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[aredwithalist-blog]

His hands were shaking as they held the rim of the toilet while he vomited. 

His hands won't stop shaking. They haven't stopped since they gave him that medicine...what was it? Why were they giving him medicine? Didn't you fucking listen to Rodion? Or do those shocks make you fucking dumb? We can't believe you don't remember what he said, you're just lying.

The memory finally drifts back, it was...two weeks ago? One week? The shocks made him forget...Rodion had schooled him for his stupidity.

"Honestly I'm surprised you've managed to keep your side of the contract for so long, and ten years ago what you did wouldn't have made a difference, but RED is a different company today, and unadaptable commodities are of no use to us. You've managed to just barely avoid it this time. A talented little Medic, the one who painstakingly reset all of your bones, found a use for you. You should thank him, because otherwise I would have packaged and shipped you back off to Russia the second we got you back." The look on his face had been almost fatherly the whole time he looked down at him while he laid on his table. Any other person he would have strangled and ripped apart for the mere disrespect he had shown him...but this man had utterly built himself inside of Artyom's mind as something to be feared. The mere mention of Russia from this man took his anger and turned it into a cowering fear. Rodion put on an expression of nostalgia and bitter reminiscence. 

"This reminds me of when I first found you there, in that prison after you murdered all those people in St. Petersburg. Don't you remember they were going to kill you? I thought you'd obey someone who'd saved your life more than you have, but I suppose I couldn't have expected much. As for your usefulness now, you will still be employed at 5gorge, but you are not ready to return. In the meantime, we will be trying out some new ways to get that rebellious mind of yours under control. Your initial...illness...affects a minuscule portion of the population, and the results we gather from testing you will sell quite nicely in certain markets, so be on your best behavior, please, as accurate results are very important."

Food is shoved through the slot in the door and breaks him out of the memory. It looks bland, and he knows the lithium is in there somewhere. Between that and the electroshock therapy it made it so very hard to think, and the more he took the medicine the less he could think and the more the voices shrieked at him. But he remembered Rodion's words. Russia. Death. No, no no no...he had to be good, to be useful. He can't go back, he can't...

He takes his food and eats.

[aredwithalist-blog]

     Benefit from not having to fight aside, that same lack of strength had made it difficult working on their patient and it had taken most of the week to find and manually reset all of the broken bones, as well as remove all the fragments---everything had to be re-set after such a long time from the injury or else it would all heal out of place. He saw that most everything was in order and began to fill out some of the paperwork necessary for their next phase.

     “Ah, excellent healing work as always, just like your father.”

     Matvei willed himself not to bristle at the sudden appearance of his 'handler'. Rodion walked stiffly into the room and observed the sleeping Sniper. His wrinkled face held that same unreadable expression it always did.

     “It is time for the next phase, yes? Have you filled out the prerequisites for the machine you wanted?”

     Matvei watched him silently for a moment, his guard was always up around this man. The 'retired' RED Spy was a dangerous one, even with his false leg and aged body. This man was the reason he'd grown up in the cold of his Russian hometown alone, and why he was here. Him and this entire damned company...but those thoughts were better saved for later. He had his own little secret projects for that here right in RED's own research facility, though he feared Rodion knew about many, if not all of them. This Sniper was merely a detour from his real work. But what Rodion wanted, Rodion got. And the ex-Spy had paid BLU a lot of money for his sick little Sniper to return, and was bound determined to draw every cent back from the man, despite the cost, Matvei thought, to his precious research.

     “Yes. We should be able to start at the beginning of next week. I'm sure you'll be the one to talk to the patient about what we have planned for him?” Matvei's question was hopefully leading. He wanted little to do with men like the Sniper. Rodion offered a rare smile.

     “Of course. It's been so long since he and I have had a proper heart-to-heart chat, and he desperately needs a father to direct him back on the correct path.” At the Medic's slightly confused expression, he elaborated:“I think of all the men I recruit as my children in some form or another--” Matvei gave an involuntary shiver, something the other man noticed but did not comment on. “--and as all good fathers should, I will have a good, long talk with any of my sons after they've thrown a temper-tantrum such as this. Little boys must know to obey their superiors, after all.” There was a pregnant pause, and the ex-Spy looked right at Matvei as he spoke. “You'd agree I'm a good father when it comes to this, correct?”

     The Medic felt his mouth go dry, his tongue like cotton. “Of course, Sir.”

[aredwithalist-blog]

There's an even amount of pain everywhere that makes it just nearly impossible to sleep. His mind floats on the edge, too exhausted to keep swimming in the aware world but still somehow fighting, pain being that last bit of instinct keeping him afloat. They've been giving him injections to make him sleep, why were they not doing that now?! His body aches for the chemical relief as much as it does from the pain of his injuries. His awareness surfaces, then falls under and thrashes back up, coming closer to consciousness as he feels something on his face, over his mouth--he tries to struggle but his body refuses to answer. A grating, wheezing breath reaches his ears and he realizes it is his own. 

There's a shadow next to the gurney that he doesn't recognize at first, but the voice from it immediately takes him back to his earliest days at RED. His vision becomes slightly clearer and he can see that there's a RED logo on the wall of whatever room he's in.

"You owe us a lot of money, Mr. Ermolai."

[aredwithalist-blog]

Hope the door hits you on the way out

[abluspy]

The BLU transport—appearing much like a smaller delivery truck, non-descript, grey, and fully enclosed with no windows in the rear trailer—pulled up as the Sniper tried to get a rise out of Arthur, but to no avail. The Pyro gave him no response, just as Philippe expected.

Gesturing to the Administration-employed men who exited the vehicle, Philippe moved to the side of Artyom’s good eye and smiled coldly. “And now… You are gone. Передавай привет Родине, сволочь.”

[aredwithalist-blog]

Artyom's eyes didn't stray from Arthur even as the men prepared to load him onto the vehicle, his attention completely lost in memory. That was, until the Russian words from the Spy split harshly into his mind. Any noise, any laughter, abruptly stopped and Artyom's sick grin wiped right off of his face. 

No...he doesn't know...none of them know...they couldn't know...they don't know...They. Do. Not. Know.

But you remember St. Petersburg, don't you? Of course you do~ And Russia remembers...Remember what you were told would happen if they found out you were still alive?

I said they don't know...

This was a certainty in his mind, but he still turned his gaze at the Spy, completely quiet as he stared the man down hard, his one open eye full of malicious intent and utter hatred...and, underlying it all, a very real look of fear.

Artyom did not stop staring at the Spy until the closing doors of the truck obscured him from view.

[aredwithalist-blog]

Hope the door hits you on the way out

[abluspy]

Rolling his eyes at the Sniper’s laughter, Philippe pulled out a cigarette and lit in, inhaling slowly and deeply. He supposed even the very insane must have some kind of sense of humor. Either that, or this one’s mind was breaking even further. Hmm. Probably the second.

The battle had moved back inside or over to the RED half of the battlefield, muffled now. That allowed him to hear the crunching of gravel under tires, no doubt the BLU transport arriving to secure their bounty. The Spy smirked. “It is coming for you now…but you will not be taken yet. We must wait for someone else to see you off. To ensure you are gone.”

[aredwithalist-blog]

There was a door that opened and closed and Artyom quieted in his laughter when he saw someone emerge from the base. Arthur, oh dear Arthur had appeared to him. Distinctly gruesome memories flashed back to him in a sudden, real sense, and his mouth opened wide in a bright smile, his one open eye alight with glee. His expression was happier than if he had been reunited with an old friend. To Artyom, it was like having a toy that had been played with too much and broken come back almost a few months later, bright, shiny, and new.

He struggled in his restraints again, his unbroken hand attempting to reach out toward the newcomer. His voice was low but loud enough for the other to hear, alight with excitement and some sort of twisted reverence.

"Oh...Look so well compared to last I see you..." The hand was straining against the straps, but the material held tight. "Look like I could rip apart allll over again..." He laughed for real this time, the noise still hoarse, but not forced in the least.

"Come to see me off...so very touched...truly, I am. Is wonderful treat."

[aredwithalist-blog]

Hope the door hits you on the way out

[abluspy]

“You ‘ear zat, mmm? Ze sounds of battle. Ze explosions. Ze shots. Ze screams…” Philippe didn’t lean down into the Sniper’s field of vision, instead holding himself tall as he pushed him down the hall towards the loading dock.

The two BLU Spies had had to make quick work since Charles was assigned to battle today. There was no doubt in his mind that the Administration had been instructed on precisely whom to select due to other proceedings. RED was heavily outnumbered at this point, regardless. It made sense.

Pushing the gurney out onto the loading dock in the late afternoon, Philippe took a deep breath of the cold air, releasing it almost like a plume of smoke. His grin was smug as he locked the wheels into place. “Your transportation to BLU will be ‘ere any moment now. You should enjoy your last moments in ze sun. Who knows when you will see it again?”

[aredwithalist-blog]

The Spy's words made his insides twist in rage as he continued to fruitlessly pull at his straps. No, no, he had to fight! The voices commanded him to, RED commands him to! 

They will dispose of you if you are useless to them. You will provide us the blood we so richly deserve...

But he couldn't...he couldn't...

He didn't miss the Spy's words while he wrestled with his inner panic. He was going to BLU. He'd never been a prisoner of BLU before. But he knew what RED did to their captures...

The hoarse, quiet laughter that escaped him surprised him, though the sound distinctly lacked any amusement or joy. It sounds so disembodied at first that he wasn't sure it was him but yes, indeed, that was his voice that quietly hitched up and down, the corner of his own lips turned upward, though he lacked a reason why.

Then again, he always seemed to have the most inappropriate reactions to such things.

[aredwithalist-blog]

Hope the door hits you on the way out

The world slowly opened up to him, his senses under a dense shroud of fog that was whipped away the instant he felt straps over his body that were securing him to a metal table. He'd been drugged again. His body tensed and he pushed against the bonds, though it did him little good in his state--his fourth day without food had left him weak, the addition of mangled hands and a beaten face among the treasures he'd gained during his stay at BLU.

He could feel himself moving. He pulled against the belts while his back pushed against the gurney, the sensation oddly familiar...like a past childhood memory that only comes back once the stimuli are recreated. The gurney's wheels spun against the floor and he tried to suck in air through his broken nose, but breathing through his mouth seemed less difficult, though the air that passed through the new gap in his teeth was strangely excruciating. 

He cracked his one non-swollen eye open to see where he was going, though since he couldn't look in the direction he was headed, the venture was rather useless. He refused to settle down on the table and pulled at the straps even as the distant sounds of explosions reached his ears...

Battle day.

It was close to battle day--no, it was battle day.

He could hear the targets moving out in the field...and he wasn't there to kill them. He has to be there to kill them. He needs to cut, to rip, to maim, to taste--

and yet he ROTS.

[aredwithalist-blog]

The Interrogation

[abluspy]

Once again—though thankfully for the first time in this session—Philippe had to restrain himself from slashing the other man’s throat. He would just respawn and would no longer be in their custody, and that was something the Spy simply could not have. This RED would be brought to whatever justice BLU saw fit.

Instead, he smoked his cigarette calmly and slowly, just watching the Sniper. So that Charles would understand some of what had been said, Philippe chose to respond in English. “Unlike you, I do not relish ze killing. I only cared zat you were injured enough not to ‘urt anyone else during zat battle. But…” He smiled a little smugly then. “We appreciate your confession, nonezeless.”

[aredwithalist-blog]

Artyom frowned at the calmness of the other. He didn't even notice his own mistake, as he was a bit too wrapped up in how the other had paused. He just wanted to pick at him more--something had to get a rise out of him, something. He'd gone two days without violence. He needed it...and then one of the softer voices of his imagination whispered deliciously in his ear and slowly, slowly the grin stretched back over his face. He switched back over to English in hopes of getting a rise out of the both of them.

"I wonder how badly throat scarred when I slit it--did he tell? Did he remember?" He laughed. "A reward, then, for your patience. Because doubt he remembered much after--how I kept cutting, sawing, slicing. Was cold out, but his blood kept nicely warm. Cut past muscle, bone. Then took outside of respawn--preserved it in cold...A head makes such good trophy, don't you think?"

[aredwithalist-blog]

The Interrogation

[abluspy]

The polite smile on Philippe’s face didn’t reach his eyes. They remained as cold as ever, especially seeing the way the Sniper reacted to his question. It wasn’t his words that caught the Spy’s attention, but rather the look on his face, the sudden straightening of his posture that only came with pride. Pride in a job the other man perceived to be akin to an art.

He took another drag. This was an easy game to play. “It was clever, of course. Attacking so far away from ze bases. And ‘ow ze jeep was crashed at ze bottom of one of ze more shallow gorges certainly ‘ad us fooled for a while.”

[aredwithalist-blog]

"A Crash?" He shifted his jaw, smile unmoving. "Would not be here simply for Jeep." He leaned forward as far as his bound position would allow him. He could feel the eyes of the other still standing by the wall move to him the second he did. Artyom's voice was low but the excited tone wasn't missing. "Tell why I'm here, little BLU. What do you think I'm guilty of?"

[aredwithalist-blog]

((Hey RED base, that feeling you got towards Arty? Yeah, well, he says it's mutual.))

[aredwithalist-blog]

The Interrogation

[abluspy]

“Mmmm. ‘BLU frogs’. As if we ‘ave not ‘eard zat one before.” Philippe clucked his tongue and shook his head slowly as if disappointed by the Sniper’s lack of originality.

Tapping off the ash from his cigarette into an ashtray set away from the fan, the Spy tilted his head to one side and studied the captive. A man like this required special handling, perhaps appeal to his ego. All killers like this one had ego in abundance, in Philippe’s experience, but he’d get to that in a while. The direct approach should be first. “I assume you know why you ‘ave been brought ‘ere…?”

[aredwithalist-blog]

"You hear truth often then." He frowned when the Spy didn't respond immediately, his foot almost moving impatiently. He didn't respond to this man just to let him stare at him all day.

His eyes instantly light up at the mention of why he's here and he smiles. It looks more like a grimace. "No. Do so many things, hard to keep track of...Though I would like be enlightened on what reason you have made up." It's obvious he's lying--but he wants to hear it, he wants them to talk about the woods, the cave, he wants to hear the details they'd been given and wants to know how accurate they are.

[aredwithalist-blog]

The Interrogation

[abluspy]

Philippe didn’t bother looking at the Sniper until after he’d unfolded a metal chair and sat down in it, legs crossed at the knee. Taking a drag off his newly lit cigarette, the Spy finally deigned to let his eyes take in the filthy vermin of a man, if he could even really be called that. No one with any humanity in them would have done to another living being what this creature did to Arthur.

Reaching over to the standing industrial fan Charles had just plugged in, he aimed it more directly at the RED and turned it on, his lips quirking into a small, satisfied smile as he kept back some of the Sniper’s stench. “Zat is better. And ‘ow are you doing zis evening, you wretched zing?”

[aredwithalist-blog]

Artyom's first reaction was to spit at the seated Spy's feet, though the fan made quick work of that as his own saliva merely splattered against his own shirt. He snorted and gave the other a look of contempt. 

"Was good until room filled with BLU Frogs."

[aredwithalist-blog]

The Interrogation

His body felt numb, like it had secluded itself and become part of the darkness he'd inhabited since Saturday night. They hadn't fed him. Only the occasional shoving of water down his throat to keep him alive. ...It wasn't like he hadn't gone without food before, but the lack of any sort of daylight or exercise made him seem pale, his muscles stiff. Dark rings under his eyes showed that though he'd relatively been left alone, he hadn't gained much sleep since he'd first awoke tied to the chair.

He felt he knew why he'd been taken in, though with someone like him, any number of past transgressions could have been the culprit as to why he was in such a disgusting base--even in the dark he imagined his skin trying to crawl away as the mere presence of the enemy tried to seep into his body. 

It was the aforementioned transgressions that made him wonder why they hadn't killed him yet, though the answer soon found itself after the question had been posed--they wanted something from him. Well, they could just go fuck themselves. 

The light flashed on in the room loudly and he hissed, the sudden ability to see burned at his eyes. The door opened to produce both of the Spies that had initially captured him--one wheeled in a cart that was just high enough to slightly distort and obscure its contents from his immediate vision, though he recognized one of the objects to be a hammer. --Oh. Well, this looked promisingly interesting. He kept his intrigue to himself, though. Both of his captors were greeted with a hateful glare and a muffled snarl.

[aredwithalist-blog]

Meanwhile, at RED Base

Considering Artyom's social habits, it may have been until Wednesday that anyone might have noticed something amiss. But there was something noticeable in the RED Commons, an increased pungent smell from Room 3A, which had been left uncharacteristically open a few feet for the entire night.

[aredwithalist-blog]

Artyom struggled in his bonds the majority of the night. He usually kept something sharp on his person at all times, but the bastard Spies had searched and cleaned him out completely before he'd even awoke, leaving him nothing but his clothes, an aching head, and burning nose and throat. Though the after-effects of the drug had him in an out of consciousness for parts of the night, Artyom awoke in the morning (was it morning?) hungry and completely exhausted. His rage, however, did not wish to cease, and if he could not let it out, his mind would begin to force it's frustrations on himself. Which it could already be doing, as he could swear he could see things moving in the dark. 

Artyom clenched his teeth on the gag and did the only thing he could do, wait.

[abluspy]

To catch an Artyom

[abluspy]

Philippe just smiled coldly at the bound Sniper, the disdain clear in his eyes. He’d love to smack him around a bit, even just one good hit, but he knew it would be better to not give that sick bastard the satisfaction of provoking such a reaction yet. Soon. Soon… “We will leave you in peace tonight. You should appreciate it. It will be your last for quite some time, I assure you.”

Eyes still on the RED, he leaned over to speak quietly to Charles. “We will lock up ze cell. Turn out ze lights. No need to waste electricity on zis one.”

[aredwithalist-blog]

"Of course." The other Spy moved into Artyom's vision as well as he spoke, but his stare didn't waiver. He could still barely feel anything and the disorientation gripped him as his vision swam, but if glaring was all he could do then it would settle for now. Ripping, maiming...escape would come later...yes...

The door to the brig shut and locked with a loud click. The lights went out a moment later and enveloped the captive Sniper in solitary darkness.

[abluspy]

To catch an Artyom

[bluprovocateur-blog-deactivated]

[...]

They made it out into the cold and to their vehicle, which had been secluded in the woods, and loaded their capture into the back. The drive back was the quick and uneventful part of the mission, one of them focused on driving while the other kept a careful watch on their unconscious captive. The trip dragging the Sniper into the base and into the brig was even shorter.

[aredwithalist-blog]

His head was throbbing, blood pounding loudly in his ears, and his throat was on fire as he slowly came back to the waking world in a drugged haze. There was a bright light shining in his eyes and he noticed movement around him, very near his proximity and he jerked away--or rather, he tried to. The movement was slow and uncoordinated and only served to make his neck scream dully in pain.

More feeling was slowly coming back and Artyom was regaining his sense of kinesthesis and realized he was sitting in a chair. More time allowed him to process that he wasn't sitting voluntarily, there was pressure on his wrists and ankles and a rope tightening around his chest. His mind attempted to panic, he'd been tricked! Something had him and he had to escape and maim whomever was responsible for this horrid offence! He tried yelling and thrashing but his body refused to respond and his voice merely let out a choked and weak groan. He grit his teeth as rage boiled furiously inside of him, unable to spill over as his body refused to cooperate.