"Mоварищ_Comrade,"The KGB interrogator barked at him, grabbing a handful of blond hair in his hand, yanking the man's slumped head upwards with a jerk.

"Вы скажете мне, что вы делаете шныряли Лубянка_you will tell me what you were doing snooping around Lubyanka."

There was blood trickling from his nose and mouth as well as a laceration on his forehead. He looked up, trying to focus his blue eyes on the man's mouth.

"Я не перехватывает Товарищ._I was not snooping tovarisch. Why can you not understand that? I am with military intelligence, we are on the same side."

That earned him a stinging slap in the face, then another as he spat a mouthful of blood on the man.

"Come come, Comrade Kuryakin. You are agent of GRU, how could we possibly believe that you are up to nothing. Military intelligence is always sticking its big nose into business of secret police."

Comrade Vilnakin, I was merely walking past the building and nothing more.

"You call standing in front of Lubyanka for twenty minutes walking past?"

"Well, I suppose not. I was looking across the street at Detsky Mir_Children's World, thinking of the privileged children playing there. How innocent and unaware they are of the world we live in."

"What is that supposed to mean, your talk could be interpreted as seditious."

"Interpret it the way you will, Comrade. I am a party member and serve the Soviet people. If such thoughts were a crime then most of the CCCP would be living in gulag or executed, would they not?"

The interrogators face went red at Kuryakin's audacity.

"Я буду совать свои глаза, чертовски умный _I'll put your eyes out, fucking smart ass!" He raised a fist to strike the young Kuryakin again.

At that moment another agent entered the room, halting the blow and whispering into the interrogators ear.

The man's eyes opened wide as he dismissed the other, and surprisingly, unlocked the cuffs that bound Illya's wrists.

He tossed Illya a handkerchief." Clean yourself up, you are free to go."

"Just like that? Nothing else?" Illya snarled, wiping the blood and sweat from his face.

"You expect what... an apology? Ha! That is why your are GRU and not KGB. You are soft."

Illya rose from the chair, rubbing his wrists before he threw the dirty cloth in the man's face.

"I think not."

"You are a bold one Illya Kuryakin, with a mouth to match. Some day that boldness will make an end of you!"

"I was not looking for an apology, as I know your kind are not capable of common courtesy. Your's is a rude and arrogant lot. Now why am I being let go?"

"The Directorate found out you were here and demanded your release. Apparently they have an assignment for you Comrade. So you will get your chance to serve the Soviet people, again."

Illya turned away from him, walking through the doorway to be escorted upstairs and out of the yellow-bricked home of the KGB.

On the way in and now on the way out, he tried not to be obvious as he glanced about, taking in as many details as possible. His superiors no doubt had the layout of the prison, but any further information, he was sure, would be welcomed.

Though military intelligence and secret police both worked for the Soviet government they were constantly at odds with each other, vying for control over the world of covert operations. Today it seemed the pendulum had swung towards the Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye and not the secret police.

He walked out into the square, taking a deep breath of fresh air, considering himself lucky. The KGB were unpredictable and Illya reminded himself to keep a better watch for them.

The story he told them was the truth, he was merely staring across at the department store and had let his thoughts wander. That had been a mistake considering where he was standing. He would not make such an error again.

He turned, heading home but his thoughts dwelled on the Directorate now and wondered what it was they had in store for him. That information he would find out in the morning.

Until now his assignments had been merely courier work, but he supposed eventually he would be given a more permanent posting, perhaps out of the city. He sensed they thought of him as unacceptable material for an active agent in the field, in spite of his high marks...that he supposed was because of his tendencies to be a bit of a bookworm.

Those personality types did not always make for good covert operatives.

His hopes were to be assigned to the closed city of Gorky, there he could do his job quietly observing Soviet scientists at their work and stay under the radar. Being around the scientific community, even though he'd be spying on them, would be interesting and safe.

Illya was a young and green agent with no political affiliations or connections; this made him more expendable than was the case, and potential fodder for being used and disposed of if it suited the Directorate's needs. That was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

He headed home with a long sigh to the flat he shared with five miserable excuses for human beings.

One married couple who had the luxury of a room all to themselves, giving them privacy to make new Soviet Citizens...both of whom were clerks, and three others were gruff, menial workers. They all thought he was an orphaned student, given he was only seventeen, that, and the fact he was so skinny made him look even younger than his true age.

As usual he was late for supper and the pot was scraped clean. He ran his finger along the edge of it, licking and tasting what had been the contents. Potato, cabbage and turnips with a chaser of vodka, and a hint of meat this time...

The vodka always added a little zest to what would be a dull meal, but the addition of meat was a rarity.

Illya looked at the others as they milled about the small apartment, reading, whispering to each other, and as usual virtually ignoring him...not that he wanted to speak with this ignorant lot. He kept to himself and they to themselves and that suited him fine.

But tonight his hunger made him speak out, as he'd not eaten since the day before thanks to KGB.

"Вы не могли бы оставить кусочек для меня_you could not have left a morsel for me? I give rubles to buy the food just like you, and how many times have I gone hungry because you all are greedy pigs. Maybe I will withhold my money and find my own food; I would probably get more to eat that way." He lowered his voice to a near growl.

"заткнись Куракин, вы знаете, соглашение, чтобы положить деньги в банк на продукты питания, в противном случае вы не живете здесь._shut up Kuryakin, you know the agreement is to put money into the pot for food, otherwise you don't live here." One of them snapped back.

"Так что в драку в школе_so get into a fight at school," Masha stepped up, pressing a finger to the cut on his forehead. His face and lip were obviously swollen. "I will get a cold rag for you," she offered.

"No thank you, I am fine." Illya pulled away at her touch, though her offer was a rare act of kindness. He would have rather had food than any ministrations from her, besides, he disliked people fussing over him that way.

"Вы думаете, что специальные, потому что вы студент, что вы умнее нас_you think you are special because you are student, and you are smarter than us." Vladimir Budayev suddenly snarled at him.

"Оставьте мальчика быть Володя_Leave the boy be Voladya," another looked up from his copy of Pravda, "Он просто голодны, вы не можете винить его за то, что расстроены_ he is just hungry, you cannot blame him for being upset?"

"Когда ресурсы ограничены, необходимо принять даже некачественные подарки_when resources are limited, one must accept even substandard gifts."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Illya went back at Budayev.

"You are the smart one, student. You figure it out."

"Beggars cannot be choosers, but even that was not a choice," Illya thought to himself, looking at the pot. What it all really meant was that Vladimir was just looking to pick a fight, that's what he always did, but he wasn't going let the bully's taunt lure him in.

Vladimir had a chip on his shoulder and disliked the young Kuryakin intensely and Illya avoided him as a rule, but had scuffles with him in the past. The man bore a few prison tattoos, and liked to make people think he was a member of the Russian mob, the Vory V. Zakone, using that to scare and bully them. Illya knew otherwise, as the man was not mafia; he was hairy thug and nothing more.

Though Budayev was a big man, young Kuryakin was confident he could best him. His training from GRU had taught him to take down the largest of opponents and to kill with his hands if needed, but not tonight, he would let Vladimir's words fall to the wayside, and go unanswered.

Illya walked into the back room to the sound of laughter, closing the door behind him to prevent the others from seeing him lift a floor board beneath his cot, and removing his Tokarov and spare clips, as well as a few Kopecs he kept hidden there.

He quickly cleaned and oiled the weapon and tucked under his pillow, just in case Vladimir tried any funny business during the night.