Lost in Shuravia part 1

from /hhg/ Hazbin Hotel general #389
part 2: https://pastebin.com/bx2QVKDF
part 3: https://pastebin.com/tqP5kZAc
part 4: https://pastebin.com/6BjC4TTm
---
>The day was tepid and stuffy
>weeks of constant heatwave was broken by a strong summer storm (that actually rained just water, for once, instead of the usual blood, piss, or tears - perhaps, even the powers that be felt that it had become too hot
>the rain came like a cold shower, and the temperature dropped brutally, leaving a wave of migraines in it's wake
>but now, the storm had cleared, and the sky was still somewhat overcast
>the office had all of its windows (well, that could be opened - they just smashed the rest), and the three imps and hellhound milled about, waiting for a breeze to pick up
>no such luck
>the cal persisted

>"Fuck this weather..." Blitzo growled, and the others muttered in agreement
>though normally resistant to atmospheric changes, the sudden shifts had left even the resilient underclass of Hell antsy and exhausted
>just about no work got done on that day, in Imp City

>there was a knock on the door
>startled from their stupor the three imps exchanged looks, before Millie called out
>"Come in!"
>with a turn of the handle, their visitor stepped in
>worn army boots stomped lightly on the ground, as the figure approached their desk, offering a nod to seemingly distracted Loona, who, without looking up from her phone, nodded back...
>...only to then double take, and stare at the guy in bewilderment
>stopping in front of their conference table, he allowed the strap of his heavy backpack to slip of one shoulder, before putting it down completely
>standing up straight, he exchanged an observing glance with the helldwellers, his eyes scrolling horizontally, while theirs looked at him, up and down
>they could immediately tell he was a Sinner - his gait was too straight, and his stature, though notably shorter than other Sinners, was still greater than theirs
>and few higher demons visited Imp City
>he also reeked of death, in ways only Sinners could: a mixture of blood, gunpower, dust and iron
-
>registering that with a subtle of a sniff as he could muster, Moxxie raised his eyebrows
>this Sinner was a soldier... Or, at least, has been
>from what he saw of his backpack, it seemed to be military issue

"You're I.M.P., right?"
>the Sinner spoke with a notable, yet untraceable Slavic accent
>it was slightly muffled under his balaclava
>"Yeah." Blitzo replied, still eyeing the guy's camouflage-pattern trousers and dark hoodie "What of it?"
>rolling his eyes with a groaning sigh, Moxxie spoke up
>"What my boss was MEANT to ask is why you've came to contact us in person? We have a number you could've called, there was no need to come here."

"I did call."
>the Sinner replied, flatly
"Your secretary told me to go fuck myself."

>three pair of eyes glared at the Hellhound behind him, who, though feigning nonchalance, still shrunk in her seat when even HE glanced back, and tried to fixate all her attention on her phone

>now, both imps let out a groaning sigh, whilst Millie turned to the visitor
>"We're sorry about that." and she took a moment to glare daggers at Loona again, who, predictably, just flipped her off "Are you here for an assassination?"

"Дa."
>he replied, and began to open his backpack
"I need one, good with guns, to track down and kill a man."

>"Fairly standard, so far..." Blitzo mused "Apart from the "track down" bit... Don't you know where they are?"

"Roughly."
>and he drew out a rolled up piece of paper, laying it out on the table
>unfolded, it revealed to be a map - several maps, in fact, with some detailing the topography, while others, the local climate, agglomerations, etc...

"Which one of you is marksman?"

>again, they exchanged looks
>he was fairly certain there was some nonverbal communication going on between them - so subtle that even he couldn't notice
>which was good
>it may come in handy

>finally, they turned back to him, and motioned towards the imp with the jagged horns
-
>he looked him up and down
>the imp didn't struck him as a gunman
>more as a musician, but he wasn't gonna complain

"Пpaвильнo. You will be going alone, so here's what you'll need..."
>"Wait a minute!"
>he looked up
>the imp woman stared him right in the eyes
>"What do you mean "alone"?" she asked, narrowing her own "Why can't we go with him?"

>the Sinner stared back
>and then began to dig through his pack again

"Well, first of all..."

>end he threw a bunch of stuff onto the table
>some straps
>a handgun
>a bulletproof vest
>an old army helmet, dented, scratched and chipped, painted with a desert camouflage
>a soft-fabric hat with flaps and visor
>a handgun
>wait, what?

>Moxxie immediately picked up the handgun, and began to study it - weighing it in it's hands, running his claws over the rough metal, and studying the minted symbol on the grip - a five-pointed star within a circle, with a securing rivet in it's center, and the letters "CCCP" placed in the upper four circular sectors around the star's arms
>the shadow of a smile ran through the man's face, as he finished dumping his junk on the table

"I only have equipment for one man. And sekund..."

>and he threw something else onto the pile


>almost immediately, they were struck with an even more intense stench of death - so much so that they reeled back a bit
>the object appeared to be a worn, khaki jacket, obviously military in origin...
>with a massive, dark brown stain in the center, surrounding a small, thorn hole
>while the blood itself had no real smell, having coagulated a long time ago, the material itself was soaked in the essence of Sinners:
>pain, rage, grief, and a deep, dark desire for vengeance
>it was downright choking

"They do not take other people kindly there, regardless of uniform. Even if it's their own..."

>he paused, impressively, before scrolling gaze across the imps again

"Imagine what they'd do to someone who isn't human..."
-
>they didn't need to imagine
>the cloth said enough

"And imagine the three of you sharing equipment meant for one. One of you is noticeable enough, but all three...!"

>"Where will I be going?" Moxxie snapped, interrupting him
>pausing, the Sinner stared down at him
>though shorter than the average, he still towered over them, being even taller than Loona
>through the eyehole of his mask, all they could see was green, with an odd line in the center, that went vertical, before suddenly curving to the left
>a scar, perhaps?

"Already accepted the job?"
>he asked, causing the imp to be taken aback
>sparing a few seconds for a smirk, he swiftly cleared the pile of old militaria from the maps, and arranged them in a manner so that all of them could be seem at once, at least, partially, with the largest map at the bottom, displaying the outline of a country - a mostly desert one, based on a smaller one
>setting his own hat down the table - a larger one of the visor-and-flaps one he already dug out from his pack -, the sinner spoke severely to the group

"What I'm asking you is to locate and assassinate a man. He was a sniper during the war both of us fought in, and he killed some of my comrades and good friends. I want him to get down here, and even the score."

>his intonation upon those last few words left little doubt as to what he had in mind

"You will be going alone, and we'll keep constant radio contact."

>and he motioned towards the old military radio

"I had it "enhanced", so that we could keep contact from here, while you're up there among the living."

>this caused them to pause for thought
>a cross-world radio? They were certain that was illegal
>then again, so was their entire operation, even by the standards of Hell

"I have food, water, medicine, and all other necessary equipment prepared."
>he added
"You can take your own, of course, but watch the weight - you'll be carrying it for a while."

>"Yeah, but where?!" the imp asked, exasperated
-
"Where I've been to war."
>he replied

"Aфгaниcтaн."


>they raked their minds at the word
>they knew it was a country, one of humanity's many, but it sounded vaguely familiar

>"Wait..." said Millie "Wasn't there a war there, recently?"
"Is."
>the Sinner replied
"Has been ongoing since at least 1978. Has its start earlier than that."

>"You're asking me to go into a warzone." said Moxxie, incredulously
"Not really a warzone, compared to what it was."
>the man replied
"If you keep your head down, you'll be fine."

>"Still..." Blitzo began, stepping forward "Just what makes you think that I'll agree to send my own employee into a--"

*THUD!*
*click*

>his jaw dropped

>the suitcase was absolutely loaded with cash, all neatly packaged in columns of green, still growing, as they've been squished by the lid of the case before
>he couldn't even begin to imagine, how much the total amount was

"Is first half."
>said the Sinner
"Second I'll give once he returns. We'll keep contact with him throughout."
>"Wait, "once he returns"?" Blitzo asked

>the Sinner stayed silent, for a moment

"There are some... Conditions."
>he explained, but didn't go into detail
"And I'd rather see him return first."
>and his expression darkened

"I lost too many to those damned mountains, and I'm not gonna let him be another one."


>with that hanging in the air, a pregnant silence settled into the conversation
>Millie stared at the assorted equipment, before jumping to her husband
>Moxxie just stared ahead, his hands still fiddling with the pistol, fingers surreptitiously avoiding the trigger, mind deep in thought
>Blitzo was likewise contemplating - the amount of money presented was more enough to get them through the rough patch they ran into during the heatwave, and since the double of that was (or would be) on the table...

>"I'll do it."

>they blinked, and stared at their peer
>Moxxie looked certain, and lowered his gaze towards the map
>"Where can I find him?"
-
>the man pointed at the map
"The closest place I know is Sar-e Pol."
>he said, his finger following the province's outline
"He may be in southern Faryab, or, if you're unlucky, somewhere in Ghōr. I brought a month's worth of rations, so it should be fine, but you'll spend most of your time hiking. On foot..."

>the conversation went on for a while, but Millie could hardly pay attention to it
>her eyes scanned the maps, particularly a scribbly, hand-made one, which had a number of spots painted with starling red, and was peppered with skulls-and-crossbones, and other "welcoming" signs
>she tried to memorize them the best she could
>however, she found it hard to focus, her mind distracted by a choking smell

>glancing to the side, she could still see it
>the khaki jacket with the bloodstain
>and the scent of war, which emanated from it
>she could barely hear the discussion after a while, even when Blitzo joined in
>she tried to remember what she knew of the place...
>but her mind drew blanks
>and in the haze of this, the sound, the rattle and roar of machines and weapons, kept rearing up its head
>Millie shook, trying to rid herself of the thought
>but she couldn't help it
>it settled into her head, and took over her heart


>her Moxxie wasn't going on a job


>he was going to war