Chapter Text
-Prologue-
Where did everything go wrong? The Russian election of 2026. A sham election and an unliked candidate in office. Iif only the man had stepped down, perhaps the world would be in a state of stability. As anger rose, so did the radicals, and with their newfound power, a military coup was enacted. a six-month civil war with the world holding its breath. And as the ultranationals rose victorious the country falls to uncertainty. Many turn to military jobs in pursuit of security, many of those who don't, conscripted. In the search for stability, many are channeled into the radical's fight for territory and power.
The west's response to the war is as expected. The world's intelligence agencies fight tooth and nail to minimize the violence and limit the extent of the growing proxy war. Both sides take increasingly undesirable measures in pursuit of national interest. As the world watches on the reality that is the possibility of nuclear war is beginning to take root.
And there you are, in the middle of it all, a Russian citizen and soldier, captured and dragged to the other side. But how far does national loyalty go when your every strength and willpower is tested?
-Behind enemy lines-
-Undisclosed location, Siberia, Russia. 2030-
Light tears at your eyelids, fighting through the small crack in the wall. As you take in your surroundings you find yourself on a small mattress. -If one can call the damp amalgamation of cloth and straw you found yourself laying upon a mattress, In a dilapidated stone cell. With great effort you cracked an eye open, then the other, blinking rapidly at the limited light. Head pounding, your vision gradually adjusted to reveal the grim reality of your confinement. You turned to face the iron-clad door. Becoming acutely aware of the cold seeping into your bones, the chill finding you defenseless through the thin underlayer of your uniform, the remainder of it nowhere to be found.. A mocking reminder of your mortality as the storm rages outside. Maybe due to the cold, or the weighted shackles firmly secured around your wrists, you found yourself achy, your movements taking effort unfound in yourself.
The throbbing pulse in your skull and body returned your thoughts to the memories of the past few hours… days? Truly you weren't aware of how long you had been sleeping. Dread returned with the memories, lapping at your ankles. A reminder of the cause of your current predicament. The mission was supposed to be easy. Simple. In and out. Infiltrate the encampment, secure the target, and evac to a safehouse without raising alarm, all before dawn broke. Unbeknownst to your team at the time, the details of the mission had been leaked to the enemy. Courtesy of a rat. And when that first door had been breached, the squad found themselves in an ambush. gunfire. Screaming, and then silence. You could recall being hit over the head with the stock of your teammate's gun. Falling to the ground unconscious.
Your eyes scanned your surroundings, the cell giving little to work with, but as your pulse echoed in your ears, a mercy granted from above is discovered. Your attention is drawn to the small tray laid beside the pitiful excuse of a mattress. In any other circumstance, one may have turned their nose up at the food. Meager rations, offered on a metal tray. But to the soldier currently holding an uncertainty in their heart of whether they will see the sunrise tomorrow. The watery broth accompanied by two slices of rye. was a blessing not left unrecognized, scarfing down the food at the rate that would be expected from a soldier so far behind enemy lines I don't know if or when I’ll get another meal offered.
You didn't waste a second as the food settles. Sitting up you ran your eyes over the room, surveying it, when you accepted there was nothing to be seen from this angle you made the decision to rise, and get a closer look at the walls for anything. A way out, or a weapon, anything. God help me. Having found your strength, you stood on rising feet.
The heavens answered back to your prayer. In the form of sharp pain shooting up your leg. Shit. A noise somewhere between a shriek and a squeal fights it way out of your throat. Collapsing to the ground, your breath comes in shaky, raw breaths stolen through your throat. Feeling as if shards of glass force themselves in with every inhale. You fought the spots blacking your vision to steal a glance at the source of your agony. Your left leg, the calf currently wrapped in bandages. Bloodstains bloomed on them like some twisted pattern.
Your mind is dragged to the very moment that fated door was breached, the searing pain even harsher then than now. Gunfire. You must have been shot. Lead likely embedded in your calf.
The blizzard raged outside as you slowly came to your senses. How am I even alive? You clawed yourself back to that mattress, and with a hand pressed to the back of your forehead, you panted, only to freeze as a sickening realization came over you. Your forehead was hot. You have a fever. Shit, SHIT. With shaking hands, you hoisted yourself up, back to the wall. As you undid the bandage, bile rose in your throat. Seeing the sight under the dressing only worsened this. The wound was definitely a gunshot-likely shrapnel as well. The flesh was rippled and torn, in some places it was barely discernible as flesh the muscle exposed, blackened at some points. Necrosis. and seeing as the tissue, in addition to the surrounding fluids was yellowing it was definitely infected.
You weren't however, given an opportunity to grieve your current reality, as locks slammed open, the door to your cell opened with a screech, and you found yourself face to face with the one man you want to see the least. Your target. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.
“Don't look so shocked, you were expecting to see me today and I know it.” a cruel voice drawls, leaning against the wall, looking down at me with harsh eyes. “And I believe you’ve got information you’ll want to tell me.” And through your haze you don't yet process fully the extent of the danger you could be in.