Y/n's POV

(...Another month later)

Word count: 3.8k

Cool metal dug into the tender flesh of my wrists, the skin swollen, red, and blistered. The weight of the heavy chains draped over my aching limbs, restricting any movement that I could possibly attempt. My shoulders were partially dislocated long ago, my body weight falling victim to gravity as I hung loosely from the molded ceiling, the tips of my toes barely touching the chilly tiled floor, decorated in my blood, old and new.

The majority of my body is covered in healed burns and scars. The landscape of my once smooth skin became replaced by a somewhat reconstructed layer of ripples filled with small canyons and valleys, the hue of my flesh painted in a light pink color, a contrast to its unaffected olive surroundings. The only thing they allowed to heal. The Russians started with their torture slowly, waiting until my broken bones had healed only to fracture them again. 

It's been a month? Maybe two. I'd lost count long ago. Especially with long periods of unconsciousness where I'd only be awakened by a gallon of ice water thrown at my face, dribbling down my naked form. The clothes that once clung to my body became too dirtied, caked in my shit, piss, and other bodily fluids. My captors were disgusted and decided to rip them off. Guess the stench radiating from my wounds was "too much" for them to handle. Pussies.

The Russians knew their way around torture, putting AQ to complete shame. That I'd give them at least. Though, even with their bone-chilling methods, I haven't cracked. Never will. Shouldn't they know by now? I'm a fucking force to be reckoned with. You can't break something that was broken to begin with. My body rose from literal ashes like a fucking phoenix. Resurrected like Jesus himself, only to fall like a dark angel. 

Living in hell itself, I have become the ruler of my demise. The devil herself. A hoarse chuckle fell from my split lip, the blood cascading down my chin to the valley of my chest, the flow halted by the built up congealed crimson bathing my body. Power resides in my broken palms, information they so desperately seek. I'm in control. Chained up now, knife in hand on a battlefield, running obstacle courses in training, gun in hand. Doesn't matter. Control belongs to me. Something they can't take, no matter how hard they try.

And I will escape. Their first mistake was capturing me. 

Their second? Assuming I was weak. 

And once I'm free, Makarov's head will be mine. 

The atmosphere surrounding where I hung seemed to always be thick with a chilling silence only broken by the occasional distant echo of footsteps from unseen corridors and ear-piercing screams from conjoining cells. My room was engulfed in a blanket of darkness, shadows danced across surfaces illuminated by the florescent lighting seeping through the cracks around the iron door. The darkness and shadows had consumed me long ago, taking what little soul I had left with them. 

Thoughts of the Task Force saving me dwindled from my mind after the first few weeks. They probably assumed I was dead, that my body disappearing was a figment of their imaginations. As if I was never there. This was up to me now, help is welcome, what is isn't is necessary. My sanity was dangling by a thread, the idea of its disappearance doesn't scare me. If anything I want it gone. So I can unleash the raging beast inside of my being, subdued only by the chains binding me. Their belief that I had done what they accused me of probably kept them far away. Just out of reach. 

Like I said though. I don't need them. I don't need anybody.

My train of thought was stolen from me as heavy, rapid footsteps echoed from the hallway outside of my room, filled to the brim with cells. Quietness fell across every room as everyone held their breath, hoping that if they were silent enough, the owner of the steps wouldn't choose them. A sickly smile reached my lips, pulling at the swollen skin of my cheeks. "Come and get me motherfucker," I mumbled to myself. "I dare you."

The cell next to mine was entered, that I was sure of as desperate screams filtered through their room, echoing in mine as their raspy voice traveled through the air vent above me. "ПОЖАЛУЙСТА! НЕТ- НЕТ! (PLEASE! NO- NO)!" The man screamed, followed by scuffling noises and one loud crunch before silence. A dragging sound was heard through my door before a clank reverberated through my room. In seconds, a blinding light filled my vision, temporarily blinding me, my teeth clinching as I hissed. Acting like a goddamn vampire. I'd relish in their blood once it was mine.

A Russian soldier stormed up to me, holding a bat with jagged nails sticking out from every end. "Мы можем сделать это простым или сложным способом (We can do this the easy way or the hard way)," he barked with snarl tugging at his lips. My eyes narrowed into slits, a fire lit ablaze inside of my pinpointed pupils. "Ты уже знаешь мой ответ (You already know my answer)," I grunted through my clenched jaw. 

Swishing the blood around in my mouth, I spat it in his face, cackling loudly afterwards after seeing shock creep up to his features, quickly replaced by rage. It's the moment of surprise in their eyes that makes the beating worth it. Shows them they can never break me, and for a moment they realize it.

In one long swing, the bat connected with my hip. My laugh quickly replaced with a pained howl as I writhed around, the chains creaking above me. Another hit at my stomach had me seeing stars, my vision starting to blacken as the nails pierced through my tender flesh, ripping through my epidermis straight down to my strained muscle. "FUCK!" I shouted in absolute agony as the bat hit my thigh next, my blood splattering against the soldier's uniform. How counter-intuitive. My head lolled to the side as I bared my bloody teeth. "You will never сломать меня (break me)," I grunted.

The soldier grinned, his yellow teeth reflecting against the light behind him. "Я уверен, что на этот раз все будет по-другому (I'm sure this time will be different)," he chuckled darkly, the stench of his breath making my eyes water. My Russian was pretty butchered, the only words I could understand were "time" and "different". My stomach churned as he unlocked the chains around my wrists, my body collapsing into a heap on the floor.

Sputtering for breath, I pressed my snapped finger bones into the dirty floor beneath me, attempting to steady myself upright. Usually this is when I'd be handcuffed. The soldier had other plans as an iron-tip boot came in contact with my waist, sending me crashing right back onto the ground, splashing into a pool of my own blood. A strangled wince escaped my mouth as he launched his foot into my stomach, puke rising in my throat. My skin felt on fire as each kick rocked my body into unimaginable pain, my arms wrapping around my bruised stomach.

A loud shout reverberated through the room as anger washed over me like a tsunami. In one quick motion I wrapped my arms around his ankle, swiping my leg underneath his other foot, sending him to the ground. 

Should've fucking cuffed me.

Darkness filled my tunnel-vision, all I could see was my torture from the fucker beneath me playing on an endless loop in my brain. Raising my hand into the air, I pummeled it down into the base of his throat, his wide eyes met my wild ones as he struggled for air. 

Game on, motherfucker.

Once again I sent my fist down at him, hitting his nose, and breaking the bone. The soldier attempted to buck me off of him as he yelled for backup or from pain. I wasn't sure. His efforts were fucking futile as I kept my weight pressed down on his waist. My eyes darted over to the bat and I laughed manically as I grabbed it. Using all the energy I could muster, I lifted his leg and slammed the handle of the weapon into his kneecap, the bone crunching, his leg falling limply underneath his femur. 

The soldier screamed in agony as I whacked him in the same spot again, his bone piercing through his flesh, blood splattering across each of our bodies. His fingernails digging at my skin didn't faze me, the adrenaline coursing through my veins ridded my body of the pain I was sure to feel later. 

Thundering footsteps approaching my position and loud Russian orders filtered through the blood rushing in my ears. Time was running out. I had one last thing left in store for this bastard. Using one hand, I wrapped my broken fingers around the end of his bone sticking out to the best of my ability as I rose the bat one final time with the other. One. Last. Swing. The bone snapped into my palm as five soldiers stormed into the room.

With a grin, I dug the bone into the soldier's throat. His loud screams became gurgled as he choked on his own blood. And then silence.

The soldier's in the doorway gawked before one of them was brave enough to storm at me. Fatigue began to build in my body as I swung the jagged bone at the soldier, his boot coming in contact with my wrist holding my new found weapon and kicking it from my grasp. Small gasps for air left my lips as he kicked me in my chest, my body snapping back as I came in contact with the tiled floor underneath me. "F-fu-" my words were immediately cut off as he pressed a knife to my neck. 

Death doesn't scare me anymore.

Surely, death is scared of me.

There was murderous glint in his eyes as he stared me down, though I didn't cower or back away. Never would I beg for anything ever again. Not even my life. A dangerous aura surrounded my body even in its most vulnerable state, naked, bleeding, and teetering of the verge of madness. My face twisted into a snarl, daring him to slash the blade across my throat. 

"Тебе повезло, что ты нам нужен (You're lucky we need you)," the soldier whispered darkly before repositioning the knife and plunging it into my shoulder. My jaw clenched, holding back a wince as I glared at him, my eyes narrowed, my pupils swimming in pools of hate. "One day I will bathe in your blood," I replied through gritted teeth. The soldier chuckled before pulling out a pair of handcuffs, kicking my chest on final time, leaving me dazed.

Before I'd get the chance to retaliate, he had cuffed my wrists to the point of cutting off the circulation to them. The color of my hands turned a bright red as he hoisted me off the floor, nodding at the other soldiers who in turn filed out of my cell. My feet stumbled beneath me as I was dragged to an area I've grown to know all too well: the interrogation room. Half the blood inside of the chambers belonged to me. My presence in this hellhole was everywhere.

Roughly I was thrown onto a chair, my tailbone aching in pain as it make harsh contact with the rusted metal of it. The room, small and windowless, had walls filled with different torture devices. Pliers, bats, blades, rags, buckets, resuscitation devices, needles, you name it and it's probably there. Unfazed, my eyes lazily traveled around the chambers, landing on a sobbing, sputtering man in front of me. Tears ran down his cheeks as he begged to be let go. I wouldn't be surprised if they cut his eyelids off from just his crying alone.

Two soldiers filed inside, letting the door slam behind them, one holding a recording system while the other held a case of vials filled with an unknown liquid. Their methods were always the same, it was predictable and boring. Though, the man in front of me felt otherwise as his screams and begs for mercy grew louder. My eyes darted over to him, narrowing. He was going to make this much more difficult for the fucking both of us if he didn't shut the hell up.

The soldier stopped in front of him, roughly slapping the man across his face. "Be fucking QUIET," he roared, his Russian accent making most of the words he spoke difficult to understand. The theme, though, crystal fucking clear. The man bit at his busted lip as he refrained from sobbing, hiccuping through tears every once and awhile as he watched the soldier walk off and grab a vile. 

Rolling my eyes, I watched as the soldier then made his way over to the wall of syringes and filled it with the liquid inside of the vile. If I could pick at what little nails I had left to display my heightened levels of boredom, I would. The liquid contained some sort of poison I soon realized after my first couple of injections with it, you could feel the liquid coursing through your veins like lava. It wouldn't kill you, but you'll wish it did. 

The soldier leisurely made his way between me and the man with an evil smirk on his lips, glancing between the both of us. "У каждого из вас есть необходимая нам информация (You each have information we need)," he started off, the same speech as always, "У вас есть шанс поговорить, прежде чем мы начнем (You each have a chance to talk before we begin)." The man in front of me had more balls than I gave him credit for as he shook his head. 

I knew he'd break eventually though.

With a long sigh, the soldier tsk'd his lips while the other turned on the recording device. In one long stride the soldier made his way to the man and grabbed his arm. The man began to sob once again, saying unintelligible pleads in Russian while he was injected. An ear-piercing scream followed as he writhed in his seat, his eyes bulging out of his skull as the poison-like substance coursed through his blood stream. The soldier chuckled before he walked up to me, replacing the needle on the syringe.

"А ты (And you)?" He stated with a quirked brow and sinister expression. "Burn in hell," I growled, sitting up further in my seat, "and when I take my last breath, I'll meet you there and show you true torture." The soldier looked unamused. My threats were never empty. Quickly, he gripped my arm and dug the needle in my flesh around the other track marks, slowly pushing the remaining liquid into my veins. My eyes shot open as I gritted my teeth, my veins lighting on fire, making its way to my heart and clenching it so tightly, I swore I felt it stop beating for a second.

My lungs rapidly expanded and deflated as I gasped for air, drool and blood dribbling from my lips as a wave of nausea washed over me like a tidal wave. The room began to spin as I fought off loud sobs and screams, not letting them bathe in my pain. The man's voice box tore under the weight of his sobs as he continued to wail, the loudness of his voice soon turning into nothing but small squeaks and moments of silence. 

Tears welled in my eyes as I bent forward and puked what little I had left in my stomach, hurling up the damned liquid onto the floor, singing the skin of my feet. My entirety shook and twitched as I retched over and over. The soldier laughed loudly as he clapped his hands, as if this was some fucked up opera he conducted. 

"Замечательный. Сейчас спрошу еще раз. Скажешь ли ты мне и моему другу, что нам нужно знать (Wonderful. Now I'll ask again. Will you tell me what me and my friend want to know)?" He grinned with rotted teeth. The man nodded feverishly the second all puke left the the threshold of his throat, "Да. ДА (Yes. YES)!" He squeaked, his voice barely audible. The soldier glanced over at me for a moment, my face telling him "not in a million years, and then not for a million more". 

The soldier smacked his lips, promising me pain with his own expression before standing in front of the man who began to spew all sorts of information, the one with the recording device moving closer to him. Most of it was too hard for me to understand as it all came out in a frenzied rush. That was until I heard three numbers that I hadn't thought about in a long, long time. My blood turned to ice, my lungs seizing. 

"Один четыре один (One four one)."

My eyes darted to the broken man, over to the nodding, grinning soldier, back to the man. My hands clenched into tightly bound fists in my lap. What the fuck would this man know about the Task Force? Surely it had to be a fucking coincidence. Naivety seemed so nice right now, to pretend there was no correlation. Coincidences were for fucking fools though. There was no such thing as a fucking coincidence in my life, not when they've been badgering me about the same shit.

In a flash, a pistol was pulled on the man, his brains splattered against the wall behind him a second later, his face completely blown off as his gargled attempts at yelling filtered through the hole taking up half his jaw. The soldier sheathed his weapon back into its respective place before turning to face me, a wide, uncanny smile on his face. "You change you mind?" He asked lowly in butchered English, wiping the blood and brains off his uniform.

The man continued to gargle, blood bubbles popping where his mouth used to be before he fell silent, his body going limp for the last time. My eyes never left the soldier in front of me as I grinned, "We will meet in hell. Remember that." An unreadable emotion flashed across his face as he walked over to a rag and tucked it in his pants before approaching a bucket and snatching it from the ground. Soon that bucket was filled murky water before he made his way back to where I sat. 

"Seventh layer sounds good?" He chuckled as he gripped my hair and yanked my head backward, the top of the chair digging into my neck. Placing the rag over my face, he motioned for the soldier with the device to hold down my shoulders. "It won't matter. I'll be everywhere," I rasped, a grin tugging at my lips as I stared at the once white rag, now a brownish color, burning a hole through it with the heat of my gaze. 

As the other soldier held my shoulders, water was poured onto the rag. My eyes watered as I gasped for breath, my shoulders shaking as I coughed and sputtered. My lungs burned as I desperately gasped for air only for more water to be spilled. "Fu-" my sentence was cut short as I gargled the water that managed to seep through the rough fabric separating my mouth from the torrential downpour happening above me.

"Сейчас я спрошу еще раз (Now I'll ask again)," the soldier grunted, halting the water-pouring for a moment. My body writhed as I gasped for precious air that seemed to elude me beneath the soaked fiber. "ROT IN HEL-" more water was poured, my vision beginning to darken as I choked on nothing, just small traces of dirty liquid. Though it felt like my head was being submerged into a dirty mop bucket. 

Suddenly the water halted as the door opened. Both of the soldier's footsteps quickly retreated, the bucket clattering against the ground, drenching the bloodied tile with water, while two hands loosened their grip on my arm until all I could feel were the bruises beginning to form. Though my vision was covered in a dirtied veil, the air surrounding my body began to chill, goosebumps prickling my skin.

As the rag was ripped off, I came in contact with one person who would eventually feel my wrath. Not yet. Good things cannot be rushed, not when it comes to the monster inches from my face.

Makarov.

He grinned at me, patting my shoulder that immediately tensed underneath his cold touch. With a snap of his fingers, both soldiers immediately left the room through the open door, letting it slam behind them. Never taking his eyes off of mine, he pushed the limp man off his chair before dragging the seat toward me, the legs scraping against the tiled floor, filling the otherwise dead silent room with a loud screech. Only inches away from where I was seated, he sat down, his eyes holding no emotion, the grin still prevalent on his lips never reaching them.

"We got some information on your Task Force," he chuckled. My eyes narrowed, fighting the urge for them to widen. Never show weakness, especially not my biggest one. I was willing to lose my life for them, no matter what they said about me. My loyalty runs deep for that group of four, nothing will change that. Not after they made me into a person I was proud of. The traces of that girl were hardly visible now underneath my rough exterior. Hidden behind my walls of defiance. My weakness buried deep into the recesses of my mind.

He cocked his head to the side, trying to find the emotion from them I had hidden beneath the lifeless gaze in my eyes. Trying his best to look through the boarded up windows into my soul, he found nothing. My months here have reinforced my ability to switch off my emotions, visibly anyways. Even though my heart was racing, and my lungs were clenched along with my jaw and fists. "You know what that means, correct?" He drawled out. 

There was no way that random man knew anything along the lengths I do. Makarov wasn't threatening my life, a scare tactic that has not once worked on me. Not with the hundreds of soldiers who have tried. No, not that. There was only one thing that could even get close to cracking me. One thing I had managed to keep safe no matter how much torture I had been put through. One thing that gave me control, something I relished in having. One thing that guaranteed what little safety I had. Makarov nodded his head as realization trickled into my brain. Scooting up further in his seat, he stared through my soul with a sinister smirk.

"Let's make a deal, shall we?"