>when modern day commies meet 20th century ones

The room was filled with people, but it was oddly hushed. A speaker stood at the front of the room behind a podium, which was plastered in posters with hands holding roses exposing Socialist ideas about revolution and fighting against capitalism. The speaker, who wasn’t completely incompetant, was unable to properly convey any speaking points he had as he was interrupted by a cavalcade of hair-line receding, dress wearing “women” who decried the use of “gendered” language as being oppressive and threatening to them, small shrill-voiced women who decried the race of the speaker and finally beared, timid men who would interrupt simply to “back” whoever has spoken before them in some vain attempt to seem like a good ally.

In the back of the room however stood a small group of older men. They were unassuming to most, they had filed in late and stayed in the back, they didn’t talk, they simply listened to the speakers. They were good white allies by modern measurements. They were in their forties and fifties, wearing woolen overcoats that, if anyone in this crowd had paid attention, all seemed to be of relatively the same style, dated by Western standards, but in good condition. Perfect for the cold November night this event was taking place. In the middle of the small group was a man who seemed to straddle between the youngest and oldest in the group in age. His only major identifier was an old military hat, worn but maintained, it had an odd blue band that wrapped around it. A crimson and gold badge affixed to the front with a hammer and sickle. It wasn’t something uncommon in this crowd of wanna-be comrades and larpers, but noone had a hat like this with a blue band around it. There was a reason for this, after all.
The group of old men watched the crowd carefully, they looked to each other at times, then back to the crowd as they analyzed everything ahead of them. After a while, the group looked around at each other and one nodded to the man with the military hat.

“Vpered, tovarishch komissar!” One of them said jokingly. The man in the hat smiled as he started to walk up to the mic where people were interrupting the speaker at the podium. People’s gaze began to shift as this old, white man walked closer and closer to the microphone. The person at the mic had said whatever drivel they had to say and sat down just as the man in the hat came to it. The podium speaker restarted his previous point, but he was interrupted again as the man the hat began to speak.

“Point of proletariat privilege.” He said in this thick Eastern European accent. The phrase was supposed to be ‘point of personal privilege’, his missaying along with his unfamiliar accent drew the attention of the room to him now. The room grew even quieter as they gave him their undivied attention. Just what he wanted.
“Spasibo, orator. Tovarishchi! Comrades! Brothers and sisters in Socialism. I have a question to ask. It is very simple. Why do we allow our glorious movement to be co opted by counter-revolutionaries, Trotskites, and degenerates?” He looked across the room. Silence. Someone sitting near him rolled their eyes. “Fucking degenerates? You some kind of fucking alt-right neo-nazi loser? How the fuck did you get in here?” A few other people began to speak up, the crowd was starting to turn against the man in the hat and he responded. He drew a revolver and held it in the air. It was old, its design dating back over two centuries, while the gun itself had been produced in 1941 during the Great Patriotic War. She was worn from use, but oiled and polished. She was lovingly cared for. The man in the hat fired and the crowd grew silent again, broke up by scared, hushed whispers.

“Comrade you mistake me for a Hiterlite and I can almost forgive you for your transgression against me. I am Deputy of Political Affairs Rurik Sorokin, I am a proud member and representative of the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks. I am here, because to defeat the Bourgeoisie Capitalists, a significant… restructuring of this party is to take place.”
“Your just a fucking Nazi!” Someone yelled, more people stood up. “You might have that fucking gun but we have more comrades than you have bullets!” Another yelled. Rurik burst into open laughter. As he laughed, the men behind him, some eight in total, were walking up behind him on his sides. A few men in overcoats in the crowd stood up as well, normally in teams of two or three. Rurik shook his head. “Such admirable courage when confronted with an old man and a revolver, I have a challenge for you, tovarishch.” He nodded to one of the men and they produced from under their overcoats Kalashnikov assault rifles. They were the Krinkov type, with shortened barrels and under-folding stocks. The now armed men unfolded their stocks and took the safeties off, bring them up to their shoulders and awaited orders or threats.

“Privedi yego ko mne.” He said to one of the men and two moved into the crowd, forcing their way through. A brief physical struggle ensued but in short time the man, if he could be called that, was dropped to the ground in front of Rurik. “Stand up, tovarisch.” He said, one of the armed men forced the man to stand.

“Do I still look a Hitlerite? Do I have a funny mustache? Do I expose against the Worker’s and Farmers Revolution?” He said, getting into the face of the sniveling man.
“I… I-I uh.”

“Comrade you are making serious accusations against a party member and you must back them up with solid evidence. If you cannot back your claims up you will be in contempt of forcing party members onto one another, which is an act of subversion against the party! Why do I look like a Hiterite comrade? Is it my uniform? Is just because I’m not some degenerate man-child who wears dresses and sucks cock all day?” Rurik was yelling now, he was steaming mad. “What even is that fucking character on your shirt?” He asked.

“Ma-its Mari-” The man tried to say, but Rurik would interrupt him. He drew his revolver and pulled the hammer, then the trigger into the man’s skull. The sound deafened the room again and the man slumped to the ground, a massive crater in the back of his skull from the massive round. People screamed, some tried to run to the exit but the Kalashnikov-welding guards ensured none of them would make it to the doors. Brass and spent magazines began to drop to the floor from the group of men as people tried to rush to the doors. After a few minutes and a dozen or so magazines, people had stopped, now confronted with a trail of bodies from the various asiles to the door. The smell of iron and gunpowder filled the air. Rurik took a deep breath in. “Reminds me of Grozny.” He said with a rosey recollection of his memories.
He looked around to the men with him who all shook their heads in disapproval of something. Rurik himself would sigh in disappointment.

“Comrades, to defeat Hitlerism here and abroad, to dismantle Capitalism and to truly seize the means of production from the factory manages and fat cats, sacrifices must be made. Sacrifices from all of us! Me and you, we must give ourselves to the Revolution of Lenin! Do you wish to join me in this Revolution? Do you wish to free the proletariant from their slavery?”

Nobody spoke up, just cowering whispers from the crowd as they tried to figure another way out.

Rurik’s faced soured and he shook his head again. He nodded to someone next to him who rushed to the door, he banged on it a few times and he stepped aside. As the door opened, two men armed with large machine guns walked forward. They scanned the crowd as they waited. Rurik began to walk to the open door with his entourage, the men from around the crowds began to also move towards the door. They were done here.

A few started to put on gasmasks and the crowd began to panic as to what was about to happen. Rurik, who still had the microphone in his hands turned around and said his final goodbyes.

“Imya tvoyo neizvestno, podvig tvoy bessmerten. Do svidaniya.” He dropped the microphone and began to put his own gasmask on as well. The crowd stirred into one last desperate charge, however it was quickly beaten back by the two machine guns that opened up as a result. A minute went by and their last attempt to leave was over and the doors closed.