The summer he turned seventeen Illya Kuryakin hit six foot five. He'd been at the military academy for orphans since his mother died three years before. His life had narrowed to routine and discipline. Twelve hour days of academic study, languages, physical fitness, weapons training and military strategy. He was already a black belt in Judo and was quickly mastering Sambo, becoming more deadly and efficient with each lesson. Illya was thriving, even though he had felt the sting of the belt across his back on numerous occasions. The altercations his temper had lead him into were the only black marks against him. The academy instructors considered them minor indiscretions against a near perfect record of study and military acuity and the belt was considered more a corrective procedure than a punishment.

As his knowledge, skills and physique grew, so did his privileges. His food wasn't rationed, allowing his lanky frame to bulk up with muscle. He was allowed time off from his training schedule to compete in chess tournaments, often bringing glory to the academy by being placed in the top three. He'd even been given a longer bed that nearly accommodated his long-limbed height. He was also allowed to choose his own specialist courses, opting for communications, amphibious tactics, and unarmed combat.

Alongside Illya for all his triumphs was his training partner Anatoly Komaroff. They were both sons of disgraced party officers and had been partnered together for the last two years. As Illya grew in size and skill, Anatoly had become bitter and resentful of the privileges granted to him. It had caused more than one argument, with Illya becoming more bewildered by Anatoly's attitude. Illya only wanted to learn, to be the best he could, to prove to others he did not carry his father's treasonous shame. It confused him when Anatoly accused him of usurping him, just to curry favour from the instructors. Illya vehemently denied the accusation, pointing out that they were the top two in all their classes, that they were both granted privileges for their hard work and dedication.

Illya had yet to learn that being successful could breed resentment and jealousy in others, particularly amongst those who had lost the top cadet position and had fallen to second place. Anatoly had once been the favourite amongst the instructors, but Illya had outpaced him in every class over the last twelve months. As the top placed cadet, Illya would be given the choice as to which branch of the military he wished to join. Everyone else would have no option but to go where they were assigned.

Anatoly had a determined, vicious streak that the instructors had encouraged but tried to teach him to hone it with discipline. Much the same as they did with Illya's temper. Anatoly revelled in status, being acknowledged as the best had become an addiction. It dulled the sting of his father's betrayal. His resentment and anger towards Illya grew with each passing day, made all the more galling that Illya did not asserted his favoured position on the younger cadets. Illya was obeyed when he gave orders or made a request, not out of fear, but out of respect. Anatoly had to use intimidation and blackmail to get the same obedience.

As summer turned to autumn their training partnership was in shreds. Illya tried desperately to get their relationship back onto a friendlier level. He attempted to view the situation as a lesson in leadership. But he struggled to keep his temper in check as Anatoly openly undermined him during simulated combat exercises. Out in the field, you had to rely on each other. It was a time to put petty differences aside, complete the mission and survive it.

It all came to a head as autumn gave way to an early winter that gripped the country in a stranglehold of bitter winds and plummeting temperatures. Deep snow had cut off the training compound from the nearby town, bringing with it the feeling of claustrophobia, putting everyone on edge.

It happened in the morning. Illya had stormed out of the room he shared with Anatoly on the top floor of the barracks, barely holding onto his temper. His hand trembled at his side and he knew he need to go somewhere quiet, a place where he can vent his anger in safety. He never got the opportunity.

Anatoly had followed him from the room, what his intentions were for stirring up Illya's already legendary rage could only ever be speculated. It was the general consensus however, that Anatoly intended for Illya to strike him, which would have earned Illya twenty strokes of the belt in front of the entire academy. A humiliating experience, but not a unique occurrence, either for Illya or half the other cadets. A petty act on Anatoly's part.

It would probably would have succeed, except Anatoly overplayed his hand. As he followed Illya down the stairs to the fourth floor landing, spitting hate filled words about Illya's parents, he inadvertently sealed his fate by calling Illya's mother the one thing Illya could never allow to be said unchallenged. Anatoly called Illya's mother a whore.

It broke Illya's tenuous hold on the raging mists of red hot anger. With a roar of agonised fury Illya struck out with a fist as hard as iron. The blow caught Anatoly in the side of the head and he toppled into the wall striking his head again. He was already losing the fight with unconsciousness when he was hit again, breaking his nose. It was unlikely Anatoly felt himself fall backwards or bounce down the flight of concrete steps. Or that he felt his skull crack and fracture.

He was dead before he hit the last step.

Illya received twenty lashes of the whip for causing the death of a fellow cadet. He would carry the scars on his back for the rest of his days. The punishment was never entered into his records. He graduated the academy early with full honours, the day his back was declared healed.

He was assigned to a spetsnaz specialist unit to begin his military career.

Anatoly Komaroff died during a training accident, or so the report said. He was an orphan. There was no family to mourn him.