... what happened?" Michael muttered after being aside by the breaching. In his flight Moskvin crushed his toenails. "Argh! Mah toeNAILS!"
Watching the Commie Tsar running away from his punishment, Baldi stooped into racing position. "Arithmetic," he said softly. And he shot off, Naruto-running after his prey.
-Battle II stops-
Moskvin turned back and almost panicked into running faster than the speed of light as he saw the teacher streaking after him. Then he noticed that giant broom again.
"GOTTA SWEEP, SWEEP, SWEEP!" it declared cheerily. Moskvin ducked behind some vending machines, letting Baldi pass him. What followed was another massive explosion as Baldi and the broom collided. Coughing away the smoke and dust from his breath he saw what he wanted all along: a hole to freedom. At this point, the fat man ran daintily to the cavity as it led to freedom.
Walking out of the hole in the wall, he was finally free of that demented school. He took a deep breath and instead of real fresh air, it was the funky smell of a recording studio. "He, at least it doesn't smell like some cold sewer dungeon." The default fragrance of the Metro. But he probably doesn't know what a studio smells like. Then he looked at Moscow, which looked pristine in its prewar glory. "Ah, Moscow, the heart of Russia." This filled him with immense patriotism.
He was so enchanted of seeing the glorious prewar surface of the city that he only noticed he was in Red Square. Then he noticed somrthing was amiss. There were no birds chirping, no people in the streets, save for the assembly around Red Square, no cars and angry motorists. Moscow looked as though it had been rendered for 90s greenscreen, with smooth textures, blocky 3D surfaces, and primitive CGI backdrops.
"Is it May Day?" Labor Day, the legendary day that celebrates the worker (allegedly), the holiest holiday of Communism.
Then he noticed the assembled crowd for the first time: there were no tanks and other war machines on parade, just squares of men; the front squares of men, the very best specimens of humanity, were dressed in form-fitting white sports tights, sleeveless shirts with the Hammer and Sickle, which displayed their fit bodies and buff muscles, and their heads topped with bright red pilotkas; the other squares presented men in either red or green uniforms, wearing helmets spotted with the other color, looking like the top of Mario Toads' heads, shouldering spears like rifles.
"What the hell...?" Moskvin doesn't like what this all meant.
Then the crash of cymbals and the triumphant roar of trumpets caused his head to turn to a stage that wasn't there before as spinning Red Stars rose up and spun in the CGI followed by the blue sky turning into disco red and a nice pre-concert lightshow with the letters above the stage displaying what the whole thing was all along.
"Oh no..." he whispered in terror. Then the worst part of his trip unfolded before his eyes.
"Privyet, Rossiya," greeted Omsk Bird, who was the doctor sucking the Garmonbozia from Bully with a vacuum cleaner, waving to ecstatic crowds of listeners, which Moskvin found himself surrounded with. "Welcome to the inauguration of CommieVision 2034 and to get this party started, let's hear it for the opening act, King of Synth Dance, Leonid Moskvin!" With a wave, the spot light shown on the stage, revealing his son, dressed in the most flamboyant rendition of a Soviet general's dress uniform, with all the glittery medals and tassels.
"My son's a twink!?" he blurted in outrage.
-Go West by The Village People (Pet Shop Boys cover) plays-
Then the DJs begin the techno music, the orchestra raised their tempos, bringing the stage life and the men-squares suddenly stood in attention. He recognized the music, the Soviet national anthem, now covered in gay bar techno.
The crowd screamed and waved their lightsticks, and his son began to dance at the beat.
"I want to wake up now," he moaned helplessly.
"Together!" cried the marchers patriotically.
"We will go our way~," sang his son.
"Together!" the men in tight whites raised the Hammer and Sickle banners and began their jaunty march throughout the disco-lightshow-filled city.
"We will leave someday~." He waved his hand westward, the multicolored infantry began their march.
"Together!" The floats emerge from the sidestreets with their fruity displays.
"With your hand in my hands~."
"Together!" Thundered the troops with more insane screaming from the concert crowd.
"Tell all our friends good-bye~."
"OMG!" screamed an anime girl into his ear. "I WANT HIM INSIDE ME!" She was loosing her mind.
(Together!) We will fly so high~
He staggered from the scream and saw not MiGs but surfboards with fruity surfers atop of them soaring through the CGI sky.
"This can't be happening..."
Then he saw a float of Dr. Eggman lap-dancing, now his eyes screamed for bleach.
"No! NO! NOOO!" he screamed as the horror has truly began for him with a float featuring The Village People in their disco form.
(Go west) life is peaceful there
(Go west) in the open air
(Go west) where the skies are blue
(Go west) this is what we're gonna do
(Go west, this is what we're gonna do, go west)
The fruity imagery with its gay club atmosphere, cheering crowds, the blasphemous rendering of the sacred anthem with his own fruity son singing was too much for him. His screams of insanity were drowned out by the festive atmosphere of Red Square.
He rushed off to escape this Mardi Gras of utter deviancy and he crashed into some cops with their tight uniforms. "You're under arrest for being such a cutie~," one of them cooed.
"Don't touch me!" Moskvin started running off into the opposite direction, crashing into a street lamp. Dazed and confused, some people took his erratic, listless movement for a dance and danced with him in the middle of the street between two green and red marching squares.
(Go West) Life is peaceful there
(Go West) In the open air
(Go West) Baby you and me
(Go West) This is our destiny
Leonid pointed to the giant LCD screen behind him, featuring the sunny beautiful French Rivera, then switching to the volleyball scene from Top Gun.
"Nice dance, honey," said a leather-clad steel worker who looked like he jumped out of the pages of Tom of Finland's works. He gave a spank at Moskvin's bottom.
The premier yelped at that, felt violated. Now his face turned borscht-red with righteous commie rage. He growled, "I'm gonna put an end to this once and for all!"
The worker danced without missing a beat. "Let's tango, baby," he said affectionately, "the night's young-" Moskvin punched him, sending him flying. Seeing Red Army red, he bulldozed his way and kicked a pretty boy in the 'nads. He then slapped aside some schoolgirl in his way, punched one of the gay toad-helmeted soldiers, grabbed his multi-colored spear and decided to tear his boy a new one.
"This! Ends! Now!" He slammed a biker off his bike and mounted, going at full speed, targeting a float that look-liked a pyramid with a dancing pharaoh showing off his muscles. Jumping on the ramp it formed, he vroomed off it like Evel Knievel, knocking said pharaoh off, soaring like an artillery shell.
[Now in slo-mo]
(Go West) Life is peaceful there!
Like any shell, it arched downward in a slanting trajectory towards the stage.
(Go West) There in the open air!
His son did another fruity gesture, much to his increasing anger.
(Go West) Where the skies are blue!
Gritting his teeth, he drawn his brightly-colored spear like a lance.
(Go West) This is what we're gonna do!
"I'll shashlik you, you fagala!" he shrieked as he dove closer. Omskbird flashstepped beside him and touched his shoulder-
- And he was teleported to the penthouse suite of Hotel Moscow.
He was confused as to why he was there. "What the-"
"What? Do you think I'll just let you ruin this lovely festival?" Omskbird grinned ominously.
"You!" He pointed an angry finger at the big red bird. "You are responsible for this! Set me free this instant!"
"Njet, I can't do that," protested Omskbird, still smiling. "The fun hasn't ended. Dasvidanya!" He then disappeared, leaving an outraged Moskvin. The door opened in came Baldi.
"NO! You're supposed to be dead!" he cried in shock and horror.
"You think a little death is gonna stop me?" he asked eerily, his face set in a creepy smile, shone by the lava lamp.
Moskvin knew that at this moment his courage decided to take an abrupt leave of absence, literally. "Bye~," it said as it went through a side door.
"Now it's just the two of us," he said in a creepy voice, raising his ruler ominously. He leaped through the air at Moskvin.
No one heard the struggling and girlish panicked screaming of epic proportion as the opening ceremony of the biggest cultural event never to take place mellowed to a close.
-Go West ends-
"Noooo! Get off me you bald freak!" Moskvin screamed from his springy, steel-framed bed with the shabby blanket and mattress, tossing and turning about.
"Sir, wake up!" a medical orderly said frantically. "It's just a nightmare-"
Moskvin's backhand pwned the orderly out his way and he went on screaming and tossing.
Korbut smiled in schadenfreude at his nominal boss's suffering but there was business to attend so just for one last shits and giggles, he poured hot tea on his crotch.
Chairman Lardbutt woke up with a falsetto as his crotch was singed. "What happened!?" he shouted. "Where's Baldi?" He looked around worriedly.
"Excuse me, Comrade Chairman, but you had a nightmare," Korbut said neutrally.
"That's what I said," the slapped orderly said sadly.
"Do you want to go to Gulag?" growled an angry Moskvin.
"Eeep! No!" begged the orderly, who made himself scarce from the room.
"It seems you hit your head with something, making you black out," the general went on. A pity, he thought.
The chairman patted himself to see that he was still wearing his uniform, not the kiddy sailor suit he wore in his dream. "Where is that infernal device?"
"That Tab thing? We threw it away, it was useless anyway." Without Moskvin looking, Korbut gave a thumps-up to Omskbird from the window, who returned the gesture before flying off.
"Where's my pansy of a son!" he demanded. "He must be responsible for that prank!"
"I can hardly think Leonid would even think up of that, much less waste his time on it." He tried not to smile. "He's probably on the other side of the Metro singing his songs, earning some MGR, getting run off from station to station, and not getting eaten."
Moskvin sighed, now that he was back in the cold, damp, smelly, worn-down, pond-scum of a reality that is the post-apocalyptic underground Moscow. The hard-scrabble existence humanity led below seemed far better than that horrible vision he had. "Can't get any worst than this." He cringed at his entire ordeal in Dreamland.
"Oh, by the way, we have some trouble in an outpost," Korbut said as an afterthought. "Apparently, some homeless tramps tried to bombed it during a theater performance after proclaiming revolution."
Moskvin hung his head in despair. Dreamland now looked more inviting than the Metro.
A/N: This is my longest chapter to date. Looks like Moskvin should see a therapist with all the issues going on - then shoot him to protect state secrets, mainly his own. Yup, Omskbird was the old comrade.
Sorry it took so long. I had a few problems that deadened for a while my drive to write and my creativity. Felt good to sit down and write something when that's over. Amachar928, this chapter's for you as you requested and thanks for the other ideas. Hope you guys, liked it, please R&R on your own time. My apologies for using some off-color humor in the later part of this chapter. I hope to keep it under 5000 next time as this was supposed to be an anthology, so I'll keep the archs to a minimum, and hopefully, less problems affecting me in the future.
Spasibo za chteniye, tovarishchi!
