The workshop smelled of oil and scorched metal, the air thick with the sounds of grinding and clinking tools. Juri Stalin wiped the sweat from his brow, his hands blackened with grease as he leaned over the hulking metal contraption before him. The engine block rested on the bench like a beast waiting to be tamed—a mass of pistons, wires, and valves.
It wasn't just a motor. To Juri, it was a solution, a step toward something greater. A machine capable of powering a new kind of tank, one faster, stronger, and more reliable than anything that had come before. His hands moved deftly, tightening bolts, adjusting settings, and testing the complex mechanisms. Every move carried purpose.
The workshop was his sanctuary. Blueprints covered the walls, corners curling from the heat of the nearby forges. Tools lay scattered across benches, interspersed with half-built prototypes and twisted scraps of metal. A faint static hummed from the old radio in the corner, filling the silence with background noise.
Juri reached for a wrench when the door creaked open behind him. He froze mid-motion, the wrench poised in the air, and turned his head slightly.
"Juri." The voice belonged to Viktor, his closest friend.
Juri set the wrench down with a faint clink and straightened. Viktor stood in the doorway, his face pale and his dark eyes narrowed with urgency. His coat, damp from the snow outside, hung loose over his wiry frame.
"You're interrupting," Juri said without turning fully, nodding toward the engine. "I'm in the middle of something."
"This is more important than your engine," Viktor replied, stepping inside and closing the door.
Juri turned to face him, crossing his arms. "That's a bold claim. What is it?"
"The Democrats," Viktor said, his voice low and tense. "They're rising up. There's an armed rebellion in the capital—they've taken the old government building and are calling for reforms. Elections, of all things."
For a moment, Juri said nothing, his face unreadable. His gaze shifted toward the radio in the corner, its soft static suddenly more noticeable in the stillness.
"The Democrats," he repeated, his tone calm and distant, as if the word itself didn't quite register. He turned back to the engine, picking up a screwdriver. "Let them shout into the wind. It won't last."
"You don't understand," Viktor snapped, taking a step closer. "They're armed, Juri. They've gone beyond shouting. This is a full-scale coup. If they succeed, everything we've worked for will collapse. This is chaos, and chaos doesn't leave room for men like us."
"Men like us?" Juri muttered, tightening a screw on the engine. His movements were slow and deliberate, a sharp contrast to Viktor's restless energy.
"Yes, men like us—men who create, who innovate, who refuse to bow to weakness." Viktor's voice rose slightly. "If they succeed, we'll be ruled by bureaucrats and pencil-pushers, not strength. Don't tell me you're indifferent to that."
Juri sighed, setting the screwdriver down and leaning against the bench. He stared at the engine for a moment before finally meeting Viktor's gaze.
"You think this is about politics, Viktor. It's not. Politics are a symptom, not the disease." He tapped the side of the engine with his knuckles. "Strength is what keeps the disease at bay. Innovation. Power. Not words or decrees."
"And yet, without action, strength is meaningless," Viktor countered. "What good is your innovation if it's dismantled by cowards calling for democracy? They'll outlaw your machines, your work. Is that what you want?"
Juri didn't respond immediately. His eyes drifted toward the far corner of the workshop, where a tattered coat hung on a nail—his father's old coat. It was the only thing left of the man who had shaped so much of Juri's life.
"My father is still in prison," Juri said quietly, his voice almost a murmur.
"I know that," Viktor said cautiously, unsure of where the conversation was going.
"He's been rotting in a cell for fifteen years," Juri continued, his voice hardening. "Not because he was weak, but because he was defiant. Because he refused to bend."
"And he would tell you to do the same," Viktor said quickly, stepping closer. "He wouldn't stand by and watch everything fall apart."
Juri's jaw tightened. "My father's defiance cost him his freedom. My mother's defiance—" He stopped, shaking his head.
Viktor lowered his voice. "Your mother was taken, Juri. That wasn't her choice. You were just a child. No one could have stopped that."
Juri clenched his fists, forcing himself to exhale slowly. The memories of that night still lingered in the corners of his mind, a shadow that never faded. He had been only three years old when the soldiers came. He didn't remember her face clearly, but he remembered the screams. He remembered hiding under the floorboards, his father's hand over his mouth to keep him silent.
"She was taken because we were weak," Juri said finally, his voice low and cold. "Weakness invites chaos, Viktor. I learned that lesson early."
"Then you know why we can't allow this rebellion to succeed," Viktor said, his tone insistent. "We've built something strong here, Juri. A foundation. If we let it crumble, the past will repeat itself."
Juri looked at Viktor for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he pushed himself off the bench and walked toward a nearby table, where a pile of blueprints lay scattered. He rifled through them, pulling one out and holding it up.
"This," he said, pointing at the design sketched on the page. "This will be the key to ensuring strength. Not politics, not speeches. Machines."
Viktor frowned, taking the blueprint from Juri and scanning it. "A tank?"
"Not just a tank," Juri corrected. "The future. Faster. Smarter. Built to outlast anything the world throws at it. While the Democrats waste their breath on words, I'll build something they can't destroy."
Viktor stared at the blueprint, his lips pressed into a thin line. "And what if it's too late for machines? What if they've already gained too much ground?"
"Then we'll take it back," Juri said simply, his voice steady. "With fire and steel."
Viktor's shoulders relaxed slightly, though his expression remained tense. He folded the blueprint and handed it back. "You'd better finish it quickly, then. The world's moving fast, and it won't wait for you."
Juri smirked faintly. "Neither will I."
Viktor nodded and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Be careful, Juri. You're a genius, but even the strongest machines have their limits."
Juri didn't reply, already turning back to the engine. The clang of metal against metal echoed through the workshop as he worked, his mind fixed on the task ahead. Outside, the storm of rebellion raged on, but within the confines of the workshop, Juri's focus was unwavering.
The future wouldn't be decided by words or ideals. It would be forged here, in the fire and smoke of innovation.