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“Гей, десь там, де чорні води,” Sasha's voice was more of a raspy whisper than anything else, worn down by endless days of limited rations. His lips were cracked, each attempt to dampen them tasting more and more like copper and iron. Common sense would suggest saving his breath and conserving what little energy he had left, but the silence would drive him insane faster then whatever it was that they injected him with however long ago it was.
The faceless soldiers had never named themself as they ambushed him on the way home from the school where he worked, hitting him from behind with a sedative and dragging his limp body into a windowless van. But Sasha wasn't a fool. There had already been fears when Russia and America arrived to “help” with the Civil War, and the interrogation he had woken up to had only confirmed it. A Traitor to the State they named him, as if his country was already back under the boot of Moscow. He had earned himself a black eye and a broken nose for spitting in their face, and a split lip for refusing to speak anything other than Ukrainian, as if that wasn't one of the official languages of the Eastern Slav Republic. Though their faces when Sasha claimed he didn't know a word of Russian had been worth it.
He had held onto his pride and refused to break, even as they had dragged him through the once abandoned halls of the Soviet era bunker and into the butcher's bay they call an infirmary. It had taken three men to hold him down as they injected him with an experimental drug intended to create stronger, faster, better soldiers for this new age of war. And who better to test it on than a worthless crippled rebel.
Whatever monstrosity they had cooked up burned as it went in, eating through his veins and drowning his mind in red. Time had blurred together after that, into an endless sea of madness and rage. Fragments of thoughts that came and went, clarity breaching the surface like a desperate drowning man being tossed by a storm. He remembered the hours of sharp shooting pains down his spine and into his legs as the damage dealt by his previous battle with bio organic viruses was slowly repaired. And an endless hunger that grew and grew, driving him ever closer to the edge of an abyss that promised to turn him into a mindless beast that attacked friend and foe alike.
Not that Sasha had any friends in this shithole.
They hadn't even left him the dignity of leaving him to die in a bed, instead dumping him into a dark cramped concrete cell. Irregular deliveries of a single cup of water and gruel slid through the slot at the bottom of his cell door, his only real link to the world outside his four walls. Clearly, whatever he had been given had already gone wrong if they didn't even bother to observe him.
Stretching out one leg, Sasha let his head fall back to rest against the wall and considered if he could be bothered counting the cracks in the ceiling again. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and it was so mind numbing he might even be able to fall back asleep. Even the silver lining of gaining feeling back in his lower half and being able to move around on his own without his wheelchair had been tarnished days ago.
Just as he finally settled on trying to nap while the lingering pain wasn’t too bad, Sasha’s head whipped up as he stared intently at the steel welded door. Unless he had finally started to hallucinate, which wouldn’t be that far of a stretch given the virus, he could have sworn he had heard the sounds of gunshots. It could have just been some poor bastard being executed of course, but it also could be the sound of the bunker being raided by friendly forces.
Pressing a hand against the wall for balance, Sasha forced himself to his feet and slowly hobbled over to lean against the door and strained his ears to listen. There it was again, gunshots- semi automatic. Shouting, but it was too faint for him to pick up what was being said. And then the distant echoes of screams. Again, not exactly unusual for Russian prison, but when B.O.W. testing was involved, it could make a man nervous.
Bracing himself, Sasha tensed at the sound of fast approaching footsteps. He didn’t remember what lay outside his cell, having been unconscious when they had forced him in here, so he wasn’t sure if he was the destination or if the footsteps would continue moving past. He had never heard any possible cellmates, but that didn't mean that he was alone down here. Alone or not, the footsteps still stopped outside his cell and were quickly followed by the jangling of keys.
The door groaned open in protest at the force behind it, the angle hiding him from view of the figure stepping in with a gun pointing towards the pile of rags where Sasha normally slept. Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning; the shooting, the shouted orders, the screams. This wasn't a rescue or a breakout. This was a purge. Maybe somebody had gotten too close to finding out, or the project had been deemed a failure. It didn't matter, all evidence had to be destroyed. And that clearly included him.
Not giving his executioner a chance to notice him lurking in the shadows, Sasha lunged forward around the door, intent on wrestling the gun away from the soldier. But as soon as he got close enough to lay hands on the other man, the growing hunger that had gnawed his sanity so thin, finally broke over him like a tidal wave.
Red descended, a pounding drive for blood, blood, blood . Claws rent flesh and fangs tore through muscle and sinew, drinking deep as the prey struggled weakly in its grasp before finally going still. More. It craved more. It could taste blood in the air, heavy with fear and hatred. More prey that thought themselves predators, unaware of the monster they had unleashed on themselves. And it once it had finished with them, it would leave this place and satiate itself on the unknowing outside-
No.
No, it- he would not become a mindless beast to be put down. He would not harm the people he had given so much to protect. He was Alexander Kozachenko. He was still here, he was still fighting. His lips moved, forcing out words to try and bring the world into focus and push the red tide back. “Оминайте гори, ліси, доли.” Sasha had grown with that song, running below the falcons as they flew, arms stretched out as if he could soar as they did. He knew the words, he did, even as they fell heavy off his tongue like stones. “Дзвін, дзвін, дзвін, дзвіночку.”
Finally, focus like a rotting bridge beneath his feet, threatening to drop him at any moment. Gore coated the lower half of his face and down his bare chest, the stench of it almost enough to cover the fact of him not having bathed since he had been captured. Glancing down at the body and the abandoned gun beside it, Sasha considered his options. The fucking katsaps had turning him into a godforsaken upyr, and as tempting as it was to make sure he wouldn't be a threat to the outside world, the urge to ensure that nobody, including him, survived the hellhole won out.
Maybe if he was lucky, the bunker would come with a self-destruct button.
Leaving the body and gun behind, Sasha followed the hallway as the tide slowly rolled back in. Up to his knees maybe, not quite deep enough yet to knock him off his feet. Blood, Blood . Up ahead, probably looking for the first soldier he killed. It maybe would have been safer to use a gun, but that brought the risk of bringing the entire bunker down on him before he made any real headway. Inside he waded deeper, letting the hunger turn him into a human shaped weapon. Maybe it was also slightly Sasha appreciating the irony. This is what they wanted after all, a stronger, faster, better soldier.
The next time he surfaced, both he and the tide had risen. He was closer to the entrance probably, having gone up a few levels and through quite a few men. His jaw ached, having cracked his way through a collarbone to get to the marrow inside. Soon. Just a few more kills and then making sure the bunker was properly locked and wouldn't be able to be opened again, and then he could rest. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to find a self-destruct button, but he could always set a few fires instead. Maybe toss a few grenades around.
A new scent caught him, luring him forwards towards the unknown. Rain, fresh green growing things, outside. Not fresh air, but the lingering trace carried on someone else's clothes. Someone else who had recently arrived, and may have left the fucking front door open. If this was how another outbreak happened, Sasha was going to be pissed .
Turning one last corner, Sasha pulled up short, even the blood tide receding slightly in shock at the sight in front of him. A familiar face, slightly messy blond hair and sharp blue eyes that didn't miss a thing, sweeping over Sasha along with a cocky little grin. “Nice legs.”
Ignoring the pistol still pointed vaguely in his direction, Sasha shook off the shock as he tried to piece together exactly what the American was doing here. He doubted the Russians and the Americans were working together on this, and even if they were, he doubted the other man would approve. “How did you find this place?”
Kennedy shrugged slightly. “Anonymous tip-off.” Studying the trail of carnage Sasha had left behind him, the blond nudged what was left of a body with his boot. “If I had known this was how to get you to walk again, I would have dangled a Russian in front of a treadmill for you."
Laughter spilled from him like a burst dam, ribs splintering and piercing his bloody heart at the self satisfied look on the other man's face. He wanted- “I'm infected.”
The confession was blatantly obvious, yet still drained the humour from Kennedy's face. Straightening up, the American still took a few steps closer, studying him with a look in his eye that Sasha couldn't quite recognize. “Figured. I know someone though, smart as hell. She could have a cure whipped up in no time if you're willing to trust me.”
Could he? Underneath the madness gnawing at what was left of him, his gut told him to trust the other man. Kennedy hadn't failed him before, and things they had faced together. What was one more step? And then another? “I trusted you once.”
Sasha's acknowledgement brought that small smile back to the other man's face, gesturing with his head for Sasha to follow him. “Alright, let's get going while I give Rebecca a call. We can come back and sweep the rest of the bunker once we get you all fixed up.” Wrinkling his nose, Kennedy couldn't help but add, “and get you a bath as well.”
Twitching his lips in amusement and unable to disagree, Sasha obediently followed, more than willing to leave the bunker and what it had turned him into behind him. The tide tugged at him, calling for blood, blood, blood, but now he had something else to ignore the siren song with. Staring at the back of the light blond hair, illuminated by the weak globes, the last few words were whispered more to the other man than to himself. “ Степовий жайвороночку .”