Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bell was tired. Every muscle in their body was trembling with exhaustion, which served only to exacerbate the throbbing migraine that was currently pounding through their skull. They swallowed painfully, feeling what could only be described as a burning sensation at the back of their throat - a clear sign that they were severely dehydrated. The act of opening their eyes proved to be futile; everywhere around them was pitch black. They tried to move their arms and legs, only to realise that all their limbs were trapped under piles of twisted metal and heavy pieces of broken concrete. 

How did this happen to them? Using their remaining energy, Bell tried to recall the recent sequence of events. When that failed, they attempted to remember anything - an image in their mind's eye, a weird smell or sensation - that could even give a hint as to what had happened. 

A red door that never seems to stop moving

A syringe filled with a strange liquid injected unceremoniously into their eye socket

2 blurry faces - one of a man and the other a woman 

C’mon Bell, we have a job to do.

In an instant, as if the floodgates opened, memories of what happened in the past 48 hours came back. They remembered everything: Being strapped to the gurney in the safehouse, telling Adler about Solovetsky, planting the C4 charge on the last anti-aircraft gun before watching the night sky light up in a burst of bright orange lights. 

The lights...the burners at the back of the launched missiles!

Which led them to the predicament they were currently in - trapped underneath what is presumed to be rubble, with little room for movement or fresh air.

And this is how the gods decides I die? To waste away here, alone in this darkness? How anticlimactic. But perhaps fitting as well - I finally get a taste of my own medicine, of what the refugees and victims of war would have experienced if those bombs had been set of; many would have been trapped in a seemingly never ending darkness under rubble for days, others starving due to a lack of access to food or clean water. This is what I deserve for being a former ultranationalist.

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As it turns out, Bell was right. The gods didn’t want them to die then. Instead, they decided that the former ultranationalist shall go out in another way, in an arguably more painful fashion. No sooner had Bell made peace with their supposed fate, they heard muffled shouts coming from the surface. They were soft at first, but it grew louder with every passing minute. 

“Over here! Give me a hand!” Woods .

The sharp scraping of metal against rock could now be heard just above them, before the simultaneously cooling and warm night air washed over their skin and overwhelmed their senses. Bell, having been trapped for quite some time, breathed in the fresh air like a person starved. 

The familiar silhouette of America’s Monster now approached them, hand outstretched. 

“Take my hand, Bell.” 

It was to be that very pair of hands that pulled them under the rubble that night to also be the cause of their demise. In hindsight, they should have seen it coming. Adler is a calculated individual - every move he makes, every word he speaks is laced with a motive. In that same vein, alarm bells should have been ringing in their head when Adler invited them for a walk along a secluded path along the edge of a cliff, claiming that he needed to speak to them on private matters. The irony, considering their namesake. 

Adler stopped mid-path and gave a speech, about how Bell made a grand total of 2 sacrifices, and how they were a ‘goddamn hero’. More lies, this time coated with a thick layer of honey to make it more palatable. But what else should Bell have expected of him? A leopard cannot change its spots; just like how one cannot teach an old dog new tricks. And Adler was a veteran. He had also been lying since day one, so why should he stop now?

“...It was never personal.”

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In addition to being an excellent liar, Adler had always been a good shot. And that hypothesis withstood the test of time. 

Bell was currently on their back, hiccuping as they slowly bled out from the gunshot wound in their stomach. They turned their face to look towards the unfettered view of the sun just over the horizon, its rays kissing their skin in what almost felt like a comforting gesture. At least Adler had the mercy to leave you in that position before he left them to die for good, instead of tossing their bleeding body over the cliffs to feed the sealife below. A monster Adler was indeed, but at least he allowed room for small mercies. 

The crunching sound of dirt nearby indicated  someone's approach. Maybe it was Adler, back to finish the job; ‘Tying up loose ends’ to use his words. Maybe it was one of Perseus' men. Either way, Bell couldn't care less. They didn't even bother to acknowledge the individual when they stopped near their battered body. 

Bell felt a gentle hand card through their grime and sweat covered hair. “I’m sorry. It was never supposed to end like this.” 

Oh yeah? If not like this then how? 

“I've been sent here by the powers that be to deliver a message.” The mysterious figure now rose and stopped just above their head. For their peripheral Bell could see the figure looking towards the horizon, seemingly admiring the view. “They have plans for you. They do not want you to die in such a fashion. Therefore, they are offering you a chance to live again.” 

“What's the catch?” Bell managed to cough out. Being with the CIA for as long as they have, Bell knew that there was no such thing as a free lunch. 

“Simple. Your new life will follow a set path as dictated by them. If things go awry, you will be revived until you get the matter right. In other words, you are not allowed to die on your own terms. ” the figure turned back. “Do you accept?” 

Bell coughed out more blood and shifted their eyes towards the setting sun in the distance. Though disguised as a second chance, Bell knew that accepting this deal would mean jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Their lives were once again on a tight leash, except this time he could not put a face to the hand. But as tempting as it was to lie down in the dirt and watch the sunset till they bled out for good, a nagging feeling at the back of Bell's brain knew that this was not their time yet. There was still such to be done and accomplished; it almost seemed silly to be refusing a seemingly good gift from the horse's mouth. Bell knew accepting it was a gamble, but it was one they were willing to make. Besides, they had nothing to lose. 

“...Yes.” 

The figure now approached them once more and seemingly knelt down to their level. Strong arms now wrapped around the upper body, pulling Bell into their warm embrace. The feeling of a pair of lips now brushed the outer shell of their right ear. 

“You made the right choice, Bell. Now, let me take you to the top so you can try again.” 

Chapter Text

When Bell opened their eyes, they were lying down in bed in what seemed to be a residence of sorts. The bedroom they were currently situated in was nothing out of the ordinary. They were currently laying on a single bed, a nightstand next to them. The analog clock on it stated that it was 8 o’clock. On the far left of the room was a wooden study desk which was clean save what seemed to be a pair of room keys. The next thing the former ultranationalist looked out for was their personal belongings - none whatsoever. Not even a spare change of clothes they huffed as they opened up the nearby wardrobe. Looks like whoever dropped me here did so in a haste.  

Bell now mulled over the reasons why they were dropped off seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Where were they even anyway? Catching sight of 2 dutch windows located towards the left of the bed, Bell now made their way over in order to get a better sense of their current predicament. 

The cold air, sounds of distant nightlife and dog barks greeted them as they swung the windows open, which offered a nice view of the streets below. They were currently situated in an apartment building of sorts. Given that it was currently nighttime, the only source of activity along the otherwise quiet streets was the bar down the street - its flashing purple neon lights and sound of drunk chatter reverberating was a dead giveaway. 

With nothing save the clothes on their backs, Bell swiped the keys off the table, laced up their boots and made their way to the main door. 

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The bass of whatever music was playing pounded painfully around the physical constraints of the tiny pub as Bell weaved their way through the many bodies crowded on the dance floor. While Bell had no idea what possessed them to even come here in the first place, they reckoned that having a drink would not hurt.

Swiping off a few bills from an unattended wallet, Bell made their way to the counter and ordered a pint of ale. It’s a drink they always had a soft spot for some inexplicable reason. Sipping the hazy liquid, they now made themselves comfortable on their barstool as their eyes scanned the room.

Am I supposed to be looking for someone? Clearly I was dropped off at a residence near this place for a reason. What am I supposed to do from here? 

Their eyes now landed on a secluded spot where two men stood. Unlike the other patrons, they were strangely non conversant - one was smoking a cigarette while the other was looking at what seemed to be a photograph before using a zippo to burn it. Just as Bell’s attention was about to be diverted elsewhere, a figure clad in black approached the two men in a frantic manner. They spoke in hushed tones before he left as quickly as he came; interestingly his concerns did not seem to be shared by his two friends.

The two men now exchanged a few words before leaving, and just as they turned around Bell froze. They recognised those shades anywhere - it was Adler. And the man opposite him?  Mason. 

What were they camping out here for? Did the mysterious being know they would be here? Is that why I was sent here?

Regardless, their objective now was clear. Downing the last of their drink in one gulp, Bell hopped off their seat and now began to tailgate the duo from a safe distance. Whilst Adler and Mason made a right to approach the sedan car parked in the alleyway, Bell instantly darted in the opposite direction and hid behind the piles of garbage bags that could give Mount Everest a run for its money.

“We’re on the clock, let’s not keep Qasim waiting.”

“Hey Mason: party favours are in the trunk.” 

Qasim? Bell frowned, trying to remember if they had heard of that name before. MK-Ultra did a good job in wiping out most of their memories in addition to their previous personality, so they knew that trying to remember such a specific detail was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But the needle was definitely there, and that’s all the motivation Bell needed. 

Bell now watched as the three men left by the sidegate and disappeared into the darkness ahead. Once they were far enough, Bell made their way stealthily towards the car and opened the closed trunk. Sure enough, it was a treasure trove of weapons - knives, guns etc. But there was only so much one person could carry. Bell grabbed a pair of throwing knives, along with what looked to be a Makarov Pistol and an extra magazine. Their fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun and smiled. Although they have used a wide range of western manufactured weaponry to the point of familiarity, nothing beats the feeling of holding and using an eastern made weapon. It just felt…right.

After checking to see if everything was in order, Bell made sure everything looked exactly as it was before shutting the trunk and heading off in the same direction as their former allies.

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Regardless of country, the back alleyways were always a place where one could easily get lost. But not for Bell - the simple reason being that in their line of work, all one had to do was simply follow the sounds of either gunshots or explosions to know where their allies were. In most cases, it was both. Despite their estrangement with their former teammates, this theory still held true: Bell gave 5 minutes before the sounds of gunshots would start, and in most likelihood instigated by the Americans. 

It only took 2 minutes for the fireworks to begin. 

Rolling their eyes, Bell made their way to the rooftop of the apartment building the three men had so brashly entered, only to watch them parkour from one rooftop to the next. They followed the trail of gunpowder and smoke, leaping over an occasional chimney amongst the plethora of obstacles, all while enjoying the now frigid night air caressing their cheeks. The view was a bonus: who knew the city at night could be this pretty?

Eventually they arrived at the rooftop where the drama was taking place. With gentle feet, Bell landed on the tarmac, only to witness Adler punch the lights out of an individual whom they presumed to be Qasim. Taking advantage of Adler and Mace’s distraction, Bell made a run for the building's rooftop fire escape, and hid behind it. 

Qasim was a babbling mess as Mason took over from Adler, the former grabbing the man by the lapels of his jacket and placing him in a precarious position over the rooftop parapet. He then began questioning Qasim on the whereabouts of a “Arash”. When that did nothing, Adler made it a point to act out the consequences of defiance by throwing one of Qasim’s bodyguards over the parapet and onto the car below - all with one hand. 

Bell’s mouth settled into a firm, thin line. Death by a single bullet seemed so comforting in comparison to whatever the hell they just witnessed.

Qasim eventually cracked. This Arash was apparently somewhere in Turkey, supposed to rendezvous with his people in Trabzon Airfield. In true CIA fashion, Qasim eventually met the same fate as the man before him. We are all just pawns to them. To be discarded as soon as they have milked all our potential and usefulness.

“Bell, you were one of Perseus’s agents. His associate, Arash Kadivar, turned on you at the airstrip in Turkey. Left you for dead.”

“Hudson, Arash is in Trabzon, Turkey.” So that’s how they knew where that motherfucker was. Bell’s eyes widened as they heard three pairs of footsteps coming towards their current position. They quickly circled around and flattened themselves against the wall on the other side, praying that their movements were not heard.

The footsteps now stopped abruptly. Bell could hear their heart pounding in their ears. 

“What is it Adler?”

The man’s response came in the form of cocking his gun. “We’re not alone.”

Fuck.

Bell’s hand subconsciously made its way towards their back pocket, feeling for the cold assurance that was their pistol. Despite knowing what needed to be done, it did not stop their hands from shaking any less. 

It’s either him or me. 

The sound of a bullet being fired echoed into the night, causing Bell to flinch.

“I know you are out there. Come on out, this doesn’t have to be any more painful than it is.” The husky baritone voice of Adler’s which, once upon a time would have brought a sense of reassurance to Bell, now brought with it nothing but a sense of dread and danger. 

You cannot trust Adler

“I thought we killed all of Qasim’s bodyguards? Unless our intel is wrong?”

“No Woods, it isn’t. This is someone else.”

You’re damn right I'm someone else. Bell decided to take a gamble and make a run for it, which was responded to with gunshots and the sound of boots against the tarmac. Once again, they were in a game of cat and mouse. It almost felt like a sped up version of pacman, except there wasn’t a magic white ball which would make Adler and company instantly disappear. 

The feeling of something metal ripped through Bell’s left leg, causing an instant sharp pain to jolt through their system. This was exacerbated when they made the jump to the next available rooftop. Cursing underneath their breath, Bell continued in their flight only to be tackled to the ground minutes later. 

“Now what, Adler?” The man in question was now hovering just above their eyeline, regarding them before kneeling to their level. He grabbed their face roughly with his right hand, forcing them to look at him at eye level. Bell glared back defiantly. 

“You’re not scared, are you.”

The statement, and the off handed manner in which it was said, caught Bell off guard. But they were careful not to let it show on their face. Their mind instantly made a flashback to the various missions they did together, the camaraderie - real and fake - they experienced. They remembered the smell of smoke, the sounds of gunfire…

The taste of blood in their mouth when Adler fired a bullet into their stomach

“Why should I? I have nothing left to lose.” Unintentionally, the words came out as a whisper from their chapped lips. 

Though Adler was ostensibly emotionless (thanks to those aviators of his), Bell could imagine those blue eyes of his narrowing in confusion and distrust at their words. They wished he had the ability to read minds: Adler’s would certainly be one fascinating study. 

“Cuff ‘em.” Adler’s cold command brought Bell’s thoughts down to earth. He released their face before going to the side and fishing out another cigarette. 

“What?” Woods made a noise of surprise as he hoisted Bell not too gently to their feet. 

“You heard me. We will take them back to the safehouse, Hudson will take over from there.” The sound of what seemed to be a distant thunderstorm clapped in the distance as Adler took his own Zippo to light his cigarette, the flame dancing before his shades and giving his face a (ironically) warm glow. 

“I have a feeling Washington is going to have a field day with this one.”

Chapter Text

5 weeks later 

Being handcuffed and brought to a dim interrogation room was something Bell had expected of the CIA, but waiting for 2 hours with no sign of their interrogator? That was new. The wait was so excruciating that even the pair of burly escort guards standing behind them, each armed with a machine gun, started to become fidgety. Bell snorted. They didn’t know if this was an indication from ‘the powers that be’ that they have made a mistake in that regard. Maybe they were meant to do something in these 2 hours that allowed for a reset. Afterall, wasn’t it communicated to them that they had unlimited lives? 

The door now opened, and in walked Hudson and Adler. “Hope you enjoyed those few weeks of being in isolation. ‘Cuz that’s gonna be all the peace you’re going to be getting in a while.”  Typical Hudson.

Bell decided to be smug - a trait that they had made a conscious effort to steer away from completely the first time they had met the man, but now? Fuck it. “How nice of you to assume that everything is all sunshine and rainbows in there. I’ve never had peace before, and probably never will down the road.”

“You’re a lone wolf. What was your previous occupation?” Adler’s voice cut through the ever thickening animosity and tension.

“I worked for an international spy ring, a militia.” Bell decided to go with the truth, at least in this regard.

“Why leave?”

“Who said I did?”

Adler frowned, clearly not following. “You were fired.”

“Nope - it’s a long story”

“We have all day.”

“Frankly, it’s none of your business.” Bell now placed their feet up on the table in an attempt to cover up their nervousness. “I tracked you and your buddies down because you’re CIA. I want to offer my skillset to you guys.” 

“You could have just applied for a job through the government website, like a normal person.”

Bell barked out a laugh. “I don’t think recruitment would appreciate me writing in my cover letter that the main reason I am applying is to hunt down Perseus.”

That sentence itself shifted the tone in the room. Adler’s indifference for the individual in front of him now morphed into interest; same went for Hudson. Bell’s lips quirked upwards in amusement at the sudden change in attitude. 

The CIA are like hunting dogs. Dangle the bait in front of them and they’ll go for it every time.

“You know Perseus?” Hudson pressed. Bell simply tilted their head in response. 

“Do I?”

“Stop fucking around.”  Adler took an impatient drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke through his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Dragons are dignified, honourable creatures. Comparing Adler to one is an insult to them.  

“I’ve heard of the name. It’s a distant memory at this point, but I may or may not have collaborated with them in my short lived career.” Adler’s face visibly darkened.

“What skills do you have that Perseus needed?”

“Cryptography. And Linguistics.”

 Hudson nodded. “So you are familiar with Russian Cyphers, then?” He now slid the vanilla coloured file over, and gestured with his hand for them to open it. 

“A coded message we intercepted recently. We are giving you 12 hours -”

“Make it 6.” Adler raised an eyebrow. Bell however, did not even acknowledge his gaze in favour of looking over the various notes in the folder, mind already in focus on the task at hand. 

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 Adler exited the interrogation and entered the adjacent observation room, where he was greeted by the sight of a black haired woman seated, eyes never leaving the individual hunched over the wooden desk through the one way mirror. 

“You look perturbed.” Park was a woman of little words - those three were meant to be simultaneously a question and a greeting. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Adler, how long have I known you for?” The man took the seat next to her and offered his cigarette. She took it and brought it to her lips. 

“I was surprised when Woods told me you ordered him to cuff them instead of putting a bullet through their skull right there and then. You know as well as I do that you tend to do the shooting first then ask questions later when it comes to hunting down our adversaries.” Park stated as she exhaled the smoke through her lips, turning her attention to her companion. “What makes this person so special?”

“Maybe I’m just good at reading people, and sniffing out their skills in the process.”

Park raised a sceptical eyebrow. “A bold statement to make Adler, considering we don’t even know just how good their Cryptography skills are yet.” To those words Adler simply grunted, and turned to face the frantically scribbling figure now hunched over the desk, who only stopped once or twice to either refer to a previous page or cross reference their work. Adler knew that Park had suspected that he was not telling the full picture regarding the executive decision he made in Amsterdam, and she was right on the money. The only reason why Adler had this much confidence in this quarry was because he knew subconsciously just how talented they were. From the moment he had laid eyes on them on the rooftops of Amsterdam, an instant feeling of inexplicable recognition stirred within him - almost as if they had previously been acquainted. No, that wasn’t the word he was looking for  - friends. Almost as if they had previously been friends. 

But how could he possibly be friends with an individual that he had never met before? 

Adler hated uncertainties. He always prided himself as an individual whose every move and words were calculated, always with an end goal in sight. Meeting this individual was the first time he had felt simultaneously unsure and strangely confident in their abilities. It felt like gambling, and to someone like Adler who is not a betting man, this was sure as hell the closest feeling he would ever get to such a vice-like activity. 

As the figure in the room had been given 6 hours to complete the cypher, the Clandestine Operative and MI6 agent took turns ‘supervising’ their supposed charge. Park took the first three hours, and Adler the remaining. When it was his shift, Adler simply watched his quarry in action with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, all the while only having the ticking sound of the wall clock's second hand as his only companion. He focused his attention onto their face, trying to recall if he had genuinely met this individual before, or if he was just gaslighting himself. 

The individual now lifted their head and stared straight ahead, clearly looking at themselves in the one-way mirror in what seemed to be contemplation. But what they didn’t know was that in their current position, they were looking straight at Adler in the eye. 

Bell’s stare was eerily haunting. They started mouthing something in his direction, a move that caused Adler to unconsciously lean forwards in an attempt to read their lips. At first the words were intelligible, and it was only on the fifth time that he managed to catch some of what was being said:

REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID TO ME

Images now flashed before the man’s eyes. 

Someone in a burlap sack strapped to a chair

Needles 

Incessant static 

“Lastly, you’ll need a command phrase to trigger the implanted memories”

“We have a job to do.”

The sound of the internal landline ringing drew Adler out of his daze-like state; had he actually dozed off? In a rare move, Adler removed his aviators and rubbed a hand down his face. He looked up once more and saw that Bell was still in the same position as they always had been, only this time their eyes were cast downwards towards their cuffed hands. The papers provided - both used and untouched - had been compiled neatly towards their right hand side of the table next to the file Hudson had given them. 

What the actual fuck was that? Annoyance over the incessant and persistent shrill ringing overrode his current mental attempt to interpret that…dream. With a huff, he now picked up the receiver. 

“Observation, Subject has just finished.” Adler’s trained eyes now flicked towards the three figures and did a final scan of the room once more  - first of the two guards, one of which was holding a similar looking receiver from his end and the other whose weapon was trained onto the subject. Then the subject themselves who, despite their deceptively meek posture, was clearly not intimidated in the slightest. Satisfied that everything in the room was status quo, he now made his way into the interrogation room. 

The Clandestine Operative did not acknowledge either of the people as compiled everything on the table and shoved it all back into the file, organisation be damned. The subject, on the other hand, was watching his every move.

Good. Let them fear me.

“Take them back to their cell.” he ordered the guards with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He pretended to ignore the piercing gaze targeted at his back as they were roughly taken away from the room, as well as the chill that ran through his spine. 

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He handed the folder over to Hudson as soon as they finished their briefing with President Reagan. The only ones in the meeting room currently were himself, Hudson, Woods and Mason. 

“What’s that?” Woods was the first to break the silence.

“Decrypted Russian Intelligence, courtesy of our friend a few levels below.”

“You mean the person we caught in Amsterdam?”

“That very same one.” 

“They did it.” All eyes were now on Hudson, whose eyebrows were now raised in what could only be described as disbelief. “They actually decrypted it.”

“What does it say?” Adler asked. His other two companions now leaned forward in curiosity.

Hudson did not respond immediately in favour of reading through the information in its entirety before closing the file and placing it on the table in front of him. 

“I’ll cross-check with our in-house cryptographists on the legitimacy of this translation but if this is true…” Hudson’s dark shades now scanned the only other three faces in the room.

“Then you all have a plane to catch.”

Chapter Text

█████ “Bell” ██████ , CIA

CIA Safehouse E9, ‘Die Landebahn’

February 24, 1981 

“Thanks to Bell, we have managed to get a list of names of potential Perseus associates. One in particular stands out.”

Bell watched as Park thumbtacked a picture of Anton Volkov onto the planning board, mind mulling over what was to come. They knew what this mission entailed - they had gone through it once - and to the best of their knowledge everything ran smoothly then. So what were they expected to do here? Let things play out as they should, or were they expected to make a change to this mission’s outcome?

“Mason and Woods are still wrapping up business in Kiev, which means Volkov is ours. Gear up and we’ll move out.”

As soon as the group dispersed Bell made their way to the makeshift weapons storage area to stock up on ammunition. From the corner of their eye they saw Park approach Adler to exchange a few words. Whilst they tried their best to be subtle, Bell could feel the occasional glances Adler would send their way - it was obvious that they were the subject of discussion.

Normally, Bell would feel flattered by the attention. However, given their circumstances, this amount of scrutiny that already had prior to the mission made them frustrated: it meant that they may or may not be as free to go around as they please in order to figure out the strange mechanisms of this version of the reality they were in. Strangely, despite the clear constraints the entity had outlined prior, Bell felt…free.

Is this what ‘freedom’ feels like? The ability to make your own choices without constraint and yet being uncertain of the consequences it will bring? 

“Bell.”

They turned around abruptly. Adler.

“You have been spacing out alot lately. Make sure that’s the last time this happens; we need all hands on deck when it comes to Volkov.”

Bell nodded wordlessly as they checked the magazine in their pistol. 

“Old habits die hard?” Adler gestured towards the weapon in their hand.

“Yeah.” a subtle smile appeared on their lips. 

“I’m surprised Hudson let you keep that thing. Do you know how to use a M9 nevertheless?”

“Of course.”

 “Good. Meet at the foyer when you are ready.”

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24 hours prior, Washington DC

“Had a chance to read their dossier?”

Adler shook his head as he took the file from Park’s outstretched hand. He now opened it and gave it a read. 

“Besides the name they had given us, CIA and MI6 did a sweep on the available databases of identities based on their facial features and fingerprints.” 

“And how did that go?”

“Nothing. It’s almost as if they had never existed in the first place.” 

“Perseus did well to cover their tracks. They must have been a highly valued member of the team.” Adler remarked as his eyes now travelled to the personal details printed next to a headshot photo. 

First Name: Sasha 

Middle name: N/A

Surname: Petrov

“If you don’t know their birth name, what’s with the name printed?” 

“You can thank the CIA for that. Hudson issued them a new identity.” 

Adler gave a grunt of acknowledgement before resuming his reading once more. 

Callsign: Bell

“ Did Hudson give them this too?”

“Give them what.”

Adler tapped his unlit cigarette at the printed name in question. “This. Their callsign.”

Park laughed. “Oh no, they came up with it themselves. Initially they wanted to register this as their only name, but Hudson rejected that notion. So as a compromise, they were allowed to use it as their call sign instead.”

Adler’s eyes had widened just so slightly at the revelation. Thanks to his shades however, Park remained oblivious and continued to read her own mission brief, indifferent to the mood change in the man next to her. 

22 hours prior, Washington DC

This could not be a coincidence. Adler mulled over the information Park had given him in his brain as he considered the individual seated next to him on the plane headed to West Berlin. Though not uncommon amongst veterans like himself, Adler’s nightmares for the past few days were unusual, even by his standards. Instead of gunfire, the screams of his former platoon mates and the sight of dead bodies all around during his time in Da Nang, his dreams recently have been revolving around a…certain individual.

“Bell, no more fucking around. What did Perseus say? Where is he?”

“Count yourself lucky. You’ve only had those memories for a few months. Me, I've been living with them for over a decade.”

It wasn’t the words that unsettled him, nor was it the questionable situation in which his dream self was saying those words - It was the eyes. Though the person in his dream wore a balaclava, the set of eyes were undoubtedly the same. The same pair of eyes which in the dream, were glazed over and unseeing; looking at him simultaneously with fear and reverence. It was the same pair of eyes that had stared blankly at him through the one way mirror not so long ago, looking at him as if trying to find a way into his soul in an attempt to find something - but what?

Adler was one to scoff at the likes of astrology, dream interpretation - to him, people touting such things were nothing but a bunch of talented grifters. But when a dream like the ones he’s been having recently repeated themselves one too many times, it does drive one to start questioning their own sanity.  Bell - the name he had addressed the person strapped to the gurney in his dream; and now the callsign of a living, breathing person. The coincidence was so incredibly uncanny:  he might actually need to get his head checked, once all this Perseus shit was over. 

He now looked over to the individual in question, whose eyes were closed perhaps in an attempt to catch forty winks. He couldn’t blame them, not once had he ever heard of anyone getting a decent night of sleep down in detention.

Just who exactly are you, Bell? 

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov , CIA

East Berlin, German Democratic Republic

February 24, 1981 

“Kraus should be coming through the checkpoint soon. Let’s get to the rooftop.”

Dumping down the dead Stasi guards' dead body unceremoniously in a nearby alleyway, Bell nodded as they drew their concealed Makarov and followed Adler. Together, the duo made it to the rooftop where they were treated to the view of barbed wires, searchlights and lots of Stasi  around Checkpoint Charlie. 

“Damn, security is tighter than usual. If they detain Kraus, he could miss his meeting with Volkov.”

Bell, using their camera, kept an eye out by scanning the sea of black-clad umbrella-holding individuals in their search for the man in question. But in a moment of mischief and impulse, they lifted the camera and took a picture of Adler, his silhouette basking in the white light from the searchtowers, face stern as always. 

Their stomach churned at the sight they saw. He was ruggedly handsome - that observation was one Bell was sure would not change, no matter how many versions of Adler they knew. But this sickly sensation did not just come from that realisation, but also because of their knowledge on the reality of their relationship - built upon lies. In the infinite possibilities out there, was there one where they could have a future with Adler? Or were they always fated to stand on opposite ends, regardless if the line drawn was real or imaginary?

“Didn’t peg you as a fan of photography.”

Bell looked up and saw Adler facing in their direction, an eyebrow raised in what seemed to be genuine curiosity. 

“...Yeah.” was all Bell could respond in a moment they were caught off guard. Contrary to the likely reasoning Adler probably had as to Bell’s passion for photography i.e. a hobby, the reality was that photography to them became a reassurance exercise of sorts; that their memory loss would not become even worse than it already was. It was a way of ensuring that those experiences they had and friendships forged held a certain degree of legitimacy in a world built on make believe and lies, on top of the fact that they knew little to nothing about themselves save the information Adler had fed to them. 

“Well, don’t keep looking at me kid. Kraus is on the streets, not up here with us.”

Bell smirked at the gentle admonishment. In their previous life, when they had done exactly the same thing, that version of Adler told them to ‘stop wasting resources’. And to ‘keep things professional’. Perhaps a reason for this change in attitude was because this Adler was not their handler in the same way their previous counterpart was. 

The camera’s lenses were once again in the direction of the street, except in this sweep they saw a tall man with an umbrella and briefcase being questioned rudely by the Stasi near the checkpoint, a flashlight being pointed in his face in a rather rude fashion. 

Bingo. With a satisfied smirk Bell pressed their index finger onto the shutter button, the crunch of it fluttering music to their ears.

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With a mighty kick, Bell made their way down into the bunker where Greta’s informant Lukus Richter was being detained. 

“You? I’ve seen your picture. They’ve been looking for you.”

Naturally, I was a member of Perseus’s inner circle.

After the three Stasi guards were dealt with, Bell now approached the man in question with a frown on their face. Seeing his face again made their lips curl with disgust. Unpleasant memories of how he sold them and Greta out to the KGB, along with the latter's death as a result started creeping up to the forefront of their memory. This was a man who did not appreciate nor understand the importance of loyalty.

Speak for yourself. Where did your loyalties get you in the end?

Before Ritchter even had the opportunity to speak Bell discharged their firearm, firing a single bullet into his prefrontal cortex. Grabbing a nearby tape which had Ritchter’s name written on it, they left the bunker as quickly as they came, without even taking a single glance backwards at the corpses left behind. 

In this harsh almost inconspicuous game of ideological warfare, loyalty did not always guarantee one’s survival. Perhaps Ritchter was the smart one after all.

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As soon as Bell opened the wardrobe and saw a bound and gagged Greta, they knew what was coming next. Without a moment’s hesitation, they drew their pistol and fired at the man approaching. In the red hue that was the photography development room, Bell could see something distinctly black oozing out from Kraus’s left chest. The shock that was plastered on that man’s face was one that they would never forget.

Kraus crumpled to the ground like the puppet that he was, all while Bell watched apathetically and Greta squealed in horror. Such scum. How fitting that he bleeds black - his heart is as cold as it is ugly.

“Bell, that gunshot is bound to attract unwanted attention. Get out of there, now!” They heard Park yell urgently into their earpiece. 

“Papa? Was war das für ein Geräusch?” Shit, the kid! Quickly freeing Greta’s legs, Bell pulled the woman up by her arm, grabbed the briefcase before making a run for the nearby fire escape, pushing her out first before swinging over the balcony ledge themselves. No sooner had they reached the ground floor however, they were cornered by two Stasi, who started loudly demanding they show identification. Suddenly, both men’s heads were jerking back violently and fell forward like cards.

Bell looked up and saw three men approach them. Of the other two they did not know either of their identities, but the one in middle was as clear as day: Anton Volkov. 

“You know, Perseus has a large bounty on your head.” The older man stepped up to Bell fearlessly. He now gestured towards Greta. “What were you about to do with her? Hand her over to the CIA?” 

When Bell gave no response, Volkov sneered. “You traitorous dog. Your mind has been corrupted by capitalism that you forgot about the collective. I should order my men to shoot you and that bitch here and now, but Comrade Perseus seems to think otherwise. He still thinks highly of you, even after all you have done.” He now opened his arms, revealing a concealed pistol similar to their own.

“So are you going to prove him wrong and give me a reason to shoot you both here and now, Or do you still have an ounce of Mother Russia in your heart?

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov , CIA

East Berlin, German Democratic Republic

February 24, 1981 

Bell found themselves seated on a chair along a wooden table, opposite the one and only Volkov. Seated next to them - with her mouth taped and hands still bound - was Greta, who was looking at the man in question, a poisonous look on her face.

At least that look was no longer directed at me . Back at the alleyway, when Volkov presented to them what could only be described as an illusion of choice, Bell naturally accepted to surrender themself and Greta into his custody. At the back of the transport, Greta had initially refused to look at them, believing that they had sold out the West. It wasn’t until they took out the same piece of paper she had given them not too long ago and with a pen, drew a clock on it whilst gesturing towards the tracked briefcase did she understand Bell’s true intentions: Bell’s act of surrender was nothing but an act to buy time for Adler and his team to not only extract them both but also catch Volkov at the same time - effectively killing two birds with one stone. 

“Glad to know that you somewhat came to your senses, comrade. Now tell me, what is the CIA doing here in East Berlin?”

“They want Perseus.”

“And they believe that Comrade Perseus is here?”

Bell paused, mulling over in their head what information they should say. Whilst they do not want to give any crucial information away, any fabricated facts that were over the top by nature was bound to raise some eyebrows. And that’s putting it mildly.  “They don’t know where he is. But they know you are here; they wanted to capture you as bait for Perseus.”

Volkov gave a hearty laugh. “Then the Amerikantsy are more stupid than I thought. Our mission is so much bigger than you or I. It is about a revolution, a statement we will imprint on the might and strength of Mother Russia to the world.”

“What you do right now is not about me, it’s not about you. It’s about millions of other fucking people. It’s about stopping someone who in the end has no true allegiance to anyone other than himself.”

The man now took out a pistol and slid it across the table in Bell’s direction. They looked towards him in morbid curiosity. 

“Forgive me Comrade, but I am not as trusting as Perseus is. I need a show of faith that you are on our side for good. That gun there is loaded with a single bullet. I want you to use it and shoot her.” Greta’s eyes widened in fear; Bell carefully kept their face neutral. 

Bell picked up the weapon in question slowly and dislodged the magazine to check. Sure enough, in its chamber there was a single bullet - no more no less. They loaded up the gun and slowly pointed it in the direction of its intended victim. Bell’s eyes flicked over to Volkov: his expression gave nothing away; his mouth was set in a grim, thin line. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, and Adler and his team had yet to arrive. Bell threw Greta their most sympathetic glance - their grip on the handle of the pistol tightened with reluctance. 

“Comrade, hurry up or I’ll shoot this bitch myself!” Volkov’s hand slammed impatiently onto the wooden tabletop, causing Greta to flinch, her shoulders now slumped. Was that in defeat or in acceptance? Maybe both. Then with newfound determination, they looked at Bell straight in the eye before nodding. 

"Verzeih mir. ” Bell whispered before pulling the trigger. A single gunshot rang throughout the facility. Bell could not turn their head to give the corpse a second look. Unlike Richter however, this was mainly out of shame and guilt. A slow clap now reverberated throughout the facility. 

“Well comrade, looks like I made the right choice to spare you after all. Perseus would be pleased. Now let’s -” before he could complete that sentence, the sound of gunshots could be heard from above. Both Bell and Volkov looked upwards, where they were greeted by the sight of smoke bombs being thrown into the building, clouding their vision and causing their eyes to water. More gunshots - this time from inside the facility - could be heard. “Kill them!” Bell heard Volkov yell as they ran blindly around the warehouse, their trusty Makarov in hand.

Once the smoke had somewhat settled and their vision cleared, Bell made it their personal goal to hunt Volkov down. With the information he knew, he could not be allowed to live. They eventually found the man dragging his bleeding body towards the nearby fire exit, the shot to his body looking fatal. 

“So here we are, You and I. What -”

For the third time in the day, Bell pulled the trigger of their pistol without hesitation. Footsteps - those of most likely Adler and company - were now fast approaching.

“I have what we came here for.” Bell immediately said upon looking at Park’s disappointed face. “Perseus smuggled a nuclear device through East Berlin, it’s most likely in Ukraine. The nukes obtained are from an Operation Greenlight.” They now gestured towards the briefcase in Park’s hand. “The papers in there would confirm my words. You’re welcome.” Adler raised an eyebrow at Bell’s unexpected snappishness as they walked briskly past everyone. He exchanged a glance with Park, who was likewise puzzled at this sudden turn of behaviour.

“They definitely had either seen or heard something during their custody under Volkov. We can always ask them later.” Lazar now spoke, breaking the terse silence following Bell’s departure. 

“Or done something.” Adler’s gaze now drifted to the dead woman in the chair not too far off.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions here. For all we know, Volkov might have shot her in order to get Bell to talk.” 

Adler's shaded eyes now moved over Lazar's shoulder towards the bloodied corpse leaning against the door of the fire exit, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight. “Whatever the case, we have the information we need. Now let’s get the hell out of East Berlin.” 

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov , CIA

CIA Safehouse E9, ‘Die Landebahn’

March 2, 1981 

“Bell, a word?” They nodded, and Park slid into the seat opposite them. “The boys all have their knickers in a twist recently. By any chance do you know what is going on?”

“Probably fretting over Operation Greenlight. Rightfully so, given that there are nukes involved and all.” was their response as they continued their comforting habit of stripping down their pistol and using a cloth to clean each part. Heck, they have been doing that for so many times they could probably do it with their eyes closed at this point.

“Right. But I don’t think that’s why Adler’s currently pacing around like a caged lion.” The MI6 agent now gestured towards the sight of the man himself who was in a room, talking to someone over the phone in what could only be described as an agitated manner. He had been this way ever since coming back from a brief excursion a few nights ago, taking Woods and Mason with him. 

“Adler’s been in this field for far longer than I have; he deals with terroristic threats and their armed accessories like it’s just another Monday morning. Whatever happened out there clearly got him and arguably by extension, the CIA, pretty disturbed.” Park now bent down and placed a suitcase onto the table - Kraus’s to be exact. “I am no Lazar or Sims, but I like to believe that I am an agent in my own right with my own set of skills to bring to the table.”

Bell looked up in amusement. “You’ve been sleuthing around?”

“Don’t pretend you aren't as curious as I am.” Park’s eyes now shone with mischief, in which Bell couldn’t help but smile in response. She now opened the case and took out several pieces of paper - Bell recognised some of the notes as originally from inside the case, whilst the others contained the information they and Woods extracted in Ukraine. 

“You were right about Operation Greenlight and the nukes, but your location was off. They were not in Ukraine, they are in the bunkers of every single western country known to mankind.” At Bell’s puzzled look, Park elaborated. “Mason and Woods were hesitant to share at first - me being from MI6 and all - so I reminded them that for all our differences in nationality we share a common enemy, and I can’t do my best unless I am being kept up to date.” Park folded her hands in front of her - a sign that she was getting serious. “Bell, how did you know about Operation Greenlight before we went to Ukraine?”

“I read about it; the notes are in the briefcase.”

“That’s what I just did, Bell. I can confidently tell you that it was not even mentioned in any of the notes in there.”

Shit.

The door behind them now creaked open, and out came Adler. He now approached the duo.

“Bell, a word?” Why am I having a sense of Déjà vu ?

Park nodded reluctantly and gave up her seat, taking the briefcase and its contents with her. 

“How did you know about Operation Greenlight?” Adler now asked once Park was out of an earshot.

Bell was tempted to roll their eyes there and then. “Must have heard or read about it somewhere.”

Adler scowled at their careless remark. “You definitely did not get it from Washington - even I wasn’t aware of its existence.” The man now leaned forward in an attempt to intimidate them; Bell didn’t budge. “Just how high in Perseus’s ranks were you?”

“High enough to know. I am a cryptographer by trade afterall, I was probably involved in the decryption and hacking of American communications.”

“Probably?” Adler pressed harder. Bell shook their head. “I really don’t remember. My time with Perseus had been a blur.”

Adler looked at Bell with a blank look on his face, studying them. Then he stood abruptly.

“You’re not telling the whole truth, Bell. That’s obvious. I’m not going to press on it now, for this is neither the time nor place. However, answers are going to be needed down the line. The only way for us to stop Perseus is if we are being honest with each other.” 

You had never once been truthful to me, Adler. Our relationship was built upon a house of cards; Mk-Ultra saw to that.

Adler now walked over to the desk just opposite the briefing board, before returning with something in his hand. He passed the object over to Bell.

“Found a spare. Figured you’ll like it.”

Bell took the camera gingerly from his outstretched hand and gave it a good look over, a small genuine smile on their lips.

“Use it sparingly, kid. We still need most of our films for IDing our adversaries, not taking pictures of butterflies, buildings or anything in between.”

“Adler.” Bell called out just as the man turned to walk away. He turned around, an eyebrow raised.

“Thank you.”

Bell watched as the man simply nodded before turning his attention to the pile of paperwork nearby that he probably needed to sort out. Watching the man disappear round the corner, their mind inevitably drifted on what was to eventually. But given Adler’s slightly warmer attitude towards them now…could the pain of betrayal down the road be entirely avoidable this time around? 

Unbeknownst to either, the pair were not alone: something was lurking in the shadows of the safehouse, watching the interaction from a safe distance. As soon as the older man walked away they bit their lip and with an unreadable expression, disappeared just as quickly as they had came. 

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov , CIA

30 miles south from Havana, Cuba

March 13, 1981 

“Hastings - start talking.”

Knowing where this conversation would lead by heart, instead of standing behind Park just like the first time they entered the room, Bell chose to instead take a sweep of the room under the pretense of looking for more information.

“Perseus was here! Shot us! Escaped!” Yeah, no shit. Was the blood on the floor for fun? “He forced us to reverse-engineer the detonation codes! Give him full access to Greenlight -”

“What? Are you telling me Perseus can detonate multiple nukes in Europe?”

All of them in fact. Bell fought to keep a straight face as their grip on their weapon tightened, their mind drifting to what was perhaps to come - specifically, the interrogation they had endured previously under Adler. Park’s further exchanges with a dying Hastings now became gibberish as Bell’s mind raced with the various possibilities that could happen: Would they once again be strapped to a gurney, forced to rehash the artificial trauma that was implanted into their mind? Maybe Adler would try to get his hands onto the ‘little red door’ and strip them down till there was nothing left. But in this version of events, Bell wasn’t a mindwiped subject of MK-Ultra. They were, however, noted to have been a former Perseus associate. Would this change how things would go down the road? Could this change their relationship with Adler?

“Contact! Chopper coming in low!” Mason’s voice, accompanied by the distinct sound of gunfire in the background rang loud and clear through both theirs and Park’s radios. Park now stood up and just like last time, made her way to the door, leaving behind the dead scientist. Just like last time the trio - Bell, Park and Lazar made it to the rooftops where a sky balloon was waiting. 

Bell swallowed nervously. This was the first of two major decisions they would have to make - but which one was the right one? Bullets now flew in their direction and ricocheted off stone walls and wooden crates as they crouched behind a wall of barrels, trying their very best not to scream. They were not worried for their life in the slightest - the entity saw to that - but cursed that they were compelled to make such a hard decision. 

Wait. Maybe the decision doesn’t have to be so hard - there was a third option. Bell bit their lip before sealing it into a firm line. 

“Bell!” Park's voice rang out amongst the chaos. They responded by poking their head out like a meerkat. “We’ll hook up in turns! You harness up first, we’ll cover!”

“No!” Shouted Bell, jumping involuntarily as a stray bullet whizzed past them. “You and Lazar are already at the hook up point! Strap yourselves in and I’ll hold them off!”

“Bell -”

“The more time we spend arguing means less enemies that I can kill! GO!” Bell immediately aimed their weapon in the general direction of where they knew the rocket would be coming from, and aimed their weapon towards the perpetrators head. From their periphery they watched as Bell and Lazar grabbed their respective hooks and started to harness themselves up. Bell pulled the trigger of their own weapon and watched the person on the other end of the balcony jolted their head back violently. But it was a tad too late - the trigger had already been pulled, and they only had seconds to watch helplessly as the rocket made its way in their general direction.

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When Bell opened their eyes, the familiar stinging smell of gunpowder and the ringing in their ears was palpable. Have they been reset? Sitting up, they gave their surroundings a good look. No, they were still on the rooftops. That is a good thing, right? Park! Lazar! Bell’s frantic eyes now darted around the dusty landscape before them, hoping to find a trace of their colleagues. 

What they saw next caused their heart to constrict and their knees to nearly give way. On the ground, still in their harness gear, they saw two motionless individuals. Bell ran up to them and gave each of them a good shake, shouting their names as they did so. But there was no response. It seemed that in their attempt to save both lives, Bell had inevitably sent them to their deaths instead. 

Is this who I am? No matter where I go, I bring death and destruction to all around me? 

“Ground Team, we have contact in t minus 10 -” a voice now crackled over a nearby radio (possibly Parks), causing Bell to flinch slightly. They now stared at both bodies, eyes unseeing. They didn’t even bother to look up as they heard the plane - presumably the one tasked with their extraction - roared overhead. With shaky hands, Bell did what needed to be done before reaching forward to take said radio.

“Adler, give them a good burial for me would you?”

“Bell, what are you -” Bell ignored the words that came after as they watched both Park and Lazar be whisked into the air and the plane getting smaller and smaller till it just became a small speck in the bright, blue sky.

Maybe this is the ending they were referring to - I need to be out of everyone’s way, even Adlers. This is the only way to keep Europe safe.

Bell sat cross-legged on the floor, the act of doing so making them feel like a child all over again - back to the days where they would play marbles, sticks and wooden figures…life was so simple back then through the eyes of a child. When did the world become so complicated? Maybe it was complicated from the beginning, you’re only just starting to realise it.

They didn’t flinch as they heard the door being kicked open from behind them, followed by the sound of multiple pairs of military boots storming and surrounding them. They didn’t move as they felt death’s harbinger in the form of the cold barrel of an AK-47 against the flushed skin of their temple and they certainly didn’t resist as they felt a jolt of pain through their skull, before everything went black.

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“Bell! BELL!”

A sharp sting of what could only be a slap spread through Bell’s right cheek, causing them to open their eyes abruptly. In front of them stood an impatient looking and a very alive Park, whose hands were akimbo. They were back in Hasting’s lab; everything was just as it had been before.

“Now is not the time to be spacing out! We need to go NOW!” So this is how a reset feels like. Nodding absentmindedly, Bell flexed their fingers - all of which were currently grasping their trusty Makarov - and followed Park out of the lab to rendezvous with Lazar outside. 

“Move! Move!”

The same lines were recited over the radio, as was the route made to the rooftop. Bell hopped expertly through the open window and climbed the rickety looking catwalk with a precision that only someone who had done this before could have. Likewise, it was the same white sky balloon and the same pilots that briefed them on how to harness themselves. 

Bell was persistent. They believed that the whole reason why the last loop went to shit was because they didn’t act fast enough to stop the rocket launcher. So this time, from the moment their two feet landed on the rooftop, they marched straight towards the ideal stop and shot the would-be perpetrator in the head. Their action took the pilots by surprise. But they wisely chose not to comment on it. Lazar and Park were too busy holding off the other fighters to even notice. 

“We’ll -”

“Park! You and Lazar go and hook yourselves up! Now!” Bell’s tone left no room for negotiation. 

“...Copy that.” Park and Lazar made their way towards the harness and began to hook themselves up. Back turned, a small smile made its way to Bell’s lips. Mission accomplished; or so they thought. Suddenly, everything around them froze. The sounds of gunfire, shouting - all gone in an instant; almost as if this was a case of deus ex machina. And there was only one other individual they knew was even remotely capable of such a feat.  A slow clap could now be heard from their right hand side. Bell tried to turn their head, but just like everyone else their body was too, frozen. 

“Oh Bell, you’re not going to get off that easily. Where’s the fun in that?” 

“I thought I was free to do as I please.”

“That you are. But if it’s not according to their design, they have every right to intervene. You agreed to this.” The Entity walked so soundlessly, the only indication of their presence was the small gust of wind that accompanied their movement every time they moved around Bell. “They want you to make a decision: Save Park or Lazar. You can’t kill either of them, and you can’t save both.”

“Let me go; I’ll make a decision.”

The entity chuckled. “Oh no no no, you can’t fool me that easily. I’ll make it simple for you. In your last life - I mean the one where you were bleeding to death in Solovetsky, who did you save? Hmm?” Bell closed their eyes. The name was on the tip of their tongue, but they were reluctant to spill. They weren’t close to either of them, but Bell saw them as people first.

“You have a gentle heart. That would be your ruin, but perhaps also your saving grace.” a muffled voice from so long ago now rang at the back of their head. This was new. Who was that? Bell felt like they almost had it, but the name eluded them like sand through their fingertips. Has this Cold War hardened my heart since the last time those words had been spoken? And not for the first time, Bell cursed Adler - a man who embodied both salvation and damnation within him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a soft, sultry whisper was now spoken through their left ear, the entity then proceeding to give the shell of their ear a small kiss. “Or are you waiting for me to make the decision for you?”

A shiver of both lust and disgust(?) now ran up Bell’s spine. “N-No!” The entity chuckled, presumably at Bell’s reaction, before walking away once more. “Alright then. I still need a name, you know.”

Bell clenched their fists so hard until their fingertips probably drew blood. “P-Park.” they answered defeatedly. “I saved Park.”

“And why was that?”

“I -'' words were now caught in their throat; tears threatened to spill. They could feel the entity’s gaze on them. “I thought we had an understanding, Park and I. Turns out I was nothing but a guinea pig in her eyes.” Bell grit their teeth in shame and anger, recalling the feeling of betrayal when they found out that Adler was not the only individual who was complicit in the MK-Ultra programme. “I didn’t hate Lazar, he had been nothing but kind to me since we first met but knowing what I know now…”

The artificially constructed void harboured nothing save silence since the beginning; a contrast to the noise of gunshots, shouting and the whirring of helicopters ahead just moments before. But currently, it was painfully loud - louder than any gunfight Bell had ever been a part of; even louder than the pounding of their heart in their ribcage and the sound of blood rushing in their ears combined. Who knew that silence could be this deafening?

“I’m sorry.” the entity muttered. This was the second time they had apologised. Given the volume it probably was not for Bell’s ears, but they heard it nevertheless. They almost seemed…regretful. 

A single gunshot now echoed in the air, causing Bell to flinch slightly. 

“Chin up Bell. You haven’t come this far to give up now.” a hand now rested gently on their shoulder, sending a chill up their spine. 

“You wouldn’t want to keep Adler waiting now, would you?”

It was at that moment everything was reverted back to normal - from the sounds of men cursing and shouting to even the obnoxious sounds of automatic rifles being fired and choppers flying overhead - It was as if no time had been lost. Bell sunk to their knees, muscles sore and trembling from the unnatural position their body had been suspended in previously. With their body now freed they turned their head to look around for any signs of the Entity, but as predicted, they were no where to be seen nor found. 

“Holy shit!” Bell turned around at the proclamation. They were greeted to the sight of a horrified Lazar and a motionless Park not far from both of their current positions, body suspended on the harness with a single bullet wound to her temple. Saying that they were stunned would be an understatement. Why do the exact opposite of what they had previously done? Had the Entity done so in some way to assuage their own guilt, whatever that may be? Bell had so many questions, but now was neither time nor space. Hearing the pilot radioing them for extraction propelled Bell into action, circumstances forcing them to unceremoniously unhook Park’s body from the skyhook and shoving it to one side so that they can take her place. 

Bell refused to look Lazar in the eye as they were both hulled abruptly into the air, opting to instead watch as the sprawled corpse that was once Park, the remaining soldiers and the building as a whole eventually disappear the more altitude they gained. And for the second time, they closed their eyes - this time to pray for the strength needed to weather the impending emotional storm.

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov , CIA

CIA Safehouse E9, ‘Die Landebahn’

March 13, 1981 

“Jesus, you two look like shit.”

Lazar snorted at Sim’s crass remark, while Bell remained indifferent. The two had just been delivered relatively unscathed back to the safehouse under the watchful eye of Adler, the latter currently having an arm around their Commanding Officer’s shoulder. Bell’s legs had been jelly ever since their encounter with the entity, but in response to Adler’s question they had said that their current state was caused by a non-existent grenade that had exploded close to their location.

Adler half-dragged Bell to a nearby chair and sat them down before walking over to Lazar and Sims. “Just what in the hell happened out there? Where’s Park?”

“Dead. A bullet got to her while she was harnessing herself.” Lazar responded before Bell could.

“One soldier down is one soldier down too many. We need to be more vigilant.” Adler now spoke between gritted teeth. 

“We don’t even have a body to repatriate.” Bell’s soft, shaky tone now echoed throughout the safehouse. 

“Didn’t know Perseus was the sentimental type.” Adler scoffed in response. 

“He wasn’t, but I am.” Bell now shifted so they were now facing the group, their eyes specifically on Adler. “My memories of my brief work with Perseus are a haze, but I remember helping to bury our dead; honouring them. I used to do this alone, until he came along and helped me.”

“He?” Adler raised an eyebrow, now folding his arms. 

“Yeah, some guy. He worked with Perseus a lot, and was definitely a part of his inner circle.”

“Do you remember any of the conversations you had with him?” Adler’s tone was now clipped - similar to the one he used back when they were strapped to the gurney. Bell swallowed hard. “To be honest, I don't remember him or I ever discussing about work. Most of our conversations were about my hobbies, his interests…stuff like that.” Now it was Sim’s turn to raise his eyebrows - both of them.

“Perseus allowed small talk?”

“It would seem so, at least for some of us.” A small, unconscious smile came up onto Bell's face. Why did the memory make them so happy? Of what significance was this mysterious man to them? From the corner of their eye, they watched as Adler’s fists closed up by his sides, his eyes never once leaving them. 

“Try and recall. With Park gone, we are going to need all the help we can get.” Adler said, tone clipped as he made a bee-line to the backroom, presumably to call Washington with that mobile phone of his. Bell exhaled a breath they did not know they were holding in, the adrenaline from the day's activities slowly beginning to drain away, leading to tiredness and fatigue.

A figure walked towards Bell slowly. It was Lazar. He eventually settled next to them and gave them a good look over.

“Hey. Thanks for…back there. For saving my ass.”

“I did no such thing. You said it yourself, it was a stray bullet that killed her."

“I meant the time when you told Park and myself to strap in first before yourself. You really didn’t need to do that, and yet you went ahead and did it anyway.” Lazar leaned back towards the table behind. “I had expected a former associate of Perseus’s to be ruthless, and treat their colleagues and missions like a zero sum game. But what you did back there was very much the opposite. Why is that?” 

Because I am in a time-loop which makes me practically immortal if I don’t make the right choices. Bell simply threw him a semi-indulgent smile. “Why are we the way we are? I’ve always been like this - regardless of who I am employed under. Believe it or not, my nature has never changed.” 

Lazar nodded at their response, opting to now look down onto the ground deep in thought. “Maybe you are one of us after all. No matter what happens, I never forget the people I owe.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Bell joked lightly before allowing an amiable silence to fall between them once more. 

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Dressed in a fresh set of clothes after a shower and a mug of tea in their hand, Bell was left to their own devices as they heard the murmurs of Adler, Hudson and Lazar from the back rooms float into the empty space of the safehouses’s meeting room whispering god knows what to each other. As such, they used the opportunity to contemplate on the day's events, and what should be done in the near future. In the previous timeline, this was when Adler had used the remnants of the MK Ultra programming to interrogate and torture them for the location of Perseus. They had no doubt that it would only be a matter of time before this question would be posed to them, and by then they would have to make a choice: Solovetsky or Duga?

Speaking of which: the sounds of footsteps approaching caused them to stiffen slightly. They now raised the mug to their lips, eyes scanning the three figures who had just walked in - Adler, whose facial expression was (still) unreadable thanks to those aviators of his; Hudson, who looked like as if he had just swallowed a lemon whole and Lazar, who was the most relaxed of the three but still looked rather tense in his own right. 

“Think on my words Adler. Time is running out.” With those foreboding words, Hudson stepped out of the safehouse, presumably for some fresh air. 

“Hey there Bell. Hope you are feeling better.” Came the soft voice of Lazar who sat next to Bell with his own mug, filled with coffee instead of tea. 

“I am, thank you.” Bell replied politely. The truth is, they have been running low on sleep - as they are sure everyone involved was - and wanted nothing more than to hit the sack and sleep like a log. They now gestured to Adler, who was pacing up and down not far away from them. “What’s up with him?”

“Hudson gave us some news from Washington, and he’s not happy about it.”

“Anything I’m allowed to know about? Can I help?” More than ever, Bell needed an ally on their  side; to possibly shield them from the storm that was Russel Adler. 

Lazar looked simultaneously surprised and conflicted at their words. Instead of replying, they got up and approached Adler, speaking to the man in low tones. Adler eventually nodded his head. He looked in Bell’s direction now and gestured for them to come join him and Lazar upfront, in front of the discussion board. “Washington is concerned about the whole Perseus nuclear bomb thing. The problem we face now is that we don’t know where the man is. He undoubtedly has the skeleton key to all those nukes.” Adler now explained. Judging from the length of the conversation the trio had however, Bell knew that there was more to this than meets the eye. But they decided to hold in their questions for now. “You are the closest connection we have to Perseus himself. We need you to try and remember anything - ANYTHING at all in this regard.”

Bell nodded. “But that’s not all that’s bothering you, is it.” they now asked as a matter of fact. Adler’s face remained impassive as always but his hands were now twitching slightly, a sign that Bell had learnt occurred whenever the man had been caught off guard. 

“If he won’t tell you, I will.” the loud, obnoxious voice belonging to the one and only Hudson rang from across the room, specifically where the main entrance of the safehouse was. Dressed in his usual black leather jacket, the man swooped in almost like the grim reaper himself; pushing past Adler so he stood directly in front of Bell in an attempt to be intimidating. “The matter regarding Perseus is urgent; anything that is an immediate threat to the free world is. So much so that Washington has given us a blank cheque to use any and all unconventional methods necessary, as long as we can get the information we want.” 

Unfortunately for Hudson, Bell - who had for almost their entire adult life dealt with men of such combative nature in all shapes and sizes - remained unfazed. “And what does that have to do with me? You Americans, thinking that as long as you can win in a shouting match you can get whatever you want.” Bell now smiled coldly at the man in front of them. “I might be a good head shorter than all of you here and physically unassuming, but I had been admitted into Perseus’s inner circle via my own merit. I didn’t just spread my legs to get to where I was.”

“No one is saying you did.” Lazar said as he laid a hand on their shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. They nodded and threw the man a grateful smile before turning around to face Hudson once more. “All individuals within the inner circle were required to pass a ‘torture test’ in which we all had to learn how to handle basic interrogation techniques. This was to prevent any information leakage to anyone outside the organisation regardless of circumstances. So try as you might I doubt if you would get any information out of me, even with that MK Ultra of yours.” Bell tried to sound confident here, but the truth was that they were lying through their teeth. They were terrified of the MK Ultra, and would do anything to ensure that never again will they be strapped to a gurney, injected with chemicals of all kinds and forced to relive the never ending nightmares of red doors and snapshots of the Vietnam War. 

Before Hudson could open his mouth and ask any questions in that regard, Bell now walked  towards the discussion board, where with slightly shaky hands they brought the heavily ‘vandalised’ map of the eastern bloc forwards. “To answer your question Hudson, there are 2 possible areas to which Perseus could have chosen to encamp himself - Solovetsky Islands or Khabarovsk Krai, USSR Ukraine.” As Bell spoke, they took two available thumbtacks from the side of the board and stuck it in the locations they mentioned. They chose to deliberately not look at the man directly with his ever reddening face, nor acknowledge the uncomfortable look that flashed briefly on Adler’s face at the mention of MK Ultra. 

“And how do you know this?”

“Perks of being a former inner circle member.” Bell shrugged off the question easily. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers. 

“Why not ask Washington to do a bit more digging into these two places, and then we go from there?” Lazar now spoke, clearly attempting to diffuse the walking time bomb that was Hudson. 

“I will make certain that Washington is informed, but we need to act now.” Hudson’s unwavering gaze was now back onto Bell. “So which is it - Solovetsky or Duga?”

Bell chewed their bottom lip. The last time they had been honest, it ended up with them being shot by Adler for insurance purposes. Would this ending change, given the current circumstances?

Only one way to find out.

“Solovetsky.” Bell answered definitively. “It's a remote place within Russian territory and yet close enough to Finland in the event he needs to run.” 

Adler nodded. “Sims, get Washington on the line. Everyone else gear up, we’re leaving now.” he said, voice slightly raised. 

“What did I miss?” Upon hearing his name being called, Sims’s head poked out from the photography room in what could almost be regarded as comical timing. Even Adler was not immune to the semi-hilarity of the situation, judging from the small smirk on his face as he approached the man repeating what had just transpired in an attempt to bring him up to speed. 

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Everything went exactly just like last time - from the armoured trucks used down to even the sequence of the mission itself. And just like before, Bell went through the motions of planting the C4s on the anti-aircraft guns which eventually resulted in them being buried once more as soon as the missile had hit. Finally, to add insult to injury, they were eventually brought to the same Solovetsky cliffside by none other than Adler himself and forced to endure the 'goddamned hero' speech in its entirety once more. Given the number of times they have heard it, Bell could now probably recite said speech not only by heart, but also word for word. This time however, they did not want Adler to have the satisfaction of ‘doing what needed to be done’. So before the monster could turn around and do the deed, Bell turned their gun on themself. 

The last thing they saw before they pulled the trigger was the flickering of a familiar shadow from their peripheral vision, on the ready to whisk them away and reset the clock once more.

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov , CIA

CIA Safehouse E9, ‘Die Landebahn’

March 13, 1981 

To no one’s surprise, Bell awoke once more half expecting themselves to be standing in a room full of scientific equipment with a still alive Park hovering over the body of the dying scientist Hastings. Instead however, they found themselves lying in the small room designated as the medical area - the only room in the safehouse where all manner of medical equipment from IV drips to blood bags were stacked haphazardly from floor to ceiling. 

The cot beneath them creaked as they sat up, their bare feet now touching the cool concrete floor beneath them. They were still dressed in the clothes they had worn during the Cuba mission but their boots had been untied and placed neatly at the foot of the bed. After securing their footwear, Bell tried the knob of the closed door and was surprised to realise that it had remained unlocked. 

As silently as they could, they made their way towards the safehouse’s meeting point where they found Adler, Lazar, Sims and Hudson all hovering over the discussion board. Each seemed to be lost in their own thoughts.

“Bell. You’re awake.” Adler stated at the approaching figure, causing the other three to look in their direction. On their arrival Lazar enquired about their health and Sims gave them a warm smile. Adler remained stoic as usual and Hudson gave them a good look over with an unreadable look on his face. 

“What did I miss?” Bell tried to sound as enthusiastic as they could, even though they knew the answer already.

Adler briefed Bell on what they had already heard from Hudson - How Washington has their knickers in a twist over Perseus, the importance of Bell’s previous association in determining the current whereabouts of their former boss etc. This was only the second time they had heard it and it was already starting to become so tiresome. 

As they tuned out the rest of Adler’s words, Bell started to form what their next move would have to be. It seems that any time they went near Solovetsky, death was almost certain for them. Maybe it was truly fate for the two of them to be enemies; separated by both a physical and metaphorical iron curtain based on malleable ideology and its accompanying purported values. 

“Perseus would most likely be at the Duga 2 radio array. It’s a discrete enough location for someone like him to set off the bombs.”

As predicted, Adler fell for the lie hook, line and sinker. An instant pang of guilt ran through Bell as their vision landed on Lazar, who was currently busy checking on their cache of weapons as Adler went to make that call to Washington. Lazar had been nothing but kind to them - as kind as an American operative could be. Did he really have to die? 

No time to think of that now. Bell hastily made way to their temporary quarters, where a radio adjusted to pick up on Perseus’s frequency was hidden below their bed - they had brought it with them as a contingency, just in case something like this were to happen. Making sure that the door was closed behind them, Bell picked up the radio and switched it on. In a whisper, they stated their real name along with their unique identification number before relaying the message that they were bringing Adler and his team to Duga for an ambush.

The silence that followed their betrayal - if one could call it that - was loud. Minutes passed, and by then Bell wondered if the radio they had brought was a faulty one. But just as they were about to disassemble the device apart for flaws, the speaker crackled to life.

“Affirmative.” 

With haste, Bell switched off the radio and shoved it back to its original place. There was no going back now - they had made their bed and would have to lie in it. 

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Bell’s heart was pounding in their chest as they saw the rows of transformer-esque radars and their accompanying metallic wires come into view. The entire place was like a ghost town, with not a single person in sight for miles on end. The perfect place for an ambush. Before they had departed, Perseus had indicated that their men were on standby and that all Bell had to do was give ‘the signal’. Sweat began to gather in both of Bell’s palms; their fingers twitching. Just one tiny hand gesture from them would reveal their betrayal, turning the tide of this seemingly never ending war.

One tiny hand gesture that may or may not break this loop.

“Adler, no signs of movement or activity. Place is dead.”

“Alright, everyone converge on the gate.”

As soon as the armoured car they were travelling in came to a stop, Bell wasted no time grabbing their machine gun and hopping off the vehicle, inhaling the fresh country air and watching as the soldiers Adler had brought with him fan out and did a preliminary sweep of the area.

“There’s nothing here. This can’t be the right place.”

“We didn’t see anything on our side either.”

Bell’s free hand curled into fists at their side as they witnessed their former comrade in arms slowly put the puzzle pieces together. 

“It’s them! They fucking lied to us!” Woods pointed a particularly angry finger in their direction.

“That true Bell? You pull us out to the middle of nowhere in Russia so Perseus can detonate those nukes?” Bell had never seen Adler this pissed before.

It’s either him or me.

“Goodbye, Adler. If this fails, I’ll see you back in the safehouse.” And with those parting words, Bell raised their fists in the air, signalling for the ambush to begin.

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“Over here, Comrade!” 

Amidst the flurry of bullets and shouts, the mysterious masked soldier who had helped Bell to their feet not long before was now gesturing for them to follow him into what seemed to be one of a few abandoned radar stations not too far off. As they did so, they could not help but lay their eyes on Woods’s lifeless body not far from the entrance of the building - a lifeless body that was a result of their own hand. 

Both Bell and the masked figure both stepped through the semi-dilapidated building with caution, the latter choosing to cock his gun and checking it for rounds as he did so. 

“Your friend went through here. He is not far.” Bell nodded half-heartedly, the adrenaline from participating in the firefight outside draining away and now giving way to dread - dread on having to witness a man they had once viewed as indomitable choke on his own blood, crumbling away on foreign soil. Something about that image felt…wrong. 

America’s Monster may be a cold blooded killer, but he is still human. He can bleed.

Bell half-heartedly listened as the masked man taunted Adler’s state, trying to rile him up to show his face once more. It reminded them of a hunter who played with his food before going for the jugular. Bell never saw the appeal of such an activity;  they believed in just getting the deed over and done with. They may have killed others for the sake of protecting the values they held dear, but every soldier on the field was someone's brother, son or  father - a quick death was the least they deserved for their bravery.

The duo now followed the trail of haphazard red lines on the floor which led to a room towards the back. It was almost as if Adler was telling on himself, using his blood to lead them to his location like moths drawn to a flame. Only this time the flame had died down to smouldering embers; a shadow of the roaring beast it used to be. 

“The cat becomes the mouse.” the masked man muttered those words as both of them approached the door in which the bloody trail seemingly ended. Bell placed their gloved hand against the coolness of the metal door, their mind running with a thousand thoughts. How would Adler look like now? Would he be leaning against the wall, back slouched with a weapon in hand in anticipation of their arrival? Or would he be standing on his two feet, knees shaking due to the massive amount of blood-loss? What if the blood on the floor is fake, and in reality he was as healthy as a horse; the visual cues planted as a way to mentally disarm America’s enemies?

Who knew when it came to Adler? Certainly not Bell. That man’s ability to survive every adversity thrown to his face was as impressive as his inner drive and tenacity to unmask Perseus and bring him to justice. Regardless, Bell had learnt to always fear an older individual in a profession where people traditionally die young. With a deep breath and an assuring nod from their companion, Bell pushed open the door. There was Adler, soaked in blood seated back against a row of defunct control panels, the communist flag hanging from the wall behind him just above his head. 

How depressingly anticlimactic.

“Glad to see you still care. Mind giving me a light?”

Bell shook their head. “Never could kick that habit of yours, could you Adler?” They now raised their pistol hand towards Adler’s chest. At first they were hesitant, but just the memory of what Adler did to them via MK-Ultra before was enough to make their blood boil, which translated into the strength they needed to pull the trigger. There was also the secondary fear that showing Adler any mercy - getting close to his person in any way - would be exploited, and used as a way for him to either kill them or take control of the situation and drag their battered body back to Washington and experimented on once more.

Once the deed was done, the masked man - who had been hovering at the door this entire time - now walked into the room and removed his mask. The bare and significantly older-looking face of Perseus now looked directly at Bell with a surprisingly gentle look. “You remember my face, don’t you?” Not waiting for a response, he then unhooked a walkie talkie from his side and spoke into it, instructing his men to be on standby for the detonation order. 

Perseus now held out the walkie talkie. “I think you deserve this moment, comrade.” with hesitant fingers, Bell reached out.

It was either him or me.

“Let the new soviet era begin. Detonate the nukes.”

A full blown smile was now on Perseus’s face. “You did well. Comrade Kuzmin will be the most eager to see your face again.”

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Bell had survived. Even better yet, they had finally be-rid themselves from the grasp of the Monster that was Russell Adler. Since then, they had not seen a trace of a certain sentient shadow around them or in their new apartment in Moscow - courtesy of Perseus. Does that mean that they have followed the path that they were supposed to? Have they fulfilled their end of the bargain? Whatever happened at Duga those many months ago certainly felt like the closing of a tumultuous chapter of their life. So why did they have a sinking feeling that this was not the end?

Turns out Lazar had survived the Duga shootout - the only survivor in fact. With much bitterness laced in his heart he had spent months tracking Bell’s location, receiving the occasional help from the FSB. With the stunt Bell had pulled off with the nukes, they had every reason to want to be rid of Perseus and his known associates as much as the West. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Which is how Bell found themselves in their current predicament - they were in their apartment, sitting on their bed with Lazar pointing a pistol at them. It was 1982, just shy of a year since the Duga shootout. 

“I trusted you. We trusted you.” Those were the first words that came out of Lazar’s mouth. 

“Unbelievable. You flew on a plane and scaled 5 floors just to see me? How touching.” Bell always had the habit of deploying sarcasm as a way to hide their nervousness, especially in a situation in which they felt they lacked control.  It was something that Adler had picked up on early into his role as their handler, as such they always had the feeling that their sentiments were somewhat of an open book to the man. It was such soft skills that made Adler truly the formidable individual he was in Bell’s eyes

But lucky them, for Lazar was no Adler. If they could take him down, handling this man in their apartment would be a piece of cake.

“I’m here for some answers.” Lazar said through gritted teeth.

Bell spread open their palms in a gesture of appeasement. “Alright. Go ahead and ask.”

“We had been nothing but fair to you. Has it always been in your agenda to turn traitor?”

There it was again, that word: Traitor. It was a vile word; twice had Bell ever heard it, and every single time they wished they could just wipe its existence from the dictionary. The first was from Volkov in East Berlin. The second (and hopefully final time) was from Lazar. And for some reason, the second round stung even more. 

“If only you knew half the things America’s Monster did to me, Lazar. He earned that moniker for a reason, you now.” Bell’s voice was quiet. They now began to rub their hands together, almost like a nervous child explaining themselves in front of a parent. “I’m genuinely glad you survived Duga. I’m sorry you went through what you did but it needed to be done.”

Lazar barked out a cold laugh. “What needed to be done? The detonation of all of Europe’s nukes? Destroying the lives of innocent civilians? All this because you perceived Adler to have treated you badly.”

“I became a guinea pig of the MK-Ultra programme thanks to him!” Bell could no longer contain their anger. “That bastard pumped me full of drugs, exposing me to all sorts of imagery and wiping almost every part of my identity in the process. Do you know how many countless nights I had spent being unable to sleep, throwing up?” Bell’s anger now gave way to sorrow. “Do you know how it feels to be having a perpetual identity crisis on a daily basis, not knowing who to trust? How it feels like when the one person whom you thought you could trust with your life turns out to be the same individual who took away your identity, your life in the first place?” 

Their posture was now slumped, all while Lazar watched their every move. “Tell me: if you were in my position, would you not also have become disillusioned with Adler as well? This war has never been about righteousness, it never has been. East and West: they are nothing but simply points on a compass; all equally territorially vicious and ideologically hawkish. But between two evils, wouldn’t you have picked the lesser one just as I had?” Bell now looked up with seemingly renewed determination. “Well, would you?”

Through his eyes Bell could see Lazar’s internal battle with himself, coming probably from him slowly digesting their words and coming to terms with Adler’s actions. Bell had done their best to remove his rose tinted glasses, and hopefully this would provide the platform needed to allow him to reevaluate his own values. 

“Bell, I -” the sound of the door being broken into could now be heard, as well as the trampling of boots along the carpeted floor of their apartment. 

“FSB! Raise your hands where we can see them!” 

Bell heard Lazar swore as he exited the bedroom and made his way towards the living room. 

“I told you to wait -” the sound of grunts and brief tussling could be heard. 

“You are on Russian soil, Amerikanskiy . We will deal with them our way.” As the confrontation was happening outside, Bell took the opportunity to move towards their nightstand and took a handgun from one of its drawers. They clicked off the safety as they heard the sound of boots drawing nearer to their position.

With two hands, Bell pointed their weapon towards the armed intruders as the latter stormed into their once sanctuary, bearing arms of their own. Time seemingly slowed down as Bell’s index finger curled over the trigger and pulled it at the same time as their would-be killers. Bell’s bullet raced towards its would-be target at breakneck speed, grazing the shoulders of some of the armoured men that stood before them. The FSB’s bullet however, managed to hit the jackpot - right at the centre of their chest. 

A flash of pain was all Bell felt as they collapsed onto the ground where they once stood, a dark pool of warm blood now spreading below them. The last thing they remembered was the sound of Lazar’s cry of horror before everything around them faded to black. 

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov 

CIA Safehouse E9, ‘Die Landebahn’

March 13, 1981 

Bell was at their wits end. 

They were currently standing in the safehouse’s darkroom, leaning over a sink and taking in deep breaths. It became a recent habit of theirs to scurry off to places where there were traces of neither Adler or Lazar. They have been doing so ever since being ‘revived’ once again back to the safehouse at the exact same spot: hours after the Cuba mission. 

Will this ever end?

Their actions have been met with the concerned gaze and irritated frowns of Lazar and Adler respectively. But this was only natural, for in this loop Lazar had not yet tasted the bitter fruit that was betrayal and Adler the bullet fired from Bell’s own hand in an ambush. Both men currently interpreted Bell’s current state of mind as a response to Park’s death in Cuba. Sims opted to give them a wide berth, clearly unable to respond to their current emotional state.

“Bell?” a baritone voice now echoed around the darkened room, followed by footsteps. “Are you here?”

“Yeah.” They managed to croak out, their hands around the rims of the sink tightening as the figure got closer. A hand now lay on their right shoulder, forcing them to turn around.

“Adler?” Bell’s voice rang out in surprise. 

“Bell, what happened to you in Cuba? Lazar gave me a rough summary while you were unconscious, and it seemed like save the last part on the rooftop everything went alright. Did you see something or someone that Lazar might have missed out?” At the question, Bell avoided Adler’s gaze.

“Bell?”

“You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you.”

“I’ve seen and dealt with a lot of secrets that the average joe would think me crazy for. Try me.”

And so, with the confidence that Adler would not have any recollection of this eventually, Bell told him of the deal they made on the cliff tops of Solovetsky, the Entity and how the events, faces and names of each individual eventually became all a blur by the time they got to the 30th loop. True to his word, Adler simply sat there with his usual blank face as he listened to everything Bell had to say, from the different variations that happened as a result of their choices to the decisions his ‘past self’ made as a result of the changed circumstances. 

Though his face remained passive, his mind was a different story. Bell could see the gears in his head turning as fast as they would allow him, and they prayed that through their narration he would have managed to discern a pattern: in every one of the times Bell had either killed him off or he had died in combat through other means, Bell managed to live on borrowed time until they were eventually killed - be it through a hitman, a secret service agent or a car accident. In instances where he had made the decision to kill Bell, they instantly get reset back into the loop and have to relive the deaths of their teammates again.

Bell has gone through the wringer enough times to know that neither the act of either Adler or Bell being killed was the right answer to this predicament. It was almost as if the ‘powers that be’ (as Bell calls them) wanted a scenario in which both him and Bell survived. Could that be the solution they were after this whole time? 

“Adler!” The sound of none other than Hudson could now be heard from outside. “Where are you? We have much to discuss!”

Adler gave his companion one last look before turning and making his way out, only to be stopped by Bell’s hand on his arm.

“Adler please. I know this is all hard to take in, but I need an ally in this endeavour. I’ve come to realise that I can’t break out of this loop alone." Adler was about to walk off again, but Bell held him firmly in place.

"Here’s my proof that what I'm telling you is not a bunch of horseshit: As soon as we take out Perseus’s nukes in Solovetsky, Washington will order you to kill me because I am a liability.”

America’s Monster allowed those words to rattle in his head as he finally stepped out of the dimmed room, leaving Bell behind to their own devices.

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Solovetsky came and went. It wasn’t long before Bell found themselves once again away from the CIA base, alone with Adler. Only this time they weren't near any body of ocean or a cliffside.

“You’re right.” 

Bell looked towards Adler with a look of indifference as he now passed them a sheet of paper. Judging from the way it was stamped and formatted, it was a telegram - from Washington.

for ADLER, Russell:

By order of the CIA you are to eliminate PETROV, Sasha aka ‘BELL’. Top brass deems them to be a liability.

Bell handed the paper back to their handler. “Well? Would you do it?” 

“I won’t lie to you, kid. If you hadn't told me about this prior to the mission, I would have. It’s nothing personal; orders are orders.”

Heroes have to make sacrifices. That’s why when I ask you for one more, I hope you understand…It was never personal.

Bell chewed their bottom lip, eyes lowered to the ground.  “...So what now?”

“I’m still sceptical of all this time travelling loop theory you told me. That being said, you did manage to predict Washington giving me the kill order in advance. You clearly don’t have a direct line of communication with them, nor any listening devices at your disposal - I made sure of that. So how else would you have known unless it was something you had experienced previously?” Adler now shook his head. “To see if your words ring true, I will need to test it.”

“Test it?” they asked, looking at the older man. “How?” Instead of answering them however, Adler gestured for Bell to follow them further out.

The trail the duo now followed was all too familiar to Bell, and they made no effort to hide this on their face by the time they had arrived at their intended destination. 

“Was this the clifftop you mentioned where you made that deal?”

Bell nodded wordlessly. Adler now took a good look around.

“The view from up here is amazing. At least whoever brought you here had taste.”

What a way to compliment oneself. Bell rolled their eyes.

“If I were to kill you once more, how many loops would you have made?”

“31st, Adler. This would be my 31st.” Bell now approached them in a pleading-like manner. “Please, Russell. I’m tired of having to choose between Solovestky or Duga, tired of having to shoot Sims, Lazar, Mason, Woods and you everytime I betray the CIA; tired of always having to watch my back everytime I manage to escape Duga unharmed.” They took another step towards him. “I want this all to end. I would have asked you to shoot me if I knew it would end my misery, but I know it would not. All I want is my life back - or what is left of it.”

Bell watched as a small crack started to appear on Russell Adler’s infamously impenetrable cold exterior. Perhaps, deep down, he understood to a certain extent how it was like to be alone, living in a nightmarish scenario one seemingly could not escape. But unlike Adler, Bell was currently living through one. Bell watched as Adler turned his back on them quickly to face the rising sun, perhaps as a defence mechanism; to prevent Bell from seeing more of those cracks and in turn his vulnerability. 

America’s Monster may be a cold blooded killer, but he is still human. He has emotions and feels just like any of us.

“In almost every scenario you told me, it ends up with either you or me dying. Have you considered a scenario in which we both live?” Adler now spoke after a while of silence. 

Bell chuckled mirthlessly. “Of course. But how was I to tell you when you would forget it all eventually on the next loop and view me as a probable threat once more?”

“So why tell me now?”

“Because I am done. If you shoot me now, at best I would just have to try again. At worst I would stay dead.”

That answer from Bell seemed to have triggered Adler, for the next thing he did - much to the latter's surprise - was to grab Bell firmly by the shoulders. Though covered by the aviators, Bell could feel Adler’s eyes roaming over them. But whether this was out of concern or some other feeling they could not tell. 

“You know how to trigger the loop. Do you know how you are placed back in it? The process?”

Bell was surprised by his sudden change in attitude, but outwardly shrugged with indifference. “I do not know, but I can hazard a guess - the entity I made the deal with? I’ve noticed it hovering around every time it is almost time for me to go. I suspect they have something to do with it.”

“So your death, or perceived death would trigger its appearance?”

“It would seem so, yes.”

“Then maybe this might just work.” Adler now led Bell to the edge of the path. “If you and I were together as we die, it would not only trigger the entity’s appearance, but also compel it to save the both of us instead of just you given that it is obligated to revive you everytime you die thus far. That way I can ‘hitchhike’ into the next loop with you.”

“And how do you propose this would be done?”

Adler now produced a piece of rope and looped it around his waist first before doing the same with Bell. “Often not the simplest methods are the best.” He now gestured towards the open body of water below them. “We jump.”

Bell craned their neck and took in the saltiness of the air around them, the body of water closest to them pounding vehemently and relentlessly against the wall of rocks just below. It was to be a steep jump.

“Why are you doing this, Adler? Risking potential permanent death?” Said man had now placed his foot onto a nearby rock, looking towards the tumultuous waves below. The rays of sunlight - the mark of the beginning of a new day - reflected from his aviators into Bell’s eyes, partially blocking the latter from seeing more of the man’s facial expression. 

“If I make it into the next loop with you, perhaps I’ll answer that question.”

And with those words America’s Monster jumped over the edge, body plunging downwards into the unknown. The entirety of Adler’s plan was done on impulse and a prayer - two words that Bell would have never thought to have associated with the man they were currently tied to. But here they were, likewise plummeting thanks to the rope that bound them both together. 

At least the sunrise is beautiful were the last words that went through Bell’s head as they felt the icy cold waters of the sea surround them. 

Chapter Text

Russell T. Adler, CIA

CIA Safehouse E9, ‘Die Landebahn’

March 13, 1981 

The first thing Adler remembered was the feeling of nausea.  He had woken up with a massive pounding in his head and double vision as soon as he opened his eyes. He had found himself in a position where his head was nestled between his folded arms on top of the wooden table in their German safehouse, facing the entrance where the sounds of a chopper landing close to their doorstep was loud enough to wake the dead. 

“Adler, they’re back!” Sims yelled at him over the noise of the chopper blades as he ran ahead, pushing a gurney in which a medical kit lay upon. Adler watched - still slightly disoriented - as the chopper doors slid open and out came the familiar figures of Lazar and Bell. The latter was also not looking too good themselves, and was partially slumped against their companion as the latter reached under their legs and now opted to carry them bridal style, placing them onto the gurney as their legs started to give way. 

“Jesus, you two look like shit.” Adler heard Sims mutter to himself as he took in Lazar’s dishevelled appearance. “What the fuck happened?” Adler now asked weakly as he watched Sims wheel the former soviet spy further into the safehouse and in the direction of the makeshift sick bay. 

“As soon as we were up in the air, Bell started feeling sick and threw up. I pity anyone who was unlucky enough to be below us.” Lazar snorted amusedly. 

“And Park?”

At that question, the Israeli sobered up. “Didn’t make it. Took a stray bullet to the head. We had to leave her body behind, you understand.”

It was exactly as Bell had told him - everything that was unfolding before his eyes was truly the same scenario and outcome as what happened post Havana; at least in the scenario he was familiar with. 

“How is Bell?”

“I really hope they are fine. I suspect dehydration as the culprit to their vomiting spell, and I’ve reflected this to Sims.” Lazar now placed a hand onto his shoulder. “Take it easy with Bell this once, ya? They have gone through quite a lot in that mansion. Don’t start immediately interrogating them as soon as they open their eyes.”

Adler acknowledged those words with a soft grunt. His colleague, seemingly satisfied, muttered something about ‘needing a good cup of coffee and a shower’ before heading in the direction of the dry kitchen. That left America’s Monster to his own devices.

Still feeling a tad weak on the knees, Adler made his way back to the chair he had previously been seated on and taking advantage of this rare occasion of idleness, took the time to now reflect on the days(?) events. Time travel was a concept that only existed in science fiction novels, and if not for the fact Adler had just experienced it he would have remained a sceptic. Scenes of interactions he was very sure he never had with Bell started flashing in his mind's eye, ranging from harmless conversations to full-blown interrogations. For all their differences, all these scenes shared one commonality - his sentiments regarding Bell. In their many interactions Adler could not help but feel a sense of pity and admiration for the Cryptographist; not because he views them as incapable but precisely because he knows of their capabilities. Having been indoctrinated with a certain way of thinking for almost the entirety of their adult life and  making the eventual decision to uproot themselves was certainly not an easy feat to have accomplished, let alone needing to work alongside individuals whom one had been told relentlessly were the pinnacle threat to their original way of life.

In Adler’s many iterations, every version of himself had refused to acknowledge his growing feelings towards the Cryptographist. And in those many variations of their time together Bell always ended up dead in one form or another. 

I might be America’s Monster, but I am still human.  

I am still human 

Was death truly an appropriate punishment for someone who, despite their flaws, did what they felt was best for their country and themselves? If these visions he was suddenly endowed with held any merit, It was clear that Bell still had much difficulty escaping from the clutches of the grim reaper by themselves. Could there possibly ever be a version of Bell who gets to live their life out in peace should this Cold War end, without the threat of imminent death looming over their heads? 

“No man is an island Russell, you of all people should know that. You are alone only in that thick head of yours.”

Adler turned around sharply in the direction of the strangely familiar sounding voice, a sense of alarm now rising within him. Never had he heard any one of his colleagues address him by first name so it couldn’t be anyone in the safehouse currently. With a frown on his face, America’s Monster got up from his seat and made his way towards the familiar darkness that was the photography development room, also known fondly as the ‘red room’ - the very same place he had confronted Bell in previously. He was greeted by the familiar ominous red hue, coupled with the sight of various developed photographs being hung from the ceiling to dry via wooden pegs.

“Russell!” The voice sounded more urgent now, hence deeper and deeper did Adler go until he found himself before a familiar looking red door. 

I don’t remember this being here before.

“Russell!” the door handle now started to shake violently. “Unlock this damned door right now!”

“Bell?” No response. With much uncertainty, Adler reached out his right hand and placed it over the metal knob of the door, its coolness bringing a chill down his spine. 

“RUSSELL!” As soon as he opened that door, he felt a bright light overwhelming his senses. Regaining control of his vision not long after, he found himself tied to an eerily familiar looking chair greeted to the sight of Park and a familiar looking face looking over at him.

“A tough one to crack, aren't they?” Park asked, addressing her colleague.

“I expected no less.”

“What are we to do with them then?”

“Upstairs has given us a blank cheque to use MK-Ultra.” Alder blanched at the words coming out from his doppelganger's lips. “So that’s what we are going to do.”

For the next few hours, Adler could think of nothing save the excruciating physical and mental pain he was subjected to under MK-Ultra. Having been a former Green Beret, Adler was all too familiar with how torture worked and was suppose to feel like. This however, was different. Every time MK-Ultra was used it felt like it was scrambling his insides, only for it to settle as the machine was dialled down a notch before the torment started all over again. 

Adler felt angry. He recognised the techniques his torturers were currently using - they were the same curated techniques he had inflicted previously onto Bell. The entire episode felt like a mockery of his work as a clandestine operative; couldn’t they see that everything he did was for the good of the United States of America? Why turn on someone who has dedicated his adult life to being a willing guard dog for his home country? 

You’re not using that brain of yours, Adler. I think you know the answer deep down, but you refuse to admit it. There it was again, that voice - the siren that lured him to this trap. Who was it, and just what did they want? Adler swore that as soon as he was free that he would hunt this person down. This was a personal vendetta. 

The torture went on for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the two agents stopped in favour of retiring for the night, leaving Adler alone tied to the gurney exhausted with nothing save muscle spasms and the taste of iron in his mouth.

The door to the confinement cell opened once more.

“How did it feel, Russell?” Adler attempted to lift his head to address the individual standing before him, but failed thanks to his muscles trembling with exhaustion. “No words? This is but a fraction of the pain you had inflicted onto Bell.” The individual now walked behind him. “I can make this pain stop, but you must do something simple for me in return.”

“What?” Adler spat out. 

“Help them.” The individual behind him sounded strangely melancholic. “Bell has suffered enough under the thumbs of both you and the CIA. Don’t you think you have inflicted enough pain already?”

Silence now engulfed the room, which allowed Adler to hear the sound of someone shouting his name in the distance. A renewed sense of vigour came to Adler, causing him to struggle against his restraints. He then felt a hand clamp over his eyes, followed by an overwhelming sense of fatigue. But just before sleep claimed him, he heard the individual speak once more:

“Let them find their happy ending; it's the least they deserve after everything they have endured.”

.

.

.

.

“Russell Adler!”

Adler awoke with a jolt and was greeted by the sight of an upset looking Hudson looking over his unceremoniously sprawled body on the floor of the red room. Beside him were none other than Sims and Lazar, who were looking at him with concern.

“First Bell, now you…what on god's green earth is happening to our agents?!” 

Sims now raised a hand to calm his seemingly fuming superior. “Adler is probably just overworked.” He now turned to face the man himself. “Why don’t you get to the medbay and get yourself checked? Check up on Bell while you are at it.” Seemingly at a loss for words, Adler could only nod in acknowledgement before craning his neck to view the red door behind him, which has now mysteriously disappeared in place of the familiar looking cold greyish brick wall. 

“Well Adler? Get to it!”

Shaking his head at Hudson’s tone, Adler stood up, knees shaking like a newborn fawn and made his way into the medbay where he was greeted by the sight of an awake Bell sipping on a mug of steaming hot tea. 

Let them find their happy ending; it's the least they deserve after everything they have endured.

“Adler?” Bell looked at him, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing here?”

“I remember.”

Bell looked at him in confusion. 

“The jump off the cliff, the telegram…I remember them all.”

Bell’s look of confusion now turned into what Adler could only describe as pure joy. Placing their mug down onto a nearby nightstand, the cryptographist ran forward and in an unprecedented move embraced Adler. 

“It worked! Oh thank heavens, it worked!”

Adler nodded awkwardly as he worked to detangle himself from them.

“So what now?” Bell asked.

“We tell Hudson about Solovetsky. Those nukes need to be out of Perseus’s hands by hook or by crook. Once that has been accomplished, we need to disappear.”

“Disappear? How?”

“I have my ways.” Adler answered cryptically as he now moved to sit down on the bed previously occupied by Bell. “I would be lying if I told you that I wasn’t overwhelmed by everything that just happened. This time loop thing…it’s the stuff of nightmares.”

Bell threw him a small smile before making their way towards him, opting to sit next to him. “I understand.”

“And I may or may not have met this Entity of yours.”

Bell’s posture instantly stiffened. “You did?” Adler nodded. “How are they like?”

“Our interaction was brief, but it’s painfully obvious they have a soft spot for you.” I’m also pretty sure I’ve heard that voice somewhere before.  

A comfortable silence now sat between the two.  “So, Solovetsky it is huh?” Bell now piped up softly once more, turning their body to fully face Adler. The man in question nodded resolutely. 

“Solovetsky it is.”

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.

.

.

“All units be advised: we are scorching earth. Clear all friendlies; repeat clear all friendlies.”

“Bell! We gotta go! Now!” Adler yelled impatiently as he watched Bell plant the last of the C4s on the last anti-aircraft gun situated on a platform above where he currently was. However, despite the repeated warnings from both him and the operator, Bell somehow still remained unfazed. 

Before he could open his lips to once again warn Bell, loud explosions could be heard in the distance. The rest of his colleagues immediately went to take cover and he likewise, but all while keeping a close eye on the figure on the platform. He watched as Bell turned around and watched the explosions going on behind them apathetically, almost as if they had been expecting it. 

Hold on: didn’t they say that they had experienced this all before? Assuming they knew what was to come, did that mean - 

But Adler had no time to complete that thought for now a piece of debris came hurtling towards said person at almost breakneck speed. Seeing that Bell was making no move to get out of its way, something in Adler cracked . Without a second thought he sprinted forwards and grabbed their right arm, pulling them towards him. Thank goodness he acted when he did, for the debris narrowly missed them and instead went smashing down into the concrete inches from where Bell had previously stood, cracking clean into two upon impact. 

With a protective arm around them, Adler peaked from behind the pillar he had them both nested behind, making sure that there were no immediate hostilities around them. Once he had given the location a sweep in a manner that only a veteran operative could, he now turned his attention towards his younger charge. 

“What has gotten into you? Feeling suicidal today?” He purposely made his tone cold, which delivered its intended impact judging from Bell’s facial expression. 

“Adler, I would have survived. I’ve gone through this before, remember?”

“Things have changed, haven’t they?” Adler raised a questioning eyebrow. “Given such, can you guarantee that you wouldn’t have died if you had been smacked into oblivion by that debris this time around?” But before Bell had the opportunity to respond, Adler saw Woods making his way over causing his attention to now shift towards the man.

“We did it. This is a message to Perseus, and those that’ll follow. We don’t just sit back and hope for the best…we’ll make the best happen.” Adler said as a way of greeting and giving encouragement to his colleague. Woods wordlessly nodded in agreement, eyes shining in what could only be described as relief and pride.

“This is how wars are won, Bell.” Both Adler and Woods’ eyes now made their way towards the person in question who simply remained in Adler’s arms, unmoving and sullen. 

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.

.

.

The two of them were now standing side by side at the edge of the cliff, in the very same spot they had done over a cycle ago, staring out into the horizon ahead. 

“Arctic air. Clears the head, doesn’t it?” Adler now turned to face his companion, cigarette in hand.

“Do you know what happens from here?”

Bell shook their head. “Normally up till this stage, you would have taken your pistol and shot me at point blank. But now?” They looked up towards Adler. “I suppose for once we get to be off script; perhaps even write our own story from now on, yeah?”

“You sure the entity wouldn’t be back for either of us?”

“They can try.” a small smile tugged at the corner of Adler’s lips at their optimism. He took one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it over the cliff and taking out his standard issue earpiece along with its wiring, gesturing Bell to do the same. Just like his cigarette, he gathered the 2 pieces of equipment and likewise threw them over to be lost into the waves below. 

“Here’s the plan: I’ve been in contact with Belikov - despite his defection from the KGB word has yet to spread outside of Russia. He has managed to get us a safehouse in Bulgaria, and we are to remain there until the foreseeable future.” Bell nodded their understanding, prompting Adler to continue. “He has kindly arranged for a getaway vehicle as well - I have its coordinates. Let’s make haste now before the rest of the party realises we have gone for good.”

And just like a scene out of a romantic movie, Adler took Bell’s much smaller hand into his own and led them down the cliffs where sure enough a car sat waiting, keys already in the ignition. Taking his seat behind the wheel, Adler brought his right hand forward and with his index and thumb gripped onto the key as if his life depended on it. 

For the first time, Adler was uncertain. He had spent his entire adult life dedicated to the American military cause, only to now throw it all away because - indeed, why was he doing any of this? He wanted to make himself feel uncomfortable at the prospect of defection; afterall he of all people knew of the consequences if he was caught. Any other person in his position - Mason, Woods - would have perhaps thought twice but not him. And why was that?

A gentle, soft hand now wrapped around his own battle scarred, calloused ones. Adler turned his head only to be greeted by the sight of Bell looking at him with an expression that he thought he would never see from another human being ever since he divorced his ex-wife. And it was only then did he find the words that correctly reflected what he was feeling; and perhaps the reasoning behind why he was willing to take such a huge leap of faith.

He had fallen in love.

There were only two times in his life where his workaholic tendencies vanished - first was when he met his now ex-wife in a bar. However, civilian life proved to be challenging for him and his struggle to readjust inevitably bled into his own marriage, causing his wife to eventually file for divorce just 5 years after they had tied the knot. The second time was at present, sitting in a run down saloon car with the prettiest person imaginable seated next to him. Unlike his ex-wife Bell knew the struggles of being an operative, and probably is all too familiar with the rigour that such a job brings. Has life perhaps given him a second chance? 

“You okay?” Those eyes - Fuck. Adler forced himself out of his reverie and nodded. With renewed energy he finally turned the key in the ignition, jump starting the car and drove down the cliffs into the unknown before he could change his mind.

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov

██████████████ , People’s Republic of Bulgaria

████ , 1984

“You reckon the Cold War would end anytime soon?” Both Bell and Adler were currently outdoors in front of their log cabin, tucked away safely away from the harsh prying eyes of the world. They were seated on a picnic mat and in front of them lay a modest looking charcuterie board along with a bottle of wine.

Adler shrugged indifferently. “It seems support for the iron curtain is waning; public opinion seems to be in strong support for reunification - for the countries that have been separated by said curtain that is.”

“Like Germany?”

“Like Germany.”

Bell now closed their eyes, now recalling the mission they had with Adler and his former team in East Germany. How incredibly sad was it to be a citizen of a country where despite speaking the same language and sharing the same culture, you probably carried a different passport to the person living one street over, all because of an artificially placed barrier as a result of politicking? No doubt many West Germans had family or close friends who lived in the east (and vice versa) but they could not visit each other easily due to the many bureaucratic hoops and procedures needed to cross the checkpoints - in their own country no less. Not to mention the sight of spotlights, machine guns and barbed wires on a regular basis - day and night - made Germany feel more like a prison camp than a legitimate country in its own right.

“You reckon the wall will be torn down anytime soon?”

Adler sipped his glass of wine in contemplation, still facing forwards. “East Germany is heavily dependent on USSR support. Based on the newspapers I sense Gorbachev’s motivation for keeping the Eastern Bloc up is waning; if the USSR collapses, so will East Germany eventually.”

“How long you reckon that will take?”

“Give it 5 years or so.” 

Bell hummed in acknowledgement as they now took a sip at their own glass of wine. “I just want this war to be over. I think many of us want it to be so.”

The pair now sat in a comfortable silence, watching the streaks of the midday sun shine through the canopy of trees above them illuminating the forest bed below. In a world in which rapid industrialisation was encouraged, the symphony of sounds around them - whether it was the croaking of nearby toads in a pond or the chirping of various songbirds of unknown origins - which was once a common commodity to many living in the country is slowly becoming a rarity thanks to the mass clearing of land in favour of apartment buildings and factories - a concrete jungle if you will. Bell could not help but be simultaneously in awe and disgust at how fast the world was changing right before their very eyes. 

“Do you think this will be the last war ever waged?”

“What’s with all this musing Bell?” Adler asked. “It’s very unlike you.”

“Very unlike me? Or is it just simply that I was always in an environment which never gave me the opportunity to express my sentiments?” That shut him up. They then punched him playfully at the shoulder in an attempt to ease the tension. “Answer the question!”

“I…never thought about it.” For the first time, Bell could tell that Adler’s cold mask of indifference had slipped slightly. “I’ve been a soldier all my life - never had I ever imagined myself sitting leisurely outside sipping wine and staring out into the wilderness.” He shifted his current position - one that was laying down on his side - to now face Bell. “I’ve always regarded myself as an individual who was inflexible and a go-getter; one never to be swayed or derailed by a goal. But, seeing that I am now here…” Adler shook his head slightly. “Look, the point is - if someone like me can be persuaded to change course, I’m sure that the other world leaders out there can be too. There will be uncertainty at first, but I’m sure it can be done.”

“Preventing more wars that is.”

“Yes. But realistically, not in our lifetime. Our grandchildren maybe, but not us.”

Bell chuckled slightly, a slight blush now on their face. Since taking refuge in this cabin three years ago, it wasn’t the first time Adler had brought up the prospect of starting a family. As if their body was acting on their own accord, they placed a hand on Adler's cheek causing the man in question to raise an eyebrow. 

“Thank you, Russell.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For believing in us. For believing in peace.”

Adler scoffed. “I do believe in peace, always have. It’s just that I’ve realised that the methods employed have never been effective. Violence only begets more violence; imperialistic ambitions only harms and never heals. I might not be able to stop the wheel entirely but I certainly have slowed it down by a fraction by refusing to be a willing participant. And as for us?” It was now the man’s turn to reach out gently cradling the back of Bell’s skull with his right hand, using his calloused thumb to rub loving circles just below their earlobe. “You were its first and strongest advocate. I have been nothing but a follower this whole time, so you should be thanking yourself really.”

Bell’s eyes now widened at Adler’s words. Who knew that this men held so much emotional maturity underneath the veneer of aloofness? As the couple were staring at each other lovingly the sound of activity nearby caused them to pull apart - not in shame, but in alertness. 

“Bell, get back into the cabin.” He now pulled out a glock that had been concealed on his person the entire time, the tone of voice revealing that he was in his ‘soldier mode’.  “I’ll handle this.”

Nodding, Bell stood up and made their way hastily back into their shared accommodations, taking a nearby shotgun from the nearby cabinet just in case. With weapon of choice in hand, they made their way towards a nearby pair of windows which overlooked the area where they and Adler had just been sitting not too long ago. Through it, they watched as Adler skulked forwards, pistol in hand - as if he was on one of those CIA missions.

The soldier in him never died, it had only merely been suppressed.

Bell watched as Adler made his way round a bend and disappeared out of their line of vision. A conflict started brewing within them: one side wanted to follow Adler to make sure he was alright, and the other wanted to stay in the cabin fearing that they would bring nothing but trouble for Adler should an ugly confrontation truly occur. Bouncing on the balls of their feet restlessly, it took a few minutes of fidgeting and contemplation before they made the executive decision.

The sound of wind between their ears and the soft crunching of dried up leaves and dirt was all Bell heard as they ran as fast as their legs could carry them, retracing Adler’s footsteps. They only slowed down in favour of hiding behind the trunk of a tree when they caught the silhouette of 2 figures facing each other in the distance. One was pointing a gun towards the other - a clear indication that this interaction was not a friendly one. 

“...Understood. Perseus was never one man; it’s an ideal. Bigger than any of us.”

“Oh spare me the horseshit! I’ll ask you again: What are you doing here and while we are at it - where the fuck is Perseus?!”

Bell’s eyes widened at Adler’s tone and choice of words. It’s been three years since they have ‘retired’ and he is still stuck on…this?

Is this just how obsessed Adler was with Perseus all this time? 

The other figure was silent for a while at Adler’s outburst. “He is in Verdansk. Cancer took him in ‘83.” 

Bell watched as Adler dipped his head, an unreadable expression on his face. He then looked towards the other figure with an expression that could only be described as a mix of disappointment and anger. The figure carried on talking. “A great man, with a great vision. He was not the first Perseus, just as I will not be the last.”

The glock in Adler’s right hand now shook slightly. “I’m glad that I took them away from you. Russian filth; that’s what you and your entire network of people are.” At those remarks, the expression on the other person visibly darkened. “Because of you Adler, Perseus died a broken man. On his deathbed, he requested to see his child one last time - and even that couldn’t be done thanks to you!” the other man responded back bitingly, one finger pointed towards the other man in an accusatory manner.

“You love them, don’t you.” Adler now asked quietly, eyes never leaving the other person's face. Up till this point, Bell could never get a clean view of their face - until now. The person shifted their position, allowing the sunlight to illuminate what had previously been obscured. The person was a man who wore a black mask covering the entirety of the lower half of his face. His left eye was milky - a clear byproduct of an injury - and around his neck he wore several chains with symbols they did not recognise. 

“Always have and always will.” Came this mysterious man’s response before the two engaged in a physical fight. Meanwhile in the distance, Bell was having their own cognitive dissonance, for the sight of this man’s face prompted flashbacks that would have otherwise been suppressed by MK-Ultra. 

“Vikhor! You’re back! How I have missed you!”

 “Why do you insist on keeping their dog tags?”

“Because they were someone’s son, father, brother. I think it’s only right if we honour their sacrifice.”

The most vivid flashback of all however, was of them two seated side by side on a balcony stargazing in the cold, russian night. The man - Vikhor - had one of his hands over their own, stroking the back of it with a thumb lovingly. 

“You have a gentle heart. That would be your ruin, but perhaps also your saving grace.” 

They turned to face Vikhor. “Why do you say that?”

To that question the man sighed. “You are the offspring to a powerful man; there will be many people that will try to take advantage of that - and your kind temperament -  in order to fulfil their own career ambitions. At the same time, it is that very temperament of yours that keeps such men at bay - if they have an ounce of morals in them that is.”

“And you don’t have any of such ambitions?”

 “I will not lie and say that I don’t wish to be in a position to contribute more to our cause. But we have been friends since childhood. I’ve fallen in love with you organically; With or without Perseus, I wish to remain by your side.” Vikhor now moved forward and pressed a loving kiss to the top of Bell’s head. “When all this is over, when Mother Russia can finally be prosperous once more, I will ask for your Father’s blessings to get married. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

When Bell pulled themselves out from their reverie, they found a single tear streaking down their face. They watched helplessly as the two men fought it out - a battle over ideology, a fight for love…maybe it was both. But one thing was certain: there could only be one winner. 

The fight carried on until both of them were near a cliff of some sorts. With every punch exchanged Bell could see Adler getting more and more fatigued, in stark contrast to Stitch. One wrong move from Adler was all it took for the latter to be manhandled by Stitch and thrown over into the ravine below.

“No!” came an involuntary shout from Bell, before they covered their mouth forcefully with their hands. But it was too late. Their cries had been heard loud and clearly by the masked man, who now simply turned around and stared. 

Chapter Text

Sasha “Bell” Petrov ,

██████████████ , People’s Republic of Bulgaria

████ , 1984

“милый?”

Neither party dared to make the first move, but for separate reasons. For Bell, it was primarily due to the shock of what they had just witnessed and being caught by the intimidating masked man like a deer in headlights. For the man, it was primarily because he needed time to process the sight of the person whom he held most dear being in front of him in person. He has not seen his beloved in nearly 3 years, and they still look as radiant as ever. 

Bell’s mind was currently drawing blanks, all other sounds fading away save the beat of their racing heart between their ears. Despite the adversary being a clear and present danger to them, their eyes could not tear away from where Adler had been thrown off. 

Adler is gone.

Adler is DEAD

They should have done something - firing that snub nose revolver of theirs currently concealed on their person would have been a great start. So why didn’t they? 

Adler IS DEAD 

What use would a couple of bullets do? The masked man could easily overpower them. Regardless, they knew they were probably done for. Excuses, excuses.

ADLER IS DEAD A҉҉̦̣̤͔̟̩̋̿̏ͦ̈́̍͟͠N̵҉̾͟͞͡D҉̣͍̓̎͗͜͜ I҉̡̯̺̜̅́͋̃͢͜T҉̘͙͖̠̓ͦ͑̄͜͜͟͞  I҉̡̯̺̜̅́͋̃͢͜Ṡ̷̢̫̞̻͈͋͛̓̅͜͜͜͠͠͠ A҉҉̦̣̤͔̟̩̋̿̏ͦ̈́̍͟͠L̴҉̴͙͖̞̳̜̖ͣͧ̑̑͜͞͠͞͠L̴҉̴͙͖̞̳̜̖ͣͧ̑̑͜͞͠͞͠ Y̵̡̬͖̠̋ͫ̌ͤ̚͞͞O̷̵҉̢̭͚̜̠ͫͣ͐͢͟͢͠͞͝U̵̶̸̹̮̹̲̻͙̎ͪͣͦ͜͡͞͡͡R̴҉̷̨̖̮̉͑ͯ̑̋͟͠ F̶̵͖͚̯̮̤̫̿̆͌͋͢͟͡͡A҉҉̦̣̤͔̟̩̋̿̏ͦ̈́̍͟͠U̵̶̸̹̮̹̲̻͙̎ͪͣͦ͜͡͞͡͡L̴҉̴͙͖̞̳̜̖ͣͧ̑̑͜͞͠͞͠T҉̘͙͖̠̓ͦ͑̄͜͜͟͞

Was this what the entity wanted? Did they take sadistic pleasure in watching the people Bell care about die again and again? What was the purpose of all this anyway?  

“You look so beautiful in that dress.” Bell felt a pair of calloused hands on their shoulders, gently shaking them. Dragged out of their thoughts, Bell jumped slightly at the sight of the man being in such close proximity, causing the latter to quickly raise both his hands in the air in the form of a mock surrender. 

“Kill me.”

“I’m sorry?” the masked man responds, confusion clear on his face. 

“Don’t play with your food, just do it already. Don’t prolong my agony please.”

“Kill you?” The man sounded genuinely hurt by Bell’s words. He gently took their hands into his own. “Why would I want to do such a thing to my future wife and mother of my children?” At Bell’s confused look he simply smiled. “Rest assured, I have sought your father’s permission before he died. Here.” From inside his military vest he procured a simple piece of paper and handed it over to Bell. It was just as he said - it was a handwritten statement, granting permission for a Vikhor ‘Stitch’ Kuzmin to take 🅃🄷🄰🅃🅂 🄽🄾🅃 🅈🄾🅄🅁 🄽🄰🄼🄴 🄰🄽🅈🄼🄾🅁🄴 🅈🄾🅄 🄼🅄🅁🄳🄴🅁🄴🅁  hand in marriage. It was signed and stamped with the familiar looking logo of the Perseus organisation. 

“He wanted to be alive for as long as he could, you know. Long enough to send you up the altar.”

Bell shoved the paper back into the man’s hands like they were hotcakes, their mind reeling at this revelation. Their time in the CIA taught them that official documents and messages such as this were easily fabricated - this all had to be a sham; a cheap way for Kuzmin to get a former CIA operative on his side and pump them for information until they had nothing left to give. 

But if that were so, why did the memory of their time spent with Kuzmin feel genuine? Were these feelings of love and belonging fabricated as well, Just like those artificially planted memories of the war in Vietnam? 

I don’t want to be discarded ever again, thrown away like garbage as soon as my usefulness has finished. Please don’t throw me away like Adler once did 

“Are you okay, my love? You are pale.” One of Kuzmin’s hands was now on Bell’s forehead. It took all of Bell’s willpower not to flinch there and then. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Bell whispered through trembling lips.

“Do what?” 

“I don’t want to have to keep questioning my own memories! Not only can I no longer discern what is real or fake; I can’t live with myself seeing the people I care about dying over and over again!” It was as if a dam had broken inside Bell, for they were now sobbing hysterically as their legs gave way and their body to collapse onto the earth below their feet like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Kuzmin, who clearly was out of his depth at the situation, opted to just simply hold Bell and sat on the ground alongside them, arms around their shaking frame protectively.

“Adler is no longer around to torture you, nor is the MK-Ultra.” Kuzmin attempted to assure the person next to him, rocking both of their bodies back and forth. “We will find a way through this, I promise.” 

In the comfort of Kuzmin’s arms, Bell allowed their previously unshed tears to now flow freely. Their conflicting feelings on Adler on top of the jumbled mess that were their memories made them a nervous wreck overall - a feeling that they have gladly shoved to the back of their mind for this long till it reached its boiling point. 

They had initially thought that knowing the truth would be all-freeing. Whilst that might be true, who knew that it came with its own baggage as well?

A comfortable silence sat between the couple until Bell’s sobs became whimpers. Throughout this entire ordeal Vikhor felt his heart ache for the brave person beside him, and his anger rising for the people who had made them this way  - how much mental duress did Adler and his merry band of westerners put Bell through for them to become like this? While his love was a strong person, he knew that there were limitations. And it seems like America’s monster was no stranger to dancing on that line. 

In all fairness however, it wasn’t as if Perseus was any better - in recent times they had attempted their own version of brainwashing, but much to their chagrin it had never been as effective nor had the desired long term effects as MK-Ultra. ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’ - had the Americans not invented said horrible procedure, there would have been no reason for Perseus to invent their own countermeasure. Or, at least this was how Kuzmin justified its existence. 

“Love?” Kuzmin now asked, gently shaking Bell who had now buried their face within the crook of his arm. 

“Please just kill me.” 

Kuzmin sighed sadly. “My Love -.”

“I’m serious, Vikhor! I can’t stand this anymore!” Bell now abruptly stood. “I don’t know what I am expected to do from here on out! I haven’t been killed yet, which is a good sign I guess, but why kill Adler? What’s the point? Am I cursed to remain miserable for the rest of my life?”

The De facto leader of Perseus could only stare blankly as the person before him rambled on.  When it came to the affairs of the heart, he felt like a novice all over again. And although Kuzmin was not best known for his patience, for the love of his life he was willing to try. 

“Sweetheart, could you please start from the beginning? I’m afraid I do not follow.”

Bell obliged. Convoluted and fantastical from start to finish, a small part of Kuzmin wondered if they had previously taken (or forced - he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case) any sort of psychedelics that exacerbated their already fragile memories. Nevertheless, he understood the crux of Bell’s frustration. 

“If this…entity has yet to come for you, doesn’t it mean that we are fated to be together? Maybe the entity wants us to be together.” Bell looked at him almost incredulously. 

“How are you so certain of that?”

“You said it yourself: if things are not going the way it is supposed to be, the entity would not hesitate to intervene and set things straight.” Kuzmin now stretched his arms out, indicating to their wider surroundings. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t see anyone other than us two around here.” His humour caused Bell to smile slightly. 

“Sweetheart, I understand your apprehension in trusting other people, especially given what MK Ultra had done to you. I’m not Adler; I promise that I will never lie to you. You are not just a tool to be simply used and thrown; You are my life partner. Whether you wish to share your knowledge on the CIA or not, I will respect whichever choice you make.” Kuzmin now addressed Bell, his voice tender yet with a tinge of seriousness. It was that he was being genuine. 

“Thank you, Vikhor. I really appreciate that.” a small, genuine smile was now plastered onto their face. Unlike their affection for Adler - which they were still unsure is genuine or a side effect of being MK-Ultraed - the connection they had with Kuzmin felt…real. It was instantaneous, almost like it was love at first sight. Perhaps they were indeed too much of a romantic - Adler had once commented that Bell lived in their head a tad too often to be an effective agent - but who wouldn’t want to live happily ever after?

Bell now walked over the Kuzmin and lay both their arms over his shoulders, leaning their forehead against his while they did so. Bell felt a pair of hands now circling around their waist and the two of them began to sway to a silent melody that could perhaps be only heard by them two. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“...I think I love you too.”

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Russell T. Adler,

██████████████ , People’s Republic of Bulgaria

████ , 1984

Several feet below where the couple currently stood was a man who was currently dangling precariously from a ledge, the only thing that was saving him from dropping to his death below was the upper body strength. Adler was not a man of many words, but this would be the first time he swore and thanked the gods for his current predicament. 

The man hoisted himself upwards, the momentum catapulting his body on the ledge itself where he took a moment to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. He chuckled to himself, imagining how ridiculous his tombstone was going to look if he had truly died then - Russell Adler, CIA’s top clandestine officer. Cause of death: gravity. That was something he could imagine either Woods or Sims pulling off at his funeral. 

Leaning over cautiously, Adler looked up skywards, his aviators did a great job blocking out the harsh Bulgarian summer sun, allowing for him to have a clear view of both the ravine below and just how steep the drop was indeed. It was going to be one hell of a climb back upwards, back to Bell. Hopefully they had listened to him and stayed in the cabin, but knowing them it was likely not to be the case. So he assumed the worst: Kuzmin was either currently on the prowl to kill any of his associates, or that Bell and Kuzmin had already met. 

Silently thanking his decision to take the solo climbing lessons back when he was a CIA trainee, Adler proceeded to place one hand and foot onto the nearest available cravise before pulling himself upwards, and doing the same with his other hand and foot. He repeated this process diligently - slowly but surely - with the intention of reaching the top. Adler could imagine in his mind's eye the look of shock on Kuzmin’s face when a certainly not dead Adler emerges from the edge and fires a bullet between his eyes. 

When Adler got to the top however, the sight that he saw shocked him instead. It was Kuzmin with his hands around Bell's waist. From his angle he could not ascertain Bell’s emotions, but for some reason just the sight of it alone was enough to make his blood boil. Truth to be told, he had always felt a certain level of possessiveness towards them ever since the successful MK-Ultra programming, and now as their partner even more so. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was but in that split second the cold and collected persona that has always been Russell Adler melted away in the heat of the moment, giving way to a monster within him that now chose to rear its ugly head - Jealousy. 

If you asked him what happened then, he would tell you that he felt dissociated from his body. His fingers certainly did not feel like his own as his right hand went for the M9 pistol strapped to his side; his thoughts not his as he raised the gun over the edge and with tired, trembling hands aimed it in the direction of the couple. 

Just for that moment of satisfaction, to satiate the demon within him, Adler had involuntarily made the decision to pay the price in blood. The question was: whose? 

So Adler watched, eyes wide in horror as Bell’s head now jerked abruptly to the side, their hands slipping away from the warmth that was Kuzmin’s body. Like a rag doll, their body now collapsed onto the soft grass, unmoving, as a pool of dark red now pool beneath their head. 

Despite the sudden turn of events, Adler was nothing if not thorough when it came to achieving his objectives - he was not CIA’s best clandestine officer for nothing. Before Kuzmin even had the time to react, Adler had also likewise put a bullet into him. America’s Monster now walked over to the fallen couple to take a look at his handiwork. Every bone in his body begging him to look through Kuzmin’s person for important information - as he had been trained to do - Adler decided to ignore Kuzmin point blank. Was it petty? Yes. But did he do it anyway? Also yes. For Adler’s attention was on one person and one person only - Bell. 

He now kneeled down to have a better look at them. Their face - still so radiant and beautiful - was now completely caked in blood, eyes dull and glassy devoid of life. He now sat cross legged onto the earth, and with his pair of murderous trembling hands he lifted Bell’s body and brought it closer towards his own, cradling it like a mother would to their newborn. Like Lady Macbeth with her husband, he allowed the evidence of the deed to stain his very skin and clothes - he was already a sinner anyway, so what harm could one more do?

For once in his life, Adler felt so helpless. The longer he stared at the lifeless body in his hands, he realised that his vision was beginning to feel blurry. Tears that he never knew he had were now streaming down his face: Adler was crying. He had always prided himself to be a stoic - he did not shed one tear when he and his ex-wife was at the altar, nor did they come when she threw the divorce papers down onto the kitchen counter accompanied by stinging words and ultimatums. So what made Bell so special? Maybe it was guilt; maybe in the process of all this he had formed an unconventional attachment, to the point that he felt responsible for their actions - first as their handler, next as a partner. 

The sounds of a secondary set of footprints could now be heard rustling behind him. And though drowned in grief, this did not mean any of Adler’s senses had been dulled. 

“Don’t bother, Russell.” It was that same voice from behind the red door, back when he was forcefully strapped to the gurney in Bell’s place. Adler whipped his head around and found himself face to face with a man - a man who shared his same exact build and face. 

“Who the fuck are you.” Adler growled, his hands wrapping around Bell’s body a tad more protectively. To Adler’s defensiveness the other figure merely laughed. “There is no need for that. I just came to offer my condolences. Believe it or not, I was once in your position.”

Adler now raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

“My Bell died too. Not in the same fashion as yours however; they were severely depressed - had been since retiring from the CIA. Eventually they took their own life.” The other Adler sighed, before looking at his doppelganger once more. “There is a way you can save your Bell. It’s not a sure fire way, but at least you will have a fighting chance.” He now walked over and seemingly out of nowhere procured a piece of paper and pen. “Go ahead and read the dos and don’ts of your new role. Sign below afterwards.”

“New role?” Asked Adler incredulously, to which his clone simply gestured for him to read the document. 

Adler took his time to do so. After the first read, Adler was tempted to scoff and dismiss all the rules and regulations stated as hogwash - is all this trouble necessary? However, all it took was one more look at his dead partner before he made his decision. His right hand - now steady - took the proffered pen and without hesitation, signed his name above the dotted line. 

“Now then,” said his clone, tucking the piece of paper away. “The last thing I need to show you is this.” He now presented Adler with a wrist device of sorts. “This is the device that will assist and enable you to perform your duties.” Once he had guided Adler on its ins and outs, he gestured for the man to wear said device.

 “I will now leave you to your devices. Go ahead and activate it, the jump feature should send you to the place you can start. Good luck out there.”

Just as his clone was about to turn away, Adler called out to him once more. 

“And just to be clear - I will have to keep correcting their mistakes until they get everything right? And I can never stop my duties until then?”

“That is correct.” The clone’s face now darkened slightly. “Consider this our punishment for all the killings we have done over the years, the people we have tortured…an unconventional version of purgatory if you will. Or, as I prefer to call it: Groundhog Day.”

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The device brought him back to Solovetsky. The cold, distinct sharpness that was the arctic air was the dead giveaway. However, unlike the previous few times he had been here, this time round was different. There was no distinct chatter of radio comms, or any sign of CIA or Russian personnel close by for that matter. He had been transported to seemingly the middle of nowhere, with no note or indication as to how he should proceed. 

After a few rounds of walking aimlessly he managed to find the same spot which he and Bell had conversed before pulling out a pistol to kill them in one timeline, and jumping into the ocean in another. This time however, he was greeted with the singular figure that was Bell, sprawled onto the grown unceremoniously. Like his own Bell, they were severely injured. But the sounds of ragged breathing and occasional coughs was a strong indication that they had a fighting chance.. 

Adler now walked up to the wheezing figure with much trepidation - half of him was happy that Bell was alive, the other half of him determined not to squander this one chance he had. Thus, with much tenderness and comfort a monster like himself could master, he reached forward and with a gentle hand carded through their hair

“I’m sorry. It was never supposed to end like this.” 

~END~