2010

Когда-то давно, в городе Челябинск, Россия, город юго-восток в Москве, живет этот мальчик с именем Валерий Иванович Ничушкин. Вал, как многие называют его беспроблемную дух. Он часто будет смеяться и улыбаться и наслаждаться его детства.

Что до войны погрузчика потянуть вверх и похитили его от его семьи ...

(Translation: Once upon a time, in the city of Chelyabinsk, Russia, a city southeast of Moscow, the capital of Russia, there lived a young boy named Valeri Ivanovich Nichushkin. Val, as many called him, was a carefree spirit. He would often laugh and smile and enjoy his childhood.

That is until the War Truck pulled up and kidnapped him from his family...)

****

Russia, January 2010

Val's POV

I wandered outside of my house, gripping my hockey stick in my hand. I was going to have some serious fun! I loved to play this sport in my free time, and when I grew older I wanted to be like one of the greats that came out of Russia. I knew that I still had four years to go before I could even consider myself joining the big leagues, but still...

I could dream, couldn't I. In Chelyabinsk, where I was born and raised and lived my whole life I knew little about America and the NHL. I knew that the National Hockey League was a big guy place and a few of Russia's own players had gone over. In fact I knew one named Sergei Gonchar, who was from the same city as I was.

It was so cool, but I knew I couldn't get my hopes up that much. I still had to perfect and master my own stick handling and goal scoring. I had four years to do that all in, before I got serious and buckled down. It was my dream to get into the NHL. And I would make that dream come true, if I could!

I walked down the familiar path to the small neighborhood practice rink. There, I met up with some other ice hockey kids. Sergei, Dimitri, Alexander, Maria, and Anastasia. And yes, two of them were girls. But I tell you, these two girls would gladly kick anyone's butt any day. They were strong and fierce, like lions.

Anastasia was our goalie. Maria and Sergei were the defenders and the rest of us were the forwards. I was a left wing. Always had, always will. I was born to be a winger and not a centre. I always shot left and sucked at faceoffs.

Today we were playing against some rival squad from across the river. Luckily it was all close and not too much more than a hop, skip and jump from all of our houses. The rink was already set up when I got there. I launched onto the makeshift ice and scooped a puck up sending it flying at Anastasia.

"Вал, я еще не готов! (Val, I'm not ready yet!)" she whined, as it flew into the back of the net, narrowly missing her head, as she had yet to cover it with the protective goalie mask.

"Извините! (Sorry!)" I muttered, before shrugging and raising my arms up, giving a little goal scoring fist pump in celebration.

"Просто быть более осторожным! Я ваш номер один вратарем противника и лучший друг и я лучше, чем кто бы то ни было! Я не думаю, что вам будет—— (Just be more careful! I'm your number one goalie and best friend and I'm way better than anyone else! I don't think you'd——)"

"Ана, достаточно. Получить комплект и давай это правильное дыхание осуществляется! (Ana, that's enough. Get set and let's get this little scrimmage underway!)" Sergei snapped.

"Да, не такой накопитель в грязи, Ана! Вы знаете, что вратарь бьет никогда не получает их! Просто отдохнуть и! (Yeah, don't be such a stick in the mud, Ana! You know that the goalie never gets their way! Just relax and take it!)" Maria added on, as she situated her helmet and dropped into position, spitting on the ice.

I lowered into my spot on the wing, jostling with the other opponent. It was another girl. Her name was Katiya or Kat and she was a competitive, dirty girl. She liked to check, skate hard, chirp, get under your skin, and just be a little bitchy pest. But she was good at what she did. I would love to have her on our side. Sure, our centre, Dimitri was a beast at winning faceoffs, but Alexander didn't do much.

However, on power plays, he was our number one beast at the dot to score. He had a wickedly sick slapshot that would often get past the goalie. And it was smoking hot, but then he would just kill us on backchecks and 5-on-5 plays. Come to think of it, he played similar to one of my favorite players in the NHL right now from Russia, Alexander Ovechkin. Because of that, we nicknamed him "Ovi Jr." or "Ovi 2.0".

The puck was dropped by the chosen parental chaperone of the day, which happened to be Dimitri's mother and we were off. I shot off down the ice and received the pass from my centre. I deked around Kat, who was chirping, "Что вы собираетесь делать, Вал? Если вы снимаете сейчас, вы можете упустить чистой ... ? Oh, или я может блокировать его!! (What are you going to do, Val? If you shoot now, you may miss the net...? Oh, or I may block it!!)"

I made her shut up and eat her words, as I spun around and sent the disk flying into the back of the net, high glove side. My favorite spot.

"Цели, команда Челябинской Junior снежным барсом! (Goal, Team Chelyabinsk Junior Snow Leopards!)" Dimitri's mother shouted, blowing a whistle noise.

I decided to pull out my newly memorized and learned goal score celebration. I copied a number of Russian stars with a low swipe of the ice and then spun around, as my linemates smashed into me.

The fun was short lived, as one of the other team players screamed. "Войны! (War Truck!)"

Instantly everyone fled. I tried to skate after them, but my skate got caught in a hole in the ice. I watched the others run away. I eagerly pulled my skates off and scrambled across, before the truck cut me off from my escape. Horrified, I watched as two black cloaked figures burst from the interior of the truck and seized my arms.

"Помогите! Позвольте мне перейти! Позвольте! Помогите мне, кто-нибудь! Пожалуйста!! AH!! (Help! Let me go! Let go! HELP ME, SOMEONE! PLEASE!! AH!!)" I yowled, but I was shoved into the back of the vehicle and restrained in some kind of silver handcuffs.

As I gazed around in absolute horror, I found myself staring at the interior of the war transport vehicle. Guns and other weapons were scattered about everywhere. One of the men yanked my hockey stick away from me.

"You'll won't need this, where you're going, boy!"

He threw it to the side, carelessly. I bit my lip, struggling to force back the tears.

"Hockey is not something that Russians do ANYMORE! Not in this NEW Russia!" the man carried on, as he took a seat and I felt the vehicle launch forward.

I gaped at him in shock and speechlessness, which apparently wasn't the right move to do, as the man smacked me across the face with his hand. He wore leather gloves, but it still hurt like hell.

"Где это вы мне? (Where are you taking me?)" I demanded to know.

The man snickered, like an evil villain. "To your hell."

I was freaking out and at the time, I really didn't want to be going to my hell, so I fought back. I launched forward and attempted to dive out the back of the moving vehicle. However, my forward progress was immediately halted, as the chains jerked me backward, holding me from my escape.

The man recovered and grabbed me, thrusting me back down. He snatched up the stick and threatened to break it in half, if I didn't start behaving. I nodded, begging him with my eyes not to break the one thing I cherished most. If I could at least keep my stick, I'd be able to move on and live.

He smirked, flung it back down and patted my cheek roughly. "Good little Russian boy."

At that moment, I realized that his voice wasn't Russian at all! But I had NO idea where I was going or who these mysterious kidnappers were. Also, it hit me, I might not live long enough to make it to the NHL or KHL or the big leagues.

I figured that my hockey days were over and with that, I sobbed, pulling my legs close to me.