Chapter Text
Steady breathing, body still, total focus.
That’s the steps you kept repeating in your head, fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the Barrett M82 you held. You ignored the feeling of the fake grass and other debris poking into your uniform, the weight of the ghillie suit adorning your body pressing you further into the uneven terrain.
Your target— British soldiers.
You didn’t know why they were targets— they never told you much— but you stuck to following orders to avoid any unnecessary consequences. All you knew was that you were tasked with being a lookout for your team, waiting behind as you usually did to clear the way for them.
Your radio crackled, echoing in your ear before your Lieutenant Pavlova spoke through, his thick Russian swaying your focus for a second.
“Гилли. Вы на позиции?” Ghillie. You in position?
“Да.” Yes.
“Следите за Борйс. Убедитесь, что это ясно.” Watch for Bravo. Make sure it’s clear.
“Копия.” Copy.
The radio crackled off and you were left with the ambient sounds of nature, readjusting yourself until you got into the familiar position.
Steady breathing.
You spotted a British soldier snaking around the side of the building, your chest rising and falling against the flattened grass.
Body still.
You flipped the scope cover, pressing the butt of the sniper against your shoulder before wrapping your finger around the trigger.
Total focus.
The swaying leaves, birds singing through the sky, you focused on the sounds, eye peeking through the scope. The distance markers sliced through their abdomen, raising it up to accommodate for distance.
Your finger curled tight, pulling against the curved metal.
Steady, still, focus.
It happened in a blink, the sharp buzzing in your ear from the sound wave, watching the bullet dart across the field.
Headshot. The blood stains the building’s wall.
That deserves a pat on the back.
“Хорошая работа, Гилли.” Good job, Ghillie.
You were tempted to thank him, but the orders he soon spat out towards Bravo made your lips tighten, instead opting to reload your sniper for the next target.
You watched as Bravo team made their way through the field, moving on the building in their practiced formation you’ve seen a dozen times. You always hated watching them run it, especially after begging your Lieutenant to join but was continuously dismissed by him.
Gunshots quickly pulled you out of your daydreaming, pushing up slightly to try and get a view of what was happening, but they were already in the building.
A mix of Russian and English shouting reached you in the quiet of the air, before quickly being covered by shots and returning fire.
Based on the codes, commands, and communication on the radio, you concluded Bravo team was doing fine, especially as they announced room after room clear of enemies. So you did what any adolescent would do when bored, letting your mind wander and conjure up something to do to pass the time.
Your brain decided it’d be picking at the grass around you, pulling a blade out from the dirt between your pointer and thumb— watching the dirt hang on desperately before you shook it off. You ended up pulling an entire patch of grass out, leaving a bare brown spot in the field. You sighed softly, moving your gaze to another full patch before tugging at those as well.
Though, it wasn’t until multiple brown spots littered the ground around you that the radio crackled back on— the sudden urgency in your Lieutenant’s voice making you jump up.
“Гилли! Что, черт возьми, ты делал?!” Ghillie! What the fuck have you been doing?!
The radio broke up as he yelled, mixing with the yells and warnings of your other teammates.
“Здесь есть другие люди!” There are other people here!
“Они американцы!” They’re American!
“Мы попали в чертову засаду!” We’ve been fucking ambushed!
“Где Антон команда?!” Where’s Alpha team?!
“Нам нужно подкрепление!” We need reinforcements!
You flipped up the scope cover and quickly looked through, you couldn’t see around the corner clearly, but you definitely saw soldiers rushing in the building.
You pushed yourself away from the grass and towards the sniper, cursing at yourself, “Ебать ебать ебать…!” Fuck fuck fuck…!
You didn’t pay attention, someone snuck in, your team was getting ambushed, it was all your fault.
The streamline of gunshots only quickened your already rapid heart rate, trying to get a shot of anyone— to at least be some kind of help in the situation.
Though, you couldn’t take the shot. You were breathing heavily, too fast, and you couldn't stabilize yourself. You couldn’t get yourself in the right position, feeling the sweat pool under the ghillie suit. You couldn’t focus on the target, the shouting coming from the radio and the incessant gunfire ricocheting in your mind.
You couldn’t do it.
In the flood of your emotions and growing frustration, you failed to detect the subtle footsteps behind you, the soft unsheathe of his knife covered by the chaos at the building. You realized it too late, picking up on the sound of the grass crunching under heavy boots made you look over your shoulder.
The man came down with his knife, making you scurry out of the way— the sharp edge just barely nicking your suit.
He quickly recovered, using his heel to kick the sniper away from you. He turned his attention back to you— pathetically trying to scamper off the ground, the heavy suit weighing you down. Wasn’t all your fault— ghillie suits don’t typically come in teen sizes.
He reached down and grabbed your ankle, pulling you back towards him. You flipped over instantly, pulling your foot back before jamming it into his shoulder.
Despite stepping back, the kick seemed to have no effect, his grip tightening around the knife’s handle before bringing it down on you again.
Your hands shot up and blocked him, struggling against the force of him pushing down. It was clear he was much stronger than you, his biceps bulging through the material of his uniform. To say you weren’t scared shitless would be lying to yourself, the guy was huge, even for a soldier.
From this position you could see his face, well, not entirely. He adorned a black balaclava with a grotesque skull plastered on the material, only leaving a slit for his eyes.
Another thing you noticed— where he was trying to stab you. Instead of aiming for your head or neck, he was aiming for your shoulder. For his strength and expertise, he had to know a stab like that wouldn’t kill you, only immobilize you.
Maybe that’s what he wanted.
You pushed with all the strength you could muster up, forearms trembling as he pushed against you, the knife edge poking into the suit’s fabric. You looked down, utilizing your free limb, pulled your leg up before driving your heel into his stomach.
“Отойди, чертов пиндо!” Get off, you fucking pindo!
He recoiled back, giving you a small window to pull out your own knife and swing it at him.
It caught his arm, the knife leaving a long cut in his uniform, but not nearly enough to keep him off you. Despite the non-damage, he retaliated by shoving you back onto the ground, snatching the knife from your grip and throwing it like a piece of candy; before taking his knife and plunging it into your thigh.
You didn’t register it at first, but the searing sensation that took over your entire leg quickly made you realize.
“Can’t kick me now, can you?” His voice rumbled in his chest, twisting the handle into your torn flesh.
You desperately tried to push him off you, a yell ripping itself from your throat. Unwanted warmth dripped down your leg, pooling in the fake grass of your suit. He eventually pulled it out, blood dripping down the blade of the knife before switching it to his other hand and plunging it into your other thigh.
The knife caught on a pad underneath the ghillie suit, making him push the blade harder before it pierced through the fabric and straight into your leg. You were fully aware this time, feeling the blade rip through the fragile layer you call your skin.
Your voice was too hoarse for it to make any call for help, feeling your conscious slip from your grasps in protest of the pain.
Though, he handled that for you— balling his hand into a fist before wrenching it into your jaw, making quick work of your vision.
You preferred it, at least you didn’t have to feel the pain.
_________
You don’t remember when you woke up, but you do remember being dragged through… somewhere. Based on the sound of heavy boots shuffling around and commands being directed, you guessed you were on another military base.
It wasn’t your base though.
The incessant English told you so, not that you couldn’t understand, you just hated it with a passion.
Once you fully grasped consciousness, you realized what was happening— bag over your head, hands restrained on chair arms, tight grip on your shoulder, you were kidnapped.
Why couldn’t they just kill me?
The familiar feeling of a wooden chair made your ass ache, trying to readjust yourself before realizing that your ankles were also restrained.
“He’s awake.”
A gruff voice from behind you made your struggle halt, despite the bag on your head, you realized there was more than one person in the room.
The bag was ripped off your head, exposing your sensitive retinas to the light positioned above you. It buzzed incessantly, highlighting the stale dust particles floating in the air. That probably explained why it was so hard to breathe, or the fact that your worst nightmare had come true.
Your eyes adjusted after a second, peering around to get a lay of the room. You couldn’t see much besides the table and someone circling around you— assuming they’re the one who took the bag off— making you glare at them as they disappeared beyond the light’s reach.
“Russian soldiers invading a British base,” the same gruff voice sounded from behind you, making you crane your neck in an attempt to see him, “Why?”
You assumed he was talking to you, the lack of any response from anyone else confirmed so, “Черт возьми. Я не говорю по-английски.” Fuck you. I don’t speak English.
They must’ve been trained on a bit of Russian, because he grumbles dissatisfied, “You’re under our custody, and I know you understand English. So speak up.”
You had no other choice, sighing deeply as you let your head hang forward, “I do not know. They don’t tell me much.”
“Lies.” His boots echoed as he approached the table, slapping down papers in front of you as he circled in front of the table.
You could see him clearly now, even from where you were sitting you could tell he was a giant compared to you. The bucket hat he adorned casted a shadow onto his eyes, which were not pleased to be looking at you. You could say the same thing, but your eyes were focused on the table instead. His finger pressed against the papers, making your gaze travel to them.
“I can not read it, it’s in English,” You deadpan at him, nudging your head towards the table.
“You can’t read English?”
You shake your head, you weren’t lying entirely, you just had a hard time deciphering English words. Though, that seemed to ruffle his feathers, making him grumble and point to a specific part on the paper.
“March 3rd, undercover Russian soldiers were found snooping around that British base. March 12th, it was infiltrated, soldiers were killed, actionable intel was stolen from that base, and hasn’t been seen since.”
March 3rd, March 12th, you had to think about those dates for a moment, you couldn’t even recall the current date.
“You think we stole it?” You pressed, biting your cheek to prevent yourself from slipping.
“I don’t think, I know,” He stood up straight, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, “Now I didn’t bring you here to chit-chat, start talkin’ or it’s gonna be worse than two stab wounds.”
The mention reminded you of the throbbing pain, making you glance down at your thighs. They weren’t tied up, so you could see the dried blood and rashly wrapped bandages around them. At least they didn’t take off your ghillie suit.
“I told you, I do not know anything,” You gritted, tearing your gaze away from the papers.
He sighed deeply, rubbing his beard as he circled around the table.
“I’m givin’ you a chance here, and it’s your choice whether you want to take it.” He stood beside you, making you glance at his chest to prevent craning your neck.
You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked at your restrained wrists, “Doesn’t matter if I had information, I would not tell you anyway.”
The minuscule amount of mercy in his eyes flickered away, sending a small shiver down your spine. He unsheathed his knife before reaching and plunging it into your hand, your bone stopping the blade from going completely through.
You tried to pull your hand away, the pain shooting in your arm as you cried out, but the restraints kept you bound to the chair.
“Now, you wanna start talkin’?” He spoke, his voice carrying considerably more weight.
A tremor shook your body as you slumped forward in the chair, the blood from your hand dripping and staining the wood before plopping onto your thigh— joining the rest of the spilled blood.
“My… my loyalty is not to them, if that is what you’re thinking,” You groaned, trying to ignore the immense burning in your hand, “Even if I knew something… they would kill me before I tell it to you.”
Something flickered in his eye, confusion or intrigue, urging you to continue, “So… if you want to kill me, fucking do it. I see gun in your pocket, they will shoot me anyways, might as well do it now.”
Before he could respond to your plea, aggressive knocking rang out through the room. He looked into the darkness, nodding his head presumably at someone near the door, before footsteps made their way over. You squinted in an attempt to see where you were as it opened, but the bag was thrown back over your head, shrouding your vision again.
“You have to stop the interrogation, now.” The man’s voice was higher than the one interrogating you, but still carried the same accent.
“What’s the hold up?” Another voice from inside the room spoke, lighter and more annunciated.
“That’s a fuckin’ kid, we just ran every soldier’s files from the attack, he’s not even officially registered.”
You felt the man’s presence leave your side, following his footsteps to the door, “What do you mean, kid?”
“Lasater was helping me unencrypt the files for the soldiers, we found everyone who participated in the ambush— except him,” He spat out, continuing before they could stop him, “We thought he was just recently enlisted. But no— he’s not registered because it would be illegal to.”
“How old?” The lighter voice questioned.
“From what we gathered, I’d guess fifteen to seventeen.”
“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” He dragged.
There was a slight pause before the gruff voice spoke again, “Russian army with underage recruits? And you’re sure he didn’t lie?”
“That’s what we thought initially, but records show he’s been under them for at least a year. Higher ups would’ve noticed the first week, meaning they knew about this.”
Collective chatter started buzzing around the room, picking up on the immense amount of curses and words of disbelief meant that it was a shock to all.
“Settle down, we need to get to the bottom of this,” He sighed heavily, something you deemed a habit of his, before speaking to the man again, “You and Lasater just try and figure out what Russians were doing on that base, I’ve got this one.”
With that, the door closed with a heavy click, and you picked up on the man making his way back to you.
The bag was ripped off your head again, making you squint, though your eyes adjusted much faster, “You wanna tell us about that?”
You shrugged your shoulders, “They took me in, I do not remember much from before.”
“You don’t have parents? A family?”
“No. They were killed because of America, and the UK, whichever one you are,” You spat, straining against the bonds despite the flash of pain that consumed you, “I had to watch my family die because of you fucking people!”
Sympathy stopped him from retorting back, all he saw was a kid— but all you saw was pity.
Every spec of fear melted out of your body, your hands balling into fists as you glared at him, “Do not pity me! You stab me with knife, and now look down on me?!” You yelled, yanking on your restraints before someone pulled you back against the chair.
“Look,” He sighed, “That was before I knew you were underage, and pity you because you’re a kid, not because I feel bad.”
Your breathing became heavier by the second, unbridled rage starting to bubble in your chest, “Fuck you.” You growled.
He huffed and stepped back, motioning someone over, a man with short curly hair approaching him.
“Radio medical to prep for someone.”
The man nodded, “Yes sir.” At least you had a face to the lighter voice now.
He turned back towards you, his expression stern as he contemplated something, “You’re still under our custody, so don’t fuck about.”