Two Reds were dragging Marshall by the shoulder as he coughed and laughed some provocations at them. They threw him and tore off his balaclava as they reached their officer.

"Oh, look who it is, the big bad officer himself, ah?" He coughed a few more time, "Tell me…uf uf…tell me, 'Comrade' Major Victor, how many…uf… men, women, and children do you think you will kill before you've killed the whole Metro, ah?" He began to cough some more then laugh bit. "Well, you fascist bastard? Oof!" Marshall coughed more as he felt a boot meet with his stomach.

"How dare you talk to the Comrade Major like that, you traitor!" An arm stopped the Red soldier.

"That's enough, comrades, let the traitor speak." Comrade Major Victor turned and faced Marshall with a smile. "Well? What else have you got to say before you are punished? Anything?"

"Yeah, fuck you! If the Red Line knew what you were doing, they'd shoot you on the spot! You've done nothing but act like a fucking fascist while here! You burn people alive just because they are in your way, you imprison innocent civilians just because they looked at you, and you kill children just because soldiers aren't working hard enough! That's not who we are! We're not murders!"

The officer nodded at a soldier who kicked Marshall in the face. The officer leaned in close and gave him a big grin. "You are right, Comrade Volkov, we weren't. But now, things are changing. And if you can't change with us it is because you are a spy. And there's only one thing I do with spies like you." Marshall glared at the officer with hatred then looked at the men who were guarding him as they took a knife and brought it to his shirt. the other one, on his left held him down. Two others came to help. As his upper clothing was removed, the officer crept behind him with his own knife and put it on a candle. "Keep him still, I don't want to mess it up. Try to hold as still as you can, Comrade Volkov, this may hurt worse otherwise and take much longer." The men struggle to hold him down, eventually they had all their weight on him and he was only able to wiggle. The officer kneeled onto the small of his back then brought the knife to his upper back and began his work. Marshall cried out in pain and screamed as loud as he could, hoping it would ease the pain in his back somehow, but it didn't. "Hold him, he almost ruined it!"

The officer kept carving then held out his hand with the knife. A fifth man took it and replaced it with another red-hot knife. The smell of burning flesh was filing the room like a poisonous fume but to the officer it was like a woman's perfume. Still he wasn't done, he held his hand out again and his knife was traded out. "Almost, done Comrade Volkov, just bear with me now." He scratched his chin and figured out his next approach to his art then continued.

Marshall kept screaming. He tried not to sob but the pain was so much he was busier praying that he'd faint, but he was too well conditioned to pain to do it. He wanted to be quiet and not give them the satisfaction but if he was quiet, he would start sobbing and then he'd be better off screaming. It was the most dignified thing to do now. Finally, he felt the weight begin to lift. The officer removed his knee and examined his work. "Ah, my best one yet, I think. It looks quite nice on you, Comrade Volkov. If you were a character of a book you would have quite the story to tell. Alas, you are not, and no one is coming to save you, my poor friend. A moment with him, please." The officer smiled.

The men hesitantly left then closed the door behind them. Marshall, bound by his hands and feet slowly got to his knees and shivered. He glared up hatefully at the officer once more. He grumbled then fell back down, trying so hard not to cry. The officer shook his head and clicked his tongue several times. "Aw, I know, it hurts. It burns so much, doesn't it? But that's a good sign, no? At least it means that you aren't losing blood, yes?" He poured himself a drink of preserved whisky and took a sip from his clean crystal glass. These items were taken form a stalker who had struck almost literal gold one day. The officer had him killed and the item brought to him. He was only a Major, but he knew how to play his cards right. He was just too clever. "Comrade Volkov, I understand how you feel about my tactics, I really do. But I need you to see things my way. The Red Line exhausts many resources and has many enemies that are within its borders. There are a lot of spies in our stations and even if you can't get a verbal confession you only need to look in their eyes and see the lie inside them to be able to tell. You may not see it, but I am not so easily fooled. As for the burnings," He took another drink and exhaled with satisfaction. "You are right. That is such a fascist thing to do. But, think, Comrade Volkov, for just a moment, think. Maybe it is time we fought fire with fire, yes? If they burn us, why not burn them?"

Marshall struggled to sit up somewhere where he didn't have to hold his weight up but also not lay on his back or chill his stomach. The pain was gnawing and the cold nipped. "Becoming a fascist will not defeat fascism, you bitch."

"Mm," Comrade Major Victor agreed while drinking from his glass, "That you are right. You are wise as you are dangerous, Comrade Volkov. But…you see, just because I burn people like a fascist doesn't mean I am a fascist." He smiled then finished his glass and leaned down facing Marshall. "I need you, Comrade Volkov. You are a waist of bullets and gas but a valuable use of manpower and skill. The Red Line needs you, do not throw away your place with us. You have been marked with…a most humiliating piece of art. A tattoo if I may. That's enough for you to pay for your insubordinate tone. Let's put this all behind us and call it even. You have paid your price, Comrade Volkov and now you have a choice. Death, or service. Either way, your service to the Red Line will be remembered for better or for worse."

Marshall wanted to choose service. He really did. He served the Red Line for so long now. And his tone was so soft, so welcoming, so forgiving that Marshall really did want to accept and apologize for everything he said. Afterall maybe he was right about all this. Marshall closed his eyes and the image of a woman and her children being burned in front of her husband played in his head. Then he remembered more. People getting shot on the spot, burned, cut open; butchered. No, this was not the Red Line he served. Marshall leaned in next to the officer's ear and whispered what would probably be his last words. "Fuck you."

The officer clicked his tongue and stood up. "That pains me, my friend. I am truly sorry. Do not worry, we will tell your family of your service and tell them how you died a hero. It will not be the same Red Line without you, Marshall."

"No," Marshall groaned, "It won't…and it certainly started a bit early."

The officer nodded and then barked at the door. He gave the soldiers orders then Marshall felt a boot hit his head. The next thing Marshall knew was that he was in a dim lit room laying down with his hands and feet still bound.

"Hey, he's waking. It's time." Said a soldier.

"Alright," Said the other, "Let's get this over with. Hey, Volkov, wake up. Come on hurry up, we haven't got all day!"

Marshall looked up at a soldier and tried to get his surroundings. The soldier took a clip board and pen then leaned over, "Well? Do you have any final requests before we execute you? It was Comrade Majors orders to do this quietly and make sure you had a final written will. You earned that much."

"Come on, out with it," the other said impatiently.

Marshall sighed then took a few seconds to think. "Let my sister have all my things. Don't let anyone touch them. And my allowance. Make sure she gets that. And my Kalash and my suite goes to her as well. She doesn't share my family's name, she was adopted but you will find her in the Theatre Station. Her name is Enya Borisov, but patrons call her… Sweetie."

The one with the clip board took note of it all then nodded at the other. He stepped outside the door, delivered the clip board, and returned. "Alright, let's get it done. Can't promise that everything will get to her, but we can promise attempts will be made. I'll position him then you take the shot. Do you want this done face forward or backward?"

"Forward," Marshall replied.

The man nodded then positioned him as such. Marshall stared at the man with the revolver making him uncomfortable. "Stop looking at me like that." Marshal ignored him and the executer shook his head. "Turn him around, I can't do this when he's staring at me like that."

"He just said he wanted to face you," The clip board said.

The executer argued again, "I can't take it. He always makes that look before…"

"Before what?" The clip board asked. "Just shoot the man already."

The executer sighed then pointed his revolver. He pulled the hammer back. Marshall closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The executer did the same then squeezed the trigger. Suddenly, Marshall's bounds came undone. He hopped up and struck the executer in the throat, quickly disarming him and pointing the gun at them, "No suddenly moved, on the ground on the ground, bitches." They put their hands up and didn't make a sound. Marshall instructed them to turn around then pistol whipped them both. Marshall took the minute he had to have breather then sprang to action. He gripped the charm around his neck and whispered, "I'm coming, Sweetie." Marshall quickly and carefully began to sneak out of the room.

He needed to get out of the station. The revolver would have to do; he didn't want to leave the station unarmed. He was already shirtless with half a uniform. He would have to change out of the cloths and see if he could patch up the marking on his back. He didn't know what it was yet, but he knew it was "humiliating." For all he knew, the officer grew a sense of humor and carved a penis and called him a dick. But then again, the knife had to lift itself too many times. When he thought about it, it actually felt like words. But he wasn't sure. Thinking about it too much was making it sting. Still, Marshall was able to ignore it long enough to reach the tunnels.

He looked back making sure that there was no followers and broke off into a run for what seemed like forever. He didn't know what tunnel he was in, but he knew that it was better than staying in the station. He only knew that he was in Kirovskaya. What direction was he facing? He was hoping that it wasn't any of the tunnels north or south. Those were dead ends without documents. The ones south was a dead-end, period. South east was his best bet. Then again, North didn't sound too bad. If he went north, he had a connection there that would save him trouble. Sucharevskaya station was a transit station and also therefore neutral. There, he could get help and a direct line to Theatre Station. Then again, he would have to present some documents there too. They would probably not let him out either. Not without a fight. But the trouble would actually be getting in. He had to assume that the whole Red Line knew who he was and either thought he was dead or would know he escaped. He had to play his cards right. If he was lucky, his connections could provide him with an answer. So, he continued down the tunnel and hoped his luck would hold. Marshall had to fight the cold as he continued down the hazardous tunnel. He managed to keep warm by hugging himself, but his bare upper body was being struck from all sides with the cold. His back didn't feel so cold, since it was so busy burning.

The dark of the tunnels made it hard to navigate where he was going. He only had five rounds in his revolver. Five rounds, one weapon, no flashlight, no coat or shirt, just a pair of camo pants and boots, and rotten luck. Well, the luck could be debated. He was a good soldier, but there was always something that turned him being a good soldier to misfortune. He always tripped or fell or missed a shot at the wrong time. A majority of the time those things wouldn't happen, but those key moments… always went wrong.

Finally, Marshall found a light at the distance. He let one foot lead the other until the light turned into a gate with people guarding it. He approached with a deep breath and told himself, "Here goes nothing."

"Halt," A guard stopped him, "What the hell. What are you doing without a shirt and coat? Why are you like that?" Asked a guard.

"Ah, Iit's a long story," Marshall replied, "Listen, I need you to find someone. His name is Fedeyka Andreev. Just find him and I will not be much trouble; I swear."

The guards looked him over then whispered to each other. One of them recognized that what was left of his uniform was a Red Line soldier's uniform. The debate came from whether he was a Red or if he was a thief or even an escapist. Marshall started to shiver and creep towards the nearest fire. Just seeing the fire was enough to make hm long for its warmth. When he could barely feel it lick his skin, he had tried to creep even closer. A guard caught him moving closer to the gates and yelled at him. "You, over there, don't think I don't see you!"

"He-hey," Marshall chuckled putting his hands up defensively, "It's alright. I was just hoping to share a place with you by the fire."

The guard sighed then nodded. Marshall sighed in relief then embraced the warmth of a hot fire. It wasn't enough to keep him from shivering, but it was enough to keep him from dying. He continued to warm himself and wait for their decision. Finally, one of them approached him. "Alright, wait here. Do you have any weapons?"

Marshall pulled his revolver and flipped it so the grip faced him. "Just this. Nothing else."

The man took it then nodded. "Good, wait here. He will be watching so, don't try anything stupid."

Marshall nodded and kept by the fire. He extended his hands and warmed them then rubbed them over his body. Once in a while the guard would look him over. Marshall tried to resist the temptation, knowing the guard would see but he couldn't help it. Every attempt to arms his back was met with a lot of pain. The guard looked at him oddly trying to figure out what was wrong. Finally, Marshall gave in and turned to warm his back. The heat was wonderful, but the wound burned a bit. The guard looked it over and appeared shocked when Marshall turned and faced him. He looked away as if to apologize for being so intrusive. But it was clear that whatever the officer carved on him, it was horrifying enough to make even the tough guardsman shiver and pity him. Maybe it was humiliating after all.

Finally, the guard returned with a man in a faded metro worker's uniform. He looked at Marshall and widened his eyes. "Marshall?"

"Fedeyka," Marshall smiled.

"Marshall, my friend. When they said a Red soldier had come to see me I had hoped it was you." He hugged him but Marshall grimaced and pushed him away. "What? What is wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Fedeyka, but I am not in the best shape." Marshall blew out a few puffs of air and gripped his heart from the sudden surge of pain his friend had caused.

"I'd say, you're here without a shirt. come in, you'll catch your death in this cold! Come on, come." The guards let him in and Fedeyka led him to his home. The metro station here was still basically a metro station, but people lived in it and they still required guards. Fedeyka lived in a medium sized tent with a bright lantern, a table, some chairs, some lockers, and a few bed rolls. He also had a family. There was a little girl with a doll, his wife, Tanya, who Marshall had met only once before, and a teenaged son. "Sit down, make yourself at home. Tanya, help me with this. Ivan go and take your sister outside. Watch her as she plays." Fedeyka pulled a chair and Tanya got some first aid supplies.

"My goodness, Marshall, what happened?" Tanya asked. "This is horrifying. No wonder you sent the children out."

"I could hardly believe it myself. He was out there, no shirt, just these pants and boots. They gave me his revolver. Here, Marshall."

"Keep it for now, my friend," Marshall groaned, "Can you patch my back up?"

"It would be terrible for us not to. Fedeyka, get some of the boiled water I meant for tea. We need it to clean this." Tanya took a rag and began to soak up the blood at the sides of the carved would. Even though it was cauterized it bled.

Fedeyka got the water and poured it into a bowl. Tanya took a clean rag and dipped it in the water then laid it out to cool. After some time, she grabbed the wet rag and began to clean Marshall's wound with the relatively hot rag. He tensed and sucked in sharply as he felt the heat against his stinging wound.

"I'm sorry," Tanya apologized. "The wound is so bloody and dirty. And it's already so enflamed. I think its infected."

Marshal grunted in pain. He tensed once more and bit onto his arm. "No surprise there. It…ack! Ffff…" he resisted the urge to curse as to protect the children outside. The teen was fine, but the little girl was not "ready." He relaxed as the rag finally became painless, but a little irritating. That was, until she brought out the disinfectant.

"This will burn," She warned.

"Better get you something to bight, ah?" Fedeyka grabbed a shirt and gave it to him. "Here, when your done put it on. Don't worry, its clean."

Marshall thanked him then braced for the burn at his back. When it finally came, he bit the shirt and nearly screamed. He tried gripping his chair and whispered curses to see if it would help. It did, but not as much as he'd like. When the burning passed, he finally felt as though his torture was done. And he was right. Tanya dressed the wound then then secured it with some of the duct tape they had on hand. There was nothing else they could use to ensure the bandaging stayed. They didn't have anything else except for a shredded clean shirt.

"There, that should do it," Tanya said clearing the table. "Are you alright now?"

"Much better thanks to you," Marshall sighed. "Thank you, both of you."

"Of course," Fedeyka assured, "I'm always willing to help a friend like you, Marshall. There's not enough of you in the metro. But tell me, why was that on your back? What happened?"

Marshall sighed and hesitated to answer. "First, I want to know. What was it? On my back? What did it look like?"

The two looked at each other. Marshall looked at Tanya who was the most shaken by it. "It was single word. I've only seen tattoos be so neat. It says, 'traitor.'"

Marshall rubbed his neck as if to reach for his label on his back. He swore to himself that he would get that Major even if it killed him. He was determined to kill the real traitor. And he brought several men down with him. Marshall clenched his fists. "There's a man in the station south from here. Kirovskaya Station. His name is Victor. Major Victor. He was my commanding officer until I found out who he was. And he didn't even try hiding it. He burns people alive, kills people just because he thinks they are spies, and even kills his own for trying to talk sense into him. For me, it was different. He gave me a second chance, but I told him to shove it up his…" He paused and looked at the tent door. Tanya gave him a warning look. "Anyway. The payment for my crimes was a new tattoo. The next time was getting shot. But I escaped. I'm trying to get to Theatre station. My Enya is there. My sister."

"Ah, you mean Sweetie, yes? That outstanding performer that brings tears to all the critics that visit the Bolshoi."

"Yes," Marshall smiled, "That one. Ever since my mother had died, she's been the only family I had left. I need to get to her and get her out of there."

"Where will you go?" Fedeyka asked.

Marshall sighed. He thought about that question for some time but having no answer and being asked caught him off guard. "I…I don't know." He rubbed his face then sighed again.

Tanya and Fedeyka looked at each other. They had a telepathic conversation then Tanya gripped Marshall's hand. "Forgive me if it sounds…out of the question. But what about Polis?"

Marshall widened his eyes. "Polis? You can't be serious, they wouldn't except a Red soldier."

"How do they know you are Red?" Tanya asked. She had a point too and she knew it.

Marshall pressed his tongue against his cheek. "Alright, Polis it is. I will just hope and cross my fingers."

"The only thing I would be nervous about is that mark on your back. But since it is covered you should be fine." Fedeyka insisted. "I can help you get it. I know some people who supply the theatre with food and market goods. They will get you in and you can do your part. You will be on your own once inside, but that isn't a problem, right?"

Marshall smirked. "Thank you, my friend. It won't be. Do you have any ammo or weapon I can take?"

"No, I only have my Ashot and shells for that."

Marshall nodded, "I won't take that. The revolver is enough."

Fedeyka nodded back. "Alright, I will talk to my friends. Stay here tonight, we can get you there tomorrow."

Marshall thanked Fedeyka. He rested until the next day, early morning when Fedeyka had woken him.

"Marshall, they are ready for you," He whispered.

Marshall stirred then sat himself us slowly. "What time is it?"

Fedeyka looked at his watch then replied, "Nearly five. You must hurry if you want them to take you. Come, hurry. Change into these cloths, I picked them out for you, should be just your size."

Marshall stood up and put on the cloths consisting of some overalls, a grey overshirt, and a leather jacket. There was also a knitted cap and some gloves. Marshall also collected the revolver he had taken from his executioner. The merchants that Fedeyka talked to met him and Marshall at one of the still working trams along with a few boxes.

"Alright, are you ready?" Asked a merchant.

Marshall nodded and yawned. "Yes, but does it have to be so early in the morning?"

A merchant shook his head and gave Fedeyka a look. "Yes, if you want the guards to be lazy. And this is the only time we planned on leaving. Do you think that you are the only thing we are smuggling in?"

Marshall squinted at them. "What do you mean?"

"We smuggle banned goods that you guys think gets in the way of your Red influence. So far, we've yet to be caught."

Marshall shook his head and looked at Fedeyka. "How long have you been doing this?"

Fedeyka put his hands up. "To be fair, a Red officer is the one who wants it. Not your Major, understand, but a lieutenant. He smokes more than you kill."

Marshall sighed. If he were still a soldier, then he would ensure the lieutenant had been shot. But since he was dead, he would pretend that he didn't hear a thing. "Well, it doesn't matter now. Do what you will. It may also help that they undergo a shift change every six hours. Every number divisible by six to be exact. Just before they change, they will tend to be very lenient. So, where do I need to be to stay hidden?"

"Here, in this box. We'll knock on it when it's safe for you to come out," Answered a Merchant beating a wooden crate.

Marshall gave a sigh. He looked inside seeing nothing but the empty rotten wood and what he could see was rat manure. Fortunately, the crate didn't have any distinct smell except for the wood itself. He climbed in and crouched down to a sit. "Alright, ehm…how long is this trip going to take?"

"An hour or so," Answered a merchant. "So get comfortable… Eh, by the way." He leaned in and asked. "Was what you said about the shifts really…true?"

Marshall smiled then replied, "I bet my life on it. Trust me, I used to be on that watch. Took a few bullets to ignore what was inside a couple of times. I guess we all have a little greed we indulge in once and a while, eh, friend?"

The merchant gave Marshall a satisfied smile. "Right. Good, get comfortable and try to take a nap or something. It is early in the morning, Afterall. Oh, and friend, it can get a little bumpy, try not to fall off, ah?" The merchant chuckled as he put the crate on and tapped it twice. Marshall laid back in the crap space as best he could and tried to get to a satisfying position that wouldn't hurt his back or give his legs room to move so he could feel them. It looked a little more spacious when he had glimpsed at it, but now it felt as small as a rat hole. Marshall had to change positions multiple times in order to help his body withstand the cramped space. He was unable to get any sleep. Finally, Marshall could hear voices outside the crate. A few words were shared, and the rail cart the merchants were using once again started moving. He felt his crate move then get set down. The wood knocked. Marshall stood up, having to move slowly as his knees had finally been given a chance to straighten out.

"At last, I was getting claustrophobic. Alright, where do I need to go from here? What part of the station am I in?" Marshall got out of the crate and sucked in sharply as his legs cramped.

"You're in the Red's storage facility. You'll have to sneak out and find you own way out into the station. We've done our part," Answered one of the merchants. "If you get caught, we don't know you. Don't make us regret helping you."

Marshall grinned and asked for a hand to help pull him up. "Don't, worry, friend. I know my way around. Good luck on your trades and thank you."

The merchants began to unpack the rest of the merchandise and Marshall began to sneak his way outside of the Red base. Once Marshall had slipped out of the base, he then continued to make his way to the Bolshoi Theatre. He passed the market and skipped the line of impatient people. A gangster, seeing him, took hold of him and started shouting. "Hey, bitch! Where do you think you're going, ah? You think you're more important than everyone else? Get in the back of the line before I…"

Before the gangster could finish, Marshall grabbed his hand and put pressure on the wrist, bringing him close and saying aloud, "I have a pass. A VIP." He then went into a whisper. "Yuri, it's me. Let me through."

"Volkov?" He grunted, trying not to holler in pain. Marshall let go and gave a sigh of relief. "Volkov, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Kirovskaya Station."

Marshall looked around and replied, "I was, until they started killing their own men. Major Victor is a madman and practically a fascist. I have a mark on my back to prove it. Listen, I need to get in. Is my sister preforming today?"

"Yes, she is, she's got the opening act," Yuri replied looking around and saying aloud, "Ah, I see. I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize. Use the other line next time, this way." He pulled the red rope so Marshall could get through. "If you're here, and not dead, what are they going to do?"

"He's probably going to mark me as a runaway traitor. I can't stay in the Red Line anymore. It's not safe."

"Will you go to Polis? They could certainly provide you a home. And since they don't know where you are, they won't be a problem, right?" Yuri asked, leading him inside.

Marshall gave a nod. "I think that too. I don't have any better idea. Yuri, did my things get delivered? Did you see?"

Yuri was silent for a while. "I don't know. I didn't see. I've been working here since four to get ready for this show. It'll begin soon. So, you might as well watch."

"Well, I need you to do something for me. I'll pay good money if you do." Marshall looked around to ensure they weren't being heard. He took him by the shoulder then whispered, "I need you to go to my home and see if my sister got my things. Her maid should be there so she would have received them. If she is there, tell her I sent you and that I need them now. If she doesn't believe you, tell her that my favorite color is blue. She'll know what that means. It's emergency phrase I gave her."

"Okay, and…where do I put them?" Yuri asked.

"Dressing room. In my sister's closet. Also, for payment, tell the maid that you need the tin box on top of the dresser, behind the pots. What's in there is yours now."

"What's in it?" Yuri asked.

"Bullets and a few other things I'd rather leave behind now." Marshall replied. The show host began his speech and Marshall started towards the door. He turned once more asking Yuri, "Can you do this for me?"

Yuri nodded and replied, "I'll get it down before her part of the show ends. Marshall…" Marshall listened to Yuri once more before entering the theatre. "Do come visit an old friend again if you get the chance. It was good seeing you."

Marshall smiled and pat his shoulder, "Yuri, do this for me, and I will do whatever it takes to get your family out of this station and into Polis. That's a promise from an old friend."

"I'll hold you to that. The bullets will do for now." Yuri grinned. "Good luck, my brother."

"And good health to you," Marshall replied. He finally entered the theatre and took a seat near the front closest to the stage and center most. The host went on for a while before finally finishing his speech.

"And without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, an old time, Russian favorite, Katyusha, sung by the Bolshoi Choir. And joining them, Mr. Eugene Garipova and our shining star, Sweetie."

The curtains parted and two lines of men dressed in fine kept suites appeared. An accordion, balalaika, guitar, and piano began to play. The man named Eugene began to sing the first few lines of the old song.

Apples and pear trees were a-blooming

Mist was creeping on the river

Katyusha set out on the banks,

On the steep and lofty banks

The choir then joined in. Marshall smiled. He had practiced this song with Sweetie. She was more than ready, but she never skipped a practice. Now, after several weeks, she was preforming it.

Katyusha set out on the banks,

On the steep and lofty banks

Sweetie appeared from the curtains, the audience applauded her appearance and eagerly waiting for her to begin. Finally as the instrumental had come to her que, her sweet strong voice filled the Bolshoi. She was dressed in a white dress that had managed to stay clean despite what it had probably gone through and some sapphire earrings Marshall had found in a jewelry store on the surface during a surface duty. The dress flowed straight down and sort of sparkled in the old electrical lights. Marshall had to smile. She was so beautiful when she performed.

She was walking, singing a song

About a grey steppe eagle

About her true love,

Whose letters she was keeping.

Again the choir had joined in and Eugene too. Sweetie and Eugene danced lightly to encourage the crowed to have fun as they watched.

About her true love,

Whose letters she was keeping.

Marshall smiled at her performance. She had yet to notice him, but once her eyes had scanned the crowed, she finally locked her eyes with his. Eugene was again singing his solo.

Oh your song! Little song of a maiden

Head for the bright sun.

Sweetie's smile brightened and she began to sing with more spirit.

And reach for the soldier on the far away border

Along with greeting from Katyusha.

Once again, they sang as one voice, Sweetie and Eugene being the loudest.

And reach for the soldier on the far-away border

Along with greeting from Katyusha.

Eugene and Sweetie took the duet for the final verse. She locked eyes with Marshall as if to check she was preforming at her best.

Let him remember an ordinary girl,

And hear how she sings,

Let him preserve the Motherland,

Same as Katyusha preserves their love.

The choir joined in once again.

Let him preserve the Motherland,

The choir had fell unexpectedly silent, but Sweetie continued the song.

Same as Katyusha preserves their love.

The song was coming near to an end, but the crowed was comforted when the choir how picked up one more.

Apples and pear trees were a-blooming

Mist was creeping on the river

Eugene and Sweetie had again picked up the melody as the choir fell silent.

Katyusha set out on the banks,

On the steep and lofty banks

Again, the entire choir, and the two singers sang in unison to end the song as a finale.

Katyusha set out on the banks,

On the steep and lofty banks

The instruments ended the song abruptly and the crowed cheered and applauded the choir. The curtains closed and the host walked out in front. "Thank you, Thanks you ladies and gentlemen. But we have not yet heard the last of our beautiful Sweetie. As such, I will keep this short. Please put your hands together as Sweetie sings another old time favorite: Korobeiniki.

The crowed applauded as the curtains again parted. The instruments played a fast and quick introduction and stopped abruptly then calmly began to play as she started to sing. She looked at Marshall for approval and his smile said it all. Every once in a while, as she sang high and low, her eyes would glimpse at him. Someone took the seat next to him. Marshall looked to see Yuri.

"Everything is in place. And I think something is wrong. When I went to get your things, some Reds were asking questions. Not the usual kind too. I think they might have sent word and started searching for you."

"That's unlikely, but better to be safe," Marshall sighed. "Thank you, Yuri."

"That isn't all," Yuri said urgently. "They started pounding on the door to your home when I left. Just in time. They didn't notice I left with all your things. I think they are trying to find you and Sweetie!"

Marshall felt a sickness churn in his stomach. If that was true, they could be there any minute to stop the show and she would learn what spies were treated like. Marshall thought of Sweetie under the mercy of Comrade Major Victor. Unlike him, she could not endure pain as well. She lived an aristocratic life, pain at such a level would be too much for her. "How long is she preforming?"

"She still has three more acts to go! You either have to convince her to leave early or risk three more songs. Your call, I'll watch the door."

"Yuri, you are sure they didn't see you?" Marshall asked, "If they did, they will treat you the same as a spy. You can't stay here anymore either."

"No, friend, they did not," Yuri assured Marshall. "Now do not worry. I will see if the soldiers are close."

"Do you have a flashlight?" Asked Marshall, gripping his arm.

"I do," Yuri replied as he pat his pocket. "What do you want me to do?"

"I will signal at you with mine then you can reply with three flashes if we're safe. One means soldiers are on their way. Watch for the curtains once in a while."

"Right," Yuri said as he stood up again. "Oh, use this to get in the dressing room." Yuri handed a letter. Yuri returned to the doors and Marshall made his way to the dressing room door. A guard eyed him, and Marshall gave the letter to him and waited. When he looked at Sweetie, she was eyeing him suspiciously and a bit worried. He gave her a smile then turned back.

The guard nodded then stepped aside, "Don't touch the girls."

"I won't, my friend, I won't, that's not why I'm here anyway, swear on my mother's head." Marshall smiled as he passed. As soon as he closed the door he muttered under his breath, "If she still had one."

He then began to make his way through the halls where two girls had exited the women's dressing room. "Maria, when are we going on, I need to use the bathroom."

"Not for another half hour, Sweetie is still hogging all the spotlight." She stopped and gasped as Marshall widened his eyes. "Volkov! Come to visit? I thought you had forgotten about me."

"Ah, Maria," Marshall smiled nervously. "I'm terribly sorry. I've been very busy, I haven't got the time to visit you. Could you tell me where Sweetie's room is? I need to speak to her when I get a chance."

"Ugh, Sweetie, don't talk about her with me. She's over there, you heartbreaker. Just do me a favor: keep her quiet when you start. Why does Sweetie get all the fun?"

"What? No, that's not what…never mind." Marshall sighed and passed them then entered the room. Marshall looked into the closet and found his Kalash first thing. Marshall's Kalash was fitted perfectly for a Spetsnaz like himself. With a laser sight, red dot, and thirty round magazines it was very ideal in any situation. Already, there was five magazines full for his Kalash. Also inside was his flashlight, mask, hazmat suite, and bullet proof vest. He quickly changed into the equipment and shouldered his Kalash. He loaded a magazine and chambered it then headed back stage. Sweetie was getting ready for her next act.

Marshall saw her smiling as she was being powdered and complimented. "Sweetie that was beautiful! Just two more songs and we can call it a day."

"Ah, yes. Far too short a time for my adoring fans. So sad that it must end so soon. Only two performances." She sighed dramatically. "And my brother. But couldn't believe my eyes, but it was true. It's him! He's back from his station. I'm rather curious why he is back so soon though. Oh, what am I saying? I'm so happy that he has returned."

"I wish the circumstances were better," Marshall said behind her.

She gasped and turned with a great big smile on her face. "Marshall, I'm so happy to see you! Why are you…"

"Sweetie, you can't preform anymore, we have to go," Marshall said, gripping her arms, "The Reds, there coming."

"But you are a Red, aren't you? Marshall, what's wrong?" Sweetie asked. "Why can't I preform? My fans, they want to see me!"

"The Reds are going to stop the show anyway! And they'll kill you for being a spy!"

"But…I'm not…"

"They know. They only want a reason to kill you. My commanding officer, he's not who he says he is! And the Red Line believes him! He's no better than the Nazis but nobody seems to see that! We have to go, now!"

"Sweetie, your up in sixty seconds." A man said from the stage.

Marshall peaked out of the curtains and flashed once. The flashlight Yuri held flashed once back. Marshall's eyes widened. "Sweetie, we have to go now, they're here!" Sweetie looked at the chorographer who was rushing her then back at Marshall who was doing the same. "Enya, please!"

She looked once more at the choreographer than whispered, "I'm sorry, I cannot stay."

She quickly ran off with Marshall to the choreographer's grief. "But the show! Sweetie!"

Marshall started leading her away from the station. He knew Theatre Station well but because of that knowledge he knew that the Reds would be surrounding the exits. He had to think fast if he was going to get them out. But to the looks of things, that wouldn't be done without a fight.