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1980 - Getting Started
The winter of 1980 is just starting in Siberia, Russia, and I’ve only been here for a month. Today’s date is 1980 September 20th, my name is Nikolai Vasilliev, and this is my journal. I arrived in Siberia, Russia at around 21:00 the sky was darker than I’ve ever seen it, and the air was colder and more brisk than any air that has ever touched my skin. It was cold in Moscow, but never was it this cold. I knew I was getting myself into something regrettable from the start, but there was nothing I could do, my commanding officer ordered me to be dispatched here immediately. At the exit of the helicopter a tall shady Colonel was awaiting us newcomers, and had but one thing to say to us, “Welcome to Siberia.” His face was covered in the dark moonless night's shadow, and his body was drenched in furs that insulated every part of his body. I proceeded to the barracks where I would be stationed and consulted the “Viceroy”. There were maybe four Viceroys in all of Siberia, each of them governed sectors, and made sure all proper protocols were being conducted. This one assigned me to my barracks-chief and he proceeded to show me my bunk and locker. It didn’t take me long to settle in, and before I even knew it, I was already getting myself into trouble.A week later I was ordered by my barracks-chief Sergeant Krugov to head up to the “Rolling Slope” with my rifle and catalog any activity. The Activity of what was my question, he told me if I brought back a trophy my first time out he would fill me in. I didn’t understand a damn word he said really, the only thing that got through were his directions to the Rolling Slope. Once I got there I set my rifle amount on the hill overlooking the slope, and grabbed myself a small bottle of vodka from my Rugsack. I wasn’t exactly supposed to have items of that type in my possession at all; they said “Alcohol clouds the senses,” what it does best for me is make seemingly worthless time like that on the slope pass. That time on the slope wasn’t so worthless really, not after all of the things that I discovered in those few hours. It happened while I was taking a sip of my sense-clouding-beverage when I heard the sound of snow fluttering. I took a look at the bottom of the slope, and there was nothing immediately close to where I was sitting, nor was there anything behind me. Though I looked closer down that slope, and I saw pieces of snow slowly being pushed out of the slope from the inside, like something burrowed was trying to escape. Somewhat horrified and grabbed my rifle and tried to aim over the hill and point down at the slope.
