#lubyanka

[wgm-beautiful-world]

Lubyanka, Moscow Metro, RUSSIA

#lubyanka #moscow metro #metro de moscu #beautiful christmas decorations #hermosas decoraciones de navidad #moscow #moscu #russia #rusia #europe #europa

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Bagnes Rouges," Police Magazine. 19 Novembre 1933. N° 156. --- Lire, pages 10 et 11, le début de notre passionnant récit sur les prisons et bagnes soviétiques, avec ses révélations sensationnelles. Ci-dessus: l'entrée de la Ljubianca.

#Лубяна #lubyanka #lubyanka prison #moscow #soviet union #soviet history #political prison #true crime #anti-communism #detective magazine #soviet prisons #history of crime and punishment

[ridochi]

Stormbreaker (Lubyanka's Theme) - Chemtrails

#art #oc #chemtrails #lubyanka #illustration

[sovietpostcards]

In the backstreets of Lubyanka. Photo by Vladimir Bogdanov (Moscow, Feb. 1960s).

#moscow #children #winter #russia #1960s #ussr

[jarenka]

This is funny not only because it's an absolutely random collection of pics (dude, you didn't even put here Lenin's library in Moscow that genuinely looks evil because of its black marble columns or FSB headquarters and jail on Lubyanka), but also because even Stalin's era architecture usually isn't creepy (at least on photo, irl it can look very... suppressive). Not long ago there was a new film adaptation of "Master and Margarita" and to create "evil empire aesthetic" they had to straight up make a CGI Moscow using pre-WWII general plan of the city, including legendary Palace of Soviets, and also they filmed "evil soviet aesthetic" in one 1990s and one 1916 buildings.

[dostoyevsky-official]

a statue of dzerzhinsky, the founder of the cheka and the father of the soviet/russian security state, was unveiled yesterday in front of the foreign intelligence service hq. it is nearly a duplicate of the statue that stood in front of the lubyanka, the kgb hq, until it was dismantled by the people in 1992

#dzerzhinsky #i don't have the effort to write more words on this

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

Quote: "If two cruise missiles were sent to Lubyanka [Headquarters of KGB/FSB], the level of international terrorism will immediately drop by 80 percent.” - Vladimir Bukovsky, Soviet dissident...

P.S. Naïve or outright corrupt western political fools do not want to see the obvious facts that almost all terrorist organizations and dictatorships are receiving direct or indirect help from Moscow...

#russian invasion #cartoon #political corruption #dictatorship #kremlin

[rascal-xo]

RED WHITE & BLUE

Chp. 1: All Roads Lead to Perseus

FrankWoods × FemaleReader (Kind of reads like an OC but there’s no detailed description)

Chapter Summary: You’ve talked the talk with Adler, Mason, and Woods. Now you’ve gotta prepare to walk the walk…

Warnings: eventual SMUT, age difference, descriptions of gore, sex, and violent military actions/CIA stuff, trauma, strong language.

Tags: Slow Burn (sorry lol)

Word Count: 777

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is just an idea I had for a story but if y’all like it I will definitely continue :)

————————————————————————————

You sit in the cool air conditioned briefing room, your eyes darting around as you take in the faces of the other operatives seated at the table with you. This was your first briefing as part of the CIA's clandestine task force, and you couldn't help but feel out of place amongst the seasoned veterans.

What if they think you’re too young or under qualified? The thoughts occupied your head the entire time

Your thoughts are interrupted as the door opens and three agents walk in. You recognize them almost instantly. Russell Adler, the leader of your team. Through his aviators he nods curtly in your direction, before taking a seat at the head of the table. Alex Mason takes his seat across from you followed by Sgt. Frank Woods, who catches your attention embarrassingly quick. You shake it off and turn to face Adler.

He begins to speak his voice gruff and no-nonsense. "I'm sure you’re all thrilled to be here.” He reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a package of cigarettes.

You swallow unknowingly, feeling the weight of whatever task was ahead of you. You were a cargo pilot, not an active combat soldier. But the CIA had to have seen something worth their time to have picked you to be here.

“6 weeks ago 3 sleeper agents were discovered somewhere in the San Francisco area” Adler continues. “None of which were names on the list that was retrieved from the Lubyanka building, last year.” You lean forward, listening intently as Adler distributes files and photos across the table. The images show three seemingly ordinary individuals, but you knew better. They were highly trained operatives, trained to blend in and cause chaos when needed.

“All roads lead to Perseus.” Agent Mason speaks up. You recognize him from the files you had received upon speaking with a lead agent.

“Exactly. Except now, Perseus lives on as a network of people under the Soviet government. After the mess we caused last time its gonna be tremendously more difficult to get in and out of Soviet airspace under cover.” Adler suddenly turns to you. “That’s where you come in.”

“Gentlemen,” He continues. “This is Lt. Y/N L/N, callsign ‘Red’. She is an Air Force pilot and our newest recruit.”

You nod your hellos around the table, stopping a beat too long when your eyes stop at a pair of bright blue ones; Sgt. Frank Woods. You can feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. He lets his gaze wonder a bit farther, taking in the way you sit in your seat, almost crossing your legs a little lighter. You try to shake it off, reminding yourself that this was a professional environment and you couldn't afford any distractions.

Adler clears his throat, bringing your attention back to the briefing. “Red here, created a way to advance an aircraft to be flown without being detected by radars, regardless of stealth capabilities.”

“No offense Lieutenant, but is that even possible?” Agent Mason adds, looking over to you. Alder nods to you, giving you the floor.

You take a deep breath before answering. “It is. I developed a system that manipulates the aircraft’s radar signature to mimic or disguise a flight. It's a combination of software and hardware modifications and it’s been successfully tested in simulations as well as physical flight.”

The room falls silent for a moment as everyone processes your answer. Mason nods thoughtfully, “That could be our way in.” He says.

“We need to infiltrate the Soviet airspace undetected, and my system could give us the advantage we need.” You add, now more confidently.

Woods leans forward, looking at you with a raised eyebrow from across the conference table. “How do you plan on flying this mission? You're a cargo pilot, not a fighter pilot.” He almost sounds like he’s testing you.

You meet his gaze steadily, feeling a flicker of irritation at being underestimated. “I can fly whatever is needed of me, Sgt. Woods. I’m here because I have skills that can contribute to this mission, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to succeed.”

Wood’s dark eyebrows rise, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Good stuff, kid.” You can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at his approval.

Turning your attention back to Adler, it's clear that the stakes are high, and failure is not an option. “Tonight, get all of your affairs in order. We load up 0600 tomorrow.”

As the briefing comes to an end, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves.

#frank woods x reader #frank woods #Frank Woods × Fem!Reader #call of duty cold war #russell adler #alex mason #call of duty #frank woods is blueprint daddy #russell adler is a dilf

[pyxis-stellae]

A chance in a million

What have you done?

Tags: Call of Duty, Black Ops: Cold War, Bell, Perseus.

Heavily inspired by @transmascsimonriley depiction of their relationship

Summary: after the events in Solovetisky, Perseus finds an old comrade.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

He should have seen it coming.

Now, watching the ruins of the monastery in Solovetisky, Perseus knew he should have seen it coming.

It started with the death of two of his agents. Arash and Qasim had a mission, and none of them came back.

Neither did Perseus's most trusted agent. And while they found the other two bodies, their was never found.

Then, things starting going south. His agents being picked out, Volkov, Rudnik... All dead. And the CIA closer and closer to him. He knew it. He knew, the second that the Lubyanka building was raided by Americans, that there was someone from inside giving them information.

And they finally got to him. Somehow, the CIA learned where he would detonate the bombs and destroyed the place first. That someone from inside needed to be close enough to know the details. There was only one left. Perseus didn't want to think about that possibility.

There was no point in despair. However, walking amongst the dead bodies of his men, it hurt. So many people that believed enough in his ideals to be willing to die for them, and in the end, they did just that. They would need buckets to collect such a huge amount of tags.

Perseus decided to take a walk to the cliff side, hoping to clear his mind. The Americans were gone, either way. They took what they wanted and left, leaving just destruction and pain in their wake. Such an American behavior.

He didn't expect the person he would find in that cliff side.

A body amongst a million. And yet, such a remarkable one.

His agent, sprawled on the ground as they slowly bleed out, betrayed by the Americans that used them for their own gains, and now cut off the loose ends. A protegee, an agent, a traitor.

Now dying right in front of him, after he spend months looking for them.

Perseus kneeled by the side of his agent, who was barely aware of what happened. The man sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh dear, what have you done?"

He muttered, more to himself than to the half conscious person in front of him. Pressing the wound to stop the bleeding from the bullet that pierced their chest, Perseus called for a medical team.

Maybe he had been betrayed, but he couldn't be sure just yet. And if hope is the last to die, he had to believe his agent had a good explanation.

Maybe, he could save that one life. Maybe, he could get an explanation. Maybe, just maybe, this one person would still be at his side on the end of this.

It was a lot of maybes. But what else can one do when everything in their life has been shattered?

Perseus picked up the body of his agent, and walked back to extraction.

Maybe, they would make it.

Maybe.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Maybe there will be a part two, not sure yet!

#bell cod #perseus cod #call of duty #black ops cold war #black ops

[x-heesy]

𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚊 𝙿𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 👉🏾🖕🏾👈🏽

Organs, organs, organs, organs

Organs in cassocks and organs in uniform

Organs, organs, organs, organs

Organs, organs, organs in uniform

Female orgasm encounters obstacles

Shoulder straps and icons replace us with strap-ons

Mizulina stubbornly prohibits condoms

Agony, spasm, sound of a falling crown

The country has worse neuroses than Anna O.

The Duma is thoughtless, the laws are incompetent

No economy or defense

And there is: Lubyanka, camp, handcuffs, fences

Bastrykin, Sechin, swindlers, thieves

Iron curtains, feeders, latches

Pre-trial detention center corridors, tails chords

In the land of the avant-garde there are sad faces and freaks

In Mordovia I hone my ambition

Dry beach package in a Stolypin carriage

Muzzle guards

Organs, organs, organs, organs

Organs in cassocks and organs in uniform

Organs, organs, organs, organs

Shoulder straps on heads and shoulder straps on zones

Topol-M replaces the organ for the president

Freedom is no longer better than unfreedom

And when instead of dicks they bring tanks into the city

I refuse to be a proton

The theater ended, the wars began

I'm a grandmother who received organs.

However, fuck you, gentlemen from the organs

I deny you, your Putin jargons

You never know which run will be your last groan.

Organs, organs, organs, organs

Organs in cassocks and organs in uniform

Organs, organs, organs, organs

Organs. I'm lighting up the Bickfords

Organs

Organs in uniform

Organs in uniform

Organs in uniform

Organs

Organs @invincible-selfxmade-punk

Organs by Pussy Riot

#Punks aren’t dead #gif mood board #mood in between #11/2023 #pussy riot #feminism #Punk #punks #female punk #fuck putin #peace in the Ukraine 🇺🇦 #exploring music #international beats #track of the day #x-heesy #fucking favorite #music #now playing #spotify #music and art #russia #mafia #illegal legal #legal illegal #kill all politicians #p e a c e

[anarchistin]

Carceral communism has so far been the main narrative of communism due to the prevalence of “communist” States from the former Soviet Union, the People’s Republic of China, other socialist States, and their aligned Western parties.

After the Bolshevik coup during the Russian Revolution, the party of Lenin constituted a secret police—the Cheka—and even set up their headquarters at the Lubyanka, built on the same site as the secret police of Czarina Catherine. While the revolutionary upsurge emptied the Czar’s prisons and forced labor camps, the party of Lenin reconstituted these as gulags which Stalin would later inherit to incredibly bloody effect. Carceral communists such as Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin may have opposed the Czar’s police and prisons, but only for the sake for their own institutions of oppression.

What Lenin and the Bolsheviks failed to realize is that communism is intrinsically a movement of proletarians struggling to abolish their class. By reconstituting “communist” police and prisons the Bolsheviks merely reproduced institutions of proletarianization and all that entailed.

Bolshevik “communism” merely universalized the proletarian condition instead of its abolition and married this proletarianization with the spectacular image of communism. ACAB means “communist” cops too. Abolition means abolish “communist” police and prisons.

#communism #abolition #police #prison #state capitalism #statism #authoritarianism #lenin #stalin #ussr #bolshevism

[thecryingastrologer]

Asteroid babel' (5808)

DISCLAIMER: ALL THESE OBSERVATIONS ARE BASED ON MY PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS ❤️

DO NOT 🚫 PLAGIARISE 🚫 MY 🚫 WORK 🚫 IF YOU WISH TO REPOST IT GIVE ME THE CREDITS 💌🧿

NAMED AFTER: ISAAC BABEL

ABOUT ISAAC BABEL AND HIS ACHIEVEMENTS

Isaac Emmanuilovich Babel (13 July 1894 – 27 January 1940) was a Russian writer, journalist, playwright, and literary translator. He is best known as the author of Red Cavalry and Odessa Stories, and has been acclaimed as "the greatest prose writer of Russian Jewry."

Babel was arrested by the NKVD on 15 May 1939 on fabricated charges of terrorism and espionage, and executed on 27 January 1940.

BABEL'S MARRIAGE LIFE AND AFFAIRS

Babel married Yevgenia Gronfein on August 9, 1919, in Odessa. In 1929, their marriage produced a daughter, Nathalie Babel Brown, who grew up to become a scholar and editor of her father's life and work. By 1925, the Babels' marriage was souring.

Yevgenia Babel, feeling betrayed by her husband's infidelities and motivated by her increasing hatred of communism, emigrated to France. Babel saw her several times during his visits to Paris.

During this period, he also entered into a long-term romantic relationship with Tamara Kashirina. Together, they had a son, Emmanuil Babel, who was later adopted by his stepfather Vsevolod Ivanov. Emmanuil's name was changed to Mikhail Ivanov, and he later became a noted artist.

After the final break with Tamara, Babel briefly attempted to reconcile with Yevgenia and they had their daughter Natalie in 1929. In 1932, Babel met a Siberian-born Gentile named Antonina Pirozhkova (1909–2010). In 1934, after Babel failed to convince his wife to return to Moscow, he and Antonina began living together. In 1939, their common law marriage produced a daughter, Lydia Babel.

BABEL'S TRAGIC ARREST AND PERSECUTION

On May 15, 1939, Antonina Pirozhkova was awakened by four NKVD agents pounding upon the door of their Moscow apartment. Although surprised, she agreed to accompany them to Babel's dacha in Peredelkino.

Babel was then placed under arrest. According to Pirozhkova(babel's affair partner turned wife) : "In the car, one of the men sat in back with Babel and me while the other one sat in front with the driver. 'The worst part of this is that my mother won't be getting my letters', and then he was silent for a long time. I could not say a single word. Babel asked the secret policeman sitting next to him, 'So I guess you don't get too much sleep, do you?' And he even laughed.

As we approached Moscow, I said to Babel, 'I'll be waiting for you, it will be as if you've gone to Odessa... only there won't be any letters....' He answered, 'I ask you to see that the child not be made miserable.' "But I don't know what my destiny will be." At this point, the man sitting beside Babel said to me, "We have no claims whatsoever against you."

We drove to the Lubyanka Prison and through the gates. The car stopped before the massive, closed door where two sentries stood guard.

Babel kissed me hard and said, "Someday we'll see each other..." And without looking back, he got out of the car and went through that door.

According to Nadezhda Mandelstam, Babel's arrest became the subject of an urban legend within the NKVD. NKVD agents, she explains, were fond of "telling stories about the risks they ran" in arresting "enemies of the people". Babel had, according to NKVD lore, "seriously wounded one of our men" while "resisting arrest". Mrs. Mandelstam contemptuously declared, "Whenever I hear such tales I think of the tiny hole in the skull of Isaac Babel, a cautious, clever man with a high forehead, who probably never once in his life held a pistol in his hands."

According to Peter Constantine, from the day of his arrest, Isaac Babel "became a nonperson in the Soviet Union. His name was blotted out, removed from literary dictionaries and encyclopedias, and taken off school and university syllabi. He became unmentionable in any public venue. When the film director Mark Donskoi's famous Gorky trilogy premiered the following year, Babel, who had worked on the screenplay, had been removed from the credits."

According to his file, "Case #419, Babel, I.E.", the writer was held at the Lubyanka and Butyrka Prisons for a total of eight months as a case was built against him for Trotskyism, terrorism, and spying for Austria and France.

At his initial interrogations, "Babel began by adamantly denying any wrongdoing, but then after three days he suddenly 'confessed' to what his interrogator was suggesting and named many people as co-conspirators. In all likelihood, he was tortured, almost certainly beaten."

His interrogators included Boris Rodos, who had a reputation as a particularly brutal torturer, even by the standards of the time, and Lev Schwartzmann, who tortured the renowned theatre director, Vsevolod Meyerhold. Among those he accused of conspiring with him were his close friends Sergei Eisenstein, Solomon Mikhoels, and Ilya Ehrenburg.

Despite months of pleading and letters sent directly to Beria, Babel was denied access to his unpublished manuscripts. In October 1939, Babel was again summoned for interrogation and denied all his previous testimony. A statement was recorded, "I ask the inquiry to take into account that, though in prison, I committed a crime. I slandered several people."

This led to further delays as the NKVD frantically attempted to salvage their cases against Mikhoels, Ehrenburg, and Eisenstein.

BABEL'S LEGACY

Although Babel's play Maria was very popular at Western European colleges during the 1960s, it was not performed in Babel's homeland until 1994. The first English translation appeared in 1966 in a translation by Michael Glenny in Three Soviet Plays (Penguin) under the title "Marya". Maria's American premiere, directed by Carl Weber, took place at Stanford University in 2004.

Several American writers have valued Babel's writings. Hubert Selby has called Babel "the closest thing I have to a literary influence." James Salter has named Babel his favorite short-story writer. "He has the three essentials of greatness: style, structure, and authority." George Saunders, when asked for a literary influence said "There's a Russian writer named Isaac Babel that I love. I can drop in anywhere in his works, read a few pages, and go, Oh yeah, language. It's almost like if you were tuning a guitar and you heard a beautifully tuned one and you say, Yeah, that's what we want. We want something that perfect. When I read him, it recalibrates my ear. It reminds me of the difference between an OK sentence and a really masterful sentence. Babel does it for me."

WHAT I THINK THIS ASTEROID COULD MEAN:

where we betray others/ where our actions can deeply hurt others

Where we become prominent

Where we get falsely accused

Where we have a tragic 'persecution' in the sense of being punished for absolutely no reason

Where we are given the recognition we deserve later

Where ppl may try to take away our credits and try to blotch our achievements

Where we are treated unfairly and then recieve justice

Where we are framed

Issues with authority

Where we may be forced to do something we don't want to do/ where we may be forced to take accountablitiy for something we didn't do.

Prominence of this asteroid exists only with conjunct to personal planets (sun, moon, venus,mars, mercury) and points (ic, ac, dc mc)

#astro community #astro notes #astrology #birth chart #asteroid babel #babel #asteroid 5080 #asteroid observations #asteroids #asteroid observation #asteroids observation

[sunfishsiestalah]

- "Who's the new Beatle over there?"

- "That would be the esteemed Mr. Kim Philby."

local cryptographer has a habit of calling every britishmen in the lubyanka building "a member of the beatles"

#1960s is in full swing my dudes #my art #doodle #duo au #cod bell #🔔 #second #cod perseus #perseus #call of duty #bocw #cod cold war #call of duty black ops cold war #imagine risking ur life to spy for ur country's enemy and then some binoclard calls u a lame nickname

[pesoglav]

100 years ago during easter, Fr. Konstantīns Romualds Budkēvičs (Konstanty Romuald Budkiewicz) was shot in the back of the head in the cellar of the Lubyanka, Russia's infamous state security headquarters.

Though his cause for sainthood is now largely forgotten, this Easter please remember and pray for him.

In 1923, Monsignor Budkēvičs (Budkiewicz) was pastor of St. Petersburg’s Church of St. Catherine when he was arrested by Bolsheviks and subjected to a show trial that drew worldwide condemnation.

His crime? Resisting communism.

He was among the first martyrs of the Soviet Union.

Fr. Konstantīns was sentenced to death on Palm Sunday and timed to be killed at the moment of Christ’s resurrection.

Before being shot, he blessed his executioner and two assistants, turned toward the wall, and began to whisper the words of a prayer.

It was cut short by a bullet.

[nanobyting]

iii.

she is the earth he buries himself into every night, digging his hands into her and going deeper and deeper until he can’t climb out. not that he wants to. he wants to curl up inside the hole he’s created inside of her.

“one day, you’ll wake up and realize what’s happened to you,” bell tells him as they lay together, his thumb stroking her bottom lip as he stares into her green eyes. she’s always so cryptic. he stopped trying to solve her riddles. he doesn’t want to. he doesn’t want to have this revelation that will take her away from him.

“is that what you told yourself?” he asks instead, his hand cupping her cheek.

“yes.”

“and?”

“you know what happened.”

“the cliff?”

“the cliff.”

“i’m sorry,” he offers.

she laughs. “for what? you created me. it’s only right that you destroyed me.”

he feels his head swim and he holds her closer against him. “is that what you thought?”

“maybe,” she says, wrapping herself around him. he wants to be buried inside her. he wants to live inside her. this is where he’s meant to be. he feels her chest against his own and doesn’t know if the heart beating is his or hers.

he remembers a time when they were alive. bell and russell adler. in the tunnels of lubyanka. there was a brief moment of respite when the lights were out. she had pushed him down onto the ground to avoid his head being shot off. how she knew in the dark, he’ll never know, or maybe it was just a chance to get on top of him. but he remembers seeing her face illuminated by the red glow of the emergency lights, green eyes wide and dilated at the sight of him, how close she was with her breath tickling his face. her thighs were straddling him and they would have been chest to chest if it were not for their armor vests.

cipher remembers adler’s fingers twitching.

“why are you thinking about that?” bell asks.

“i don’t know,” cipher answers as he thinks about adler’s fingers feeling for bell’s pulse when she was on the gurney as they kept pumping her with drugs in that little room. “i think i just want to touch you.”

“then touch me.”

so he does.

#my writing #adlerbell #cipherbell #russell adler #bell #snippets #these just keep getting messier and messier 🥴 but cipher's state of mind is messy anyway #i get these moments where im like 'oh i WANT to write abt this very small and specific scene' and lo and behold ISDHGSDG

[amielbjacobs]

Progress on 'A Traitor in Love'

It was late at night on the Moscow Metro, full of tired men and women waiting for their stops. A middle-aged woman in the corner seat was asleep next to her daughter, who gazed with weary eyes at the newspaper in her hands. A group of men, lightly drunk, was laughing and talking a little too loudly as they clung to the subway bars. 

A slim Central Asian man with a worn round face stood by the doors, gazing out the windows at the tunnel walls flashing by in a hypnotic blur of concrete. His name was Oktyabr Kerimuly Ismailov. 

Moscow had never felt quite real to him. He had come here a decade ago to live with his cousin after being released from prison; before that, he had lived in the middle of nowhere. Moscow felt as unreal as the Gulag, two dream-places that could not possibly coexist in the same world. Moscow was a flood of life, where people ate and fucked and argued about petty things, where people went where they wished in big flocks or on their own, where you could fly on a train from one side of the vast city to the other in under an hour. And yet Ismailov had come here from the Gulag, and so had others.The Metro, too, had been built by Gulag laborers. This world could not exist without that one. 

He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, surreptitiously, to check his watch. It was an expensive, foreign piece, with a big shiny band of metal links and an English brand name written on the face. It wasn’t the kind of thing it was wise to wear out and about on the Metro, but it was a gift from his lover Winston, who did not understand such things. 

10 PM. Perhaps Winston would still be awake when Ismailov got back; reading, if it had been a good day, or drinking, if not. Ismailov always worried when he left Winston alone. He had been doing better, these last few months - drinking less, smiling more. But it was hard to believe in Winston’s stability; there was a fragility to the man, like a British flower that could not survive the harsh Russian winters. 

The Metro car came to the Dzerzhinskaya stop. Ismailov climbed out of the depths of the earth. As he walked, he glanced up at the squat shadow of the KGB headquarters - the Lubyanka, with its split gray-and-gold facade. The joke went that it was the tallest city in Moscow - because you could see Siberia from its basement. Winston regarded it as his place of work, although he was only occasionally to be found there. 

Ismailov stopped at the white-and-brown pre-revolutionary building that housed Glasby’s flat and pulled out his keys. There was a light on in the living room, and Ismailov smiled to himself. Perhaps Winston had waited up for him. 

He turned the key, pushed the door open - and started screaming.

#A Murder of Spies #I should replace that with my real WIP title at some point #writeblr #historical fiction #spy fiction