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In the first few seconds after the crash he felt nothing. No pain, no confusion, no anger, nothing. He saw a dark blurry figure standing in front of the car, one arm lifted, and knew with absolute clarity that the object in the person's hand was a gun. And that he would most probably die in the next few seconds. Then the person suddenly turned and walked away, from him, from the car, and possibly from this kind of life. He was dimly aware of another car stopping in front of the one he was in and someone climbing out but before he could make out any details his whole world exploded in pain. The last thing he felt was a hand on his neck, probably looking for a pulse. Then everything went dark. The next time he woke it felt like the whole left side of his body was on fire and he instinctively tried to flinch back from the pain. Something restricted him and he began to struggle, only to feel a soft hand on his cheek and heard someone talk to him in a soothing tone before a strange smell made him sink back into the darkness of unconsciousness. "The cuts look rather good but I'm a little worried about his ribs and the fever." The voice was deep and distinctively male but slightly hoarse, likely from years of smoking. An older man most probably. Another voice answered. "I agree. And I don't like that he still hasn't woken up. I'd really like to know whether he has any serious head injuries but we can't assess him when he's not awake." This one was softer, higher and held a pinch of worry so female and younger. A doctor and a nurse maybe? He couldn't know for sure until he opened his eyes but his eyelids felt like lead and he had the distinct feeling that his headache would get a lot worse if he did manage to open them. Something cool touched his forehead and he relaxed muscles he didn't even know had tensed. The same female voice as before talked to him now and told him stories his muddled mind wouldn't allow him to follow. It didn't take long before he drifted back to sleep. Over the course of the next few days he only had short moments of consciousness, always accompanied by a skull splitting headache. The first time he opened his eyes the light, even though very low, made him feel so nauseous that he closed them again right away and tried to take a few deep breaths to calm his stomach. That unfortunately didn't agree with his broken ribs which send burst of pain through his body that got worse every time he moved. He tensed and a strangled moan escaped through his clenched teeth and alerted someone in the adjacent room. The footsteps that followed were light and steady but fastened after he heard the sound of a door opening. Only moments later he felt someone next to him and years of intense training drilled into him made him flinch back from a possible touch or attack. It was the same training that prevented him from screaming as the movement aggravated the pain spreading out from his side and his pounding headache. The other person said something he couldn't hear through the pain and then something cold and wet touched his side and his neck and slowly reduced the pain to a more bearable level. He slowly stopped panting but didn't relax his muscles or move otherwise. The bed he lay on dipped next to his hip and something emitted a low clicking sound close to his head before someone said: "You can open your eyes now. I turned off the light completely." At first he didn't move but then he slowly blinked his eyes open and found she had said the truth. The only light in the room was moonlight falling through a small gap in the curtains in front of the only window. The darkness meant that his eyes didn't hurt as much but also that he couldn't make out much of the person sitting next to him. For a few moments, he just stared at her and tried to take in as much as he could. Her hair was dark and pulled into a braid that reached just below her shoulders, her skin was fairly light and judging by her posture and that he couldn't make out any wrinkles he concluded that she was rather young. Her voice sounded a lot like the one he had heard during the times he had been conscious and it was probably her who had been taking care of him so far. Her loose attire and the soft fabric suggested that he had woken her up.She stayed completely still during his examination and even though her breathing pattern didn't change he could tell that she was tense. When he looked back to her face she pulled up an eyebrow. "Are you done?" He didn't answer but took a few breaths that got gradually deeper until he felt like he could breathe again without anything hurting. His headache and nausea had also lessened and it seemed to reflect in his posture because she asked: "Is your head better?" He nodded and carefully and she got up. "I'm going to open the curtains a bit more to get you used to the light. I'll need to assess whether you have any head injuries in the morning but for now I'll let you sleep." Without another word she left the room and pulled the door almost shut behind her. Something rustled, probably blankets, and then, after a moment, deep regular breathing told him that she was asleep again. He closed his eyes and it didn't take long for him to follow her into Morpheus' arms after wondering for a second whether she knew who he was.True to her word, the young woman shook him awake the next morning. At first, he didn't know where he was and instinctively took on a defensive stance but relaxed after a while. She occupied herself with something on a small dresser to the side of the door while she gave him time to compose himself. "Does your head hurt?" she finally asked and turned around to him. "A little bit" he answered after watching her for a moment. She nodded and came closer to the bed. "You probably know the drill. Follow my finger but only with your eyes." He didn't have any problems doing so and after she also tested his pupillary reflex and looked at the cuts on his head, she seemed to be content. "Looks like you were lucky. You might have had a slight concussion but it's healed by now. Do you remember your name, your birthday and the place you were born?" He just stared at her. When he hadn't answered after a few seconds she sighed. "I don't want you to tell me. I just want to know whether you know those details or not." "I remember." "Good. I don't think you have suffered any brain injuries but let me know if you feel any kind of pressure or your vision changes or anything like that." He just looked at her and she rolled her eyes and muttered to herself while she looked over his other wounds. Something about stubborn agents which always got themselves into trouble. When she was done, she got rid of the dirty bandages in the other room and came back with a bundle of clothes. "You should change. It'll make you feel better. You can ask any questions you might have afterwards." She left without another word and closed the door behind her to give him a modicum of privacy. It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to put on the loose sweatpants and t-shirt she had given him and when he was done, he was panting like he had run a marathon.
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The girl must have listened to his movements because only a few seconds after he was done, she knocked on the door. “Come in.” He tried to call out but his voice was rougher than he had anticipated and so he only managed to be slightly louder than a whisper. She heard him anyway and came in with a small tray. On it was a bowl filled with something steaming, a glass of water and a small cup with a few pills in it. She handed him the cup and the glass first and gave him a strict look before he could even open his mouth to protest. “Painkillers and antibiotics. Take them. If I wanted to kill you I would have left you in the car.” He obeyed, swallowed the pills and then exchanged the empty cup for the bowl which was filled with some kind of rice. It tasted relatively bland but it didn’t upset his stomach and while he was eating, she started to talk. “I know you have questions but I also know that you’re not going to ask anything so I’ll tell you the basic things. We are currently in a safe house in south-west Germany, close to the Black Forest. You have been unconscious for about a week after I pulled you out of that car wreck. You were incredibly lucky because you only broke three ribs on your left side, sprained your left ankle and you have a few dozen cuts among the left side of your face and body. Most of the bruises and scrapes have healed already but you might be sore for a while. My name is Viktoria, I work as an EMT and I study criminology. There are two other people living here; my grandfather Otto, who is a doctor and dying of lung cancer, so don’t even think about threatening him, and my brother. He’s a soldier so he hasn’t been home in a while and doesn’t know about you. My grandfather helped take care of you and he’s one of the reasons why you’re still alive. Do you have any further questions?” He had finished his meal by the time she told him everything and shook his head, too exhausted by the small movements to think of anything but sleeping even though every ounce of training in his head screamed at him to get out of there. Viktoria got up and took the bowl from him before she picked up the tray again. “You should try to sleep some more. I’ll be next door if something’s wrong.” He nodded again and his head the pillow as soon as she closed the door behind her. Seconds later he was fast asleep. The next time he was awoken by several thuds followed by a frustrated sigh in the other room. After that it was silent and he almost slipped back into sleep but something about the sounds didn’t sit right with him. He got out of the bed and somehow managed to hobble to the door without making too much of a ruckus, much to his surprise. His injuries protested the movements but his training allowed him to ignore the pain. Trying for a moment to make out any other sounds but being unsuccessful, he carefully opened the door and took in the part of the flat he hadn’t yet seen. The hallway was rather unspectacular with white walls and the same light wooden floor that was also in his room. To his left was only a small window so he turned to the right. His bare feet made no sound when he slowly walked towards the opening to another room. He could see a rather large table with comfortable looking chairs and concluded that it had to be the living room. When he finally arrived at the door and looked in, he found out that he had been right. To the right of the door was a comfortable sofa on the opposite wall to a TV and to the left was the table with six chairs in front of another door leading to the kitchen.The sounds that had woken him had come from a bag and boots that had been dropped on the ground by Viktoria. She sat at the table and had her head propped up in her hands. He couldn’t see her face but her clothes suggested that she had just come from a shift as a paramedic and looked slightly dishevelled. She didn’t seem to have heard him because she didn’t move until he cleared his throat and then she visibly flinched and looked up. “You shouldn’t walk around yet! Is something wrong?” Her voice was openly worried and much to his surprise, he hurried to calm her down. It didn’t really fit his character but he didn’t want to think about this fact at that moment. “I’m fine. You woke me.” “I’m sorry.” He waved her concern aside. “It does not matter. Are you alright?” She nodded a little bit too fast. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine. It was just a hard shift.” Only then he noticed the scratches on her hands and the bruises forming on her left cheekbone and throat. “What happened to your face?” She shrugged. “Just a drunken idiot who had fallen down some stairs but didn’t take too kindly to our efforts to treat him. Nothing special or serious.” He slowly sat down on a chair across the corner from her and carefully took her hands in his to inspect them. They seemed to be incredibly small and fragile in comparison, the bones so thin that he felt like he could snap them without much thought. There were extensive abrasions on both of her palms and one rather deep cut along her left thumb that still bleed somewhat sluggishly. “Did that drunken idiot have a knife?” She sighed. “No. A broken bottle. His fine motor skills weren’t the best when he tried to stab us so he didn’t do much damage.” He frowned but let it slide and concentrated on her throat. She flinched at even the slightest pressure and seemed to have mild difficulties while swallowing so he didn’t prod too much. Her cheekbone was the lightest of the injuries and would only bruise minimally. He looked at her again when he was through with his examination. “Do you have a first-aid kit somewhere? And some ice and clean towels?” “First-aid kit is under the sink, there are some cooling pads in the freezer and clean towels in the top drawer next to the sink.” Her response seemed automatic because in the second after the words left her mouth she frowned but ultimately shrugged and didn’t keep him from getting up. The items in question were easy to locate and he wrapped one of the cooling pads in a thin dishtowel before giving it to her for her throat. Viktoria took it and cooled the abused skin while he worked on the wounds on her other hand. The cut was rather deep but not deep enough to warrant stitches so he just pressed the edges together, attached two butterfly tapes and wrapped her hand in gauze after applying some ointment on the abrasions. Then he waited for her to change hands and took care of her other scratches as well. After he was done he briefly considered applying some ointment to her throat and face as well but refrained from it. He knew he wouldn’t tolerate a stranger, and a dangerous one at that, touching an area so vulnerable, especially not if he had an injury there. So the two sat in an awkward silence for a few moments. Then Viktoria sighed and got up. “I’m going to sleep. I have to attend a lecture tomorrow morning. You should get some more sleep too.” He nodded and made his way back to his room. Just as he opened the door, her voice made him stop. “If you want to, you can join me for breakfast. Eight o’clock. Good night.” He didn’t answer but waited until he heard the soft click of a door closing before he entered his bedroom and laid down to get a few more hours of sleep. He made a point not to dwell on his behaviour towards the young woman too much.
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The lights went out exactly at eight o’clock at night. The boys were not allowed to use any source of light afterwards and if they did and were caught the punishments were severe. He had already spent one day and night in isolation in a small, windowless room which was dark and cold and had nothing in it safe for a hard cot and a bucket. He was not keen on making that experience again so he never even tried to break that particular rule again. Other boys were not that clever and quiet whimpering could be heard through the big room. A few of them had not behaved during the training and had received cane strokes for their disobedience. Others were still not used to the harsh conditions they were living in and their teeth shattered so loud he could hear it even though he slept on the other side of the room. He knew that most of the boys would not finish the training. He had seen it in the other groups which got smaller and smaller the older the boys grew. In a few years only the best handful of the people he spent every day with would be left and he was determined to be one of them. So he curled up under the thin blanket that was one of his few possessions, ignored the cold and tried to get as much sleep as possible.
He was roused at five the next morning by sharp yelling and the loud banging of doors that were ripped open. Just like every day, he washed up and brushed his teeth before changing into his workout clothes and throwing his laundry in the designated chute. Then he took his place in the line and, on command, started jogging. Their way lead them through a small forest, over a bridge, and then over a marshy field back to the barracks. It took them about an hour and when they lined up for their breakfast, they were too exhausted to talk to each other even if it had been permitted. On the square between the buildings two of the older boys were being whipped for some offence or another but nobody paid them any attention. They were too used to things like this and if they let themselves be distracted by the suffering of others, they were punished as well so they learned quickly not to care. During breakfast and the following clean-up the boys didn’t speak and even tried not to make too much noise with their eating utensils. Breakfast took exactly half an hour and then all of them, except for those who were on kitchen duty, lined up outside again and waited for their instructor. He was unusually late but they didn’t dare to move a muscle until he arrived. When he finally did, he was accompanied by two men in suits. At first they only observed the normal training but then they started to walk amongst the students and selected about ten, including him.
They were told to follow the suits into an area of the complex they were usually not allowed to go into. In a white room with no windows and cold-lighted fluorescent tubes they were told to line up again. The door was in their backs so they could only hear it open and close several times but not see who came in or left. When they were finally allowed to turn around, they found themselves in front of several strict looking people who mustered them with cold and calculating gazes. There were also a wooden table with shackles on it, a bucket, and a towel that hadn’t been there before. The boys were confused by this but instinctively knew not to show their surprise but to remain completely stoic. For a few seconds, it was completely silent in the room, safe for the quiet tinkling of water drops falling from the faucet in the corner. Then, something in the air changed.
One man stepped forward, pulled one of the boys to the table and fastened the shackles to his arms and legs. Then he took the towel, spread it over the face of the boy and stepped behind the table. When he was sure that the rest of the boys could clearly see the table, he took a jug out of the bucket and poured water over the towel. Time seemed to slow down and for a moment he could see every drop of water in perfect clarity. Then the water hit the towel and time returned to normal. The boy on the table couldn’t supress a flinch when he felt the cold water hit his face and soon after, he began to choke and struggle against the bonds. The reactions of the others were diverse. A few boys gasped audibly and one or two threw up, judging by the sounds of it. Two of the men who had watched the crowd until then stepped forward as well, took the boys that had reacted to the scene in front of them, and accompanied them out of a door at the back wall of the room. When the door closed behind them, he turned his attention back to the table. He was sure that he would never see those boys again.
After pouring water over the shackled boy's face a few times with pauses in between to avoid him actually choking, the man in charge changed tactics. He got rid of the bucket and the towel and instead took a small knife out of a cabinet embedded in the wall. For a moment, he stood still behind the table and just looked at his audience who tried to return his gaze as emotionless as possible. Then he looked over his victim on the table as if he had to mentally transfer the pattern he wanted to follow first.
He started at the boy's shoulder. The first few cuts didn't break the skin, they were only designed to cut open the shirt so it would fall away and expose the tanned skin underneath. The following demonstration lessened the number of boys again as those showing any sign of pity, horror, or any other emotion were immediately separated.
T
he cycle repeated itself several times over. Each time the man used a new torture method on his victim, a few boys couldn’t handle it and were removed from the room. He didn't know how much time had passed until there were only ten, including himself, left. When there hadn’t been a reaction for two rounds, the man stopped his administrations, opened the cuffs, and two of his assistants helped the boy from the table and across the room. He hadn't screamed or moaned once besides his initial gasp of surprise so they took him through a different door. The rest remained, staring at the empty table with several torture devices on it and the bloody floor. The man cleaned his hands and then stepped on front of the group. “You are the only ones who have passed the test. These sessions will happen once a week. The goal of this is to show you the proper appliance of interrogation methods and how to resist them. When I deem you ready, you will be allowed to participate. Since learning works best when you have a practical use for it, each one of you will assist me with the demonstrations. Now go. It’s almost dinner time.” The boy's silently filed out of the room. He was the last one and just before he was out, a voice stopped him.
“
You, boy!” He turned around. “Yes, Sir?” The man watched him with an indecipherable expression in his eyes. “What's your name, boy?” “Kirill, Sir.” “You will be next.”
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Recap:
“
What's your name, boy?” “Kirill, Sir.” “You will be next.”
Kirill woke with a start. He forced his body not to react visibly to the fear and surprise he felt. It took him a moment to remember that he was no longer in the barracks but instead in a small flat with two other people who claimed that they didn't want to hurt him. It had to be rather early in the morning since the light that came in through the window was faint but enough that he could look around his bedroom. When he didn't notice anything different than he had left it the evening before, he slowly sat up and massaged his temples. Kirill hadn't had this particular nightmare in years and it gave him a headache. Together with the itching stitches and the aftereffects of his concussion, his head was pounding as if a herd of elephants had taken up residence in there. When the thumping in his head had marginally lessened and could take in more of his surroundings, he noticed what had awakened him. And probably triggered his nightmare.The walls of the apartment were so thin that he could hear the breathing of the other occupants without straining his ears and where others might have been able to ignore the sounds after a while, his training made sure that he noticed every little change in his surroundings. One person’s breathing was deep and regular so that was probably Viktoria who was still fast asleep. The other person therefore had to be the young woman’s grandfather. His breathing was more laboured and something in his chest rattled with every intake of air. The man's disease had to have progressed since Viktoria told Kirill about it since he hadn't been able to make out the sounds before. The sound reminded him too much of the breathing of Alexej, the boy that had been shackled to the table, and Kirill knew that he wouldn't get any more sleep that night. So instead of trying, he slowly got out of bed and made his way to the door. After opening the door, he noticed something colourful on the dresser next to him which he hadn't seen before. He turned towards the piece of furniture and examined the package closer. It were a new shirt and trousers as well as pants, a towel, a toothbrush, tooth, and a small bottle of shampoo. What had caught his eyes was the bright blue of the toothbrush that was in stark contrast to the dark fabric of the shirt underneath. He threw a glance at the small clock on his bedside table and when he saw that it was already 6.30 in the morning, he hesitated only for a split second. The he carefully scooped up the bundle and hobbled from his bedroom to the bathroom.It took him a while to get into the room and take off his clothes because his ribs and ankle still hurt but when he stepped into the shower and felt the hot water relax his muscles, he decided that it had definitely been worth it. For a minute or so he just stayed underneath the hot stream, then he took the shampoo and a bar of soap and began to clean himself meticulously. It took some time but he finally felt clean again and stepped out of the shower to dry off. His bandages were soaked through so he carefully peeled them off and put them in the garbage bin in the corner. Then he dressed in the new clothes and sat down on the toilet seat to catch his breath. His condition had improved in the past days but he still tired easily, was incredibly stiff and slow, and his ribs smarted whenever he moved without caution. When he had caught his breath, he got up again, took his disregarded clothes, and after going back to his room and putting them onto his bed, he made his way into the kitchen. There was nobody there yet but he switched on the coffee machine on the counter he had already discovered the day before. While the pot slowly filled with the hot dark liquid, he carefully opened the cupboards, trying to be as quiet as possible until he found a cup. Filling it to the brim with the coffee, he took it and sat down at the table in the living room to be able to look out of the window to the streets below. The next hour or so he spent watching the people outside go about their day and contemplating his current situation. On one hand, he was in deep trouble because his employers probably already put out a kill order for him for failing his mission and disappearing. On the other hand, he and the people that had saved him were relatively safe because nobody knew where he was and they wouldn't think of looking for him in a place like this. Unfortunately, this meant that he couldn't risk to go out and do some research until he was better. He currently was in no condition to defend himself or relocate should someone recognize him. He would just have to trust Viktoria's judgement which he didn’t particularly like.He was ripped out of his musings by a bowl of cereal that was placed in front of him. Barely suppressing a flinch, he looked at the young woman who in turn mustered him with something akin to concern in her eyes. “Are you alright? I called your name but you didn't react.” He just shrugged. “Must have zoned out. Do you need any help?” She continued to look at him for a second, then shook her head and handed him a spoon. After getting a jug of milk and her own coffee cup, she sat down across the corner from him and followed his gaze. “Did you notice anything concerning the neighbours that I should know about?” The question was clearly meant as a joke and for a fleeting moment he didn’t know how to react to it. A scenario like this wasn't included in his training. A person like him didn't have friends he could joke with. He had targets he was either supposed to kill directly or seduce first and kill then, and he had colleagues and handlers that he only communicated with if he had to and only on a strictly professional, unemotional level.It took him only a moment to decide to throw all caution into the wind. “I’m pretty sure that the guy across the street on the second floor grows an unhealthy amount of weed in his bathroom and the man on the ground floor should be more careful with his affair.” For a moment she just stared at him, searching his face to see whether he was joking but when she found none, she frowned and took a sip of her coffee. “Now I know who not to talk to. Is there anything nice you could say?” He shrugged. “The young woman on the top floor is pregnant. She only found out this morning and has yet to tell her boyfriend. I think he’s going to be very happy about it.” Viktoria smiled. “Her name is Sandra. And I can’t even congratulate her because then I had to tell her how I know.” She smiled wistfully.Something in him wanted to apologize that he made her life so difficult. A part of him wanted to thank her and ask why she chose to save him instead of leaving him in the car. He would have died either of blood loss or because of a bullet to his head, be it by his employer or another agency. That same part also wanted to know why she had been there in that tunnel in Moscow in the first place. Instead of asking, Kirill turned his attention back to his breakfast and ignored the small voice in the back of his head like he had done for most of his life.
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Kirill spent the next few weeks recovering in the small flat. He was alone most of the time; Viktoria was either working or attended lectures for her studies and even when she was home, she was mostly studying. He met Otto a few times over dinner but the old man spent as much time as possible in the university, preferring to spend his last days teaching, healing and aiding in research instead of slowly wasting away.The first days he mostly slept away, still weak from his injuries, but when he got better, he also started to get bored. Viktoria noticed his restlessness and promptly involved him in the daily chores of the household. She roped him into chopping vegetables and other things for dinner and he learned more about cooking in three days than he had in all the years of his training. To his surprise, he liked it. Viktoria was a rather good cook and working in tandem with her was strangely calming. But he only spent a small amount of time in the kitchen and watching the neighbours proved to be a rather boring pastime as well since most of them worked full-time. Seeing the young woman tell her boyfriend about her pregnancy had been nice but that the only exciting thing that happened all week. Fortunately, Viktoria had a fondness for books of various genres and she allowed him to take whichever book he liked out of her extensive collection. At first, it felt strange to read for fun because he had only done reading required for his assignments since the beginning of his training, so he tried to stick to medical and legal books until he got a bit more comfortable. Then he turned towards the more fictional novels and discovered his fondness for science fiction, especially for books written by Dmitry Glukhovsky and Sergei Lukyanenko. When Viktoria found out, she managed to get him copies of almost all of their books in Russian, so he could read in his native language again. In the end it took almost three months until he was mostly recovered. As soon as his body stopped hurting at every movement, he had started training again, lightly at first and then more intensely when his stamina and strength returned. The better his physical condition got the more he started to resent being cooped up in the small apartment the whole day. He became restless, easily irritated and snappy. Viktoria had never asked what had caused him to end up in that car wreck in Moscow or what he had done for a living that forced him to hide while injured but she seemed to instinctively understand that going out where anyone could see him was not an option. No matter how badly he wanted it. The atmosphere in the apartment tensed a bit more every day until it was so bad that he could almost taste it in the air every time he was in the same room as another person.Otto, who had stopped going to the hospital so much because of his rapidly declining health, mostly ignored him or gave him something to do to occupy his mind. The old man had a fondness for assembling models of various famous buildings which he would then donate to the local library but his hands were shaking too badly to glue them together himself. So Kirill spent hours carefully gluing tiny pieces of wood together according to Otto's instructions and listening to the old man telling him stories of when he was young. His illness made him sentimental and he mostly spoke of his time in the army in which he had enlisted in order to finance his medical training. Kirill was almost certain that Viktoria had never heard those tales as they included rather vivid descriptions of the unspeakable violence he had experienced during various deployments in WWII.Viktoria, on the other hand, was almost as tense as Kirill. She wrote an exam almost every other day and it grated on her nerves. She snapped at Kirill for the slightest movement and most of the time, he yelled back and the fights regularly escalated until she came back one evening and threw a bundle at him. He caught it and looked at her while pulling up an eyebrow. "What is this?" "Those are sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and some running shoes. As soon as it's dark, we're going for a run."Three hours later, they were back in the apartment and noticeably more relaxed. Kirill had enjoyed the exercise outside and the chance to really stretch his muscles even though he kept the hood of the sweatshirt up to prevent anyone from recognizing him. It was surprisingly easy to fall into a regular rhythm with Viktoria and when they returned he felt much calmer than he had in a long time. The young woman was much more at ease as well and even laughed at his attempt of a joke before going to bed in preparation of her last exam the next day.