Chapter 34 On Thin Ice

In the icy heart of Greenland, the Nuuk Government House served as the official residence and political stronghold for the Prime Minister of Greenland, situated in the capital city of Nuuk.

That was until Magister Gulag moved in, with a little help from Wang's and Pushkin's foot soldiers.

Gulag's discontent with his current position as president had only grown during the previous few months.

The dull snow-encased, glass-cubed building was surrounded by an area of unremarkable urbanization, which mirrored the lack of stimulation he felt within his new role.

Wang's soldiers were not much company either; they spoke little in the way of English.

Pushkin's comrades just had prolonged vodka-fueled drinking sessions, which was not Gulag's style. Essentially, he was bored.

Gulag found his only solace from the mundanity in the recently renovated basement, where a state-of-the-art laboratory had been installed.

Every inch had been transformed under the watchful eyes of engineers who left no surface untouched in bringing Gulag's dark visions to life.

They had pored over relics from his past - snapshots from his scrapbook capturing Dr. Mengele's horrors in vivid contrast - ensuring the sterile chambers matched those infamous works stroke for stroke.

Each day drained him further as rules and meetings blurred, one into the next. But down in the depths.

Beyond the humming elevator doors, the familiar scents of antiseptic greeted him like an old friend.

Harsh fluorescents illuminated machines made to twist nature into unnatural forms. Here, Gulag could indulge freely, losing count of the hours spent giving tours to the latest cargo.

Bodies delivered daily - Inuits packed shoulder to shoulder on rumbling transports. Wide eyes darted as hushed words were exchanged in foreign tongues, no doubt speculating what awaited behind each door.

Gulag would smile at them, savoring the trembling unease, intoxicating him better than any drug.

And then there was the unsettling furnace at the end of the basement.

Just to spice things up, mainly on weekends. Gulag would have a couple of Wang's soldiers rake up the skeletal remains from the previous day's arrivals, so they could witness the bones being grinded in the cremulator before they turned to ashes.

The diabolical routine imparted a wicked touch to Gulag's amusement before his scientists ultimately whisked the Inutes away, never to be seen again.

**********

Gulag reclined on the soft leather couch in his presidential office, staring blankly at the flurries of snowflakes falling beyond the polished glass.

Behind him, the wall was decorated with a massive parchment map of Greenland, its seas and glaciers rendered in meticulous detail.

Goosebumps rose on Gulag's pale flesh as a chill draft whispered through the office.

How quickly fortunes change, he mused, from luxury's embrace to sidelined obscurity.

Before being loaded off at the Nuuk Cruise Terminal, located in Aqqusinersuaq. He had quite a luxurious time aboard the glacial ship.

Every indulgence had been Gulag's for the taking - the Olympic-sized infinity pool glimmering like captured starlight, servants serving his every need in the spa and wellness center

By day, they dived into Caribbean waters, coral palaces unspooled beneath Gulag's exploring fingertips.

However, this idyllic exploration was merely a prelude to the impending Chinese-Russian colonization of the islands.

By night, Gulag had relished the nights spent in the velvet cocoon of the executive lounge that befitted presidents.

They discussed their grand plans for global domination over the finest liquors and Michelin-starred meals.

He would then go on to demonstrate his strategic acumen over countless board games of divide and conquer with Wang and Pushkin, annihilating both presidents' best military minds.

Despite being part of the inner circle initially, Gulag couldn't shake off the fact that he was being excluded from the decision-making process.

Europe had been overrun by the armies of Wang and Pushkin, and then North America fell.

As conquests gripped across continents, so too did Gulag's invisibility in the eyes of the changing new world order.

It felt like being the outsider all over again at the big boys clubs.

Recollections of his past bubbled up, reminding him of the isolation he had experienced at Eaton College.

There was a polite knock on the door. "Come in," said Gulag disinterestedly.

Dr. Aana Nuki had been briefed on how to conduct herself and the exact protocol for appeasing Gulag before she entered.

She was an Inuit psychiatrist assigned with the task of dealing with Gulag's existential crisis, by his new branch of the Greenlandic authorities - the fourth therapist in the last few weeks.

Dr. Aana Nuki closed the heavy oak door behind her small frame.

Though of Greenlandic descent, her coffee-colored skin and almond-shaped eyes hinted at distant Asian ancestors.

Dark locks framed a petite, heart-shaped face with full lips pressed into a concerned frown.

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Dr. Nuki wheeled a chair opposite the leather couch, her small hands folded in her lap.

"Good morning Magister," she said warmly. "How are you feeling today?"

Gulag sighed. "Empty. Purposeless. Wang and Pushkin see me as a piece in their game, to be moved around and discarded when convenient.

But I am so much more than that. I am a visionary, an artist! I should be leading beside them as an equal partner."

"It's natural to want recognition from others," Dr. Nuki said reassuringly.

"We all crave validation and acknowledgment for our accomplishments. It's a basic human need to feel seen and appreciated by those around us.

Did your parents give you validation, Magister? To make you feel valued. Giving you purpose in life?"

"Perhaps they did to some extent," Gulag replied, reflecting on his childhood.

"But what is my greater purpose? Or am I just a monster?"

Dr. Nuki gave him a kindly smile. "Only you can answer that. But consider opening your heart to compassion."

"Compassion?" Gulag repeated.

The word orbited around Gulag's brain like an alien concept that had never entered his stratosphere before.

He couldn't comprehend its meaning or significance.

"You could start small by practicing acts of kindness towards others, or get a pet like a kitten," Dr. Nuki suggested.

"A kitten?" said Gulag, pondering her words.

There was wisdom in what she said, though he was loath to admit it. Perhaps it was time for him to consider adopting a furry companion, though the idea of owning a pet was perplexing.

"Having empathy for others might bring peace within yourself. It is a process."

Dr. Nuki's words started to resonate with Gulag. Perhaps showing kindness and compassion towards others could be a transformative experience.

"This is a common treatment for individuals displaying common traits of psychopathy," Dr. Nuki explained.

Gulag looked at Dr. Nuki with a dark cloud of menace, hinting at the impending danger that awaited her.

"Thank you for your insights, Dr. Nuki," Gulag sneered.

"You dare refer to me as a psychopath. When addressing a genius?"

Gulag smiled, leaving her unsure of how to navigate the treacherous waters of his unpredictable temperament.

"Your genius is undeniable; look at all you've accomplished!" Dr. Nuki said, trying to defuse the situation.

Gulag turned to Dr. Nuki. "It seems our time is at an end. But I thank you for the conversation, doctor."

He pressed a button on his cane, and two of Wang's soldiers arrived.

"Take her to the lab. I want a full work-up." Gulag instructed.

Wang's soldier's grasp of the English language had become adequate enough when it came to certain instructions from Gulag.

Dr. Nuki gazed upon the guards nervously, trying to keep her composure.

"Please choose compassion for me, Magister." With that, she departed, escorted by the soldiers.

Gulag walked around to his presidential desk, the flag of Greenland hanging with pride behind him.

He called Asp, his most trusted, to discuss the next courses of action.

At the submarine docks. Asp's mobile phone vibrated and rang shrilly for two rings on his bed before he lifted the receiver.

"Asp!"

"Yes, Gulag?"

"I want you and the Bloodies to come to Greenland and be my bodyguards. Wang and Pushkin are making inroads to America as we speak."

"Bodyguards? Is there any danger in Greenland that would require us to protect you?"

"There is no danger, no; it is just that I need my people around me," Gulag replied.

Asp had Dante with him, listening in on the call.

Dante gestured at Asp to ask the question about the payment owed to them for their services, signaling the importance of financial compensation.

"Gulag, we will be with you in Greenland in no time at all," Asp said.

"While on your travels, have you accumulated the stockpile of riches that you promised us?"

"Asp, don't worry about it; I will ensure you are all appropriately compensated.

I have a cryptocurrency now. It's called the Gulag!"

Asp and Dante stared at each other in a what-the-fuck, is this some kind of joke kinda of way.

Unsure of how to respond to Gulag's statement.

They had expected a more conventional form of payment, and the mention of a cryptocurrency left them feeling skeptical about its value and reliability.

"Is 'The Gulag' widely accepted in the global market?" Asp Asked.

"Just Greenland for now," Gulag said.

"But, Wang and Pushkin will circulate a new currency called the friendship coin once dominance has been achieved. Then there will be the real payoff."

"Greenland, Friendship Coin! no dollars," Asp said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Gulag tapped his long fingers on the table

"Asp?"

"Yes, Gulag." Silence waited for Asp briefly before Gulag said anything more.

"Money isn't everything, as you'll learn in time. For now, trust that I take care of my own.

Your arrival is all I require.

I expect you to report to my residency in the next couple of days." Without another word, Gulag hung up.

Frustrated by the start of his morning routine, Gulag descended to the sublevels of the basement in a state of irritability and impatience.

When the elevator doors opened, he was met by a strange and alarming sound - painful shrieks were coming from one of his labs.

Following the noise, he arrived at the lab where Dr. Nuki was being processed.

Her petite frame was strapped to an examination table while one of the scientists performed tests without anesthesia.

Gulag watched coolly as a blood sample was extracted, eliciting another scream.

"What have you discovered?" he asked the scientist.

A clipboard was read with the first findings.

"Dr. Nuki appears to be in perfect health, with no abnormalities."

Gulag sighed dismissively. "Administer the injection, then dispose of her.

Dr. Nuki's wails of fear pierced the sterile air looking into the empty soul of Gulag's eyes.

The syringe plunged into her vein. Gulag and the scientist watched as her delicate body jerked against leather restraints, wide eyes rolling in agony.

A sheen of sweat broke out on ebony skin as the poison took hold, twisting muscles into contortions none were meant to achieve.

Minutes passed like hours for her before the frantic gasps ceased, leaving behind an unnatural stillness.

"Goodbye, Dr. Nuki. It's lucky for you that I am in a compassionate mood, or I might have made you suffer for longer," said Gulag coldly as he turned and walked away.