Chapter Text
The low hum of a fluorescent light buzzes in the back of your head. It’d been days since you saw beyond the four walls that trap you—or the computer screen that taunts you with false hope. You sit on a busted swivel stool. Ankles bound by chains, while you rest your head on the small desk that accompanies you.
The room is cold and still. Quiet, yet ominous.
It wasn’t particularly small, but instead cluttered with excess medical junk; tossed around med cots, damaged monitors and even a few scrambled shelves of packaged sterile instruments. An emergency wash station paned with glass—almost built like a shower—sits dormant in the far corner. The shadows lurk and whisper from that nook, occasionally echoing a stray drop every few hours.
Two cameras mount opposing sides of the room. Watching every twitch, groan or motion, before reporting back to the security system monitored by your captors.
You are bound to this room. Fated to rot and spiral, as the white pastel walls only flaked over time.
Besides the occasional grunt from behind the steel door, the only sources of sound came from the buzzing of a low-budget ceiling light or the whirling of the monitor you laboured day after day over.
You were a freelance hacker.
A hobby you picked up for extra money on the side, whilst in the last year of your cybersecurity degree. You often took a few odd jobs here and there—usually ones that needed information taken from elite companies to expose or weaken their reputation. Yes, it was illegal. But you thought that tampering with the cyber walls of major companies to exploit their corrupt secrets was nothing beyond a harmless feat. You thought of yourself as sort of a modern-day Robin Hood. Unmasking the horrible dictators and bringing justice to not only the middle class but also many who benefited.
However, never in your life did you think you would end up kidnapped—forced to slave away at the demands of a foreign terrorist. But here you are, chained to the consequences of your curiosity. From what initially was a harmless US military intercept turned out to be a highly sensitive commission sought out by an intense Russian Ultranationalist, Vladimir Makarov.
While you did deal with governmental affairs in the past, this one was beyond any of those you’d dealt with before. Locating and extracting the formulas of Sarin, peering at classified US military operations or occasionally tracking down opposing officials—were just some of the few tasks the Konni demanded of you.
While you tried to avoid any modes of physical torture or confrontation, the deprivation of your freedom and knowing the effect of your involvement was just as taxing.
Few times, your targets would be families of officials or opposing liberation groups. Countless times you thought of the power that information held, as you imagined the fear and terror that would come to pass for those mothers, brothers and even children.
But you, too, had a family.
A connection of people, you held dearly.
A mother, who—known for her excessive nagging and overbearing concern—bared a patient heart and gentle touch. Your younger sister, though only a few years younger than you, is a little girl you continue to watch over. A bright and passionate young woman, still holding the same energetic innocence you once shared as kids.
In your constant isolation, you often think about them.
Suddenly, a rumble of footsteps echoes through the halls.
Since your desk is practically next to the door, it was easy to scope out for oncoming company even through the weight of the steel doors. Your eye twitches, knowing what followed after those heavy patters down the hall. Slowly peeling yourself off the desk, you stare blankly at your reflection in the lifeless screen before you. You cringe at the state of yourself.
Dull and tired eyes matched well with your slightly sunken cheeks. It had been two whole months—if the calendar on the computer was right—since your kidnapping. A month and a half, during which you had been relentlessly wasting away over a computer screen.
Inhaling deeply to get your blood flowing, you instantly scrunch your nose in revulsion. You groan, almost gagging at the odour that lingers off yourself.
It’s striking. Sour, and most foreign—even though it came from your own body.
It’d been a while since you dabbed a bit of antiseptic alcohol to mask and relieve yourself from the olfactory torture you were subjected to. The sharp, musty scent. Although foggy to the brain from time to time. Its subtle sting made it all worthwhile, as you found some relief in its clean, disinfectant fragrance. It’s not like you could necessarily shower. With the extra eyes of monitoring cameras, you wouldn’t exactly call it private. Besides, there isn’t any soap, and even then, your clothes would only reek of the stench you so desperately try to escape from.
You are revolting. It’s impossible to say you’d recognise yourself, even when you stare dead ahead at your own face.
You are their prisoner, and you bare no will to fight.
A few low voices muffle from behind the door, as the computer screen suddenly spurs to life. Its abrupt white glare causes you to hiss as your eyes adjust to the loading screen. Not long after, the steel door clunks and whines open. You pay the intruders no mind. Mindlessly hypnotised by the wheel of death, spinning and mocking you in an everlasting cycle. Two men dressed in dark combat gear, with the Konni emblem stitched to their arms, strut inside.
One struts beyond your field of vision, before the sound of a med cot creaks behind you. The other mans the door, holding it open for another to enter. Slow, cautious steps are the last to violate your isolated prison. His movements are cocky and deliberate as he stalks his way towards you with a gentle sway in his step.
“Malen'kaya sobachka!”
A voice rings out through the whole room.
Although Russian, his familiar Australian accent is nothing but a false sense of home, Andrei Nolan, second under Makarov and a regular visitor. You give him no reaction. His overbearing thirst to mock you was something you most hated from the man. Waving around a document, he slides a manila folder on the table before leaning back on the desk beside you.
“Makarov wants you to mark up a report on Zordaya Prison.” You reach for the folder, opening it to search its contents.
“Camera locations, patrol routes, even where each guard takes their lunch break. He needs to know EXACTLY what’s going on, to confirm we can clear him out with few casualties.” He has the audacity to lean down, his mouth reaching to your ear level as he whispers, “At least for us anyway.”
Your body stiffens, whilst a cold bone chill runs up your spine.
The lashes of your eyes flicker for a moment before you sharply inhale. He knew the growing burden of the countless lives connected to your work, gnawed at your conscience. He snickers before returning upright, “You have till midday tomorrow.” Andrei pushes off your desk with a deep huff before clasping his hands and heading back towards the door.
Your neck snaps towards him, “How the fuck, am I supposed to get all that done by tomorrow?” You didn’t mean to raise your voice as loud as you did, but it was far too late to take back when Andrei turned on his heels and lunged at you. He grabs you by the jaw, yanking your face upward and lifting your body up off the chair.
A twitching sneer grows on his lips, as his head tilts rather mockingly, “Do you forget who this is all for?”
He stretches a hand behind him, gesturing towards the man at the door. The soldier rummages in his vest for something before pulling out a printed photo. Andrei snatches it out of the man’s hands before shoving the medium in your face. “Don’t make me do something I really don’t have to.” Andrei pouts.
It was a photo of a woman and a young teen—both casually walking in the street. Completely unaware of the camera stalking their movements.
“Real messed up of you to be carrying a pic of random girls like that. Must be some kind of degenerate pervert to stoop that low.” Your voice lowers, the glare in your eyes piercing and keen as you aim to mask your panic. Glossing over the still, carefree faces of your mother and sister.
Andrei sneers at your bold attempt to deflect your true emotions.
“I know you don’t mean what you say, sobaka lizhet sapogi.” He taps a finger at the side of your cheek, before his smile drops to a frown. “But you can’t act tough when you’ve got everything to lose.” His thumb lifts up a corner of your lip, revealing the somewhat sharp canines you bared. “Best not to bite the hand that feeds you. Okay, mutt?”
You hate how they all degraded you like a pathetic little pooch. While you didn’t understand their taunts in Russian, you knew they were nothing but demeaning from their amused grins and snarky eyes.
Your breath shallows, jerking your head away from his thumb so it wasn’t resting under your lip.
The urge to burn the places he laid his hands on seethes throughout every part of your being. “Good.” Andrei scoffs in your face, giving your jaw one last sinking squeeze. You catch his eye twitch for a second, before he softly sniffs. He growls in disgust as he shoves you back, forcing you to stumble onto the ground before him.
Andrei seethes through his teeth, “Fuck me, you smell like shit.”
He squints down at you, as if blaming you for allowing yourself to rot within these suffocating walls. Raising his hand to his nose, he tries to stabilise his senses by smothering himself in the cheap cologne that lingers around him.
He rags, his nose twitching as he turns away, “Don’t disappoint us.” Walking to the door again, this time, he leaves for good.
As you massage your jaw, the two men remain where they are. Claiming their posts in the room. Watching you whine, like a battered and bruised puppy. You grimace to each of them briefly, before reaching for the swivel stool and propping yourself up. And just like that, you got to work. Bowing to their command like an obedient little bitch.
Countless times, you thought of escaping.
Since the few times they forgot to pull the power from your computer, you occasionally slipped into the security system to scope out the overall layout of this Konni-dominated hospital. Noting every hall, every corner. You practically memorised the whole floor plan. All you needed was a chance. To beg for your scarce bathroom break, or for a Konni to deliver your weekly stale, old rations. You’d sneak up and tackle them to the ground, before making your escape out the door. However, the many times you plotted such a picturesque event, you were often halted by the face of logic.
Not only did you not know where to go after escaping the Konni prison, but you weren’t necessarily fit for taking on the first task of tackling the guy. You glance at the man by the door, he seems well built and buff under his thick vest. You curse his Russian mother for nurturing such a hefty son.
Whilst being deprived of your freedom, the control that the Russian terrorists had on your nutrients was a factor that very much depleted most of your overall strength. For the whole month and a half you were kept here, times for sleeping were often abruptly interrupted with demands of hacking into something immediately at their beck and call.
You were nothing but a machine that stalked and infiltrated.
The room is filled with nothing but the bitter clicks of your keyboard and nimble ticks of your mouse. You were in for a long, deprecating session.
————————⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎...⋙————————
[■■■■□□□□□□] 40%
Your usual routine caretakers bust through the door.
One holds a headset. The other stalks you as he walks in, before taking his usual mark on the med cot behind you. Your gaze shifts around at them. While they did enter aggressively, they still held purpose as they both glared down at you without a word. Setting the headset on the desk before you, your screen slowly renders. Observing the headwear up close, there was nothing unusual about it. If anything, it looked like a cheap, knockoff set of headphones. With no clear brand etched into its side.
Still unsure of the energy in the room, you look up at the guard who practically dropped it into your lap. His face, stone cold. Not a single stray emotion twitching from anywhere on his body. But as his swirling dark eyes haunt your mind, he points to the monitor.
“Connect the headset. Ivan sent you the link to his body cam. He, wants you to watch.” After emphasising on the order given to you, you can’t help but flinch as you reach for the headset.
Linking the devices wirelessly, you fidget around with the Bluetooth settings before seeing a hand press on the desk beside you. Glancing from your peripheral, you sense the guard growing impatient as the tension thickens and his aura overwhelms you. So as you muster the courage to turn and explain to him the situation, the headset goes flying.
Your eyes widen. Fingers stiffen away from the keys.
You hear the faint snap of the cheap plastic, as it makes contact with a cement wall. It releases a sharp shriek once it falls to the floor. The guard faces you with the same cold, hard stare. Only this time, you feel a sense of rage behind it as he lowers his brow.
“Easy, Maxim.” You hear the voice of the other guy chuckle. Still fluttering your gaze on Maxim, you watch as he slowly shifts his eyes to his comrade. The other guy lifts his hands in defence, trying to calm his friend’s icy front, “We all want to see, your big daddy. I mean, it’s been four years now.”
While you didn’t know exactly what he was insinuating, you notice how it riles up Maxim.
He moves his full focus on the other Konni operative, taking a few steps towards his gurney. “What did you say?” Tempting a ticking time bomb, Maxim seethes through his teeth. Your eyes follow his burning figure, watching his hands ball into fists by his side. The guy scoffs, “Please, I’ve seen you dick ride him harder than anyone else has. And that’s including his top two; Ivan and Andrei.”
Feeling the need to de-escalate the situation, your head snaps back to the computer.
Festering in the background, you hear a meld of growls and mocks between the men. But you pay them no mind, typing and clicking away at the keyboard. Scanning the screen, you notice a small red dot hovering over the email icon. Assuming this was Ivan, you open it up.
The whole screen flashes white as the email takes up the space. But the only thing written on it is a long, light blue hyperlink. Hovering over the link, you hear a screeching rattle of metal on concrete scream from behind you. You flinch to the scene, hearing a laboured heave escape someone’s airways, “See, the bitch has your little show all up and running.” The med cot guy is lifted by the collar, as Maxim leans in rather close.
Allowing your finger to right-click on the link. Another set of sounds takes your attention.
The muffled sputters of bullets fly out of machine rifles, overlapping the inaudible shouts and calls of male voices. Your neck flips back to the screen, so fast that your head gets dizzy from the whiplash. While on the screen all you could see were the flashes of gunfire, and the occasional flickers of light in a far-sighted corridor, it didn’t mean you hadn’t known what was going on. Catching glimpses of the layout through bars and hallways that flashed on screen.
You remember this exact layout.
And if you were right, they would just need to make a left before storming down to the end of the hall. You hear the faint call-outs of ‘Bravo’ and ‘Charlie’, a few field terms you understood from military files and the occasional speech amongst the army buffs that surrounded you. Eventually, they take a left. Staring down a dark, granulated hall of bars. You could feel a lump in your throat.
Zordaya Prison.
Striding past the cells, they halt before the last one. A chill runs up your spine.
“All stations, PID on 627.”
“Copy. Opening 627.”
The cell door creaks open, as the camera shifts to an operative who Ivan grabs a plate carrier vest from. However, as he turns back to the gate, out emerges from the darkness, a shadow.
“Tvoy plan byl idealen.” You hear Ivan praise the dark figure, before outstretching the vest toward the cell.
Finally, he steps into the dim light of a flare.
Your eyes flutter in disbelief, as your heart sank from hope. Dressed in a dark, pressed suit. A man of power and blood thirsty drive emerges from his cell. Vladimir Makarov. In the flesh and blood. A weighted creaking of metal wains, as you see Maxim emerge beside you. He leans in close, taking a better look at the screen. You hear the other man weakly howl, but you couldn’t peel your eyes from the monitor. “Plany zavisyat ot ispolneniya. Eto tol'ko nachalo.”
“All teams, we have him. Moving in 30.” Suddenly, Andrei steps into frame, “Eto chest'... Commander Makarov.”
Watching the pair of them interact in close arms, it only made you sick to your stomach. Your vision hazes, as it begins to blur and unfocus. A blank, white noise encapsulates you as you hear nothing but the faint thumping of your heart. With each beat, you could feel it pulsate throughout your entire being. Feeling even the slightest pulses in your hands as they twitch and throb in your lap.
“Four years... Brother…”
You’d helped this man escape. But at what cost? Who would he hurt next? And what have you dragged yourself into?
“Chego vy dobilis', nakhodyas' v etoy kamere…”
“Verkhushka aysberga…”
Makarov reaches for his earpiece, “All stations, this is—your commander, Vladimir Makarov... callsign Czar 9-0 actual... I have the comm. Move to Phase 3... Out. On me.” You hear the breathy whooping of the guard behind you, as you watch Maxim step back from the monitor. A smile ghosts his lips, before he catches sight of your gaze and reverts back to his cold, contorted face.