Quaranteam: Ruins United Ch. 01

Ruins United is a part of the Quaranteam universe created by CorruptingPower, written with his expressed permission. If you have not read the original or any of the other spinoffs, I would highly recommend you do that, not just to better understand the developments but also because those are really good and lots of fun.

Ruins United has and will have a lot of Russian lingo either untranslated or adapted for English-speaking audience, so if you see * marks, seek the translations and explanations at the end of the chapter.

xoxo,
Cy~

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Chapter 1

Kuban, Russian Federation
Nov 21th, 2020. 10:32am

Frank:
have u seen it yet

Dan stretched in his chair, then tapped the Discord notification.

DynamiteDan:
Just finished watching both Pelosi and 60 min
Andy's living our best life, it seems
Good for him, love his books

Frank:
lmao
not only him now man
my own household is 9 people already

DynamiteDan:
Good for you, man!
Girls keep you busy?

Frank:
and themselves too lol
hru holin up
holding

DynamiteDan:
Holin is right
Sitting tight, going outside only for critical stuff
No personal contacts

Frank:
sitch not improving out there?

Dan parted the blinds with two fingers and looked out of the window. Two cosmonauts* in bright yellow hazmat suits were loading a black body bag into an unmarked black van. Wonder who it is this time. Not that many people left in the building. He sighed.

DynamiteDan:
Like anything could possibly improve here
It's falling apart, Frank
There's probably 20% of population left in my city, tops
There's a talk of vaccine but we ain't getting it
Karina probably wants to use it for leverage, when she has enough
Moscow people say she doesn't, they're still not covered mostly

Frank:
leverage like what

DynamiteDan:
Loyalty, control, typical Moscow bs
She already lost Dagestan and Chechnya
When all the men died off, remaining girls took over
Islamic states are no more, there are talks about independence
Remaining men are just happy to be alive
Going on all over Russia, regions will start falling off soon

Frank:
chinese will take siberia

DynamiteDan:
If there's anybody left alive in China still
We're having trouble with pretty basic stuff here
Most of our imports were Chinese

Frank:
yeah its a total blackout
i was trying to reach family in shenzhen
no luck so far
aite gotta go
my people need me

DynamiteDan:
Go entertain your harem lmao

Frank:
we need to talk biz
be back in the morning

Frank went offline. So, my most important US contact is alive and protected, and wants to talk 'biz'. Promising morning. A sranyi* ray of sunshine in the dreadful kingdom of ebanyi* nothing.

He looked out of the window again. The van was gone. They were rare these days, not like half a year ago - not many bodies left to take out. He didn't want to think where those bodies went. The city only had three small crematoriums.

Try seeing a bustling city with 2 million population reduced to a ghost town before your own eyes. Extrapolate what you saw to the scale of the country. Compare the numbers to the official death toll, which was about 10 to 15 times lower. Get angry.

But he couldn't get angry anymore - the angry nerve already had calluses on it.

Frank Zhao was a good guy. A Chinese-American, who lived most of his life in California and barely spoke Chinese, couldn't possibly understand what was Russia, once a promising young democracy, which one former KGB shitstain turned into a kingdom of painted veneer facades with nothing behind them. Two pandemics at the same time - Covid and DuoHalo - landed like hurricanes, and who's left alive now was standing in the middle of a debris field. No law enforcement, no healthcare, no education, no social services. No army to hold it all together. But to be fair, the police stopped working about 20 years ago, and education went to shit about the same time.

He sighed again, looking at his Discord chats, where less and less people were coming online every day. Just... survive, Danila, it's what we're good at, right? A land of grizzly men who can move mountains, har har. If they're drunk enough, yeah. Ebanyi shame, blyat*. Just let it burn already.

Dan closed Discord and looked at the corner of the screen - nearly 11am. Frank won't come online for eight more hours, give or take an hour. That gives me plenty of time for whatever.

He took off his reading glasses, putting them into the case beside the keyboard, then stood up from the chair and stretched again, pulling open palms upwards to the ceiling, joints popping everywhere. Blya, I have to stop slacking off. He looked down at his stomach and pulled the t-shirt up - no belly yet, but his abs definition had already drowned in a thin layer of fat. You let yourself go completely, Dan. How do you expect chicks to jump you? He chuckled at the thought. Friendship ended with chicks. Now fleshlight is my best friend! But seriously, workout.

He left his study and pushed the door across the hallway, entering his own private home gym. The second biggest room of his apartment was filled with gym equipment tightly packed together - a treadmill, a rowing machine, a stationary bike, an elliptical, a cable machine, a rack with free weights in the corner, and a yoga mat in the tiny portion of the free space on the floor.

He started with the treadmill, doing some interval walking to break a sweat and get his heart rate higher, then switched to the elliptical and finished his routine with the rowing machine. By the end of the hour, he was panting, sweating like it was August and he had no AC, and felt muscles trembling all over.

That'll teach you to not slack. But if you think of it? No, it won't. Some of us just need a much bigger incentive, like those Hollywood actors have. The workout still left him in a much better mood.

The water was hot and with a decent pressure. With consumption dropping by the day, utility companies hiked the rates regularly, but he didn't care - the comfort of having hot water, central heating and, most importantly, electricity was the pillar of his sanity. He stood in the shower for at least 20 minutes, his abused muscles relaxing under the tight scalding sprays.

Lunch. Okay, what do I have? I need soup today, too much pasta really fucked up my digestion. How about shchi? That's three days of lunches at least.

Nobody had time to boil the broth for hours when hungry and in a pinch, so he prepared them in advance, freezing bricks of thick concentrated bouillons in glass containers in the freezer. One frozen brick of beef broth was thrown into the pot to defrost and heat up, while he scoured the fridge for ingredients. This used to be a fine vegan recipe. Until I corrupted it, mwahaha.

With the last of the chopped veggies thrown into the pot, he stirred the soup, sprinkled it with dry parsley, closed the lid and left it to simmer for several minutes. Need to do a supply run after I eat. He picked up his phone and tapped the number in the top of the recents list.

"Salam alaikum, Dan," the voice said after a couple of long tones.

"Alaikum as'salam, Amir," he responded in kind. "I will be passing by in an hour, can you throw a bag together for me, please?"

"Of course, man, what do you need?"

"Box of nitrile gloves, XL or bigger," Dan began to dictate, making pauses so Amir could write them down. "Disposable raincoats, I don't know how many, do they come in boxes? Box of those. A box of Basilur Uva. A kilo of sugar. No, make it two." The food I'll get from Megamarket.

"That's all?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Oh, and a liter of antiseptic. Text me the total, I'll send it to your Sber."

"Okay-okay," Amir hung up.

Dan stirred the soup once again, drowning the garlic and parsley deeper, poured himself a bowl and settled down to eat, savoring every spoonful. Amazing, exactly what I needed. He finished his meal, cleaned up and sat down on the couch for a minute, observing the lifeless neighborhood landscape out of the window.

Okay, time to move.

November was chilly this year. Packed into heavy winter boots, cargoes, a winter jacket over a hoodie, one with a huge hood - his favorite - he was about to start putting on the PPE stuff, when a strange noise interrupted him.

Wh- No, can't be. The phone?

The noise was coming from the landline phone. Buried under a bunch of various clothes Dan was carelessly throwing on top of the knee-high cabinet in his entryway, it was the only reason it wasn't gathering dust - Dan hasn't heard that sound for at least a couple years.

Not effortlessly, he dug out the wireless handset before it stopped ringing and pushed the button.

"Koval, listening."

He heard a soft gasp on the other end of the line, then fumbling, then a disconnect click and short tones after. He looked at the handset incredulously and put it down to the base, hoping whoever called would call again. I thought it's been disconnected for years. Gotta check my plans.

A minute passed, with Dan sweltering in his garb. The phone stayed silent. Wrong number, I guess. He put on the beanie, an N95 mask, covering it with his samurai demon one - sturdy plastic with little holes for air intake, pulled his hood up, then put on thin knitwear gloves and pulled oversized nitrile ones on top. A bright blue disposable raincoat gave a nice finish to his all black and gray attire. He turned to face the tall mirror on the wall. Beautiful. I'm the most fashionable guy on the block. Nobody gave a shit about looks anymore. He put on a fresh pair of 3M protective glasses and walked out.

The inner courtyard was empty. Some of the fancier cars already gathered quite a bit of dust and fallen leaves. Piles of garbage bags neatly thrown into every corner, forming terricones two meters high, reminded him they didn't have garbage disposal either now. He turned around to look at the building - it looked... abandoned. Three of four apartments on his floor were empty now. The other floors? Probably the same.

He still remembered how his neighbor from across the hall was telling him to trust the President, trust the Patriarch, they care about us. Two weeks later cosmonauts took her out in a black bag, around the same time the country got the news about untimely passing of both fuckers. He couldn't help himself that day - braved an expedition to the liquor store. Barely made it in time - the champagne was going like ice cream on a hot day. Exchanging understanding glances with the girl behind the counter, he took off with a bottle of Martini Asti and got drunk that night, alone. There were some fireworks in the neighborhood, too.

But whoever was thinking that would change anything was a complete moron. Sadly, most of the liberal scene, whoever survived, fell into that category. Taught from his childhood to not ever trust the government, the state and the people in power, Dan had no illusions, so he wasn't disappointed like the rest of them. Hunkered down in his apartment - or rather his parents' apartment he inherited - he continued to work, workout, watch movies, play games - anything to keep himself busy to stay sane, while ebanutaya*suka* Karina Ivanovich was rapturously destroying what was left of the country.

There was a real vaccine though, made in some lab near Moscow under her direct supervision. It was working, allegedly. The information blockade was full of holes, the expected result of competent IT people from the Ministry of Truth no longer there, so the Telegram news channels were full of rumors and fuller - of speculations. There wasn't a lot of information about side effects or anything, really, but the distribution speed and amounts reported by multiple people made it pretty clear - by the time Karina ramps up production to cover the entire formerly 140 million country, it would be too late. And then half of those who're left will, of course, refuse to take it.

Vaccine, they say. He chuckled into his mask, making his glasses fog up immediately. A vaccine made by those hands-from-the-ass government agencies could not be trusted. And even if it was working without lethal side effects - Moscow fuckers would rather see us dead. Hey, it's free real estate, right? Dan wasn't happy living in conditions like these for the next 5 or so years until DuoHalo mutated so much it would stop being a threat, but he was prepared.

It is what it is. No Quaranteam for us, no happy harems, nihuya*. Should I finally immigrate to the US? Bet they're fighting to secure every male now. Doubt visa will be a problem with how things are going.

The street was empty, unsurprisingly, with all venues closed, some of them a long time ago - due to quarantine restrictions or, more likely, staff and clientele checking out. Closed stores, cafes and restaurants were completely empty inside to not fall victim to the looters. Apartment buildings in his neighborhood were better off, each of them fenced, each door requiring a passcode to enter, each apartment additionally protected by a steel door - the legacy of the 90s.

Dogs were worse than looters though. He couldn't see or hear any right now, but they were always around, packs of them, always hungry, roaming the streets. Dog attacks on people weren't rare these days, going out unprepared was never safe.

He walked down the street, hands in pockets, back hunched, which made his lean figure look no more than average. Sharp gusts of cold wind made his loose cargoes flutter, and Dan shivered, increasing his pace to warm up - there was a ten-minute walk to the Amir's general store ahead of him. But he'd take windy over rainy any day - the latter made his right wrist and left ankle, broken years ago, remind of themselves with dull annoying pain. Yeah, I'd rather not be limping right now.

He picked up a decent speed when the lanky figure dressed in all black head to toe turned the corner and headed his way, black robe sweeping the pavement. Blyat. Here's the guy I did not want to see today. It was too late to hide on an empty street. Dan gradually slowed down and stopped about five meters from the man in black, who greeted him from behind the mask.

"Zdravstvui*, Danila. Just the man I prayed to see today."

"Good day, Father," Dan nodded, inwardly bracing for a cringy conversation. "How can I help you?"

Father Alexander was no mere priest - the rector of the Church of Christ's Ascension, one of the biggest in the city. Dan had seen him around the neighborhood, walking tall, parting crowds like Moses the Red Sea. His mother was a huge fan, ever since high school, when they were classmates, always singing praises to his wit and sense of humor. There were no signs of that man in front of him right now - Father Alexander looked pathetic with his hunched back and drooping shoulders. He was not accustomed to begging for favors, yet that's exactly what he was going to do right now.

"I... um... I don't suppose... Is it possible to convince you to donate some money to the church?" Father asked, peering into Dan's eyes apologetically. "You see... Patriarchy has abandoned us... and I still have my congregation to support. What's left of it anyway..."

Dan furrowed his brows. Asking a raging atheist to donate? Father must be real desperate.

"I'm not going to do that, Father. Simply because I don't trust the eparchy."

The priest sighed and his eyes dropped.

"I'm not finished," Dan continued. "How many people do you still have left?"

"Two... two hundred, I think," he raised his eyes again, full of hope.

Two hundred Orthodox Christians out of the neighborhood that formerly had a population of a hundred thousand people.

"Here's what we are going to do. I will order a delivery of non-perishable foods to the church, on my account. Given that's an order for two hundred people, it won't be big when distributed among your congregation, but will let them pull through another week at least. That works?"

"Oh!" The priest's face brightened. "Yes! Thank you, Danila!"

"On one condition - you take your services outside and make them keep distance from each other. I don't want you to turn your mass into a superspreader event."

"But..." Alexander tried to evade. "It's cold outside..."

"Keep your sermons short then. Do we have a deal, Father?"

The priest steeled himself, his back straightened.

"Yes. I swear to God," he nodded.

"Even I know that's a blasphemy," Dan chuckled. "Expect delivery sometime tomorrow, the courier will call your office."

"This is very Christian of you, Danila!"

"That's just normal human behavior, Alexander Vladimirovich."

They parted ways and, without looking back, Dan could be absolutely sure the priest's walk was way more energized now. I bet he'd be skipping if he was younger.

The Church of Christ's Ascension was built back in the 90s with bratva's* money - their way to buy themselves an absolution for their sins. Am I different, I wonder? Am I flirting with religion too?

The rest of the way there and back again was uneventful. Amir spotted him from a hundred meters away and stuck the plastic bag with his order out of the shop's window on a long stick with a hook at the end. Amir was properly masked and wearing gloves - that gave his customers some sense of protection. Dan grabbed the bag, gave Amir a thumbs up and headed home.

Walking through the courtyard, he heard a car behind him and stepped aside to let it through. Black Gelandewagen with heavily tinted windows and Moscow plates. I don't like this. And that call earlier... The Mercedes parked right near the entrance, and the driver's door opened. He grabbed the bag with his left hand and put his right into his pocket, feeling the cold surface of the telescopic baton under his fingers, preparing for a fight.

A pair of legs swung out of the driver's seat. Even trapped in baggy uniform pants masking their shape, the legs were definitely female. Female legs, most likely beautiful - though he couldn't be perfectly sure about that - clacked the heels of heavy combat boots on the asphalt. Their owner followed to reveal herself, getting out of the SUV with her back to him. Dan was presented with a view of gorgeous auburn mane reaching down past her shoulders, and amazingly round ass, tightly hugged by the pants. The rest of her figure was hidden by a waist-length uniform jacket of military kind. The woman turned to him, meeting his steel gray ones with her deep green, and his heart skipped a beat.