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LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
CITY: MOSCOW, RUSSIA
DATE: MAY 4, 2026 | TIME: 10:00 PM
The first few days after the Sudzha compressor station catastrophe were enlightening in all of the worst ways.
Peacekeeper and other Ukrainian based sabotage teams had been systematically working on two parallel missions.
First, blind the Russians as to what was happening on the front lines. And second, crumble the oil, natural gas, steel, and banking infrastructure that held up an entire class of oligarchs.
The Siloviki represented the combined military and intelligence might of the Russian state, while the oligarchs represented its wealth and financial viability.
With the Siloviki blinded along the border and troops deserting by the tens of thousands, they were growing frustrated.
But the oligarchs who suddenly found themselves with severely crippled revenues across the board, on top of their personal fortunes, yachts, and overseas homes seized, were past their limits.
On Monday, May 4th, the heads of the FSB and GRU called together an offsite meeting under the cover of darkness with the Siloviki and oligarchs representing the domestic oil and gas, steel and banking industries to discuss options for ending the war in Ukraine.
"It will take all of us pressuring him to force his hand," the Defense Minister continued, after they had briefly discussed the current overall picture they were facing.
"We must remain united," one of the oil tycoons said. He was pleased to see so many heads bobbing in agreement.
The FSB Director, Nikolai Baranov, stood from his chair at the head of the table, and the discussion quieted down immediately. He was the highest ranking man in the room, and all there knew it.
"I can see you're all scared," Baranov said. "But you're right. We must remain united in our firm conviction. We've lost an entire generation of young men. And for what?"
His eyes burned with fire.
"We can't even secure the fucking Donbas region," he continued. "All we've accomplished is to kill our own cousins and destroy their land."
He paced back and forth.
"What President Volodin needs is a reason to end the war. Pulling out while admitting defeat just isn't going to happen."
He turned back to the group, and the look on his face was intense.
"And I'll tell you this. Threatening his life or his authority won't work either. Believe me, I've brainstormed this from every angle."
"You're right," the Defense Minister said, "convincing him we've already lost won't cut it here. We've got to give him a way out. A way that allows him to save face."
"Why? Because his fucking ego is that fragile?" Viktor Petrov, the head of the gas company affected by the Sudzha disaster. "Sure, if you need to coddle him, go ahead. I'll be silently praying for him to fall out a window."
Nikolai Baranov laughed, as did a few others.
"Pray if you wish," he said, "as long as you keep your fucking mouth shut. The meeting is set for Friday the 8th at the Kremlin. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."
They discussed a few more items and he closed the meeting. Everyone left separately, driving in different directions to avoid detection.
The sit-down on the 8th was going to be a critical one that affected millions of lives. And the very course of a nation's future.
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LOCATION: THE KREMLIN
CITY: MOSCOW, RUSSIA
DATE: MAY 8, 2026 | TIME: 8:00 AM
President Sergei Volodin knew the oligarchs were unsettled. Again.
With the North Korean regime swept aside like so much dust in the wind, and the disaster in Sudzha, the rabble were bound to be restless.
It was time to reassert his authority.
At least the Siloviki would be there to back him up. He smiled to himself. Maybe one of the oligarchs would get out of line, and end up in a plane crash. That would be fun.
He made his way to the small cabinet room he'd reserved for the meeting. The seat at the head of the table was ornate and comfortable, while the others were lower to the ground and made of hardwood. No padding, of course.
He couldn't let them get comfortable. They had to know their place. Sitting in low chairs, their fat asses shooting jolts of pain up their spine, all the while looking up at him. As it should be.
Just before 8:00, aides brought in tea for everyone, serving the President first, and exited.
"Now," Volodin said, "you requested this meeting. What is so important that you're all here wasting my time?"
He took a sip of his tea and glared around the room.
Viktor Petrov cleared his throat.
"Mr. President, we wanted to discuss the implications of the attack on Sudzha. In just a week, we have already lost over a billion—"
"I'm not worried about it, Petrov," Volodin said. "You will make up the difference from your own personal fortune. So the sooner you get the compressor station repaired, the sooner your fortune stops running dry."
"Are you saying—"
"Yes, Petrov, I'm saying you still owe the Russian government the full amount contracted. If you can't deliver the gas to your customers and collect on the agreements, that's your problem."
Volodin took another sip of his tea. He was feeling warm, and sweat began forming on his forehead.
"Mr. President," the Defense Minister began, "saboteurs along the border have destroyed our drones and radio surveillance posts. They've been harassing troops, and we've lost thousands to desertions. It's becoming untenable."
"Untenable?!" the President shouted, bolting up out of his chair. "You know what's untenable?"
As he had stood so quickly, a headrush hit him like a brick, and he wobbled on his feet.
Froth began forming at the corners of his mouth, and he was finding it harder to breathe.
"What's happen…"
He looked down at his tea.
Then back up at Baranov, who was leaning back in his chair, smiling.
"Yooou would d… ddddare?" Volodin asked. But his words were so slurred he could barely form them.
Nikolai Baranov, the FSB Director, the man the President had relied on the most in the entire country, the man who he considered his immediate successor, stood. Baranov was still smiling.
"It's the latest strain of the Novichok nerve agent."
He walked the few steps to the gasping President, who could barely stand now.
Baranov reached out a steadying hand, but Volodin swatted it away.
The action, however, threw him completely off balance, and he fell, slamming his head into the sharp corner of the table on the way to the floor.
And those were the last few moments of Sergei Volodin's life.
"Tsk," Baranov said, "he got blood on the table."
He took the linen napkin from under Volodin's teacup and wiped the corner clean.
Meanwhile, nobody in the room spoke for several minutes.
"I thought we were going to give him an ultimatum," the Defense Minister said, blandly.
Baranov looked up and laughed.
"Oh, please. He would have spent every waking moment exacting revenge on every one of us. The moment we entered this room today, this was the only possible outcome."
He glanced around the room. Everyone still had dumbfounded looks on their faces.
"Come on," he said, "we can finally withdraw from that stupid war and get the world to lift the sanctions. It's time to take back our power. And our fortunes."
He shoved the President's body to the side with his foot and sat down at the head of the table.
"First," Baranov said, "we need to stick to the narrative. Sergei Volodin had a heart attack right before our eyes. We all saw it, did we not?"
"It sure looked like a heart attack to me," Viktor Petrov said. "Should we, uh… call someone?"
"It'll be fine for a few minutes," Baranov said. "I believe we have a few things to discuss first. We don't get together often enough."
He led the discussion on where they go from here. The manufacturing oligarchs committed to working together to get Sudzha station back up and running as quickly as possible.
They all agreed that if they issued an immediate ceasefire, negotiations could begin quickly. If they gave back Crimea, they could not only get their personal assets unfrozen, but possibly even usher Russia into a new and prosperous future.
One that wasn't so dependent on oil and gas for its economic viability. One where Russian technology meant something once again.