04-11-2016, 11:09 PM
With a hood over your head, you feel the tension in the rope cut into your wrists as you are led down a cold, dimly lit corridor. The man at your back kept the pace by pushing you along with a hand on your shoulder, his rough demeanour make you convinced your shoulder would be purple and blue the next time you gazed on it. Suddenly, you are brought to a stop. "Sit down." A wooden stool is presented under your legs, forcing your knees to bend.
A seemingly countless number of minutes pass before the hood is removed from your head, the light blinding your retinas for a moment. A stern stocky man stood at the door at the end of the corridor facing you. "Papers, please." He beckons you over. Taking the papers from your outstretched hand he gives you a discerning glare before flicking through your documents. "Proceed." He tucks your documents away in his breast pocket and opens the door.
"Please, forgive the guards. They are rough souls, yet they only mean to protect that which is necessary to remain hidden. They do their duty just as you do yours." A woman sat behind a sparsely cluttered desk, rows of files behind her on shelves. She takes out a packet of rolled cigarettes, takes one for herself and places the packet in front of you. "Indulge me, if you will." She lights her cigarette before casting a discerning glare over her visitor. "It was a long journey to get here, I shall admit I am impressed at your resolve..." She pauses, taking a long intake from her cigarette and exhaling it to the side. "All you seek is in that file cabinet in the corner. Few people know of this place. Fewer still truly understand it's purpose. Perhaps you are to be one of those that shall." She gestures to the cabinet.
You stand up, walk through the smoke filled room to the cabinet and begin to flick through its contents. The cold feel of steel suddenly registers on the back of your neck, the unmistakable cylinder of a firearm. "Perhaps you are not..."
![[Image: mPeirTN.png]](http://i.imgur.com/mPeirTN.png)
![[Image: OTrPgl0.png]](http://i.imgur.com/OTrPgl0.png)
Formerly one of the many Communes to exist on Volgograd, half a year ago it was expropriated by the Ministry of Truth and refitted in secret. Commune 47 is now merely a rumour among the Coalition administration - it's existence is merely a suggestion by those who believe themselves out of the earshot of the Commissariat. Even to many of those working within the division, the overall purpose of the unit is vague and unclear - clarity of purpose only granted to a privileged few and only when deemed necessary. Despite the obscurity of their agenda, those who have come into contact with the Commissars of Commune 47 recognise a seeming willingness to work with those outside the Coalition - though for what reason remains to be disclosed.
![[Image: 3V2rzP7.png]](http://i.imgur.com/3V2rzP7.png)
![[Image: lihhQFb.png]](http://i.imgur.com/lihhQFb.png)
Pimakohva was brought into the world on the cold barrens of Planet Volgograd to a pair of clerks working for the Coalition's Ministry of Truth. Enjoying the benefits of protected jobs and the security of welfare brought with it, Pimakhova lived a cushy life within the confines of Commune 39. Sheltered from contact with the world outside of Omega-52, Pimakhova found solace in the teachings of the Coalition and was said to have taken harsh actions against her peers who spoke out against them. Whilst aspiring to grow into her parents' footsteps by progressing through the excellent education being offered by the Ministry. However, those in the shadows had other plans for her.
Selected to undergo training within the Commissariat at the age of nineteen, Pimakhova all but vanished from public society. No one was told what had happened to her, and there were rumours she had been "purged" from the Commune. Despite these rumours, her parents accepted their lot and continued with their lives as normal - fearful of what the Ministry would do to them if too many questions were raised. The training was gruelling, and whilst details of what she had undergone will never be released, it is evident that the scars of those years had changed her to the core. Following her return four years later, Pimakhova was quickly put to the test by being appointed as the administrative head of Commune 47 and its inhabitants.
![[Image: 4F0QihO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/4F0QihO.png)
Printing in process - please report to printing station 51 in eleven minutes.
![[Image: YaFN4aI.png]](http://i.imgur.com/YaFN4aI.png)
A seemingly countless number of minutes pass before the hood is removed from your head, the light blinding your retinas for a moment. A stern stocky man stood at the door at the end of the corridor facing you. "Papers, please." He beckons you over. Taking the papers from your outstretched hand he gives you a discerning glare before flicking through your documents. "Proceed." He tucks your documents away in his breast pocket and opens the door.
"Please, forgive the guards. They are rough souls, yet they only mean to protect that which is necessary to remain hidden. They do their duty just as you do yours." A woman sat behind a sparsely cluttered desk, rows of files behind her on shelves. She takes out a packet of rolled cigarettes, takes one for herself and places the packet in front of you. "Indulge me, if you will." She lights her cigarette before casting a discerning glare over her visitor. "It was a long journey to get here, I shall admit I am impressed at your resolve..." She pauses, taking a long intake from her cigarette and exhaling it to the side. "All you seek is in that file cabinet in the corner. Few people know of this place. Fewer still truly understand it's purpose. Perhaps you are to be one of those that shall." She gestures to the cabinet.
You stand up, walk through the smoke filled room to the cabinet and begin to flick through its contents. The cold feel of steel suddenly registers on the back of your neck, the unmistakable cylinder of a firearm. "Perhaps you are not..."
Formerly one of the many Communes to exist on Volgograd, half a year ago it was expropriated by the Ministry of Truth and refitted in secret. Commune 47 is now merely a rumour among the Coalition administration - it's existence is merely a suggestion by those who believe themselves out of the earshot of the Commissariat. Even to many of those working within the division, the overall purpose of the unit is vague and unclear - clarity of purpose only granted to a privileged few and only when deemed necessary. Despite the obscurity of their agenda, those who have come into contact with the Commissars of Commune 47 recognise a seeming willingness to work with those outside the Coalition - though for what reason remains to be disclosed.
Selected to undergo training within the Commissariat at the age of nineteen, Pimakhova all but vanished from public society. No one was told what had happened to her, and there were rumours she had been "purged" from the Commune. Despite these rumours, her parents accepted their lot and continued with their lives as normal - fearful of what the Ministry would do to them if too many questions were raised. The training was gruelling, and whilst details of what she had undergone will never be released, it is evident that the scars of those years had changed her to the core. Following her return four years later, Pimakhova was quickly put to the test by being appointed as the administrative head of Commune 47 and its inhabitants.
Printing in process - please report to printing station 51 in eleven minutes.
![[+]](/forums/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Spoiler![[Image: uADHfgZ.png]](http://i.imgur.com/uADHfgZ.png)
![[Image: WpeUGJO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/WpeUGJO.png)
![[Image: ORPJ3DE.png]](http://i.imgur.com/ORPJ3DE.png)
![[Image: xe4tPK9.png]](http://i.imgur.com/xe4tPK9.png)
![[Image: pUjBNKe.png]](http://i.imgur.com/pUjBNKe.png)
![[Image: ZD7GhXZ.png]](http://i.imgur.com/ZD7GhXZ.png)
![[Image: lbWGRji.png]](http://i.imgur.com/lbWGRji.png)