Ch 2 Chapter 2: The First Move
The Kremlin corridors were colder than I remembered from history books—marble floors polished to a sterile shine, portraits of past leaders watching with frozen eyes. Each step I took echoed, carrying the weight of the nation on my shoulders. The Red System hovered invisibly at my side, a constant whisper in my mind.
"Mission update: Gain trust of three key Politburo members. Priority: General Secretary support."
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the system analyze the room, the timing, and even the mood of each official. The data flooded in: alliances, grudges, ambitions, weaknesses. I didn't just know them—I understood them.
"Recommendation: Begin with Minister of Agriculture, Dmitri Volkov. Target his ego and desire for recognition."
I entered Volkov's office, a man in his fifties with a permanent scowl and a reputation for rigidity. He looked up, suspicion in his eyes.
"Comrade Volkov," I began, carefully measuring my tone. "I have reviewed the agricultural yields of the last decade. There are… areas where your leadership has shown exceptional results. The Party recognizes your contribution."
The man stiffened, clearly unused to praise. The system prompted me:
"Action: Compliment sincerely, then propose collaboration on small pilot reforms. Risk: 10% chance of jealousy if overpraising."
I continued, "I propose a pilot program in the Volga region. We combine your methods with some modern techniques I've studied. It is an opportunity for you to showcase leadership on a national scale."
Volkov's frown softened slightly. "Modern techniques? You mean Western methods?"
"Not exactly," I said, smiling faintly. "We will adapt them to Soviet ideals. Our nation's greatness must shine through innovation guided by the Party."
The system chimed:
+5 Leadership
+10 Influence (Volkov now partially loyal)
A small victory, but critical. One ally secured.
Next, I targeted a hardliner in the Ministry of Defense, General Petrov. He was suspicious of any reform, especially one coming from someone like me. But the system provided an edge:
"Petrov values strength and order. Present reforms as enhancing military supremacy, not civilian change. Risk: 30% chance of opposition if ideological rhetoric is too weak."
I crafted a speech praising the Red Army's achievements, while hinting at technological upgrades, modernized training, and strategic superiority over NATO forces. Petrov listened, skeptical, but the system nudged me:
"Offer a pilot modernization project in the Siberian fleet. Emphasize personal glory and historical legacy."
The general's eyes flickered with interest. I could see it—the slow thaw of suspicion.
"Mission update: 2/3 allies secured. Next target: Party Secretary for Ideological Affairs, Anna Makarova. Approach cautiously."
As I walked the Kremlin halls toward her office, I reflected on the magnitude of what I had undertaken. The USSR was on the brink, its bureaucracy mired in stagnation and fear. Every step I took, every word I spoke, was a calculated move in a chess game where the stakes were the survival of a superpower.
The system whispered:
"Host, small victories compound. Complete your initial missions, then expand influence through economic and technological reforms. Be mindful: every action has ripple effects."
I entered Makarova's office with confidence, prepared to turn her suspicion into support. The system had prepared the perfect speech, but I knew I had to adapt in real time. History would watch, and the world would not wait.
"Host," the system said softly, "your reign begins not with conquest, but with trust."
And so, my first moves were made—quiet, precise, and calculated. The Soviet Union was watching, unaware that its revival had already begun.