In the dark, one could barely make out a low sillhouette, darting from the deep snow bank to the dark outer wall of a sprawling concrete facility. A leftward glance, and another to the right, before a quick jerk of the arm sends a rope straight up into the air, grapple hooking over the other side of the wall and catching with a grinding sound onto the stone wall. A single tug to test the trustworthiness of the rope before the shadow scales the wall, rolling over the top and dropping over the other side seconds before a flourescent searchlight scans past.
Heart racing, the figure looks around again, dashing for the nearest inner wall. Another searchlight pans over, sending him somersaulting to avoid the circle of light, rolling into the bushes and waiting another second before jumping up and moving toward a vent in the wall. Smirking and whispering to himself about the lack of security, he pries the vent away and crawls in, petite enough to slither through the ducts like a snake with no worry of being stuck.
Slowing down at an approach of light, he peers through another vent, into a room full of machines and people, watching them for a moment before moving on. Some more machine rooms, a few offices. At one point the shaft suddenly drops into the darkness. He carefully hooks a zipline to the nearest vent cover and backs himself down the narrow tunnel, life hanging by a wire.
The maze continues and the last few vents he peers down from lead to sterile white rooms. He travels further, finding another vent and finally stopping. The room is dark, only a few LED lights glowing in the blackness from monitors and motion detectors. He pulls a small box from his utility belt and turns the dial on the side. A small ringing sound emminates from the box and the motion sensors on the wall blink before shorting out. Another short wait to make sure the alarms didn't go off.
The vent pried off and carefully set against the inside of the duct, he hooks another zipline to the tiny screwhole in the edge of the air shaft opening, taking a breath as he allows himself to tumble headfirst into the room, only the cord and the small reel at his belt keeping his body from falling to the cold floor nearly a hundred yards below. In the dark, he tries to remain coherent, imagining a normal sized room and not a hidden missile silo, as he rappels to the ground slowly, vaguely wondering if he even has enough line to make the drop, and quickly rejecting the thought.
A beep at his wrist indicates the floor is too close, and he slips night-vision goggles from around his neck up to his eyes, strapping them over his ears and taking another breath as he sees, upside-down, the giant missile in the center of the room, already completely fabricated, and probably ready for launch. The reality setting in, his mission becomes more important, and his eyes flit to the panel before him. He slowly begins to dismantle it, pushes aside wires, attempting to find the computer inside and the information he was sent to retrieve...
Suddenly everything went white, and he felt a searing pain in his head, shutting his eyes and screaming, hands flying to his face and tearing the goggles off, his mask coming with it and revealing golden curls damp with sweat. He slapped his palms over his eyes defensively as numerous heavy footfalls surround him. Blinded, he could only assume how many guns were aimed at his head. A genuinely light-hearted chuckle resonated through the room and there was shifting as a pair of heavy boots made their way toward him.
"I love the goggles." A playful voice sang out against the hanging man's quiet groaning. "How are your retinas~?" The voice chuckled again, a hand reaching up and pulling his hands away from his eyes. Though he struggled in protest, the sound of multiple firearms arming at once made him freeze. "Look at me." The voice demanded, suddenly cold.
The blonde spy reluctantly forced his eyes open, gasping at the pain the bright lights of the room brought his still-sensitive eyes. He shut his eyes too fast to see anything, shaking his head. The stranger seemed to find it incredibly amusing. "I used to see that in movies and wonder if it really work. I suppose it does." The hand came up again and slapped him, and he gasped again, resisting the urge to hit back. He knew his place, at this point he was expendible. His only job now was to not lose his cool.
"I said look at me. Everyone from your country is this rude? When someone speak to you, you look at them." Another slap. Aggravated, he finally opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as tears came instantly. His vision was still washed out and he prayed there was no lasting damage, though that was the least of his worries. He didn't need to see to know exactly who the voice belonged to, despite having never met him. The man chuckled again. He was starting to hate that sound.
"You have such pretty eyes. It is a shame." The man playfully commented at the violet irises staring angrily almost through him as they struggled to focus and blink away the burning. "Do not bother. It could be days before you see again, Comrade." He giggled and the blinded spy shuddered at the tone, trying to keep his wits about him.
"I have been expecting you... What is your name?"
He kept totally silent, not moving a muscle. Expecting... that meant he'd been set up. Someone had betrayed him, and the realization brought his heart plummeting.
"You do not have a name?"
His mouth stayed firmly shut, even as a single bead of sweat ran from his collar to his hair, fear begining to set in as the adrenaline of breaking into a terrorist's lair started to drain from his blood, leaving him cold.
"Who do you work for?" The man moved closer to the blinded one, narrowing his eyes at his silence. The spy looked extremely young and fragile, and he wondered what his purpose could possibly be. He would probably faint before torture could even be administered. He could already see the boy's nerves shaking now that his fate was becoming clearer to him. A common sign of a weakling, unable to handle what he already knew to be true. A sneer crossed his face and he suddenly grabbed a fistful of the golden hair, clutching it tight in his fist and enjoying the resulting whimpers of the helpless man. "I asked you a question."
His eyes were shut again, tears welling up as the man yanked his hair ruthlessly. He opened his mouth for a second, but quickly shut it, refusing to give in. He bit his lip, keeping his jaw clenched. He wouldn't break for any enemy. Another tug on his hair brought a pained whimper, but he remained determinedly silent, breathing through his nose in measured breaths.
Finally the man let go of the captured spy's hair, leaving him dangling. He turned to the nearest soldier, speaking briskly in another language. "Lezvie." There was a distinct sound of a blade sliding out of a sheath and the man turned back, reaching up with a long knife and tucking the blade under the spy's belt, cutting it away with one smooth movement, freeing him from his suspension.
There was a new flood of pain as he hit the ground head-fist, skull smacking against cold cement. He whimpered in agony as the larger man stepped over to him, grabbing another handful of his hair and dragging him to his knees. Overwhelmed, he cried out, his own hands clutching at the man's thick wrist, trying to hold himself up and stop the pain, though his head was swimming and his legs were completely limp. He was pretty certain he had a bad concussion, but it probably wouldn't matter for long. He felt a trickle of something warm run down his face; he was bleeding.
"You know, I do not like being ignored. And I do not like quiet people." The man chuckled, this time a cruel chuckle, not playful at all. "Are you always this quiet or have they simply trained you too well?" He grinned as the young man remained silent. "That is alright. I do a lot of training myself. I am very good at it. I am sure I can train you to talk once again." His grin widened at the obvious look of fear on the captive's face.
"Maybe your mouth is stuck? I know I can fix that." And with that, he punched the young man in the face, knocking him to the ground again and enjoying his resulting gasps of pain. "How's that, did it open now~?" He waited but the boy simply whimpered some more, so he shrugged and kicked him in the ribs, giggling madly. "Say something now."
"F-fuck you." The blonde finally moaned in a quiet voice, spitting blood at the man's feet, only earning him another giggle and a harder kick, this time to the gut, winding him.
"That is not very nice." The man sang in a taunting tone. "I know you know who I am. Tell me who you are." The spy only shook his head weakly.
"Then... you have sealed your fate." A tone of cruel pleasure crept into the words, and the young man found himself jerked up by his hair again, crying out. He was shoved harshly into rough hands that grabbed his arms and pulled them violently behind his back, not being careful at all as they restrained him and dragged him off, the other man quietly sauntering after him into the hall and speaking in a clear voice as he was taken away.
"You will talk eventually." He called after the doomed spy. Of course, if he died during torture it didn't matter. He would move the facility first thing in the morning, this would not happen again. At least this time he was lucky. He turned to a figure nearby him now that the soldiers had left. "Thank you for the information, Comrade. That could have turned out ugly for me without your tip..."
A low chuckle came in reply, the man standing a bit in the shadows as he watched the spy dragged off. "Hey. Better him than me." Teeth glinted in the semi-darkness as he grinned. "Now I have to get back and pretend I don't know shit." Another hissing chuckle, like a snake. "I'm sure we'll be in contact again soon."