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[Ukraine] The Night Stalker of Europe: Storyline Ukraine

JJSmithJr

Senior
Joined
Jul 1, 2018
Messages
924
Yakiv Volk had always been a loner, as he was now, on his 32nd birthday, sitting alone at the corner of a dive bar in Donetsk, Ukraine. He had lived in Donetsk for six years now. Originally from Kyiv, his father had died when he was a boy, and his mother had hated him. Hated all men really. She was still alive in Kyiv, in some project apartment, living off of her meager state pension. Yakiv hadn't seen her in over a decade. He didn't care. They didn't care for each other. He was just one of the thousands of metallurgical workers in the Donetsk region, producing steel for the state now, he didn't care about politics either. He was here for her. Number nine in Donetsk. There had been six others in Kyiv before a brush with local law enforcement saw him move away. He had been following this one for months, and she always drove directly home from work on Thursdays. Today was her day. Only Yakiv knew it, but for now he waited. He ordered another light beer from her before moving over to a corner table. Only an hour to bar close.

The bar was mostly full of bikers and factory workers. Killing money and time before they returned to their normal and mundane lives. Clocking in and out, in and out, continuously, was no way for man to live. Men were to be hunters, and at the very least Yakiv was fulfilling his destiny.

Number nine had long blonde hair, like many Ukrainians, she was small, probably no more than three inches over five feet, and had a very slight build. She had piercing brown eyes, and she worked the bar with adequate skill. She had a round face, cute enough, with a small nose, and rather large ears for her face. Her smile revealed two large dimples. Those dimples are what had attracted Yakiv to her in the first place, and that hair. Most of his prey had blonde hair, although he didn't know why, he knew that it was true. He preferred them. He slowly nursed his beer while he watched a group of factory workers shoot pool. Not much time left. He checked his watch, thirty minutes to close.

He got up now and paid his tab leaving cash on the bar. He walked outside and pulled up his coat. He got into his car, an eastern bloc sudan, made in Romania, grey colored, parked in visual range of number nine's car. An eastern bloc van, red, from Russia. He knew her license plate, not that it mattered, if he lost her, he had her address. Tonight was the night. Yakiv knew that. He reached into his pocket for his pack of smokes and a lighter. Lighting one he waited. Simply waited for his prey. The final stalk would begin soon.

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A steady stream of patrons coming out of the bar meant it was almost time. The bar had closed, by his calculation and by his study, number nine would be in her van in roughly fifteen minutes. Yakiv started his car and moved it down the block. He knew she would come out from here. He knew he had to be careful. Mistakes had almost cost him in Kyiv. Here in Donetsk there would be no mistakes. Yakiv was sure of that.

Like clockwork number nine's van drove passed him roughly fifteen minutes later. He pulled out and followed making sure he left ample space between them to not raise suspicion. They would pass the Donetsk Police Headquarters undergoing renovation, Yakiv would smile. They had no idea what had come to their city, and if they did there was nothing for them to find, but bodies. As she turned down her quiet street his palms would begin to sweat. It was almost time. He reached into his coat pocket to make sure his knife was there. He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment and turned off his car. He got out quietly closing the door, he would quickly close the distance between their vehicles, crouching. His footfalls carefully muffled by fur coverings on his shoes.

The van door would slam shut. Number nine begin walking towards her apartment door. She would never make it. He would grab her quickly, one hand over her mouth, the other holding the knife to her throat. He would force her into the back of her own van. Before striking her with the but of the blade to knock her unconscious. Yakiv, now moving instinctively would find her keys and quickly duct tape her hands and feet together, and covering her mouth. He would start her van and pull out of the parking lot. The drive to Yakiv's abandoned lot wasn't far. Abandoned lots were common in Donetsk, this one had a half constructed apartment complex on it. The construction had halted when the Soviet Union had fallen, and was yet to be restarted. This was perfect for Yakiv. He parked the van and dragged Number nine into the abandoned lot. He would drag her into a half constructed room and here, as she began to come to from the blow to her head he would stab her over and over again in a sudden fit of rage. Coming too moments later covered in blood Yakiv would realize the extent of the damage he had done. He would start to dig a shallow grave to conceal the body. Once this was done he would change his clothes, washing with the cold water he always made sure he had with him he would take the van back to number nine's apartment. Get in his car and drive home. He had another shift at the plant in the morning.
 

JJSmithJr

Senior
Joined
Jul 1, 2018
Messages
924
Lt. Inspector Symon Havolsov sat at his desk in the middle of the renovations ongoing and shouted to his partner. "Eight missing women in the last four years, all of them lower middle class, all missing from work, no good witnesses or leads. This kind of thing isn't common in Donetsk."

Symon's Partner was a fresh academy standout, and a favorite of the party. Inspector Petro Molotov nodded to his partner to indicate he had heard him. He was from Kyiv, he remembered that something like this had vexed the local Police there as well. Missing people though, were more common in Kyiv after the revolution. Not much had gone into looking for them then. Those were different times. His party superiors had given him full reign to look into these missing persons. He shouted back.

"I have a report of a ninth missing woman. No witness, a bartender at a local bar, never showed up for her next shift, wasn't at her apartment. Nothing was missing. No one went there it seems she never made it home from work. Something similar to this was happening in Kyiv. I was in the academy at the time, but it was all assumed to be part of the troubles at the time. The similarities are now making me think it was something all together different."

He looked down at the latest missing woman. She was fairly pretty. All of them were.. None of them were over 5 feet five inches, and none of them weighed more than 60 kilos. Easy targets, but also there was a strange similarity among them that made it uncanny. Both Petro and his partner thought there was one person responsible, and that likely all the women were dead. This latest one though, she had been a friend of the party, and now, someone was looking for him.

Symon glanced at his partner, shouting. "Do you have an idea comrade?"

"Let me reach out to Kyiv, see what they know, see if they have any evidence that they looked over in their initial investigation. We've gotta figure something out before it's number ten, and this is all over the party radar and soon the limited press."
 

JJSmithJr

Senior
Joined
Jul 1, 2018
Messages
924
The last month had been good for Yakiv, now he sat at a bar in Donetsk with his boss, formerly his foreman, now the factory foreman, and one of his only friends, drinking good vodka, and having a good conversation. Yakiv's boss had just informed him that he had put Yakiv in for a promotion and effective immediately Yakiv would now be the foreman of his own crew at the plant. He would be traveling for the company and training new employees at other plants. It was a big opportunity, and one Yakiv was genuinely excited for. Number Ten had disappeared in Donetsk over the weekend, it wouldn't be long now before some kind of police awareness began, moving would be good for him. Plus the money allowed him to find fresher targets. He ordered another drink from the lovely bartender, a brunette, fortunate for her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Petro Molotov taped the tenth picture up on the bulletin board he had his partner had set aside for this new operation. After the tenth woman had gone missing, this time, from an upper class club, the higher ups in the party in Donetsk had begun to take notice, and the police were keen to appear to be busy working the case. As it were the Donetsk division had assigned the two inspectors who were already working the missing persons cases to the new case. Petro had now talked to Kyiv Police Headquarters three times, and he now had a suspicion that these women were not the first that their suspect had killed.

He turned to his partner, who was deep in reading on the file sent over from Kyiv. Symon was a middle aged man of athletic build, Petro thought he was 48 or 50, and he was aging well. Other than the clear stress lines in his face he was in fairly good shape. Always with a cup of coffee, and a fairly disheveled look, he pulled it off well. Symon had been policing for a lot longer than he had. Originally serving in the Soviet Police, when Ukraine was just part of the Union. His father was a veteran of the Great Patriotic War, and as far as Petro could tell Symon was dutiful patriot, if not an enthusiastic one.

Symon looked up from the file.

"Christ, what do we have here, a kidnapping ring, or something more sinister?"

He dropped the file on his desk with the thud.

"Six women in Kyiv, none taken by the Secret Police, none found dead by the Party, ten missing here in Donetsk, no bodies, no ransoms, no suggestion of ties to organized crime, or any history of crime. All bartenders, waitresses, or club workers. No political targets. I have worked missing persons for almost two decades, I have never seen anything like this."

Petro glanced at the board.

"We have uniformed agents and undercovers working all the leads, searching for witnesses, canvassing the areas, and searching possible dump sites around the areas where they went missing. We will find something. We will get a lead."

Symon smiled at his youthful partner.

"You are much more optimistic than I am, but in any case I hope you are right. I am going to the club our latest victim worked at, you should head to her apartment and look around. See what you can see."
 
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