The Chervenkov Chronicles

[JonWo]

Hi,

This is a continuation of the Fulham: The Grass Ain't Always Greener story, where my second edition had gone a little wayward.

Anyways, hope you enjoy.

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Tick, tick, tick went the clock as I stared longingly out of the window, my last connection to the outside world. What an inglorious end to a life that had promised so much.

But this was my existence now, the only thing that split the mind numbing drudgery of life inside was that incessant ticking. It was enough to drive a man insane, but I hadn’t quite reached that stage… yet.

My cell-mates hadn’t been so welcoming, a balding, white middle-class man, I had stood out like a sore thumb. ’Peado’ they shouted. Not wishing to divulge my back-story and discuss my time at the helm of Fulham Football Club, I went along with them.

However, this was to prove a grave mistake. I had been singled out as weak and my fellow prisoners took advantage of this. I struggle to remember a day of my time inside where I wasn’t either raped or beaten to a bloody pulp. You hear people say that you only serve two days inside; the day you go in and the day you come out. But I can tell you this is one of the biggest fallacies of all time.

Life within the British judicial system is one of both mind numbing monotony and abject horror. With the most depraved and irrational people walking God’s green Earth all confined within such a small space, I consider myself lucky to still be alive.

Whilst I may look down my nose at a certain few of those I am incarcerated with, I am by no means a saint myself. I know that what I did was wrong, but I know that at the time… and even now, it feels so right.

I was a business man after all and when my business suffered, so did I. Moscow had been my haven, life was good there, I had made thousands of pounds playing the stock markets and had earned enough to leave me living in a life of luxury for the rest of my natural born life.

However… greed got the better of me. An investment here, a buy-out there, I was always willing to catch the latest gravy train and the opportunity to earn a fast buck.

Eventually… this was to prove my downfall. I had been expanding my business empire all over Europe; first it was the Ukraine, then Poland. I wanted to make my mark in this world and I wanted to be remembered; Eastern Europe wasn’t enough… I wanted to chase the big bucks and these were in the West. I headed to Spain, France and Germany, but had little success.

My once thriving business was on the wane, my profit margins were way down, my company was losing money, to the extent where I was on the verge of filing for bankruptcy.

The recession had hit me hard, but my last throw of the dice had been buying Mr. Al-Fayed’s football team. They had seemed ripe for the taking… a team with limitless potential and one that could earn me a whole lot of money.

The only problem had been that stubborn manager of theirs. Jonathan was a bit of a maverick; someone I loved one minute and then hated the next. He was definitely head-strung and that didn’t really play into my plans for the club.

He had been leading Fulham to undoubtedly their most successful season; they were on the brink of qualifying for the cash-cow that is the European Champions League and all the money that went with it, but that man - Wolstenholme - never quite sat right with me.

He was an independent thinker and despite my words and the actions of my bodyguard, Dimitri, we could never quite get him on board with our line of thinking.

So… as the old adage goes, he had to be get got.

And got he did get…

[JonWo]

Chapter 2:

Whilst your in prison, locked up for twenty-three hours a day, it is your memories that keep you going. My cell-mates, I’ve had a few, never managed to get along with them for more than a few months. But for those brief few days before you find out the true content of their characters, I had managed to learn a little from them.

My first cell mate had been a Jamaican drug dealer named Jamal. Standing at six foot five, I had never considered myself a small man, but Jamal, decked out in his camouflage tank top absolutely towered over me.

His first words to me would prove to be a rather chilling signifier of what the inmates had left in store for me.

“You be my new wife-ey, get me?” he said in his thick Caribbean drawl.

Clutching a pillow which felt like it was made out of straw and a blanket that was barely thick enough to keep an ant warm, I refused to respond to him.

But this was my life now, constantly looking over my shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. No matter how bad life can get on the outside, you’ll never be ever to fully imagine the horror, indignation and fear that you will suffer once those barred doors close behind you.

As the weeks passed and I began to grow accustomed to my new surroundings; keeping my head down, doing as Jamal said in my role as his ’wife-ey’ - life… just for a few brief moments each day, almost became bearable.

I’m not proud of the events that transpired over the following months inside that dank cell, which at one time, I had thought I would be my tomb. Every last shred of masculinity and dignity was stripped away from me; I had once been the king-pin of an operation that sprawled continents, but now I had been reduced to nothing more than a pawn, a play-thing for a death-row inmate looking for sexual gratification from a world that had given up on him.

During the fleeting moments of reflection I was afforded, I thought back to how life once was. A veritable orgy of decadence, enjoyment and optimism. One night it was the rapturous reception I had enjoyed as the saviour of Fulham football club - the Fulham supporters swathing me in their adulation. The next night, it would be me and Dmitri, out on the town, enjoying the fruit of our labours, placing fifty pound notes down the skimpy underwear of the dancers of whichever strip club we had ended up at.

For so long, life had been so good.

But not now. I… like the women who had occupied those dens of iniquity which I so loved to frequent, had been reduced to feeling like nothing more than a common whore.

I had reached my lowest ebb. I was no longer ‘Roman Chervenkov; proud owner of Fulham football club‘, a man who’s power, wealth and social standing made most people quiver in their boots, I was now ‘Roman Chervenkov: Jamal’s Wife-ey’.

And this really did cut me to my core.

You here about drug users who waste years of their lives shooting heroin and smoking crack, before hitting rock bottom. But my life in prison had seen me teetering on the brink of despair in just a few short months.

Things had to - nay, must change. I had suffered enough indignity to last me a thousand years, I was Roman Chervenkov for GOD’S SAKE!! I was a man!!!

I knew my plan of retribution; I knew how it would start and I knew how it would end. I knew who it would have to start with and I knew how they would have to meet their end. I knew who ‘they’ were, but they didn’t yet…

It was that briefly optimistic time of the month where the prison officers allowed us to buy goods for the weeks ahead. Most prisoners chose to purchase candy; Mars Bars, Snickers, Twix’s…

But not me, there was no luxury to be had in this walk of life and no sweet could pacify my taste for freedom. If I was going to survive in this institution, I would need to be strong, so I used the money I had earned for my good behaviour to purchase some dumbbells.

I had always been a man who prided himself on his appearance. However, my current appearance was more befitting a pauper than a businessman. Staring at my reflection in the mirror - disgusted - I used my last few pounds to purchase a disposable razor.

[Elrithral]

I was very impressed with your original effort, looking forward to this one.

[Satio]

I havent read the original story and having read the opening posts here, I feel the need to have a read. Very impressive start, but, your second post containts two of the same entries. Copy and pasted it once to many times.

[JonWo]

Chapter 3:

“Go on, bitch. Take it like a bitch, you’ve earned this” I screamed, as I jabbed my crudely made shank in and out of Jamal’s chest.

“Take it bitch” I screamed once more, before the alarm bells sounded and the police SWAT team overcame me. I knew where I was heading and I couldn’t have given a ****.

“It was worth it” I spat as I was forced into the black hole of despair that is solitary confinement. An eight-by-eight foot cell, it had all the trappings of an Indianna Jones-esque tomb. But after what I had been through, the isolation felt like a welcome relief. ‘At least I know no -one can hurt me here’ I thought. Well, at least that’s what I thought.

My naivety towards prison life had lead me to believe that solitary confinement would mean just that, that my time would be spent alone. However, that was not to be the case. Apparently solitary confinement in modern day Britain makes you the prison officers punching bags.

‘Hey Dave, you having a bad day, go kick the **** out of the guy who’s shackled up in solitary. It’s not like anyone gives a **** about him’ was the officers mantra. I was to all intents and purposes a human stress-ball. Squeeze me as hard as you like, I wont break, just bleed a little, but that’s not a problem, because I’m the ****ing arsehole of society. No, I’m not even the arsehole, I’m not even the ****, I’m the ants that crawl on the **** after it’s been laying in the sun a few days.

These were the days that really broke my spirit, sent me over the edge. For the first couple of days I tried to keep my sprits high, maintain my composure, my dignity. But after so many days of sleeping beside his own faeces, even the most composed of individuals will begin to lose his composure.

I’d like to think I’m one of the latter, but the truth is that prison will take you back to your primeval roots. The food I was given wasn’t fit for a dog, I was starving, but I wouldn’t eat the **** they were feeding me. And so I starved.

It was little more than an involuntary hunger strike. You can’t tell unless you’ve been there, but even the rat’s droppings began to look more appealing than the under-cooked, e-coli infested slabs of ‘meat’ (and I use the term loosely) we were being served.

To say life was hell would be doing a disservice to Satan, what I was experiencing was human-life in it’s most barbaric form. It was survival of the fittest but even the fittest would have to conform to the diets of a mongrel if he was to survive.

At night, in the moments of which were few and far between, those moments of which I could describe as ‘clarity’, I would again think back to how I once had lived.

Me and Dmitri out on the town, sipping cocktails and eating prime ribs. Gone now. I can only imagine how life was treating Dmitri; whilst I had been the but (in every sense of the word) of all the prison jokes, Dmitri was a warrior of a man. ‘They’ll struggle to break that man’s spirit’ I thought to myself…

Having put a harrowing, but strangely personality defining seven days behind, I stepped out of what was known as ‘the pit’ the sunlight caress my face.

It made me feel like I was truly alive again; the pit may not have defeated the great Roman Chervenkov, but my spirits were still low. I still had a minimum of four years left on my ten year sentence, but for once, the broad smile on my cell-mates face didn’t fill me with dread.

[JonWo]

Chapter 4:

Another day, another dollar; life inside hasn’t quite been as bad is it could have been over the past few months, but it still aint perfect.

My latest cell mate is about as black afro-american as they come, but he isn’t all bad. He’s a quiet guy, he doesn’t want to know about my crime and I don’t want to know about his, although, I suspect his may be drugs related.

Anyway, today is a new day and a dawn. Blacky is getting out this morning and I’ve got to admit I’m quite happy for the ******. He’s done fifteen years inside, so by my reckoning he’s served his time and paid his dues and can now look forward to the rest of his life as a free man.

Not that the crazy mother****er sees it that way; I’ll give him two weeks before he’s back inside but God bless the guy for trying. Lord knows who my next cell mate will be though. Hopefully it’s someone who’s easy to get along with because if the last few months have taught me anything, it’s that life behind bars can be made a lot easier with a friend at your side.

Life is not easy and you can bet your mother, your grandmother and even your great-grandmother that life behind bars is even harder. My next cell-mate, Stefan, was all kinds of ass-hole rolled into one.

A neo-Nazi, I could put up with the initial ‘Heil Hitler’s’; but this blue eyed, blonde haired former construction worker was a force to be reckoned with.

Over the following weeks, both of us spoke about our respective stories, how we’d come to be in the joint. But, for one reason or another, Stefan wouldn’t let mine die.

‘So… you were in charge of Fulham Football Club, let me get this straight…” he said with his deep Cockney accent.

“Let me get this straight” he repeated, “…And you some how managed to **** it up” he said, before laughing manically.

“You, my friend… are a mug”, he added, before his bulky face exploded into fits of laughter again. But for my trepidation at taking on another giant foe, I would have been livid at Stefan. However, he was almost twice my size so I let his comments slide.

“But you are my mug” he said, clasping his arm around my waist and pulling me down from my position on the top bunk. “You are my mug” he repeated, grasping me around the waist and towards his crotch.

I could feel Stefan’s breathe scorching my neck as he forced my head downwards, but then my survival instincts kicked in. I pushed the lumbering behemoth backwards, before punching him in the face, with all the strength I could muster, I pummelled him repeatedly. Over and over I crashed my fists into his face. But still he came back at me, overpowering me with his giant hands.

In desperation, I lunged for something, anything, I could get my hands on. Finding a fire extinguisher, I drove the hard blunt end into his face as ferociously as my body would let me. Once, twice - the sickening thud sent quivers through my body, but I was unrelenting.

Again and again, all the pain and hardship I had endured came out as I repeatedly drove the fire extinguisher into Stefan’s skull… until.. nothing.

As I moved away from his lifeless body and looked on at his concaved skull. I knew I had to run…

The guards hadn’t seen the attack, but as my eyes glazed over and I soaked up the enormity of what had just transpired, there seemed like only one option.

I gazed up from Stefan’s body, my eyes wide with fear and in one swift movement, bolted out of my unlocked cell and began darting through the prison’s corridors, as I began my rather impromptu jail-break.

[JonWo]

Chapter 5:

My heart raced as I barged my way past the two armed officers who were guarding the entrance to Belmarsh prison and a feeling of dread sank in as I crashed into the electric fence surrounding the compound.

My body convulsed as the electric current surged throughout my torso, before I slumped lifelessly onto the unforgiving tarmac pathway.

*****

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, I slowly began to recover from the injuries which my prison doctor said would have ‘killed most men’. A born survivor, that was me. But having had my sentence extended by another five years as punishment for my attempted escape, I was spiralling into a pit of despair… one I would never get out of.

I spent most days confined to my hospital bed, gorging on fast food and watching my television - a concession not afford to you in prison. My weight sky-rocketed and my once muscular frame had withered away into a mound of flabby sagging skin.

For a few fleeting moments as the burgers and chocolate passed my lips, I would feel happy. My nurses told me I would make a full recovery and all my external injuries would heal, but I knew that the psychological toll that the last year had taken on me would never go away.

Stories of my attempted jail-break had made headline news around the world. As I laid in bed at night, I would listen to the radio phone-in shows. With my mental stability on the decline, I took a sick pride in my own infamy as I listened to my once fellow Cottagers phone-in deriding me and demanding retribution.

“Bring back the death-penalty” one enraged caller demanded. Quite frankly, at that particular moment in time, death would have been a sweet release from my hellish existence.

*****

My decline continued but the doctors had deemed me fit enough to recommence my fifteen year stint inside. The prison officers had not taken kindly to my attempted escape and the media attention it had attracted. They sent me straight back to solitary confinement.

“See you in three months” one sneered as he pushed me face first into that oh so familiar pitch black tomb.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby during my first night back in the hole. I wanted to end it all, I wanted the blessed relief that was death, but I had no means of taking my own life.

The guards would intentionally ‘forget’ to pass me my meal trays and as the days passed, starvation was getting the better of me. My flabby reserves were being eaten away and my body was becoming emaciated.

In my starved state my mind began to wander and I would have hallucinations at night and couldn’t sleep. During one of my worst episodes I would see the spectre of Jonathan appear before me. “Why? Why? Why?” his ghostly figure uttered… before fading away.

His image continued to haunt me. I felt helpless. With the prison officers ignoring my screams and vivid night terrors, I finally snapped.

It was during what might have been my third week in solitary where I picked up a stone off the floor and began digging it into the wall. Scrawling, trying to leave my indent as chalk residue fell onto the floor.

I began, “24 March 2011”… Barely decipherable though my etchings were, I continued to write on the wall with the stone “Life inside this place is hell, if there is a God, please let him take me now…”

[JonWo]

Chapter 6:

“29 March 2011” I scrawled, before taking a step back to admire my handy-work.

“It ain’t getting any better now, is it? Let’s be honest…

I’m out of solitary and back into the general population. I’ll cling to those happy memories of the one night I spent alone in my room before my new cell-mate arrived.

Gone was Stefan and a big Belmarsh ‘Hello!’ to Jeffran. My new fellow incarceratee (not a real word, I know). You’ll realise that the prior sentence wasn’t filled with mentions of fear, dread and worry. The main reason for this was that Jeffran was that most peculiar of prison inmates, he wasn’t a man in the sense that me and you would imagine.

Jeffran was a transexual, a lady boy, if you will. I took one look at him, eye-balling him as he stood clutching his pillow and blanket and almost struggled to stifle my laughter.

‘Your gonna get eaten alive inside here” I cackled, as the cell door slammed shut.”

“3 April 2011”

“It’s nice to not be the bottom-bitch for a change. Jeffran doesn’t tell me what to do, I tell him. ‘Wash my clothes! Pass me my food! Do my laundry’ I would shout and Jeffran would hesitantly cater to my every whim. It got to the stage where I almost felt sorry for him.

As we headed to the lunch room one afternoon; him following a few steps behind me, as was prison etiquette, showing who was the dominant individual in the relationship, Jeffran seemed to be enjoying all the cat calls and wolf whistles his feminine physique was attracting.

‘Come by my cell anytime baby’, ‘I’ll show you a good time’, ‘I’ll make you love me long time’.

‘Ergh!’ I said, contorting my face in disgust, as Jeffran shook his ass in recognition of the come-ons.

Jeffran, showing a new found sense of confidence replied ‘You wish you could handle all of this bay-bee. Everybody loves meee’ he continued, ‘You’re my main man though, kisses’ he said blowing me an air kiss and then giggling like a school girl.

I had no words, I felt like punching the ******. As if the prison food wasn’t enough for my delicate constitution to contend with, I now had this camp monstrosity to try and keep at bay.”

[tenthreeleader]

This is excellent. I apologize for not commenting sooner, but you are doing quite well.

[JonWo]

Cheers, been posting this story on another forum, but have neglected to keep up with my updates on here.

Chapter 7:

11th April 2011

“Get off me! Get of me you ****ing queer…”

12th April 2011

“No, no, not again. Leave me alone, we’re supposed to have each other’s backs. Stop it… no… NO…. NOOOOO!!”

17th April 2011

“Resistance is futile. ‘Take it again you little bitch’, Jeffran squealed, his newly found harem, pinning me face first into my mattress. Jeffran let out another shrill cackle as he pushed himself away from me, ‘Make me do your laundry, will you, bitch…

The balance of power between me and my cell-mate had very much shifted.”

19th April 2011

“Dear Diary,

I have reached my very lowest ebb and I can take no more. I entered this prison a proud man, but I am now resigned to leaving both this squalid cell and putrid existence as a man, broken. Broken by my inmates and broken by the system”.

20th April 2011

“Dear Diary,

With my belt buckled tightly around my neck, I bid this mortal world goodbye. I have had a fair run, I only hope that the prison guards (who I presume are reading this), will grant me my final wish.

Please, please… do not let my cowardly death be known to my friends and family. I had really tried to make a life for myself on the inside, but my cell-mates have made my existence intolerable.

I want… in my final hours on this Earth to say sorry to Mr. Al-Fayed for the pain and suffering I have caused him and I also want to say sorry to Dmitri - wherever he may be - for leaving him to fend for his self.

Most of all, I want to say sorry to Fulham football club; their fans and that manager of theirs, whom I’m sure you all remember the name of.”

With tears filling my eyes, I stood on top of my bunk bed, my belt tied around my neck and leapt forward…

21st April 2011

“…”

[JonWo]

Chapter 8: Dmitri

‘Wake up boss, wake up!” I wailed, leaning over his hospital bed. Roman was in a coma; his attempt to hang himself had initially proved to be unsuccessful, but staring down at his lifeless body; hooked up to all those machines, he may as well have been dead

The boss I had once known was now gone and all I could do was pray that he would pull through.

I regailed in horror at the stories the prison officers had told me about his first year in incarceration. ‘Not my boss!’ I shouted, ‘He wouldn’t have taken no **** from any fags, let alone what your saying’.

Me and Roman together; that’s what I will always remember. The Emperors of Craven Cottage; two visionaries, way before their time and two visionaries who had the gumption to do away with an individual who had outlasted his stay at our football club.

As the incessant bleeping of the bosses heart monitor continued, I couldn’t help but imagine how life might have been, if not for that pesky Wolstenholme. Fulham had qualified for the Champions League during the season that me and Roman had been incarcerated, but that twenty million pound bounty that comes with the entrance to Europe’s premiere club competition could have set the both of us up for life.

What a fickle mistress fate is… and whilst I will never regret my actions in disposing of that stubborn old fool, I do regret that I was eventually caught.

*****

The months passed, but I refused to leave Roman’s side, I had always been an obedient servant and no matter how hard life had become for me inside, I had always stood tall; never backed down from a fight and always remained true to my heritage.

The black, Hispanic and Aryan gangs held no allure for me, I was a soldier to the end. A Chervenkov soldier and I would not let anything or anyone overcome my Moscovite spirit.

*****

From unresponsive to responsive, to ‘clinically dead’ to being in with a ‘fighting chance’, Roman’s body never let out on him. He was a Russian after all!

I was delighted to be by his side on that fateful day in mid August of 2012 when the king-pin finally regained consciousness. The doctors had given him forty-eight hours to live, but Roman had never been the kind to lay down and suffer his fate; he was a born fighter and as I listened to his heartbeat, as it grew stronger and stronger, I felt a glimmer of hope that the boss I had once known, might finally be able to return to his throne.

[Satio]

I must say Jonwo, this is pretty gripping stuff and I am really enjoying it! keep up the fab work.

[JonWo]

Chapter 9:

4th Septmeber 2012

“Ahhh, Dmitri, my faithful companion” I said as I roused from my slumber in my hospital bed, placing my hand on his face. “This wasn’t the way it was meant to be…”

However, the doctors had me dosed up to the eyeballs on painkillers and before Dmitri could respond, I drifted out of consciousness again.

14th September 2012

Today is a big day for me… a happy day. The first happy day I have had in a long time. I’ve been given a clean bill of health by the doctors and I am returning to Belmarsh Prison.

But that’s not the reason I am happy - although I thank my Lord and saviour Jesus Christ for every day that I am alive. The reason I am in such exuberant spirits today is that my closest friend, my confidant, Dmitri, will be my new cell mate. No longer will I have to live every second of my life, constantly looking over my shoulder.

I just pray that now, I can find a little piece within myself and try and see out the rest of my days relatively contented.

20th September 2012

The sirens and alarms blared inside the prison as the officers began shouting ‘Lockdown! Lockdown! Lock the joint down’. Myself and all the other prisoners didn’t have a clue what was going on, but I knew that it must have been something serious.

I stared out from behind the barred doors of mine and Dmitri’s cell, as I watched the prison officers frantically racing backwards and forwards, fire extinguishers in hand and guns drawn.

‘This is a ‘code red’, I repeat ‘code red, all personnel to the main entrance’ one officer shouted into his radio.

Almost instantaneously, the entire prison was overcome by the police SWAT teams and an unfamiliar looking group dressed in camouflage attire.

‘Secure the perimeter’ another shouted, as the AK-47 toting officers began dispersing. ‘What the **** is going on?’ came the cry from the cell adjacent to me, “Shut up, maggot…”

21st September 2012

A national state of emergency has been declared! The English have been invaded by currently unknown forces and my prison block is in a state of absolute bedlem. I have felt the aftershocks of many explosions rippling throughout my cell and with every moment that goes by, my weak heart threatens to give out.

22nd September 2011

The officers have finally unlocked our cells, but I’m more worried about the fact that they have all deserted their posts. The prison block is little more than a desolated waste-ground now and it’s very much the law of the jungle.

Know-one knows what is going on, but everyone is scared. The ground around me is erupting before my eyes and fragments of cement flying everywhere. It would seem that we have been left to fend for ourselves in a land devoid of law and condemned by those who once enforced that law.

The one question still praying on my mind and that of those around me though was, why and what exactly is going on…?

[Elrithral]

On boy! This is edge of your seat stuff, Jon, looking forward to more.

[chesterfan2]

Yes, what Elrithal says, and more of it. Fab stuff this JonWo, keep up the excellent work.

[tenthreeleader]

Cheers, been posting this story on another forum, but have neglected to keep up with my updates on here.

There are no other forums.

Keep it up, you continue to do very well.

[JonWo]

Chapter 10

October 1st 2012

It’s like World War III out hear and I’m running for my life. Britain has been invaded by the North Koreans, in cohorts with Vladamir Putin’s Russia and we are very much on the back foot.

Belmarsh prison has been obliterated; the cell in which I once stood is no longer standing. With the system in disarray; the Koreans and Russians dropping bombs and running rough-shod over our democratic freedoms, I am at a loose end.

I was a prisoner of the state and that state was in England. The former inmates were deserting Belmarsh in their droves and I watched on in horror as they dispersed onto the streets and began looting and pillaging the local stores.

October 4th 2012

The hospitals have been closed; the airports, sea-ports, roads and motorways have been shut off to the general public.

England is in the midst of the worst crisis the country has ever faced. Marshall law is in place; the countries residents are under a strict curfew’s and the government has begun rationing food, gas and electrical supplies.

Myself and Dmitri are a law unto ourselves. Stuck on the M1 motorway without any means of escape, we are essentially waiting for the cruel grasp of death to pull us in.

‘Stick your hand out, Dmitri. Hopefully some kind soul will pick us up’ I said, as Dmitri beckoned for someone, anyone to find us.

However, with no food, sustenance or acquaintances, we appeared to be doomed…

October 8th 2012

‘Hallelujah! Salvation!!’. A lone long distance lorry driver has answered our prayers.

Picking up both myself and Dmitri, we offered the man a reward. ‘We have 600 pounds between us. Take us to the East Midlands airport and it is all yours…’

October 9th 2012

We arrived at the East Midlands airport with the sounds of mortar shells and heavy artillery ringing in our ears. The Koreans and Russians were advancing and the once great British Empire was on the brink of collapse.

I sat in the airport check-in lounge and stared on in horror as I watched each and every television channel turn to static. First was the BBC; the Korean’s had never been in favour of free-speech and their bombing of BBC head-quarters would prove to be a focal point of the war.

ITV went next and then Sky. The images I was seeing were more befitting of an Oscar winning war film , than modern day Britain, but still anarchy continued to reign…

*****

January 1st 2013

Today sees the beginning of a brave new world. The Russian-Korea alliance continues to exert it’s dominance over global politics. The Former Democratic Republic of Great Britain is now at the mercy of the Kremlin and yet here me and my faithful companion - Dmitri - stand.

Together as one.

January 3rd 2013

As I watched the ground disappear beneath me and looked up into the night-time sky, I knew I had made the right decision.

Only in Russia could a man truly be free.

[JonWo]

Chapter 11

January 4th 2013

Finally, I was home. As I stepped out of Sheremetyevo International Airport and felt the ice-cold wind pound into my face, I found myself smiling for the first time in many-a-month.

This most certainly wasn’t the Moscow I had left in the late 1990’s; the city was now the cultural and economic epicentre of the world.

January 5th 2013

As I sit in my dingy hotel room, typing this message via a decidedly shaky wi-fi internet connection in one of Moscow’s poorest districts; staring at my black and white television screen, watching the news. My attention is drawn in by the male news anchor as he begins to talk about the latest sports news.

“Tomorrow at 5pm, the Russian Premier League draft will begin. The best football players from around the world will be allocated to teams in Russia and millions of our loyal subjects will tune in to see this televisual spectacular take place”.

The Russian military, having conquered all of Europe, bar mainland Italy, have forcefully removed all of the star players from Europe’s top teams to terminate their existing contracts with their respective clubs and tomorrow, they will be conscripted to the Russian Premier League.

Making it the premier football league in the entire world.

January 6th 2013

Today is the big day and I am staring at the television intently as the presenters explain the rules for the forthcoming ‘Russian Premier League Draft‘.

- Each Premier League team will be able to choose five players from a previously determined list to draft into their squad

- They must select one goalkeeper and four outfield players from the list, to add to their existing squad.

- Only players from the conquered regions of Europe are permitted

The Conquered Regions:

- Great Britain

- Spain

- Germany

- France

- Portugal

- Holland

- Belgium

- Sweden

- Denmark

- Norway

- Poland

As the glitzy opening ceremony got under way and I sat on the edge of my bed, eagerly awaiting the draw. Vladimir Putin himself, made his way onto the stage and stood in the middle of two large tom bolas - one containing the name of the seventy players in the draw and the other, the name of one of the sixteen Russian Premier League teams.

The Teams:

Alania Vladikavkaz

Amkar Perm

Anzhi Makhachkala

CSKA Moscow

Dynamo Moscow

FC Rostov

Krylia Sovetov Samara

Lokomotiv Moscow

Rubin Kazan

Saturn Moscow Oblast

Sibir Novosibirsk

Spartak Moscow

Spartak Nalchik

Terek Grozny

Tom Tomsk

Zenit St. Petersburg

The Draft Picks: Goalkeepers

Alania Vladikavkaz - Jose Manuel Reina

Amkar Perm - Heurelho Gomes

Anzhi Makhachkala - Manuel Neuer

CSKA Moscow - Victor Valdes

Dynamo Moscow - Rene Adler

FC Rostov - Maarten Stekelenburg

Krylia Sovetov Samara - Edwin van der Sar

Lokomotiv Moscow - Steve Manadana

Rubin Kazan - Mark Schwarzer

Saturn Moscow Oblast - Hugo Lloris

Sibir Novosibirsk - Ben Foster

Spartak Moscow - Petr Cech

Spartak Nalchik - Craig Gordon

Terek Grozny - Iker Casillas

Tom Tomsk - David De Gea

Zenit St. Petersburg - Joe Hart

As each player and corresponding club were drawn out of the two tom bolas, the news feeds cut to various bars scattered around the country, with reporters on hand to gauge the fans’ reaction to their teams latest acquisition. The loudest cheer by far, was in Moscow, as the Spartak fans celebrated the capture of the world class Cezch Republic international, Petr Cech.

Still, the drafting of the goalkeepers was a mere appetiser to the main course of the outfield players and a veritable deluge of top notch talent.

This really was must-see tv for any true football fan and the natives were becoming restless, as the anticipation grew for the final stage of the draft, with each of the sixteen teams gaining four new outfield players.

The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 1

Alania Vladikavkaz - Cesc Fabregas

Amkar Perm - Wayne Rooney

Anzhi Makhachkala - Ronaldinho

CSKA Moscow - Cristiano Ronaldo

Dynamo Moscow - David Villa

FC Rostov - Xavi

Krylia Sovetov Samara - Romelu Lukaku

Lokomotiv Moscow - Frank Lampard

Rubin Kazan - Lionel Messi

Saturn Moscow Oblast - Gonzalo Higuain

Sibir Novosibirsk - Robin van Pesie

Spartak Moscow - Luis Fabiano

Spartak Nalchik - Steven Gerrard

Terek Grozny - Sergio Aguero

Tom Tomsk - Fernando Torres

Zenit St. Petersburg - Andres Iniesta

The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 2

Alania Vladikavkaz - Edin Dzeko

Amkar Perm - Nemanja Vidic

Anzhi Makhachkala - Carlos Tevez

CSKA Moscow - Bastian Schweinstager

Dynamo Moscow - Luka Modric

FC Rostov - Juan Manuel Mata

Krylia Sovetov Samara - Thomas Muller

Lokomotiv Moscow - David Silva

Rubin Kazan - Gareth Bale

Saturn Moscow Oblast - Arjen Robben

Sibir Novosibirsk - Yoann Gourcuff

Spartak Moscow - Mesut Ozil

Spartak Nalchik - Kaka

Terek Grozny - Franck Ribery

Tom Tomsk - Karim Benzema

Zenit St. Petersburg - Philipp Lahm

The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 3

Alania Vladikavkaz - Daniel Alves

Amkar Perm - Javier Mascherano

Anzhi Makhachkala - Patrice Evra

CSKA Moscow - Diego

Dynamo Moscow - Nilmar

FC Rostov - Luis Suarez

Krylia Sovetov Samara - Jack Wilshere

Lokomotiv Moscow - Sergio Canales

Rubin Kazan - Aaron Ramsey

Saturn Moscow Oblast - Welliton

Sibir Novosibirsk - Nicolas Anelka

Spartak Moscow - Gabriel Agbonlahor

Spartak Nalchik - Toni Kroos

Terek Grozny - Didier Drogba

Tom Tomsk - Gervinho

Zenit St. Petersburg - Ashley Young

The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 4

Alania Vladikavkaz - Emmanuel Adebayor

Amkar Perm - Darijo Srna

Anzhi Makhachkala - Miralem Pjanic

CSKA Moscow - Diego Forlan

Dynamo Moscow - Angel Di Maria

FC Rostov - Eljero Elia

Krylia Sovetov Samara - Rio Ferdinand

Lokomotiv Moscow - Pepe

Rubin Kazan - Pedro

Saturn Moscow Oblast - Dimitar Berbatov

Sibir Novosibirsk - Adam Johnson

Spartak Moscow - James Milner

Spartak Nalchik - Samir Nasri

Terek Grozny - Carles Puyol

Tom Tomsk - Florent Malouda

Zenit St. Petersburg - John Terry

What a line up it was; the crème de la crème of world football, on my doorstep.

As well as being the dominant force in world politics, we were now destined to become the dominant force in world football and despite being fresh off the back of the most hellacious eighteen months of my life… I wanted to be a part of it.

[JonWo]

Chapter 12

3rd March 2013

The last two months have been a mixture of joy and sadness. My newly found freedom has proved to be both a blessing and a curse; in some ways I am a man without a direction and crave for the structured discipline of prison life. On the other, each day that passes brings new excitement and happiness. However, a part of me still feels somewhat unfulfilled.

Myself and Dmitri have begun working as market traders on the streets of Moscow. By day we sell fruit and vegetables on our modest stall, but by night, we are both studying for Economics degrees at the city’s University.

Despite being relatively poultry in comparison to the vast sums of money I used to earn, myself and Dmitri are both receiving decent wages from our market stall enterprise. Well, at least the profits were enough for us to move out of the dingy hotel we had once inhabited and into a semi-detached flat, just outside the town centre.

31st December 2013

As I bade an extremely fond farewell to 2013, I can only imagine what 2014 has in store for me and Dmitri. The Russian Ruble has gone from strength to strength, whilst all the other major European currencies are floundering. Having started our fruit and vegetable business on a mere market stall, we upgraded to a small warehouse in mid-August and hired a team of workers to do the more menial aspects of the job for us.

2nd February 2014

With Russia experiencing an economic boom like never before, I sat back in my new reclining office chair, with a huge grin across my face. Myself and Dmitri had just purchased our second warehouse and the money was really beginning to pile in.

We were now one of Europe’s chief exporters of fresh produce and had large enough profit margins that we could afford to hand the responsibilities of the day to day managing of the company over to our newly hired management team.

5th June 2014

‘The King has returned to his throne’ Dmitri said as we sat outside a local bar in downtown Moscow, drinking shots of vodka.

‘Not quite yet, Dmitri’ I replied, ‘But we are getting there; the Roman Empire wasn’t built in a day and neither will Roman’s Empire. We had the world in the palms of our hands five years ago, Dmitri and now I want that back’.

‘What do you mean boss?’ came Dmitri’s confused response. ‘We can’t go back to Fulham’ he replied ‘the allied forces won’t let us’.

‘Not Fulham!!’ I bellowed back at him, thumping my fist onto the table and sending Dmitri’s drink flying, ‘I never want to here that club’s name mentioned in my presence again!’.

23rd July 2014

Ah, what an age to live in and what a time to be a young - well, relatively young - free and single man in Russia. With the city bathed in a haze of Sunshine and the temperature reaching thirty degrees; I stroll down the main high-street of Moscow city centre, decked out in a pristine Armani suit, attracting more than my fair share of admiring glances from the young ladies.

With a self assured smile on my face, I headed towards what was the unofficial headquarters of mine and Dmitri’s business enterprise.

However, as I approached the building, my swaggering stride was broken by the sound of an almighty boom that jolted me off the ground. This was followed by four or five more deafening explosions and before I could even begin to comprehend what was going on, the entire city seemed to be encapsulated by fierce heat and chokingly thick and dense black smoke.

[JonWo]

Chapter 13:

24th July 2014

Moscow is in a state of bedlam; the streets are strewn with bodies, buildings have collapsed and the city’s citizens have been ordered to stay in their homes and keep their lights out.

Huddled beside Dmitri in the basement of our recently purchased five bedroom townhouse, I felt a familiar wave of fear and anxiety sweep over me.

For a few months, we had lead the good life; our business booming and our nation flourishing, we hadn’t a care in the world. But the Russian-North Korean alliance had begun to drift apart.

With both countries basking in their reflective glories and assuming the war was won, they had taken their eye off the ball. The rogue state of Italy had been increasingly quiet over recent months and whilst this might have lead to a certain apprehension in the Kremlin; for the Average Joe on the street, it hadn’t been an issue.

But now, with the decomposing bodies of those very Average Joe’s laying in the once thriving streets of Moscow, it was a solemn reminder of the true horrors of war. A war that was still very much alive and kicking.

26th July 2014

After a two day government imposed media-blackout, the television news channels have returned to our screens. Me and Dmitri had dared to step out of our basement and into our living room. Turning on the television we were relieved to hear that the Russian troops had managed to quell the attempted Italian uprising.

We stared at the screen as our beloved leader, Mr Putin, delivered an address ordering a ’return to normality’.

However, no sooner had his speech finished, than the news anchors cut to scenes of absolute carnage in downtown Moscow. The official number of dead was set at two thousand, but looking at the devastation and destruction on my screen, I couldn’t help but think that was a cautious estimate.

27th July 2014

The city of Moscow will never be the same again. The events of July 23rd 2014 will live long in the memory of all of us Russians. It is a day where the city lost many citizens, landmarks were destroyed, but most importantly, one of it’s main football clubs was brought to it‘s knees.

The fans of Dynamo Moscow had the very hearts of their beings ripped out. The Petrovsky Park had been one of the areas worst hit and the Dynamo Stadium lay in tatters. The chairman Yuri Isayev and his fellow board members had been at the ground at the time and are presumed dead.

28th July 2014

I remained at home with Dmitri, dismayed at the devastation caused to my country. The news cut to heart rendering images of a small minority of Dynamo supporters huddled around the crumbled remains of the stadium which used to host their once great football club.

‘That’s a crying shame’ Dmitri said, ‘Dynamo used to be a massive club…’

‘Indeed…’ I replied. ‘Those fans are some of the greatest and most loyal in all of the world. They live, breath and are willing to die for their football club’.

‘Dmitri’ I continued, pointing at the pictures of the Dinamo fans on the television screen ‘There is our fan base, those people are our potential millions and our chance to reinvent ourselves as footballing moguls’.

With Dmitri nodding in a somewhat bemused appreciation, I spoke my mind ‘Dmitri, let’s pool our money together and purchase Dynamo. Under our tutelage, they can rule the world!’