Things aren't going well.

When news reached the ears of Stalin that the Belkans were building tanks of immense size and firepower, dwarfing the T-35 multi-turreted tanks already in-service, the Secretary-General was not pleased. In his mind, only the Union should have the best tank fleet out there, yet the Belkans one-upped them much too cleanly. Whether in mobility, protection, or firepower, the Leman Russ outperformed the T-35 in every way. This made Stalin incensed and he demanded the development of a new generation of battle tanks. When Stalin heard a stray T-34 prototype somehow drove itself to Berlin though, he was this close to flipping the table and ordering an immediate execution of the people behind the Affordable Tank Program. Ultimately, the people up top decided on a different course of action, albeit with the same outcome.

Because of this, things really aren't going well for Mikhail Koshkin. First, he learns that his T-34 program is put on ice, permanently. Officially, the Union deems the project a technological dead end when the Belkans are the first to achieve Stalin's wet dream. Fruitless were the hours working overtime to bring about a vehicle that could have reached the pinnacle in tank design.

Unofficially, however, words are going out that there's a bad apple among the executives in the Kharkiv Factory. Mikhail doesn't have all the details but there has been a purge, a hidden one, with the leaders and notable designers of Kharkiv disappearing or dying to a variety of causes. Many of the friends Koshkin considered to be good were gone. The only reason Koshkin is still alive is because his pneumonia is acting up, badly, a direct result of a string of unfortunate events happening one after another. The diagnosis the tank designer is given hasn't painted a beautiful picture for him. Koshkin is living on borrowed time. If pneumonia doesn't claim him, then the government will, in the dark. For some reason or another, the Union seems to be inclined to keep everything under wraps.

Koshkin sighs dejectedly, looking at the schematics of the T-34, his brainchild, one last time. The man stills for a full minute of silence before chucking the papers inside a fireplace, dousing it with vodka to fuel the fire even more. In doing such a thing, Koshkin is effectively killing his child, a matter that causes him to cough and grieve at the same time. From here on out, the man will be counting his remaining days in despondent... Or not.

A knock can be heard on the door of his house, prompting Koshkin to turn around. Who is knocking on this ungodly hour when it's not even dawn?

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"I think this is the first time that I can't find it in myself to be annoyed at you, Mister Gagarin." Koshkin says while leaning on his cushioned chair. His host, the man behind the industrious Ural Factory Complex, Quellec Gagarin, is seen making the two of them a pot of tea. Honestly, Koshkin appreciates the man for picking the correct drink with how his pneumonia makes consuming alcohol nearly impossible.

Quellec brings the tea tray to the table separating the two of them before sitting down on a chair himself. Before the two of them say anything though, Koshkin finds himself taking a look at the weirdly colored tea set. Though not an avid tea drinker, Koshkin can still identify it as expensive, albeit an interestingly haphazard set. The tea set is noticeably of an Eastern design, seemingly made from a special clay of sorts with the pot being white and the three cups being green, red, and blue. Quellec smiles, pouring the golden liquid into the three cups before taking the green cup for himself.

"I will take that as a compliment, Mister Koshkin. It means that I have successfully built a rapport with you over the time we've known each other."

Not touching the weird tea set, Koshkin says with an eye roll. "That or I am just too damn tired to deal with you."

"That too, I guess." Quellec chuckles, not offended. "On that point, it seems to me that you have landed yourself in a pinch, Mister Koshkin."

"Tell me something I didn't know." Koshkin scoffs before leaning back on the chair. At least it feels better than his stool back home.

Surprisingly, Quellec says. "Sure. I see no harm in monologuing some information while you just..." Quellec ponders while tapping the rim of his cup a few times. "Chill, I guess."

Koshkin may be shit out of luck, but he can still glare at the man across him.

Quellec pays the leveled gaze no mind, savoring the tea before saying. "For some time now, Belka has been the top country of interest in terms of military development. Many times, nations have been vying for the Belkans' secret to success, yet it's only the Union that managed to be the closest one to home with us being given a tour of the Reich's military. When our delegation in Belka sent a detachment back to Moscow though, they returned bearing news of upsetting nature. Specifically, the confirmation that Belka is going all-in on multi-turreted tank designs, much like what my factory has been offering, only on a much grander and better scale. It's why my factories are now given the task of developing new tanks, better ones, or at the very least, on par with what our delegation saw."

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Koshkin scoffs, annoyed. "Multi-turreted tanks are a waste of time, manpower, and resources. Such investments are better off put elsewhere."

Quellec shrugs. "Go say that to the Belkans. If the Reich invests in such a vehicle, then it must have a suitable doctrine in mind. In a sense, I am glad that the Reich goes through with such a procurement plan. They do net me a development contract, maybe even the subsequent procurement one too if my design wins against the others."

"You invited me here to gloat or something?" Koshkin snaps back.

Quellec raises a hand in a disarming gesture. "No need to raise your voice, I am merely getting in the groove of our talk. Our delegation in Belka did not just learn of the existence of the Belkan Leman Russ, they also learned something else. Something that caused the table to turn around your pet project, Koshkin."

"... Explain." Koshkin demands with a serious expression.

"Your project being shelved, your partners either dead or missing, all of this can be attributed to the fact that, somehow, the Belkans managed to get a T-34 tank in one of their hangars. Details are fuzzy as to whether that tank is operational or not, but I don't think I need to say anything else for you to understand how deep in trouble you are, right?"

For a few moments, there is only silence as Koshkin grapples with the surprising fact that confirms his suspicion. Ultimately, the man sighs, seemingly aging a few more years. "So, you're saying that my team betrayed the Union, is that why we got the axe?"

"Not necessarily you, only a few members of your team by the look of it. Most probably the missing members according to what I learned from my friends higher up the chain." Quellec adds, watching Koshkin's expression twist into that of a betrayed person. The disgraced Rusviet is then immediately beset with a fit of coughing, hammering his hand on his chest to disperse his discomfort.

Quellec looks at Koshkin with hidden pity. The man has long lost any semblance of control over his life years ago, and he doesn't even know it. After getting his breath back to a somewhat normal capacity, Koshkin asks with a strained voice. "For a couple of bad apples, they would fall an entire tree? Do they even have proof?"

"Since when does the NKVD need proof to act? Their biggest backing is Stalin himself, Koshkin." Quellec looks at Koshkin with a wry smile.

"... Damn it." Koshking sighs. "I guess that this is it then, for me at least? Years of toiling away at a workbench, gone, just like that."

"Maybe, maybe not." Quellec says mysteriously, earning a raised eyebrow from Koshkin. "Believe it or not, Koshkin, you're not supposed to be alive at this point. I had to pull some strings just to get the NKVD off your back."

"Should I be grateful for your help then?" Koshkin asks sarcastically. "Why, though?"

"Namely because it will be a waste to have you gone, Koshkin. We have differences in our approach to tank building, but I can safely say as a rival designer that your tanks would have made waves if given the chance." Quellec patiently explains.

"What's the catch then?"

"The catch, as you have called it, is that you're ordered by the government to join my team in making a new tank for Stalin." Quellec smirks when he sees Koshkin's disdainful frown. "It's what the red tea cup stands for."

"The red cup?" Koshkin stares at Quellec, puzzled that the man has insinuated that he will have multiple options. "Then what's the blue cup about?"

"That, my friend, is something of my own intervention. It's something off the books." Quellec replies. "Both cups offer the same benefits of me sponsoring you to get rid of that annoying pneumonia you have. However, the blue cup stands out because it will offer you a second chance, Koshkin. A way to start over, with a clean slate. Of course, you won't be able to get that new start by staying here in Rusviet, so you may have to think this through."

Koshkin leans in, surprised and somewhat distrustful. "Are you for real? What you're offering in the blue cup can be judged as... Traitorous by the NKVD. Because from your tone, the red cup is supposed to be a direct order from the top for me, not a choice."

"I would rather you get a new leash in life than work begrudgingly and only to piss off a political commissar somewhere, Koshkin." Quellec says with a straight face. "It brings bad business if you're to do so."

"Yeah, well, perhaps I may do just that to throw you off, Gagarin." Koskin quips. "But choices, huh? The blue cup, what does it entail to start over?"

"You're either free to pursue your passion, or just sit back and relax, maybe even get a new job. I heard confectioners are in short supply, nowadays." Quellec replies before falling silent.

Koshkin frowns, pondering, before decisively picking up the blue cup and downing it in one go. If there's something to be said about the man, then he's very willing to commit to his choice.

"So, what happens ne-..." Koshkin barely says half a sentence before falling unconscious with the cup still in his hands.

Seeing the tank designer knocked out, Quellec nods to himself.

"Well, at least you didn't drop the expensive cup. As for what's next, just leave it to us. It's quite sad that Pneumonia has taken its due and claimed dear Koshkin." Quellec says with a smile that doesn't reach his face. "The next time you wake up, Koshkin is no more."