пророк-1.

He could no longer count the days. He could not remember how many years it had been since he was forced into the military workshop. When they came to separate him from his family he was a younger man, when his name was Gregoriy Volya, not Senior Workman Volya. Volya worked the family business of enchanting every day items, as well as weapons for local law enforcement and travelers. It was good pay, and he loved the job. He lived decently, and he was a strong nationalist. His father always spoke highly of the first Czar of Pycheko. His father died shortly before the first Czar did. Ukev Bymirov was named the new Czar, and Volya did not suspect his father would have liked him.

It was night when young Gregoriy was taken from his home, and put into forced labor. But not of the menial kind. He was put into a series of military workshops that worked on a new idea of mass-enchantment. But the only way to make the idea work was, well, forced labor. But neither the government nor the strict workshop foremen called it that. They always used euphemisms such as "a higher purpose for serving the people" or "work that would humble the Czar". He worked on basic enchantments of swords or ammunition or fire arms. The enchanters were under the watchful eye of Junior Commissars who would detect any deviation from the assigned enchantment. Any crafty attempts of escape by enchantment would undoubtedly be found.

But that was 11 years ago. Volya had aged severely, his thick black hair had turned into a shock of white. He had developed a subtle hunch, and acquired the use of a cane. His eyes sunk into his head, and a young man's thin framed glasses became telescopic bifocals. He was promoted to "Senior Workman", and relocated to a specialized facility. He was part of the "team" that created the first "Golymskaya", or the Pychekan militarized iron golem. He was an expert on these creations of war. They were smart enough to follow the military structure of rank. Knew basic tactics and techniques for different types of situations. They could fire their own specialized hand-held cannon weaponry or swing massive axes and swords. And the very last piece was, as with all golems, they were brain-dead loyal. They had no real sole "master", and by default followed the orders of the highest ranking officer.

Since his arrival to the Golymskaya facility, Volya had seen atleast 100 of these war machines pass through. Volya was a master enchanter now. He was assigned a team, and was the Chief Enchanter of a standard melee Golymskaya "Minotavrkonets-6", or Minotaur's End-6. He would work on it as much as he could, alone. He complained to his Junior Commissar that his group was disobedient and incompetent. He cycled groups as much as he could, always trying to misinform and confuse them. Because of this they contributed to nearly none of the work, and did as much as assemble the pieces. They worked very little on the actual enchanting. Volya handled it, and finished a few days after the expected project end date. His rations were cut because of it.

After 8 months, he was finished. The Golymskayas were all lined up for a final inspection, and were to be activated. A Junior Commissar with one Giant bodyguard and the chief foreman went down the line. He held a file that listed all of the Golymskayas. As he went down the row, each dark crimson golem was activated. They churned and groaned, their little eye slits turning a deep red. They stated their name and designation in their baritone voices, and the Commissar took a step forward to the next one. It was activated, and its eye slits turned bright blue. The Junior Commissar narrowed his eyes at the golem, then at Volya standing next to it, hunched over his cane. "State your name and designation, Golem." The golem bellowed,"Prophet-1, Spread truth."

The Junior Commissar scowled heavily, and dropped the file, reaching for his holster. He whipped out his flintlock and aimed at the old man. Volya's distant, glass eyes stared at the Commissar as he spat out,"Traitoooooor!" The Commissar fired at the old man's heart. Volya blinked, and suddenly he was on the floor. A pool of blood surrounding him. His worker team backed away from him quickly. He knew this would be his end. This was his sacrifice. For Prophet-1, for his family, for the workers around him. For the People. He didn't make a sound, he just stared up at the ceiling, blinking.

The young Commissar shoved his smoking flintlock into the foremen's hands. He pointed to Prophet-1, yelling to his giant guard,"Deactivate that one, now!" The giant nodded and moved towards the Golem. Prophet-1 turned its head alertly and swung its fist at the giant's head. The giant caught his fist, and pushed down on it with all his might. He pushed down on Prophet-1, his cap falling off as he bared his canines at the golem. Prophet-1 only returned a cold, emotionless blue stare. The golem dropped its knees a little, then sprung back up. The giant stumbled back, and the Commissar yelled at him all the way through,"You oaf! Get up, get up!" Prophet-1reached behind him, taking the large sword off of the armory rack that stood beside him. He turned, as the giant scrambled back to him. The giant emitted a primal roar, that was cut short. There the giant stood, gripping the huge sword in his gut. Prophet-1 raised its boot, and pushed down on the giant's thigh. The giant collapsed and convulsed on the floor.

The golem now turned to the exit and strode towards it. The Junior Commissar looked at the activated golems in disbelief, they stood there completely ignorant of the situation,"Well, what are you doing?! Golymskayas! Attack! Attack that one!" He pointed at the escaping Prophet-1. The golems became aware and turned their heads, looking at each other in an inquisitive manner, like they didn't quite understand the order. Finally one of them took one of their cannons off of the armory rack and aimed at Prophet. It fired, and Prophet's right pauldron was torn apart into bits and fragments. But he walked on. The other golymskayas took their weapons and began to pursue the fleeing Prophet.

He exited the facility to find himself inside a fenced and barb wired area. It was snowing hard, it came up to his knees out behind the fences. He turned to the large door to his brethren making their advance. They were slow, and lumbering. Prophet-1 didn't quite understand them. But then again, he didn't understand much. He was merely a messenger. He turned back and began to place one foot in front of the other slowly. He then gained momentum. He heard the pinging of bullets bounce off his hull, fired at him from guards in the watch tower. As he gained more momentum, he was doing a speedy jog. The more he inclined his head and the faster his boots pumped, the more speed he gained until he was a charging bull. He broke through the wooden gate and charged into the forests. His brethren stopped at the gates, they were dumbfounded, unable to comprehend their traitor brother's speed.

As Prophet left the facility behind, his master's voice rang in his head, re-iterating a command uttered to him days before:
"Prophet, you will be the people's true hero. Not a tool of war. Deliver what I have inscribed into you to those would would bring about change to this land. You are our voice, Prophet. The voice of the silenced. You our are last hope for freedom. Go, my child. I have made my sacrifice. You must now make yours."

As the aging Lord-Kommissar Beyvik and his right hand Lieutenant approached the guarded doors, they could hear a demanding voice, gradually raising into a yell. As the two guards opened the doors, the yelling became clear. "Where has this thing gone?! Well?.. Can you answer me that, Director? Might I REMIND YOU, that this is a matter of national security?!" As they entered the room, they gazed upon a large table. On one side, General Fyodorov and his men, on the other side, the nerve-wracked, sweaty Director of Militarily applied enchantments. General Fydorov cut his yelling short to look to the Lord-Kommissar. The Kommissar nodded and made his way to the middle of the table, pulling himself a seat. The Lieutenant-Kommissar stood by him silently, a large map rolled up under his arm. The Lord-Kommissar cleared his throat,"Good day, gentlemen. I was told by the Council there was a problem of the.. domestic sorts that I had to deal with?" The General, who had his palms firmly placed on the table, sat back down slowly. He took a cigar from his breast pocket and rubbed his temples. "This.. Golymskaya. It can outrun a man. Maybe even a horse." The Director spoke up,"I don't know how the old man did it.." The General shot him a glare, and the Director silenced himself.

Beyvik nodded to this. He glanced to his Lieutenant for a moment before speaking again,"And, if I'm not mistaken, it's carrying national secrets?" General Fydorov nodding, lighting up his cigar. "High Command has already put every city, every town, every village, and every road on lock down. We're moving whole divisions of reserves from the bloodied Swamp war to try and catch it. But each time a report comes through, by the time reinforcements come, it's long gone. It travels faster than our communications." The Lord-Kommissar nodded curtly,"My Lieutenant-Kommissar has put something together for you.. Lieutenant, if you would?" The younger Lieutenant-Kommissar unfurled the large map onto the table. It was a map of Pycheko, with little red dots on it. The red dots were connected by a line, and they seemed to go in a fairly straight direction. The Lieutenant indicated with his finger as he spoke,"The red dots are reports of this rogue. He was last spotted 16 kilometers due south of Bymirovograd. In one week he has traversed from the tundra facility to the heart of the nation. Which means he cannot possibly be running the whole way there. From what I can assume, it only uses its speed when needed. Nevertheless, if you denote the line, it is going straight. South westward. Due to Sanctimonia or Talibar.. maybe even Sida."

The General nodded at this,"You've a brilliant assistant, Lord-Kommissar." The Lord-Kommissar's wrinkled face made a small smile and he nodded once. "Yes, thank you General.. now.. I assume you know what to do?" The General took a long drag from his cigar, and turned to his men. "I want all passages through the mountains to be reinforced. Equip them with the heaviest weaponry we have. Hell, give each of them a platoon of the Buriczyka! This thing may be fast, but it can't traverse those mountains. If it keeps its course I want it to be on our terms. Understood?" His men saluted him and exited the room quickly, taking with them their documents and maps and their own escort of soldiers.

Then there were 4. The Lord-Kommissar sat back in his chair, and stared down at the map. While he looked at the drawn line, he spoke to the Director,"Director, what do you know about this golymskaya besides its.. speed?" The Director looked up from his hands, which he was worriedly busying himself with. He spoke quickly,"Uh-uh-uh.. Well. The enchantments on it.. One of the workers reported to me.. They weren't regular. Very, very subtle changes. It could mean anything from.. the reason why it's rogue or how it can run to.. Eh.. er.. Or something else. It could be a ward, of some sorts." The Lord-Kommissar looked over the Director. As he was talking, the General took his hat and slowly made his way out of the room. The Lord-Kommissar took a deep breathe, standing from the chair. "My Lieutenant will.. debrief you, Director. Have a good night." The Director bit his lip worriedly and stuttered,"G-g-good night. Za Pycheko!" The Lord-Kommissar walked through the opened doors, saying as he exited,"Za Pycheko."

The guards held the doors open briefly after the Lord-Kommissar made his way through, his Lieutenant turning to the Director on his end of the table and striding towards him. The doors shut. From down the hall, the Lord-Kommissar heard the muffled echo of a gun shot.

They had met again only a few days later at the table. The Lord-Kommissar, his Lieutenant, and the General and his escort of officers. The General sat, rubbing his temples. He took a drag from his cigar, as the Lord-Kommissar stared at him, with a faint look of disappointment. "What happened at outpost Dushakym, General?" The General ground the end of the cigar into an ash tray, sighing deeply. "The rogue got there before the reinforcements were even half way up the mountain pass. The only thing that was left to stop it was a platoon of regulars and a junior Commissar. It plowed right through them, completely ignored their guns."

The Lord-Kommissar sat back in his chair and glanced up at his Lieutenant. He folded his hands together and looked onto the map. "No fear, General.. It seems I can't rely on the Army for such a task. Lucky for us, we have our.. diplomats. He could be going one of two ways from the Vale. Leyanara, or Surna. We will have the Sanctimonian government believe they have a matter of national security on their hands. With their help, our Commissars in these cities can dispatch of this rogue." The General stood up from his seat, and began to exit, when he stopped and turned to the Lord-Kommissar. "This golymskaya could destroy us, Lord-Kommissar." The aged Kommissar turned in his seat, and merely replied,"I know. That's why I'm here. This requires a bit of finesse, General." He turned back in his seat, and the doors closed behind him. He looked down at the map, and suddenly spoke to his Lieutenant.

"Inform Volosin he has a new target."