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Betrayal hurts, and it hurts pretty fucking badly.
Especially when you are the backstabber. It hurts even more when you're left alone near the abandoned base in Duga, shot by someone who just couldn't go for the head or double check if you're gone for good. By someone who left you to rot without any effort to try and hide the body, let alone have some dignity to give you a proper funeral.
By someone who lied this whole time, stole your identity and forced his own trauma into your already troubled mind.
Well, I kinda deserved that one, didn't I?
By stabbing them and possibly the whole world in the back.
You betrayed Perseus too, not consciously, not entirely, but still. At least you could take comfort in the fact that in the end the bunker door remained closed for Adler and the team.
That you didn't break.
As much as you'd like them to tell them the truth about Perseus and Solovetsky (nuclear threat is not a very tempting vision), you couldn't. There had to be a reason not only you but also your mind tried to protect the red door and the man hiding behind them at any cost. Even if the reason was just a blind loyalty, it was still somehow important. A character trait that CIA couldn't get out of you and failed to install it to their advantage during the brainwashing.
There had to be a reason to protect the voice in your head that tried warn you when you were tied down to bed in safehouse, so very scared, confused and lonely. Surrounded by complete strangers. In this moment of terror the tone that was somewhat familiar- it was your only comfort.
Do not trust Adler.
If the torture and brainwashing couldn't break you, then why would you give this loyalty up willingly, right?
There was a distant feeling of guilt somewhere in your head, sure, but there was also anger. Feeling of being stabbed right in the heart by people you were ready to call friends, but it turned out you were just a tool to them. Feeling of being completely lost and stripped of your own identity, thoughts, memory, freedom. Name.
Bell. That wasn't your name but you had nothing else at the moment. You refused to use the false identity they've picked for you, you had your own somewhere out there, hidden and waiting to be found out.
Too bad I'll never get to know it.
You could understand that their mission was... Important. Sacrifices had to be made, people had to die and some immoral decisions had to be made. That's how war looks and no one could deny that. Even you.
But you had let the urge to get some vengeance overcome you the moment word 'Duga' slipped past your lips. And the mere option to betray the man from the bunker seemed so much worst than any disaster he wanted to start. Much worse than the whole world covered in fire.
And that how you got shot by so called ally.
Again. And again it was caused by your devotion to... Whatever it was. Person? Cause?
But somewhat bullet fired by Adler weighted more than the one you were shot with that night in Trabzon.
Thanks to CIA you didn't know what was yours relationship with Arash, but they made sure you had new ones with your new 'team'. Memories that never belonged to you but were now impronted in you forever- the bond formed in Vietnam? Working with Park for some time in the past?
Lies, lies, lies.
And yet, you still felt like you disappointed them. You did, sure, but why should it matter now? You're going to die anyway so who cares.
But their ghosts your mind created in it's fever just couldn't leave you to die in peace.
They (the real ones) did left what they thought is your dead body but you still felt their prescence right were they stood when they realized you lied. Once they voiced their dissaproval of your actions you realized that the bloodloss is speaking through them. And possibly fever. And guilt too. And a few more issues that were locationed in your head.
It felt like Adler was still aiming his gun at you with a disappointment painted all over his face, he was so close to break a former agent and preventing Perseus from getting any further. If he wasn't only a product of your imagination he would've already smoked at least a few packs.
If it won't be you to fail him and then kill him, it would be his lungs
You just wanted them to leave you alone with your guilt. Preferably somewhere warmer and with some medical attention but right now the cold, hard ground in the middle od nowhere had to do.
To get out of their collective glare you managed to turn over at some point, it wasn't the most comfortable position since someone (most likely Woods) gave you a kick goodbaye straight to the ribs. Your side hurt, your eye hurt, your shoulder hurt and your head, your poor abused mind hurt the most of all.
But at least the voices were gone and only the guilt stayed.
You missed them seconds later when without any distraction you realized how hard is it to breath. Like the whole ribcage was caving in under the bulletproof vest and squeezing everything that lied under.
The eye that got stabbed with the needle leaked something that definitely wasn't tears and it was stinging. You noticed that your vision in it was too blurry right after it opened when you woke up on a cot in safehouse. Park assured you it will get better in few hours.
You knew it was bulshit when you were in the car with Adler and it started pulsing, leaking something gooey and getting all foggy.
It was getting swollen and it wasn't very pleasant.
Your dark balaclava was completely soaked with blood- from your nose, mouth, maybe even that eye and some time ago it just started to get dry. Thanks to that the mask was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the minutes passed by. The normally breathable material started to get sticky at first, but soon it was stuck to your lower face like a second skin making it even more difficult to catch some air.
Each shallow exhale left wet, hot air you were forced to breath back in. Each inhale left aftertaste of blood and dirt on your dry tongue but you had to ignore it in order to not be suffocated.
And so you were lying there for god knows how long in the state of partial consciousness wondering when you'll finally die. And if yours or Adlers memories would go before your eyes in the final moments.
But after they 'god knows how long' you noticed the darkness beneath your eyelids is getting somewhat brighter.
Was it that legendary light in the tunnel?
No. Sadly.
Was it Perseus, finally detonting the nukes?
Nope.
It was a car. Or maybe more than one since it was all a distant echo to your exhausted brain.
They stopped very close to you with a squeak of tires, before the sound of door unlocki and few pairs of boots hitting the ground.
That woke you up a little. Or more like woke your primal instincts to protect yourself because you knew how loading gun sounded and that was exactly what you heard.
And then someone was talking in the language you once knew but couldn't recall right now. Even when your mind screamed at you to remember anything, to grasp that fleeing memory.
- There they are.
Someone hummed with gruff, deep voice.Those people were getting closer.
- Just one?
Some parts of you, the ones that still had the energy to do so, tensed when the steps started to get too close and halted right next to you.
Then there was pressure on your shoulder and you were turned to your back with what felt like a bottom of a boot. It stayed there for few more seconds before disappearing.
- Western spy, definitely. Good job.
One of them started to walk away in the direction of the vehicles but the other one crouched, judging by the quiet pop of joints.
That someone shoved their impatient fingers beneath the material covering your neck and quickly pulled it up. Dried blood and sticky material that was slowly suffocating you for so long was finally gone and it was like the first breath of a fresh air. Literally.
And so the first sound you made in hours was wheezing cough. The man with gruff voice barked out a menacing laugh.
- A live one!
There was a sound of another door opening and heavy boots running in your direction but you couldn't care less.
You gasped as much as you could into your lungs, god it hurts so bad but so good, while the man hovering over you held the balaclava in one hand and the knife in the other. Not paying attention to your surroundings was something you could regret later, now you needed to breath.
Too busy on filling your lungs with precious air you haven't got any chance to see how this man eyes, one blue and the other one milky white, widened in recognition.
It didn't take long for him to compose himself and without much thought he dropped the knife next to your head before his, now free hand, gripped your throat in quick motion.
You sputtered when his fingers tightened around your neck in iron grip, not quiet choking you but greatly restricting your intake of air. He roughly held your face in place and your arm, sadly the one that was wounded, instinctively went to grab soldiers wrist. You clenched your teeth when a wave of pain came after that sudden movement but didn't let go.
He raised his head and looked at one of the masked operatives. Judging by the shadows you saw in the corner of your eye there was a few of them, each one holding a gun and waiting for any suspicious movement from you.
- It is 'them', comrade.- he looked back down at you and there definitely was satisfied undertone in his voice. Not good.- Perseus will be very pleased.
Rough hand that was gripping your neck moved up to your jaw. It tightened even more and turned your head from side to side a few times, causing a wave of dizziness in the process. The only thing keeping you from throwing up right there was your completely empty stomach and amazing self restraint. Otherwise this whole encounter could get so much more awkward.
Once he stilled you managed to take a good look at his masked face.
... Which was partially blurred, thanks to the injection some time ago, but you've seen his photo on evidence wall too many times to not recognize him. His outfit wasn't very different from it too, like he never fucking changes it.
Vikhor Kuzmin. Known as 'Stitch'.
King of spades, one of Perseus pawns.
Well, it takes one to know one, eh?
With your balaclava in hand he gestured soldiers to lower their guns before throwing it carelessly somewhere behind him.
And then the same hand was getting far too close to your face, more particularly, the swollen and sore eye you had to close due to pain it was causing open.
Your other arm, the one that wasn't gripping his own, jerked up in sad attempt to fight Stitch off but it didn't go to far because it brushed against something.
Your heartbeat picked up faster pace at the realization you still got a weapon on you.
Ignoring your pitiful attempts to trash around he forced the swollen eyelids of your injured eye to open and it filled with concerning liquid again.
And it was stinging. It was hurting so badly.
Thankfully his blurred image only clicked his tongue a few times before letting you close it and then pointed to his own blind eye with a shake of head.
- Poor little thing. That doesn't look good.
Blind eye. Blind spot. You could at least injure him, put up a fight so his squad could neutralize you. Finish what Adler started.
You were hostage once and it didn't end up well for you. Besides- who could possibly know why Perseus still wanted the person who messed up his plans alive? For sure It couldn't be anything good.
Vikhor was still speaking but your mind was far, far away at the moment.
- Too bad. You do have beautiful eyes.
Okay, maybe you heard the comment but refused to acknowledge it, the mocking undertone underneath hadn't gone unnoticed.
It's not like you exactly betrayed Perseus in the end but you did a lot to get him at least a bit pissed off, and from what you heard from Volkov there was a huge prize on your head.
Death was better, you decided and grabbed the handle as discretely as possible, before forcing yourself to speak through dry throat. Oh your throat was hurting badly too, who would've guess that after so long without any water.
- Fuck. You.
Each word sounded more like a growl of a feral animal and hurt as bitch, but the worst part? It didn't get any reaction out of Stitch.
His operatives on the other hand noticed the ill intent, or the hand suspiciously vanishing in one of vests pockets. There was a distant sound of guns clicking, rising to pick a target and that meant the bait worked.
Silently saying goodbyes to the ugly world you made a quick swing with all the power you had left, which wasn't a lot.
Well shit, it didn't worked out since there was no bullet between your eyes or anywhere else.
Vikhor stopped your hand without any trouble. Hell, he didn't even blink when you pulled out a knife on him and made a swing right at his face.
The man only tilted his head as his hard grip on your wrist quickly traveled up to the fist that was clenched around the handle. As much as you tried to shake him off you couldn't, and his hand completely covered yours before his grip got even tighter and his fingers started to push themselves between yours to loosen them.
Once more, with a angry huff you tried to shove the blade somewhere, anywhere- into his side, his arm or leg but he kept his hold without any effort and soon wrestled your fingers apart.
The combat knife joined the one left by Stitch next to your head but now the wound started to bleed more, so instead of taking a chance to attack again you decided that putting pressure on it is priority.
To your surprise he helped you out by covering your shaky hand with his and forcefully pushing it down.
Glancing up at him in silent question you got an answer rather quickly. Unmoving hand you forgot about clenched on your cheeks in warning before letting go.
- Remember, he wants you alive.
With a free hand he mentioned someone over and two masked soldier in dark uniforms appeared beside you, Both with their weapons ready. Stitch stood up abruptly to give them orders and without any help your hand fell uselessly to the ground like it was filled with cement. Like it was far too heavy for your own muscles to carry the appendage anymore.
Like the bullet was weighting it down.
You could just lie on your back and feel your uniform soaking up with fresh blood while the bunch of armed man was discussing something in the background.
- Get them to the safehouse! And you better make sure they get there alive.
You whimpered in protest when someone appeared above you before hauling you to sitting position and then pushing their arms beneath yours.
Another one grabbed your legs and they quickly carried you off to the vehicle without much trouble.
Hostage, again. Awesome.
But of course it was about to get so much worse than this.
Once they hauled you into the large van they lowered you to the ground quiet gently, you heard someone swiping the door closed before hitting it two times and the engine rumbled to life with a shake.
You could see outlines of people in the passengers and drivers seat but it was quickly replaced by one of those nameless soldiers that was now giving orders to his brethren.
The were moving around the van fervently, each one seemed to look for something. The man ordering them kneeled by your side and before you could react his hand went to the front zipper of your kevlar. He pulled far too roughly and the movement caused your body to jolt.
You moved more in pain than in protest but despite that he let out irritated grunt before calling out to the others again. He didn't have to wait for long.
Soon you felt crushing weight of a soldier literally sitting on your legs to immobilize them and a pair of hands gripping both of your shoulders to push them flat to the ground. Looks like they were all done with looking around.
Just like when Adler held a needle in front of your face all you could do was to watch, vulnerable and still.
The man tried once more to unzip your vest, this time with no reaction but small sounds on your side, and the heavy material was spread to the sides to give him better view of whatever mess lied underneath.
Considering the way his face scrunched underneath the material of mask- the mess wasn't pretty sight. Nonetheless he let out a shaky sigh and got to work without any word of complaint, implied threat still fresh in his mind.
The shirt you wore was clinging to your skin due to blood that was staining it but the operative had no trouble with removing it. With a cut of combat knife pieces of fabric was peeled of to show your sore collarbone and part of shoulder.
The man murmured something in his language and pointed to your chest, the other two leaned closer to take a look at the wound. Your eyes moved from one to another, more and more blood wandering to your face with the feeling of exposure.
Finally catching your gaze the operative above pointed at your chest once again, this time with a knife in his hand.
- We have to uh- he made a slow, stabbing gesture. Oh no- take it out with knife.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
Seeing your eyes widening in realization and fear he nodded at the other two and said something you recognized straight away.
Hold them down.
Unsurprisingly, no one asked for your opinion- the man sitting one your legs became so much heavier in one moment and the hands on your upper body pushed down much harder than moments ago.
The one with a knife moved to straddle you when you started to squirm, and now, completely immobilized you could only whimper in protest when he started to clean the blade with alcohol soaked rag.
Whimper turned to shriek when the sharp blade cut into the living flesh.
The operative that sat by your head and held down your shoulders tried to comfort you as best as he could with quiet muttering in broken English and occasional pat to your good shoulder. Unfortunately no one could really hear him through hoarse cries of pain and ugly, obnoxiously wet squelch of sharp tool digging back and forth into an open wound.
At some point of this makeshift surgery you fainted in agony, and then woke up to even more agony. And again. And again.
There was a moment when driver took a sharp turn and, through the fog of sleep, you could feel the blade slipping against a bone. All the men that held you had to focus their strength when you started to trash around again, consciousnes just barely returning to your tired mind. Black spots covered your blurry vision seconds after but before that happened you noticed someone covering the injured eye with wet gauze. Ah yes, it probably started to leak again.
After what felt like a hours and hours of torture, constant blacking out and waking up to more pain, the man 'operating' you gave a shout of triumph while quickly pressing a (hopefully) clean rag to the open skin. The overly excited shout made you jolt from yet another dreamless 'nap'.
- I got it!
He fidgeted around the wound and after few additional minutes finally removed the knife before passing it to the soldier that held your upper half. The bloodied tool vanished from your blurred sight and relief washed over you once it was away, another wave of sleepiness waiting just behind a corner. Was it normal to feel completely numb at this point?
Oh, nevermind.
It stung badly when the man pulled out a bullet covered in red from the wound with his inexperienced fingers. But it was even worse when he mentioned another one to lean over and pour alcohol right into it.
Your whole body tensed and spasmed , new set of tears and mysterious liquid rolling down your cheeks and escaping under the gauze while they cleaned and bandaged the wound.
One of them held the bullet, now clean and shiny, right before your eyes, obviously proud they managed to dig it out of your body and keep you barely alive during the process. This bullet was the last thing you saw before finally, finally your consciousness faded completely and there was no pain or exhaustion anymore. You hadn't woke up again that day, and for many more you slept- weak and broken but alive. Healing physically and mentally.
You even had some dreams, or more like nightmares. Those of Vietnam. Those of endless corridors and red doors.
Even your dreams weren't really yours anymore.
But sometimes the voice from the bunker was cutting through your endless struggle of getting through the jungle. In those moments those entangled trees were turning into walls of large room, the gun in your hands vanishing into the air, sounds of wilderness replacing with quiet hum of machinery.
And you were behind those red door, sitting at the head of the table like some you were some very important person. He was there too, not in the bunker but outside of your dream- the very man Adler wanted to catch so desperately.
Perseus, as you noticed, clearly liked talking to you even if he couldn't tell if you're listening.
Stitch, who was assigned to watch over your recovery, wasn't as talkative- it was more of quiet mumbling to himself and pacing around the room. It was much better than the silence and occasional sounds of medical equipment in the room.
Sometimes he asked you rhetorical questions- once, when you somehow managed to mumble an answer through the barrier of sleep he was clearly caught off guard. Even if you couldn't see and barely understood what was happening around, you could tell he was surprised. He left quickly and without a word just like your consciousness.
He made sure to use your sleep talking later that day though.
Rocking motion pulled you out of the dream and away from the hatch in the ground you decided to explore to spite Adler. Was that a zombie in there? Your mind sure had some crazy ideas.
With a quiet groan you did something you couldn't for a very long time- opened you eyes. Or more like eye, since half of your face was covered with soft cloth pressed little too hard to your sore lids.
- Ah, there we go. Now look at me.
You blinked a few times, eye squinting in the light that wasn't even that bright, and somehow you managed to focus on the ever masked face of Vikhor Kuzmin.
- Good, good. Now tell me, where is he?
Red alarm flashed in your head and you could hear some machine picking up the pace along with your heartbeat. You were weak and your mind was foggy but you knew what does Stitch want.
That's why you said 'fuck that' to yourself and to him you mouthed (why is there no sound coming?) the last location of base known to you.
He looked at you with mockingly raised non-existent brow.
Fuck that guy.
- What was that?
He leaned in far too close for your comfort so you glared at him before closing your eyes and collecting your breath to answer again.
You weakly, but louder than before, mumbled 'Berlin' and soon felt him gently pat your thigh with a chuckle before letting you to rest.
- You better not lie to me, дорогой.
You didn't, too bad the safehouse in Berlin was abandoned days ago. While there was no one inside Stitch still managed to find some interesting Intel your team left while moving in rush.
There was still so much to do but that was fine- with the help of Perseus you were healing surprisingly quickly.
The hunt could wait.
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Red. Red was all Russel Adler saw when mercenaries were dragging him somewhere. His team, ambushed and killed, couldn't save his ass now.
There was crack of static from behind him while they were hauling him, he could hear Stitch talking to someone soon after.
- Come to extraction site, my колокольчик. I have something you'd like.
Ah, that's where they were dragging him.
Too stunned to do anything more than let out sounds of protest, Adler soon found himself inside of... Plane? Possibly. It was all too blurry, he was too tired, there was so much going on...
And then a figure walked in to the said plane. Familiar one. The way they moved, some kind of aura around them...
They visibly slowed down mid-step once they saw him and quickly looked up at Stitch, who walked to them confidently. Adler could almost see the smugness radiating of him and it filled him with anger. Mostly aimed at himself.
The newly arrived mercenary moved their hands to take of the balaclava but before Russel could catch a glimpse of their face Vikhor moved slightly to the side, completely hiding the stranger behind him.
- I knew you'll get him eventually. Good job.
This voice.
- Wouldn't do that without you.
Stitch moved over to let the mercenary pass and go to their hostage.
Realization came long before they kneeled down beside him for inspection- there was no doubt he was looking into the eyes of corpse he was supposed to leave in Duga. Last time he was looking into them one was badly injured but there was no time to treat it or even care. Now it was like nothing ever happened- their gaze was clear and completely focused on him.
Perseus takes good care of his pets.
He could see the man in mask standing menacingly right above their shoulder with a rifle still in his hands.
- Hey there, Russ. It's been a long time, huh?
Bell spoke far too softly, completely opposite to Stitch and his rough voice filled with satisfaction of catching an old enemy. No, they spoke more like he was old friend, with tenderness. Sadness.
The calm tone was so soothing he could almost feel it lulling him to sleep.
It was so unlike the way they gripled his jaw seconds later, nails digging into the crevice of his long healed scar. He groaned in discomfort, consciousness and adrenaline quickly rushing back to his head while they just sneered at him and let go abruptly.
On the brink of blacking out Adler heard their voice, once more calm and friendly, somewhere in the background there was a rumble of plane going up.
- I'm sorry, Russ. I really am. But I have a job to do.
Bell quickly moved to the side and Adler followed them with his gaze, his hazy mind not noticing Stitch aiming to hit him with the butt of his rifle.
You only flinched when Adler fell unconscious with a painful yelp and unsettling sound of body hitting the ground.
Your expression quickly faded to indifferent when Stitch turned around to face you.