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Endless Crash Chapter. 1 - Sergei

I write classic "good vs evil" creative writing pieces with smart twists inspired by vintage action cinema, gaming, and heavy metal.


He wanted a shooting war that resembled the 1980s action movies and videogames he grew up loving. He wanted to fight for his country like his great grandfather did in the Second World War so, he joined the army. However, top brass had other ideas; they stuck him with a glorified gang war in the worst parts of the former USSR where the government was fighting for a system that no longer existed. Guarding a set of abandoned structures tagged, "strategically important." It took holding an officer at gunpoint to change this posting. Landing him on several suicide missions hunting terrorists through the worst of landscapes.


Navigating hostile terrain, dodging sniper fire and ending up in captivity after his patrol got ambushed and wiped out. Shellshocked, and pumped full of lead while surviving by inches, he lay in a cess pit for weeks until terrorists abandoned their camp to a series of airstrikes. Fished out of said pit by foreign volunteer workers who initially, came to sweep for landmines.

The country he loved so much deemed him a coward, traitor and wrote him off as MIA. However, after years of lingering in several different hospitals; drifting in and out of conscience while getting jammed full of metal and chemicals; dropping gallons of blood and enemy ammo onto the sterile floors; he returned to duty albeit in a different country.


How does a shattered soldier like Sergei return to life? By building a new life in another uniform as an enforcer. The NYPD gave him a chance at redemption.
"All units, we got civilian reports of a 10-29F (subject wanted for felony) on 8th Bradford, subject may be armed and unstable." a cruiser radio hissed as Sergei and his partner rode on a typical cold NYC night.

"Dispatch, we're in the vicinity; we'll take this one." the resurrected soldier responded as his partner shifted gears of a police Dodge Charger for higher speed.

"Could it be that Red Scare guy who bombed the south Precinct?" his partner enquired.

"Possibly but, still worth checking." Sergei replied as he checked his standard issue Glock-19 handgun.

The "Red Scare" was an entity that claimed responsibility to several bombings of police precincts and small businesses alongside mass shootings; done by a masked person screaming socialist slogans while blazing away with a machine pistol. Red Scare attacks were sporadic and random; occasionally happening simultaneously.

Such tactics lead the NYPD to double security, helicopter patrols and even station marksmen above public places. Such tactics were disapproved by the mayoral cabinet and a minority of citizens; resulting in a growth of support for the Red Scare. The police were fighting an uphill battle on two fronts.

The Charger pulled up as directed by dispatch, the area was a well-to-do neighborhood. The street was somewhat crowded with mostly people returning home from work with a strange silhouette loitering by a family-owned Italian restaurant. Sergei sensed the figure was hostile because its behavior was no different to an IED carrier he encountered at war.



"Dispatch, unit 10 on-scene; suspect in view."

Sergei trained his Glock on the jittering figure while his partner made ready with his nightstick.

"GLORY TO THE PARISIAN COMMUNE!" the figure screamed as he produced a sawn-off shotgun.

Reflexes trained by harsh experience of post-Soviet hellholes did their job as Sergei put the propagandist down with a well-placed shot to center-mass.

"Dispatch, suspect DOA, situation under control." Sergei reported. "Positive ID on Red Scare presence; subject screamed propaganda."

The street was saved for the night however, Sergei wasn't as the chief was displeased.

"What was that?!" he yelled, " Didn't they teach you how to talk to people in that backwater bandit band you call an army?!"

"Sir, I did issue a warning and the suspect pulled a firearm; I made that call to save lives."

"You should have brought him in for questioning!" the chief was hammering his desk at this point.

"YOUR SAD EXCUSE OF A LIFE NEVER IMPROVED BECAUSE OF YOUR PREJUDICE!" the chief hit back; the last thing he ever did in his career as the enraged patroller grabbed his commander by the throat and using his rage as a weapon; ripped out his larynx.

"YOU'RE A MISERABLE, CORRUPT EXCUSE OF A POLICE COMMISIONER!" Sergei affirmed as his former commander gasped his last breath; bleeding out and reflecting on his life choices that lead up to present day.

"FREEZE!" he heard his former brothers in arms collectively warn from behind.

"Don't be an idiot, Sergei!"

Conflicting feelings of hating top brass' cowardice that lead him astray but not wanting to hurt his fellow officers so, he assumed the position; maybe he would have a chance to state his case on trial. Little did he know that he wasn't getting one as his brothers in arms, as opposed to holding cells, escorted him to the parking lot and threw him into an inmate transport truck and knocking him out with a nightstick.

"HEY!" a swift kick to the side awoken the fallen enforcer after what seemed like hours. "Cover your head if you wanna live!"

That warning came a hair too late as moments later, he felt a cold slap of metal walls as the van jerked upwards.

"Where did that come from?!" worried voices went off outside. "Prisoner transport under attack at 7594 Victoria!"



"AK" Sergei's mind thought, "could be the Red Scare; gotta remain vigilant."
As he finished the thought, he lay down and started playing dead; the warmth of blood on his face hatched this plan.

"It wont move; we gotta blow it!"

"I got C2; stand back!"

Like a dead phone line, Sergei's ears beeped profusely as he played dead; trying to gather intelligence against all odds.

"Ass up, Kane!" an American accent ordered, "Police birds are already circling!"

"Who the hell is he?!" another American asked; "Ah crap, dead cop!" he added.

"Blew the door, what do you expect; at least its him, not Kane!" his partner retorted before jumping out of the van; as Sergei assumed when he heard a heavy thump on the pavement; followed by an unintelligible report in a language the former soldier didn't speak.

Despite the dazed, shellshocked and confused state, he got to his feet just in time to see 3 men dressed in multicam and ski masks turn and disappear in one of New York's multitude of alleys.


© 2022 Jake Clawson

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