UnBooks:Ivan's Redemption

Chapter 1:

It had been a year since Ivan’s harrowing adventure with Lara—a year of echoes from another world he’d barely survived. Peru’s humid jungles, shadowed and alive with unimaginable creatures, flashed in his memory, as did the treacherous mercenaries he’d confronted. They were chapters he had closed but would never forget, leaving him with scars and one close call with a heart attack. Back in London, he now worked as a detective for Scotland Yard, piecing together the fragments of crimes instead of battling monsters, but the work offered him little solace. It was quieter, less extraordinary, yet the danger was still there, subtle, lurking around every corner.

Tonight, however, was supposed to be an escape from it all. He and Lara had finally agreed on a long-overdue evening to unwind. Their friendship, built on surviving perilous journeys, had often drifted into quieter, more reflective moments, but tonight was meant to be different. They would abandon the weight of their lives, leave their pasts behind, and go back to something as simple as sharing a few drinks and laughs—nothing more.

This wasn’t their first night out together. Years ago, Ivan had introduced Lara to the art of a good pub crawl in Prague, where she’d mysteriously appeared thanks to some strange twist of fate—a spell or perhaps a machine that had sent her back to Czechoslovakia during the tail end of the Communist era. Ivan had taken her under his wing, navigating her through smoky bars and showing her the unwritten rules of the Czech drinking culture. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he now owed her the same lesson, in England, this time with the roles reversed.

It was Thursday evening, and the air was heavy with an early autumn chill as Ivan finished up his paperwork, locked his files away, and left the Scotland Yard offices. His Škoda Superb, dark blue with its polished finish, waited for him in the parking lot, ready for the escape he hoped the night would offer. He slipped inside, leaning back for a moment as he mentally shook off the day’s tension. His mind drifted to Lara as he drove out of central London, remembering her impatient quips and that wry smile that rarely left her face. Tonight would be easy; they’d talk, laugh, drink too much, and leave the world’s cares behind, even if just for one night.

He drove past the bustling city lights, the hum of traffic fading as he reached the quieter, upscale suburbs where Lara’s estate was tucked away. Her grand manor loomed at the end of a long gravel driveway, partially hidden behind towering hedges and gardens that seemed to darken the air around them. He turned into the driveway, the tires crunching against the gravel as he parked, casting a glance around. A slight breeze rustled through the trees, making the place seem even more shadowed and secluded.

He waited, checking his watch and drumming his fingers absently against the steering wheel. Lara wasn’t the type to make a dramatic entrance, but he half-expected her to appear in the doorway, scolding him for not coming to the door. But nothing stirred in the house’s glowing windows. His thoughts wandered as he sat there in the silence, enjoying the rare chance to feel at ease—until he heard it.

A faint rustling broke through his thoughts, soft yet deliberate. He frowned, peering through the darkness beyond the car. His hand hovered near the door handle, his instincts kicking in, sharpening his focus. Another rustle came, louder this time, like someone—or something—moving closer. It could have been a fox, he thought, or a stray animal, but his gut told him something was off.

Suddenly, shadows lunged from the darkness. Before Ivan could react, pain burst through his side—a white-hot stabbing that seared through his torso. His instincts surged, but the ambush was too swift, too calculated. Hands grabbed at him, driving the knife deeper with every blow. He felt himself sinking, vision blurring as the world around him darkened. His mind struggled to make sense of it, the shadows turning into faces, but he couldn’t focus on any of them.

Inside the estate, Lara was growing impatient. She paced across the lavish sitting room, glancing at her watch and grumbling under her breath. Ivan was late, even for him. A part of her was tempted to call him, but she pushed the thought away, assuming he’d simply gotten distracted. Ivan’s job was one that rarely let him go easily, and she was used to him being called away at odd hours. She poured herself a drink, casting another glance at the clock, her irritation building. It wasn’t like him to leave her waiting—especially not on a night like this.

Another half-hour ticked by before she finally gave up. She downed her drink, grabbed her jacket, and strode toward the door, muttering something about unreliable detectives. The silence outside greeted her, an odd hush that made her pause. She scanned the driveway and the yard, eyes adjusting to the dim light. But Ivan’s car was gone, and there was no sign of anyone else around. Her annoyance flared, but she shrugged it off, heading back inside, deciding she’d just give him a piece of her mind later.

Meanwhile, Ivan lay on a stretcher, barely aware of the flashing lights around him, voices drifting in and out of focus. He was being loaded into an ambulance, his breathing shallow, mind clouded with confusion and pain. The last thing he remembered was that cold, rustling darkness and the weight of something pressing against him, dragging him into the unknown.

Chapter 2:

Ivan drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling the weight of exhaustion and the chill of antiseptic air as he lay on the hospital bed. His mind replayed fragments of the attack—the rustling in the dark, the shadowed figures, the cold blade piercing his side. Somehow, he had survived, narrowly avoiding death. After hours of treatment, the doctors finally discharged him, heavily bandaged but alive. Ivan didn’t go back to Scotland Yard; instead, he went straight home, his mind restless and alert, wary of his attacker’s return.

Once inside his dimly lit apartment, he slumped into his armchair, wincing as he felt the bandages tighten around his ribs. He couldn’t let this incident pass without notifying Lara, so he opened his laptop and typed out a message, keeping it brief:

“Lara, I had a rough night. Ambushed, a few new scars to show for it. We’ll have to reschedule. I’ll tell you more when we meet. Be careful.”

He hit “send” and leaned back, allowing the painkillers to dull his senses. Whatever or whoever had attacked him had done so with purpose, and that unsettled him. Perhaps there were consequences he hadn’t foreseen, shadows from a past he thought he’d left behind.

A few hours later, Lara pulled into Ivan’s street, skeptical and annoyed. His email had seemed a bit too convenient—a quick excuse after leaving her waiting for hours the night before. As she turned onto his quiet street, she expected to find Ivan nursing a hangover, not new scars. But her irritation gave way to surprise when she arrived at his house. The lights were off, the curtains drawn, yet his garage was illuminated, and his trusty Škoda Superb was parked outside. She parked beside it, curiosity sparking as she noticed the faint hum of machinery from within the garage.

Peering into the open garage, she spotted Ivan hunched over the engine of a dusty, battered Rover SD1, his back turned to her. The car’s panels were partially dismantled, and he seemed entirely absorbed in its restoration, his fingers blackened with grease and his expression unusually focused. Also an red Škoda is standing in background.

Lara crossed her arms, her voice cutting through the clinking of metal. “Seriously, Ivan? You stand me up, send a half-hearted email, and then I find you here, fussing over this relic?” Her tone was half-amused, half-irritated, but as he turned to face her, she noticed the exhaustion lining his face.

Without a word, Ivan tugged at his shirt collar and pulled it down, revealing the bandaged area and lifting his shirt enough for her to see four new, raw scars, still pink and stitched. Her expression shifted from cynicism to shock as she took in the fresh wounds, noting the unmistakable look of someone who’d recently faced death. She took a step closer, reaching out as if to touch one of the scars, then hesitated.

“What happened?” Her voice was quieter, softened by concern.

Ivan met her gaze, lowering his shirt as he leaned against the workbench. “It goes back a few years,” he began, his voice steady but marked with an edge of weariness. “Back to my years in the murder squad in Prague, when the Czechoslovak secret police—the StB—kept a close eye on us. This was 1984. I was investigating a series of murders in military circles. Classified, brutal cases.”

He paused, memories surfacing in fragments—the suspects’ uneasy stares, the StB’s watchful eyes, the frustration of files disappearing or reappearing in his office, tampered with, incomplete. “There were powerful people involved. Orders came down from above to shut down the investigation. It didn’t matter that we were close to answers. I fought to keep it open, but in the end, I had to close it—or rather, they closed it for me.” He smiled, the expression devoid of humor. “But I couldn’t leave it alone. Before they locked it all away, I copied what I could and hid it. Just in case.”

Lara raised an eyebrow, understanding dawning in her eyes. “So you think this attack has something to do with that case? After all these years?”

Ivan nodded slowly. “I never went back to that file, not until recently. There’s been chatter, whispers in the circles I keep. Someone wants those documents buried forever. And last night, they nearly succeeded.”

Lara considered this, the weight of his words settling between them. “So, what’s the plan?” she asked, her voice firm. “If they came for you once, they’ll come again. And now they know you’re still holding on to something they want.”

Ivan gave her a grim smile. “I need to know what happened back then—and who’s trying to cover it up now. But I can’t do it alone.”

She returned his look with one of steely determination. “Fine. Let’s dig up some ghosts.”

Chapter 3:

While Ivan poured over old files at his desk, Lara wandered through his apartment, curiosity getting the better of her. She hadn’t seen much of his personal space before—when they were together, it was usually in the thick of some mission, with little time for idle conversation or digging into each other’s pasts. But now, alone in his quiet, sparsely furnished home, she couldn’t help but try to piece together more of who Ivan really was.

Her eyes fell on a wardrobe tucked away in the corner. As she opened it, something unusual caught her eye—a neatly pressed ceremonial uniform, its rich fabric showing only faint signs of age. The emblems and insignia confirmed it: this was no ordinary uniform. The insignia of the 601st Special Forces Regiment of the Czechoslovak People’s Army was proudly displayed on the shoulder. She remembered one night on the road when Ivan had offhandedly mentioned he’d been a lieutenant in the special forces, but she’d assumed he was embellishing. Now, however, she realized he hadn’t been exaggerating in the slightest.

Intrigued, she looked closer and noticed another door, carefully concealed behind the wardrobe. A hint of mischief sparked in her as she nudged it open, expecting maybe some keepsakes, a stash of old photos—or even more artifacts from his military days. But the sight that met her eyes was far beyond her expectations.

The small hidden room was crammed with weapons, each meticulously arranged and organized, as if Ivan had been stocking up for a private war. Her gaze flitted over racks lined with knives, handguns, and rifles: a vz. 58 assault rifle, some heavy-duty shotguns she at first mistook for AK-47s, and several bolt-action rifles, including a rare SMLE Jungle Carbine. To one side, she noticed a mounted Vickers machine gun with a small pile of ammo beside it. But the real shock came as her eyes landed on a dusty crate of explosives, containing an almost absurd stockpile of TNT and an old-school detonator with a long spool of fuse wire coiled next to it.

Lara couldn’t help a smirk, though a shiver ran down her spine. “Old school much, Ivan?” she murmured, half to herself. She was used to traveling light, even in the most intense situations. A couple of pistols, a shotgun, an assault rifle, maybe a harpoon for special occasions—that was more than enough for her. But this? This was an arsenal, a carefully maintained stockpile that could have been pulled straight from a war bunker.

Just then, she heard footsteps behind her. Ivan leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a knowing smirk. “Find something interesting?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She turned, eyebrow raised, her smirk softening. “Interesting? Ivan, this is overkill. I knew you liked to be prepared, but a small army’s worth of firepower?” She gestured to the collection, her tone torn between awe and disbelief. “You really preparing for Armageddon?”

Ivan shrugged, his face expressionless but his eyes gleaming with the slightest hint of humor. “It’s for emergencies,” he said simply, with the tone of someone talking about a flashlight or extra batteries. His gaze shifted over the collection, and she noticed a darkness in his eyes, something resolute and deeply buried. “You’d be surprised how many times things go south.”

Lara folded her arms, the smirk giving way to a look of genuine curiosity. “I thought you were just a revolver-and-rifle type of guy. But you’ve got everything short of a tank here. You expecting ghosts from your past to come knocking?”

His expression turned somber, his gaze dropping as he turned back to the aging files strewn across his desk. The documents were filled with memories he’d never quite escaped—case notes, names, and redacted reports with the insignia of the Czechoslovak secret police, the StB. The further he read, the more names jumped out at him, familiar faces from his early days in the murder unit, colleagues he’d trusted. But with each name, an ugly truth emerged.

Some of these men, he realized, hadn’t been there for justice. They’d been working with the StB all along, sabotaging his investigations, selling out cases, and tipping off suspects. The betrayal hit him hard. He clenched his jaw, remembering their faces, their casual camaraderie—all while they’d been undermining the very justice they claimed to uphold.

The chill in his expression darkened as he set the file down, his voice low, edged with bitterness. “This isn’t just about an investigation anymore,” he said, almost as if talking to himself. “It’s about putting things right. About redemption. And maybe even revenge.”

Lara studied his face, recognizing the intensity in his gaze, the same determination she’d seen in the field but with a much sharper edge. This wasn’t just another case to Ivan. This was personal, a way to confront the shadows of his past and those who had betrayed him.

She took a step back, nodding. “Alright, then. Let’s get to work.”

Chapter 4:

The next morning, Ivan and Lara both hid any lingering fatigue from the previous night's drinking and their quiet resolve for the task ahead. With a quick check of essentials, Ivan slid behind the wheel of his Škoda Superb, and they set off through the early morning streets of London toward Scotland Yard. Lara, still piecing together bits of Ivan’s past, was intrigued—and a little surprised—that he was bringing her into his world so fully.

Upon arrival, they made their way to the main entrance, where a familiar figure was posted as the night shift doorman. To Lara’s astonishment, it was none other than Zip, the tech-savvy hacker who had accompanied her on more than one mission before. Zip glanced at them with raised eyebrows, clearly surprised but amused.

“Didn’t expect to see you here this early,” he quipped, scanning Ivan’s ID. “Need a little extra help for this, uh, ‘case,’ I assume?”

Ivan, straight-faced, nodded. “I need access to the confiscation room. We’re not taking chances.”

Zip hesitated for a split second, then gave a curt nod. “Alright, but don’t empty the place, yeah?”

To both Lara’s and Zip’s surprise, Ivan selected a few high-powered submachine guns, an M14 rifle, and several Mark II grenades, carefully stowing each weapon in a duffle bag. Lara gave a low whistle, barely hiding her smirk. “So, you’re not kidding around,” she said under her breath.

Once fully loaded, they swung by Lara’s apartment so she could pack a few essentials. Watching Ivan handle the weapons, she knew they were on a path that wouldn’t be easy or safe. Still, she appreciated the thoroughness, even if it bordered on overkill.

Later that evening, they returned to Ivan’s apartment, where they settled in, deciding to make up for the disrupted night before. With a few drinks in hand, they toasted to old wounds, missteps, and unfinished business. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the room, the tension between them loosening just enough for a night of reprieve.

But as dawn broke, Ivan was already back to sifting through files, his mind racing. His suspicions had led him to one particular location—a long-abandoned former agricultural collective, or JZD, deep in the countryside. It was a place he’d never thought to revisit, but the evidence pointed unmistakably in that direction.

Steeling himself, he glanced over at Lara, who met his gaze with a raised brow. She didn’t need him to explain; the two shared a nod, the unspoken agreement solidifying between them. Their next stop would be the place where some of the ugliest secrets of the past were hidden, waiting for someone to finally uncover them.

Chapter 5:

JZD and smell of phosphates are familiar to Ivan, but not for Lara.

Ivan and Lara’s journey finally brought them to the former agricultural collective, or JZD, in Benešov near Prague. As they drove through the small, worn-out town, Ivan gazed out the window in silent reflection, absorbing the changes he saw everywhere. Lara noticed the look on his face, a mixture of nostalgia and disbelief, as he took in the landscape of a country transformed since he last called it home.

As they reached the crumbling remains of the JZD, a heavy, pungent smell hung thick in the air—fertilizer, soil, and hints of decay. Ivan barely flinched, clearly used to the odor, but Lara’s expression twisted in disgust. She was used to ancient, musty temples, exotic traps, and hidden treasures, not the gritty, earthy stench of phosphates and manure. Her aristocratic senses balked, and she looked at Ivan in irritation.

“Did you have to drag me out to the middle of nowhere in this… filth?” she muttered, trying to keep her coat and boots from brushing the ground. “I thought we were here for answers, not a smell test.”

Ivan, smirking slightly, shook his head. “Welcome to the real world, Lara. Sometimes the dirtiest places hold the biggest secrets.”

As they made their way through the lot, the rumble of an old Zetor Crystal tractor echoed across the field. An elderly man in a faded cap steered it, humming to himself as he worked. Ivan’s eyes narrowed, recognizing something familiar in the figure. He stepped directly into the tractor’s path, forcing it to a stop. Lara’s expression shifted to frustration as she glared at him, muttering under her breath about her ruined clothes and the worsening smell. “Are you trying to destroy my wardrobe?”

Ignoring her protests, Ivan approached the tractor as the elderly driver climbed down, confused but alert. The moment Ivan saw the man’s face up close, his suspicions were confirmed. Standing before him was none other than a former StB officer—someone Ivan had crossed paths with during the darkest years of his career.

Without hesitation, Ivan’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by his collar and pulling him forward. The old man tried to resist, but Ivan was relentless, using interrogation tactics that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. A quick slap here, a fist there; he pinned the man against the side of the tractor, his face lit by the blinding light of the overhead lamp Ivan had angled straight into his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Ivan demanded, his voice low but edged with cold fury. “You think you can just run away and play farmer after everything you did?”

The man stammered, clearly shaken by the unexpected confrontation. Ivan wasn’t letting up, each word punctuated by the hard, unyielding stare of a seasoned interrogator. Lara watched in silent surprise as Ivan went from investigator to enforcer, a glimpse of his past slipping into the present with an unsettling ease. She’d seen him tough before, but this was different—a side of him forged in secrets and shadows, more ruthless than she had imagined.

The old man’s initial defiance melted, and he broke under Ivan’s intense glare. As Ivan’s hand shifted to his SIG P220, now aimed directly at the man’s face, the former officer muttered something that caught Ivan’s attention. A location: Hustopeče, near Brno.

With a sharp nod, Ivan released him, and the man collapsed against the tractor, panting heavily. Ivan turned to Lara, his expression impassive as if the whole event were just another step in their investigation.

“We’re going to Hustopeče,” he said curtly.

Lara nodded, finally seeing the weight of the past that Ivan had carried all these years. The smell of manure and phosphates still hung in the air, but she no longer noticed it, her mind focused on the path that lay ahead.

Chapter 6:

Strnadice.

Ivan glanced over at Lara as they packed up the car. "Sorry for the mess," he mumbled, trying to sweep aside the random assortment of maps, books, and coffee cups littering the back seat. He shifted his gaze downward, noticing her frayed dress—the casualty of their rushed escape from Benešov. "And for your clothes," he added, a little more sheepishly. Despite his usual calm, this trip had rattled him a bit. The years might show him as fifty, but in reality, he was edging closer to seventy-five. The time-traveling to follow Lara had its tolls, and each mile left him more tired than he cared to admit.

That night, instead of searching for accommodations, they made the impulsive choice to stay in the car. In the silence of the dark, curled up under the blanket of stars and warmth of the worn seats, passion flared up, and they lost themselves in each other. Ivan marveled at how, despite all they'd endured, the connection between them felt stronger than ever.

The morning dawned early, and after a brief breakfast of lukewarm coffee and whatever they could scavenge from their supplies, Ivan started the car, and they drove down quiet roads with the intention of unwinding. As they neared Strnadice, Ivan's gaze caught a glint of something in the distance. A moment later, he realized it was a museum. Drawn by a growing sense of curiosity and a hint of nostalgia, they drove closer.

Upon arrival, Ivan’s face lit up as he took in the sight: it was a museum dedicated to socialist cars. Rows upon rows of polished relics gleamed under the soft lighting: Škodas, Tatras, Volgas, Ladas—all icons of an era Ivan knew so intimately. He felt a rush of pride and melancholy as he walked between the vehicles, hands trailing over their familiar, sturdy frames. The pride, born from his love of these familiar machines, and the melancholy from a life that seemed both distant and ever-present.

And there, as if destiny had been waiting, Ivan saw a glint of red that stopped him in his tracks: his own Škoda 120 GLS. Its distinctive Hella racing lights and alloy wheels stood out even among the other cars, a trace of Ivan’s youthful spirit on full display. Memories flooded back, some bittersweet, but each one cherished. He remembered the feel of the wheel in his hands, the roar of the engine, the freedom of those roads long past.

Lara joined him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he looked at the car. With a smile, she reminisced about their first encounter—how she had hidden in the waters of Slapy to escape the Czechoslovak People's Army, and how, in a twist of fate, Ivan had been fishing nearby, on a rare break from duty. Fate seemed to have intertwined their lives from the very beginning.

After a couple of hours wandering the museum, they found a small, local pub for lunch. The meal was simple but satisfying, the rustic charm of the place adding to their lingering nostalgia. They shared stories and laughed, the atmosphere light as they let the day unfold.

As the afternoon sun started dipping in the sky, they headed back to the car, aiming for their next destination: Hustopeče. The quiet roads stretched before them as they drove off, feeling that much closer for the memories they’d revisited and the quiet comfort they found in each other’s presence.

Chapter 7:

Ivan and Lara were cruising along the quiet, winding roads to Hustopeče in the Superb Combi. Ivan, who had owned the car for nearly a year, began exploring some of its less-used compartments as he idly adjusted the settings on the dashboard. His hand found a small button he hadn’t noticed before, and with a curious press, he discovered something unexpected: an integrated cigarette lighter.

Amused by his discovery, Ivan fished a Rothmans cigarette out of his jacket pocket. With a quiet click, he pushed the lighter back into its slot, waiting until it popped out with a warm orange glow. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, sinking into his seat with a slight smile.

Lara turned, her nose wrinkling in disgust. She was used to adrenaline and the rush of action, but cigarette smoke? That was something she couldn’t stand. “Are you really doing that right now?” she muttered, leaning slightly away.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, chuckling as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Lara, at my age, I think I’ve earned the right to indulge a bit,” he replied with a smirk. The contrast between them had always amused him—her life was marked by agility, energy, and discipline, while he had learned to embrace a slower pace, though no less intense in purpose.

When they finally reached Hustopeče, the setting sun bathed the town in a warm, golden glow. The streets were calm, almost picturesque. Ivan guided them through familiar alleys, his gaze scanning the faces of passersby. Then he saw him—a man Ivan hadn’t seen in decades but recognized immediately. This was no chance meeting; it was as if fate had set them on a collision course.

The man was bent with age, his frame slightly hunched, but his face still bore the unmistakable cold, calculating look that Ivan remembered all too well. This man had once been his accomplice, a partner in an unspoken pact to keep dark secrets buried. During the old regime in Czechoslovakia, they’d worked together to cover up a horrific murder, a case officially closed with an “unknown perpetrator” label, though the truth was hidden deep in censored files. Ivan hadn’t known the full extent of the man’s StB affiliations back then, but the sinister undercurrents were unmistakable now.

Ivan and Lara approached the man, who greeted Ivan with a twisted smile. “Long time, comrade,” the man sneered, his voice carrying a mock familiarity. Ivan felt his stomach churn as the man’s gaze shifted to Lara, a glint of recognition there as well.

Their exchange started terse but grew bitter, with Lara watching intently, sensing Ivan’s rising anger. As the conversation continued, the man taunted Ivan with haunting memories of his family, recalling how his father had been unjustly sentenced to uranium mining, a slow death that had robbed Ivan of him.

Lara tried to place a hand on Ivan’s shoulder, hoping to temper his building fury. But the memories, the disdain, and the years of buried resentment all came crashing down on him in an instant. Ivan felt a surge of hot rage, a force so primal and fierce that he couldn’t contain it. He lunged, delivering a blow that sent the old man staggering back. Lara’s voice was distant as she tried to pull Ivan away, but he had already unleashed years of pent-up fury. Each punch was cathartic, a release of the rage he’d kept hidden, a fury ignited by years of injustice and betrayal.

When it was over, the man lay crumpled on the ground, lifeless. Ivan remained silent, breathing heavily, while Lara watched him with wide eyes, her shock mingling with a sort of grim understanding. For all their differences, she knew this was Ivan’s burden to bear, his long-sought justice for everything the past had stolen from him.

Before his final breath, however, the man had given Ivan one last clue—one last trail to follow. With a sinister grin, the man had muttered the words, “Villa Tugendhat.” As Ivan and Lara left the scene, the weight of the encounter hung between them. Ivan sensed that each step was drawing him closer to his redemption, a dark yet inevitable journey toward revenge and a reckoning long overdue.

Chapter 8:

Ivan was very amused after seeing this..

Ivan and Lara arrived in Brno under the cover of night, the city lights glimmering softly as they rolled into town. They found lodging at the sleek, modernist Hotel International, its angular design a striking contrast to the more traditional cityscape surrounding it. The hotel staff greeted them warmly, guiding them to a room with views of the city that Ivan couldn’t help but appreciate, feeling as if he were both part of and apart from the city he once knew.

In the morning, after a quick breakfast, Ivan decided to show Lara around the historic heart of Brno. They walked leisurely through cobbled streets, Lara marveling at the mix of Gothic and Baroque architecture, each building telling stories she could only guess. Ivan’s explanations blended history and his own experiences in the city, and she listened intently, enjoying his mixture of nostalgia and practicality.

When they reached Náměstí Svobody, Brno’s central square, Ivan paused, turning to take in the familiar sight—only to freeze, his eyes locked on something so strange he could hardly process it.

There, standing proudly in the middle of the square, was a towering, shiny black structure. But the shape—a smooth, tapering form standing erect among the cobblestones—was unmistakable. Ivan tilted his head, struggling to make sense of it, his mind racing between disbelief and reluctant acceptance. Lara, for her part, was similarly stunned, staring wide-eyed at the strange monument. It was more than out of place; it was surreal.

Ivan blinked, and an incredulous laugh escaped him as he muttered, “Co to kurva…?”

Lara looked at him, equally baffled, then back at the tall black monolith. They stood there, frozen, unable to believe what they were seeing. She leaned closer to him, trying not to laugh herself. “Is… is this actually supposed to be a clock?”

Unable to contain himself, Ivan snorted, and then shook his head. “Apparently, it’s supposed to be an orloj,” he said in disbelief, glancing back at the structure. They exchanged a look, equal parts shock and amusement, as if they had stumbled upon some inside joke shared by the entire city.

Both of them could think of other… associations for the odd structure than a clock, but they decided to see it as just another one of Brno’s eccentricities. The city had always carried its quirks proudly. After another amused shake of their heads, they let the mystery of the “orloj” rest and continued on, each stifling the occasional smirk.

Leaving Náměstí Svobody behind, Ivan felt a sense of anticipation rise as they neared their true destination: Villa Tugendhat. The villa represented a key piece in the puzzle, a place that could bring him one step closer to closure. The road ahead felt both ominous and promising, with each step drawing them further into a journey woven with shadows of the past and promises of redemption.

Chapter 9:

Tugendhat.

Ivan is always full of surprises

Armed with a Gewehr 98 rifle fitted with a Grabenmagazin, and Lara with her two pistols holstered at her side, Ivan and Lara arrived at Villa Tugendhat under the cover of night. As they approached, Ivan gave Lara a wry smile and remarked, “This place dates back to the late 1920s and 30s. It was built in a time when people thought that modern architecture could lead to a better world.”

As he was explaining, Lara’s instincts kicked in; spotting a small, intriguing artifact displayed in a corner, she discreetly pocketed it, keeping it as a memento. Ivan, engrossed in his storytelling, didn’t notice her swift acquisition.

Moments later, as they moved deeper into the villa’s spacious halls, Ivan suddenly caught sight of an older man, a familiar face from his days on the police force—a former colleague whose face carried the lines of secrets and perhaps too much buried history. Ivan raised a hand to greet him, but before he could say a word, the man whipped out a vz. 50 pistol and fired. Ivan barely reacted as he took a bullet to the leg, the shock and pain rippling through him.

“Bloody hell!” he hissed, grabbing his wounded leg. Lara, moving on instinct, immediately drew her pistols, firing in quick, precise bursts to cover him.

"Friendly old friend, is he?" Lara said, eyes sharp as she exchanged shots with the retreating figure.

Gritting his teeth, Ivan returned fire as they pursued the man through the villa, the calm, minimalist lines of Tugendhat now marked by the chaos of their chase. The man bolted toward the exit, bursting through the doors to reach his car—a dark BMW 7 Series. Within moments, he’d jumped in and sped away, tires screeching.

Ivan, despite his wound, managed to limp over to his Superb, calling out to Lara. They both jumped in, and Ivan pushed the car to its limits as they hurtled after the BMW through Brno’s twisting streets, the pain in his leg growing but kept in check by sheer adrenaline.

As they raced through the city, Lara noticed Ivan’s focus. “Do you even know where he’s going?”

“Yes,” Ivan growled, his voice laced with grim certainty. “He’s headed toward North.” The name left his lips like a curse, its weight unmistakable.

“Mojžíř?” Lara asked, her voice betraying her confusion and unease. She’d never heard of the place, but the tone in Ivan’s voice told her it wasn’t somewhere anyone would want to go.

“Mojžíř… It’s a ghetto in Ústí,” Ivan replied darkly, keeping his eyes on the fleeing BMW. He didn’t elaborate further, and Lara’s heart sank. The more she learned about Ivan’s past, the more disturbing it seemed.

The chase continued as they pushed onto the D1, their cars rocketing down the highway at over 200 kilometers per hour. Then, in an instant, the BMW lost control, veering off and slamming into the guardrail with a sickening crash. Ivan hit the brakes, bringing the Superb to a screeching halt just meters away.

They both climbed out of the car, Lara ready with her pistols as Ivan hobbled towards the now-crippled BMW. The older man crawled out, coughing and bleeding, but as he met Ivan’s gaze, there was a defiant sneer on his face.

“Ivan,” the man rasped, “do you think Mojžíř hasn’t already prepared for you?”

Ivan clenched his fists, fury and an unquenchable thirst for answers etched into his face. “I know all about Mojžíř. But now, you’re going to tell me everything else.” He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. “Or your life ends here.”

The man gave a bitter laugh, pain mixed with resignation. He said just enough, though, revealing details that led Ivan a step closer to the truth. When he’d said all he would, Ivan stood up, leaving him slumped on the ground.

Back in the car, Lara tended to Ivan’s wounds with a solemnity that felt different this time. Ivan’s past was proving darker than she had anticipated, and the weight of Mojžíř and whatever it entailed now loomed between them as they returned to Brno, a city that somehow, even in its cursed allure, had become the backdrop to the secrets Ivan would have to confront.

Chapter 10:

Lara's worst nighmare once again...

As they rolled into Mojžíř, Ivan barely reacted to the town’s bleak appearance; years on the force had toughened him against places like this. But for Lara, the trip was less forgiving. The grim sight of the town, now even more worn and downtrodden than when they had last visited in 1990, stirred an uncomfortable familiarity. She remembered that trip all too well—one where she’d barely managed to keep herself composed before staining the interior of Ivan’s car with an unceremonious bout of nausea.

The memory was unpleasantly vivid as they pulled over, the lingering odor and scenery overwhelming her. This time, it wasn’t just the car that suffered. Lara managed to add Ivan to the list, gripping his shoulder for support as nausea overwhelmed her.

“Déjà vu, eh?” Ivan muttered, forcing a smirk as he gently patted her back. The smirk didn’t last as he wiped off the mess and helped her regain composure. They soon found their way to the town’s outskirts, where a small, well-kept house stood out—a strange sight amid the otherwise dilapidated surroundings.

“Strange,” Ivan murmured, narrowing his eyes. “Doesn’t seem like a local would keep a place like this so spotless.”

Approaching cautiously, they found the door locked. Ivan didn’t hesitate, giving the door a solid kick. It flew open, revealing a dark, musty interior. He swept his flashlight over the room, scanning for anything out of place. In the dim light, his gaze landed on a familiar object: a small, red book tucked on a dusty shelf. He picked it up, flipping through the pages, and froze when he recognized a name. It was one he hadn’t seen in years but knew well.

“Lara… look at this,” he muttered, pulling an old ID card from a drawer beneath the book. The worn badge bore the faded letters of the StB, the State Security Service that had haunted Ivan’s past.

Before he could fully process it, the click of a gun cocking startled him. Ivan turned just in time to see an old man in the doorway, gripping a shotgun aimed squarely at them. The stranger’s grip wavered, his shock evident as he took in Ivan’s familiar face.

Reacting swiftly, Ivan lunged forward, disarming the man with a twist and pinning him to the floor. With a grim efficiency, he tied the man’s hands and settled into an interrogation, his voice low and unyielding. Gradually, the elderly man started talking, the fragments of his story intertwining with the history of the house, the book, and the town. His answers led to a single word that hit Ivan hard: “Prague.”

Leaving Mojžíř behind, they made their way back to the car, now laden with secrets they barely understood. Ivan glanced at Lara, an apologetic smile breaking through his grim expression. “Hold up a second,” he said, his tone both embarrassed and amused. “I need to deal with… all this,” he gestured to the interior, which still bore the marks of Lara’s earlier mishap.

Lara stepped out as Ivan got to work, scrubbing away the remnants of her less-than-graceful moment. He took a moment to change into a clean shirt, the grim look on his face melting away as he put on his game face. Finally, he slid back behind the wheel, determination etched into every line on his face as they set off for Prague, ready for whatever their next stop would bring.

Chapter 11:

Prague welcomed them with its gothic charm and vibrant cityscape, but each had their own purpose in its historic streets. For Lara, it was the thrill of the hunt, a dance through rooftops and alleys as she sought to unearth treasures hidden within the city’s ancient corners. As for Ivan, he was here to trace the shadows of his past, hunting for the faintest whispers of a man who had once been among the feared elite of the StB.

Lara was fully in her element, leaping across rooftops, scaling walls, and moving from one ledge to the next with astonishing agility. Her mind focused on Prague’s treasures, she knew exactly where her next target lay. Although she already had the St. Wenceslas Crown stowed safely away from their previous adventure, she was on the trail of another prize: the Royal Orb, one of the most significant symbols of Czech royalty. Lara’s sense of adventure was insatiable, and she’d be damned if she left Prague without adding this precious relic to her collection.

Ivan, meanwhile, found himself at the Ústav pro studium totalitních režimů, or the Institute for the Study of Totalitarian Regimes. He rifled through files worn thin from years of examination, each page chronicling pieces of history that had once been hidden from the public eye. His eyes stopped on a familiar name, one he hadn’t heard in years. This operative, now just a memory in a file, had been a high-ranking member of the StB and a key figure in multiple covert operations. Yet here he was, having disappeared just after the Velvet Revolution. According to the records, he’d re-emerged in the UK, living under a new identity.

The revelation was like a spark to dry tinder for Ivan. He remembered this man well—a ghost who’d helped orchestrate cover-ups and kept dangerous secrets. But why had he fled to the UK? And more importantly, why was someone now determined to silence Ivan?

While Ivan processed this discovery, Lara had her own success. After a daring escapade that involved sneaking through the Old Royal Palace, she managed to locate and secure the Royal Orb. She slipped it into her bag, adrenaline still coursing through her veins as she made her way across the city. While her methods and purpose differed, she shared Ivan’s fierce determination, driven by her own mix of thrill and curiosity.

They finally reunited on Střížkov, with the fading sunlight casting long shadows over Prague. Ivan shared his discovery, the weight of the information evident in his expression. Lara listened, both intrigued and slightly impressed at the gravity of Ivan’s history.

“So, we’re off to Britain to find this man, then?” she asked, her voice filled with curiosity as she assessed Ivan’s determination.

“Not just find him,” Ivan replied, his eyes steely. “Confront him. After all these years, he owes me answers.”

Lara offered a sly smile, patting her bag where the Orb was safely stashed. “Good. But next time, remind me to pack a larger suitcase.”

With Prague fading behind them, they climbed into Ivan’s car, merging onto the highway that would take them out of the city. As the familiar hum of the engine filled the silence, both of them found themselves reflecting on their journey. Ivan felt the weight of a lifetime’s worth of questions still unanswered, while Lara felt the quiet satisfaction of another priceless relic secured.

They drove through the night, the landscape blurring into a seamless stretch of road. England awaited them, along with the answers—and perhaps the reckoning—that Ivan had sought for so long.

Chapter 12:

After a grueling day at work, Ivan returned home to his quiet flat, seeking nothing more than a moment of peace. He tossed his keys onto the table, sank into his chair, and opened his laptop to catch up on his emails. But as soon as the screen flickered to life, his attention was drawn to a message with a strange subject line: “Thought You Were Done?” The sender was simply marked as “L.L.”

His eyes narrowed, feeling a prickling sense of unease. He clicked on the email, and the message was simple but unmistakably threatening:

“Thought you could leave it all behind, Ivan? Your ghosts are closer than you think. - L.L.”

Ivan re-read the message, his mind racing. Whoever L.L. was, they knew too much—about his past, about his work, and about secrets he had buried. Ivan immediately dialed Lara, recounting the email in detail. Without a moment’s hesitation, she agreed to come over and offered an unexpected surprise: she was bringing along some reinforcements, Zip and Amanda, two trusted allies with unique skill sets.

Zip, a brilliant hacker and tech expert, arrived first, his laptop already open as he worked on tracing the origins of the email. Amanda, a former MI6 operative with expertise in intelligence gathering, joined them shortly after, making the flat feel charged with a strange mixture of tension and anticipation.

“Do we know anything about this ‘L.L.’ yet?” Amanda asked, as she took a seat near Zip, who was already typing furiously. Ivan shook his head, frustration evident on his face.

As the team dug through files, databases, and archives, Ivan's nerves frayed further. He absentmindedly pulled out his old Lee-Enfield rifle from a gear bag, thinking he might need to test it later. In a moment of frustration, he dropped the rifle onto the floor without checking if it was loaded. Suddenly, the rifle discharged with a deafening bang, the bullet ricocheting dangerously close to Amanda, who instinctively ducked.

“Bloody hell, Ivan!” she gasped, her voice half-scolding, half in shock. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air as the room fell silent. Ivan was red-faced, and Lara gave him a look of equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Maybe check your gear next time?” she quipped dryly, a hint of a smirk on her face as she steadied her pulse.

They returned to the task, trying to piece together the identity of “L.L.” Zip’s eyes suddenly lit up as he tapped his screen. “Got something. Whoever sent that email bounced it off three different servers, but there’s a digital trail. Last IP address is here, in the UK.”

Ivan stared at the monitor, recognizing the location Zip had pulled up. His suspicions grew—L.L. might be someone he’d tangled with back in his Czechoslovak days, someone who had crossed paths with the StB or even with British intelligence. A familiar dread gnawed at him as memories of old cases and dangerous rivals resurfaced.

Amanda leaned in, analyzing the email’s structure. “The language, the style—it feels personal. This isn’t just a random threat, Ivan. This person knows you.” She paused, considering the implications. “Maybe from your past? The revolution?”

Ivan nodded grimly. “I’ve got a strong hunch. Someone who managed to slip through the cracks after the regime fell.” He was lost in thought, pieces of a buried history unfolding before him, filling in gaps that had lingered too long.

After hours of sifting through clues, they finally found a name. L.L. was the initials of a former high-ranking StB operative, someone who had been involved in brutal interrogations and covert operations back in the day. Ivan had encountered him during the investigations into high-level corruption in military circles. After the Velvet Revolution, this operative had vanished, slipping out of the country and assuming a new identity. It was believed he had relocated to the UK—right under Ivan’s nose.

Ivan clenched his fists, feeling the weight of old anger resurfacing. “It’s him,” he said, his voice low and intense. “He’s been watching, waiting… and now he’s making his move.”

The group exchanged glances, fully understanding the gravity of the situation. This was no ordinary case. For Ivan, it was a haunting resurgence of a time he thought he had left behind—a time that refused to stay buried. He knew that L.L. wasn’t simply issuing a threat; he was calling Ivan to a final reckoning.

“Guess we’re not done yet,” Ivan muttered. With the cold resolve that had carried him through countless cases, he glanced at his team. “This just got personal.”

As they planned their next steps, the flat buzzed with a shared sense of urgency. They weren’t just going after a lead—they were tracking a ghost from Ivan’s past.

Chapter 13:

Ivan had an intense relationship with his Forman

Ivan, filled with grim resolve, was meticulously preparing for a final confrontation with the man who had unraveled his life piece by piece. He packed carefully: his trusty ČZ 75 pistol, an Sa vz. 58 assault rifle, a bayonet, and his prized triple-barrel shotgun. For this mission, he chose his Škoda Forman 135 LX, proudly bearing the plate AKC 74-12—a rugged companion from the chaotic days of the 1990s.

Zip and Amanda’s laughter was immediate when they saw the car.

“Wow,” Zip chuckled, circling the old Forman. “Are we going to war or on a guided tour of a Soviet-era museum?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You laugh, but this car’s got less than a hundred thousand kilometers. There’s not much in it to break, unlike your fancy gadgets.”

Amanda snorted, tapping the door, “Seriously, Ivan, it’s practically an antique. And—” She leaned closer, realizing something that made her laugh again. “The steering wheel’s on the left!”

“Of course it’s on the left,” Ivan replied, utterly unamused. “We drive on the right in the Czech Republic.”

“But we’re in England now!” Zip interjected. “Shouldn’t you have, you know, rented something modern? Something with the wheel on the ‘right’ side?”

Ivan shrugged, glancing at the car with an unmistakable pride. “I know every bolt in this machine. It’s reliable, simple, and, unlike you lot, it doesn’t require thousands in repairs or a manual to fix.” He smirked, finally settling into the driver’s seat. “Besides, the car and I—we’re a package deal.”

Lara, sitting in the back, stifled a smile. Her years of adventuring had instilled an appreciation for such relics, and the Forman reminded her of her own escapades in Czechoslovakia. She leaned forward and said, “I have to admit, you two are a perfect match.”

Ivan glanced at her in the mirror. “That’s the idea.”

As they set off, Ivan began to explain why he needed to settle this score. “The man we’re after was StB,” he began, voice low. “A high-ranking agent who was in the thick of some of the worst abuses. After the revolution, he disappeared to avoid facing the mess he’d left behind.”

Zip leaned forward, intrigued. “And you? You stayed to clean it up?”

Ivan nodded. “For years. While he was off hiding somewhere, I was here, dealing with the fallout. One of the cases he sabotaged was one of my worst: a soldier who assaulted and murdered women. He manipulated evidence to let the man walk free. And the StB, they backed him, interrogated me when I tried to expose it. That man nearly destroyed me.”

The car was silent, the weight of Ivan’s words settling over them.

Amanda broke the silence, glancing out the window as the countryside rolled by. “And you never tried to go after him before?”

“Believe me, I wanted to,” Ivan replied, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “But I had work to do here, cases that needed solving. We even took down a brutal group of killers—the Orlické murderers, they called them. They’d dump bodies in barrels of lye, then toss them into the Orlík Dam. The images still haunt me.”

Lara put a hand on his shoulder from the back seat. “Sounds like you were facing horrors on all sides.”

He nodded. “This man represents all the rot we’ve been left to clean up. And it’s time he answers for it.”

The hours stretched on. At one point, Zip glanced up from his laptop, grinning mischievously. “So, Ivan, what’s the horsepower on this bad boy?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow through the mirror, his voice brimming with pride. “Fifty-four.”

Zip and Amanda burst into laughter again, and even Lara couldn’t help but chuckle.

Ivan smirked. “Laugh all you want. But let me ask you—how much do each of you spend on repairs?”

Lara patted the seat, her smile approving. “He’s got a point. This car’s held together better than some of our fancy ones.”

They rolled into Durham as dawn began to break, parking on a quiet street near their target’s last known location. As they climbed out, a young man passing by noticed the Forman, giving it a snide look before smacking the side mirror with a derisive tap.

Ivan stiffened instantly, his eyes darkening as he turned to face the young man.

“Hey!” he barked, the sharp tone freezing the man in place. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ivan stepped forward, his ČZ 75 in one hand and his triple-barrel shotgun slung across his shoulder.

Lara stepped out, watching with a mix of admiration and worry. “Ivan, come on, it’s not worth it. Don’t want you getting all worked up over a car.”

Ivan looked back at her, a glint of determination in his eyes. “It’s not just the car, Lara. It’s respect.” He turned back to the young man, whose expression had turned to fear, then let the moment linger before letting the man walk away.

“You know, Ivan,” Lara murmured as she approached, “just… take it easy today, alright? I remember Peru. Don’t need you giving us another scare.”

He chuckled dryly. “No need to worry. I’m not that old yet.”

Meanwhile, Zip was glued to his laptop, typing away. “Okay,” he announced, eyes still on the screen. “I’ve got access to the local grid. I can kill the lights when we’re ready.”

“Good,” Ivan replied, nodding. “Amanda, you’re up. Make sure we get every piece of information we need.”

Amanda nodded, slipping into the building’s rear entrance. Minutes later, she emerged with a file under her arm, but her hurried steps signaled trouble.

“They’ve got guards,” she whispered urgently, “and they’re coming this way.”

Ivan checked his weapons, casting a glance at the rest. “Stay close. This is going to get messy.”

They regrouped, Ivan taking point with his shotgun. Lara positioned herself beside him, her gaze unwavering.

“Remember,” she said softly, glancing at Ivan with a faint smile, “you don’t have to do everything yourself. We’re here for a reason.”

He met her gaze, nodding in appreciation. “Thanks, Lara. But some scores… some things, they’re just mine to settle.”

With that, he steadied himself, his grip on the shotgun tightening as they prepared for the confrontation. The streets of Durham were quiet, but Ivan’s heart was louder than ever, the weight of his past and present colliding as he faced the reckoning he’d spent decades waiting for.

Chapter 14:

Lara and Ivan moved through the corridor like two parts of a deadly machine. Lara weaved effortlessly among the guards, using her agility to dodge punches and kicks, delivering swift, precise strikes that left her opponents on the floor. She was a blur of acrobatics, slipping out of reach and landing blows that disarmed and disoriented with ease. Meanwhile, Ivan took a far less delicate approach—dealing brutal blows with the butt of his shotgun, occasionally firing, but mostly stabbing and swinging with practiced, merciless efficiency.

At one point, he tossed his triple-barreled shotgun aside, switching to his vz. 58. As he did, Lara raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"You’d think the gun would be loaded," she remarked, only to watch Ivan, unfazed, as he pulled out a stripper clip of ten rounds and methodically loaded it from the top, repeating the process until the rifle was full. Her frustration was evident as she muttered, “I thought it was a Kalashnikov!”

"More reliable," Ivan said simply, giving her a nod as he finished reloading.

Elsewhere, Amanda seized her opportunity to slip into the back offices, grabbing important documents and settling herself in the passenger seat of Ivan’s Škoda, watching the chaos unfold from a safe distance. Zip, meanwhile, was focused on his laptop, hacking into the security systems and scrambling any reinforcements that might come to the guards’ aid.

Finally, as they cleared the last of the guards, Ivan spotted his target: an elderly man—the former StB agent who had been a ghost in his past, now very real and within his grasp. Ivan’s expression darkened as he grabbed the old man by his collar, hauling him through the hallway and into a private office. Before shutting the door, he looked back at Lara.

“Stay outside for this one,” he said, his tone cold and leaving little room for debate.

Lara, slightly unnerved but trusting Ivan’s judgment, gave a curt nod and leaned against the wall. She heard the muffled sounds of a scuffle, followed by the distinct clacking as Ivan reloaded his vz. 58. Then, she heard the rapid bursts of fire—thirty rounds in total. She counted every shot as the rifle cracked through the room, each bullet driven by years of vengeance Ivan could finally exact.

When silence fell, there was the sudden sound of glass shattering.

Lara rushed to the door, peeking through just in time to see the man’s lifeless body fly out of the broken window, plummeting down and crashing onto the hood of Ivan’s beloved Škoda. Amanda, waiting inside, yelped in shock as the body slammed onto the car, while Zip looked up from his laptop, his face frozen in horror.

Ivan stepped out of the office, calmly reloading his rifle as he walked, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go,” he rasped, nodding at Lara, who simply stared at him, both stunned and oddly impressed.

They made their way to the car, where Ivan wordlessly shoved the body off the hood, letting it drop onto the pavement and spit out on it. He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and, with everyone inside, sped off, the battered Škoda handling the escape as if it was still in its prime.

Chapter 15:

Under the cover of a silent, overcast sky, Ivan arrived at the imposing Croft Manor. He slowed his battered old Škoda Forman to a halt in front of the main entrance. Lara, Zip, and Amanda stepped out, exchanging quiet goodbyes as they prepared to head inside. Ivan, still seated in the car, gave them a brief nod and muttered, “Good night… and take care of yourselves.” He watched them disappear into the manor before pulling away and heading for his small flat in Hammersmith.

Back home, Ivan tossed his coat over a chair, kicked off his shoes, and poured himself a generous glass of Becherovka. Sighing, he picked up a thin manila folder—one of the stolen StB files he’d kept hidden. He leafed through its pages, filled with reports of surveillance, blackmail, and intimidation. The sheer weight of it all twisted his expression with disgust. Finishing his drink, he threw the folder down on the table, the loose papers spilling out like dirty confessions from a bygone era.

“Bastard,” he muttered dryly, shoving the papers aside. Feeling the fatigue settle in, he left the sordid remnants on the table and headed off to bed.

The next month was routine, spent as an inspector with Scotland Yard. Just as he’d begun to feel his past fading into a distant memory, a call from his superiors shattered that illusion. He was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was being forced into retirement. "For your contributions,” they phrased it politely, but Ivan knew better. For days, a quiet resentment simmered within him. But eventually, he accepted it with resignation.

With newfound time on his hands, Ivan began to enjoy his retirement. He grew closer to Lara and even to Zip, often joining them for activities Lara arranged and spending evenings at the manor. He was surprised by how at ease he felt in their company, finally finding a sense of peace.

Then, one afternoon, an unexpected call from an old colleague stirred his calm. The StB agent he’d killed—the man whose life Ivan had claimed as a piece of vengeance—had been given a quiet, unremarkable funeral. Ivan was stunned and, more than that, furious. The thought of that man buried with even a semblance of peace gnawed at him. His calm shattered, and he knew what he needed to do.

Gripping his axe and sliding into his Forman, Ivan drove through the quiet streets toward the cemetery, his old car rattling as it rumbled along. Reaching the grave, he stood for a moment, letting his hatred crystallize, and then brought the axe down onto the headstone with a thunderous crack. Over and over, he swung, splinters of stone flying with each strike as he vented his buried rage.

Lost in the destruction, he hadn’t noticed Lara and Zip standing a few plots away, frozen in shock. They had come to pay respects to Alister’s grave, only to see Ivan, axe in hand, hacking away at the headstone a short distance away.

Finally, Lara found her voice. “Ivan… what are you doing?”

He stopped, breathless, and glanced over at them, as if only now aware of their presence. His face softened, almost sheepish. “He didn’t deserve peace,” he muttered, wiping a bit of dust off his sleeve.

As he stood there, his eyes shifted to the neighboring headstone, where he saw Alister’s name etched into the cold stone. He turned back to Lara, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “Who was Alister?”

A pained expression crossed Lara’s face. She hesitated, the grief still raw, then managed a weak smile. “I’ll tell you later,” she said softly, holding back the emotion in her voice. Ivan nodded, offering a solemn, genuine, “My condolences.”

Stepping back, he took a final, satisfied look at the shattered remains of the StB agent’s grave. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught sight of a car parked across the lot—a Dacia, a model he despised with a special loathing. Without a second thought, he approached it, lifted his foot, and delivered a firm, cathartic kick to its side panel.

“Piece of junk,” he muttered, his disdain evident, before climbing back into his Forman. He cast one last look at Lara and Zip, nodded briefly, and drove off, feeling, for the first time in a while, like something had been set right.