Yuri bit down on his cheek, hard, and focused on a singular point on the floor. Valkov was going to ask him about the stolen files, that much was clear, and Yuri kicked his mind into overdrive to come up with answers for every possible question the man might put to him. Thoughts and ideas flickered to life, an entire web of lies mapped out in seconds, but as Yuri tried to reach out and grab hold of it, the web slipped through his fingers like water. It evaporated before he was even able to read it and left him with nothing.
Valkov returned to the table and Yuri was made to wait as he picked up a glass and took a long sip before he spoke again. "Two months ago, I returned from Saint Petersburg to find that the security camera outside my office was no longer working correctly. Why do you think that was?"
"A computer malfunction?" Yuri said quietly. A malfunction was plausible, especially if the cameras ran on the same technology as the computers in the training centre.
Valkov's hand didn't move back to his pocket and Yuri breathed an inward sigh of relief. A moment passed as Valkov considered Yuri's answer. "A possibility," he agreed, "I reviewed the recording myself, however, and it seemed as though the camera was moved. Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to redirect the camera so that it wasn't focused on the door?"
"No sir." He was pushing his luck, he knew he was, and he felt himself tense as Valkov's hand went for the remote.
The man slowly pulled the device out, shifted it to his other hand, and aimed it at Yuri's face. "Try again."
A short burst of pain flared through Yuri's left side as he opened his mouth, and he let out a shuddering breath as soon as it passed. "Maybe… maybe someone wanted to get in?" He dared a glance at Valkov's face and was met with a sickening smirk, coming to the conclusion that Valkov already knew who had broken in to his office and that he was just playing with Yuri for amusement.
"That is exactly what I thought at the time. The guard stationed outside did have a rather interesting story to tell. I checked though my office of course, and was surprised to find something was missing." Valkov took another sip from his glass and ran his thumb along the edge of the remote. "What do you think was missing?"
"I don't know—" Yuri bit down hard on his lip as the current on the right was activated, his fingers twitching erratically. He forced out his answer again through clenched teeth. "I don't know, sir."
Valkov scoffed, flicking off the current and using the remote to push Yuri's head back so that their eyes met. The look of utter disgust on Valkov's face made Yuri squirm. "This isn't a game, Ivanov. Who told you about those files?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. Vasily's words whispered through his mind and his voice wavered, betraying him more than anything else would have. The current was back on in a heartbeat and Yuri flinched, jerking in the chair as Valkov cruelly flicked the strength up a few notches. His hands were clenched so tightly around the armrests that his knuckles were bleached white, and even after Valkov had switched the current off again, Yuri found he could barely move his fingers.
"The files that were stolen held information on Kuznetsov and yourself, boy. Why would anybody but you want to steal them?" Yuri's eyes widened at the mention of his friend's name and Valkov noticed. Excruciating pain flared from his right arm, spreading everywhere until it was all Yuri could to not to scream.
On instinct he forced himself to ignore the pain and focus on something else—just as he'd been trained to do—and remembered that Wolborg still sat in his pocket. He felt her presence tugging at the back of his mind and found himself standing by the edge of a dish facing off against a mechanical launcher. He tried to find the sense of calm that usually came over him when he was training but couldn't quite recall the feeling. He loaded Wolborg in the lock, set his sights on the base of the dish and pulled the ripcord. Load, set, pull. Ready, aim, fire—just like a gun.
Just like the guns the guards carried outside the main science labs. Like the gun Valkov had used to murder the doctor that worked on Boris' training.
When the pain vanished, Yuri could barely breathe through the tightness in his chest
"Who helped you get into my office?" Valkov asked icily, "of the two of you, I know that you're the only one intelligent enough to steal those files, but you certainly don't have the courage to try it yourself. Who helped you?"
Yuri struggled to make his lips move, stumbling clumsily over his words. "I don't… it wasn't me."
"Liar." Valkov curled his hand tightly around Yuri's neck, pressing hard and knocking the chair back onto two legs. "What happened to those files, Ivanov? Where are they?"
"I don't know." He sounded desperate and he knew it. His throat convulsed under Valkov's palm. Ready, aim, fire.
Valkov growled—a low, dangerous noise that only further heightened Yuri's panic—and backhanded Yuri sharply across his cheek. He turned back to the table and placed the remote down, fingers playing over the buttons for a teasing second before he hit the current again.
Yuri screwed his eyes shut against the pain, against the pure agony writhing through his body. He forced his mind out again, tearing away from the claws holding him down. Ready, aim, fire. The mechanical launcher opposite became Valkov's twisted face and laughed, and the image was replaced with another—Boris was sat in the chair, Yuri was staring down at him, laughing in Valkov's voice, his own finger pressed on the remote. Boris grimaced, jaw clenched so tight that he could've broken bone. Yuri could hear his teeth grinding, could see every ounce of tension in his friend's body, could feel the scream Boris refused to let go of.
Valkov was talking again, Yuri bit into his tongue and held onto the image of Boris like a lifeline.
"—etsov is a bad influence on you, boy, you were so much easier to deal with when you were willing to do anything to please—"
Boris opened his mouth, his body jerked in the chair, nails splitting against the armrests and biting crescents into his palms.
"I thought that by threatening him it would bring you back under my control, but apparently—"
A finger twitched on the remote—his? Valkov's? he wasn't even sure—and increased the strength, Boris pulled against his bonds. The bulb flickered, throwing the room into darkness and yanking it back, Boris swam in and out of focus.
"—perhaps I should question him next?"
Boris' eyes rolled back into his skull, mouth hanging open. Blood stained his fingers and soaked into the chair. Valkov's voice echoed in the room, so clear and so vivid that Yuri could almost see it.
"Or perhaps I should be questioning someone else. You and Ivan Papov seem to have become good friends, wouldn't you say?"
Ivan sat before him, fear painted over his face, lies and truths and everything in between falling from his lips as he begged to be released. The hand holding the remote raised, Ivan's eyes shot wide open with terror. Yuri heard a scream.
The pain stopped abruptly and the image vanished from Yuri's mind, leaving him with absolute blankness. Spots of colour danced inside his eyelids and he could feel every beat of his heart, pounding so hard he was certain it had forced its way out of his chest. He tried to breathe, sucking in air and drowning in it. The coppery taste of blood in his mouth made him gag.
"Well?" Valkov said, tugging at Yuri's hair and pulling his head up so he could see his face. "Should I be speaking to Papov?"
Yuri repeated the words in his mind but couldn't get any meaning out of them let alone work out the answer. "He's—"
"He's…" Valkov prompted, watching Yuri's face intently. He snarled when Yuri refused to give anymore, lunging forward again and spitting his next words. "He's what, Ivanov?"
He heard his voice but couldn't feel his lips move. He couldn't feel anything. "I don't know…"
Valkov pushed away again, pacing around the room and circling the chair. Yuri gasped, breath coming in ragged bursts, and let his head loll back. Tears had sprung to his eyes and fallen, he imagined the wetness on his cheeks, the tickle against his skin as they traced down his neck.
From somewhere behind him, Valkov spoke up again. His words filled the room and weighed heavily on Yuri's shoulders. "It does seem a rather strange coincidence that the last two people to make their way to my office before I left for Saint Petersburg were Papov and yourself, just as it seems an even stranger coincidence that Papov thought that someone had managed to escape. Despite his age, that boy is extremely smart and I know precisely what he's capable of; I doubt it would've taken him long to work out a way to trick the guard—did you honestly think that I wouldn't question him first? Not that it matters now, I doubt the poor man will be up and about any time soon judging by the state Levitsky left him in. You truly are pathetic, Ivanov."
For the briefest second, Yuri glimpsed the face of the man they'd lied to. Ivan sat in the chair again, terrified. "Sir, please," he whispered, barely hearing it himself, and somewhere in the back of his wondered when he had resorted to begging.
"Plead all you want, it won't help you. I will find those files, I will find out who else was involved in stealing them, and I promise that when I do, none of you will see the light of day again."
Yuri barely had time to blink before the current fired up again, Valkov's sadistic smirk blurred as the room spun and darkened. The scream he heard was definitely his own.
Just as he was on the verge of blacking out, the current switched off and Yuri slumped forward. He swayed somewhere between awake and unconscious, struggling to take in air as his throat convulsed repeatedly. His view of his legs slipped in and out of focus as his vision swam and he wasn't sure whether the noise he could hear was Valkov's voice or the erratic pounding of his heart.
The straps around his wrists were removed, and Yuri felt light-headed as he was pulled up from the chair. He felt his knees buckle as the hands holding him upright disappeared, but the pain of hitting the floor seemed distant, as if it were happening to someone else and he was just watching on.
He fell forward onto his hands, barely able to support himself, and tried to force his breathing to even out. Nausea washed over him, and Yuri suddenly wanted nothing more than to give in to it, a pathetic whine escaping his throat when he realised he hadn't yet regained enough control over his body to do even that.
Somewhere to his right he heard the bang of a door and the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in his ears. Rough hands grabbed onto his bare arms, lifting him back to his feet, and Yuri tried to focus his attention on walking but only managed to stumble a few steps before he phased out again.
He only caught snippets of the corridors he was dragged through but was able to catch enough to recognise where he was being taken. The stairs were a challenge, the more aware Yuri became the more he felt the lingering pain rattling through his body. He doubled-over twice, had to be carried both times, but was just about able to stand unaided when they stopped outside his bedroom. The corridor was deserted, and he vaguely realised that he had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been trapped in the chair for.
As Valkov let himself in and looked around, Yuri spared a quick glance at the two guards flanking him on both sides. On his right was Levitsky, on his left the guard who had lead him from his room earlier, whose grip wasn't even half as tight as Levitsky's.
Another shove from behind sent him tumbling into the room, tripping over himself and sprawling to the floor with a wince. Valkov knelt down by his face, giving him a look of undisguised contempt before barking an order to the guard Yuri recognised. "Search everything."
Yuri watched from the floor, blinking away fresh tears that he refused to let go of, as Levitsky tore the bedding from both bunks and shook it out. His pillow fell out of its case and landed limp on the floor, and Yuri prayed to whoever would still listen him that neither Valkov nor Levitsky were smart enough to inspect it. Kai's letters were tucked inside, as was his birth certificate—if Valkov found them, not only would he have confirmation that Yuri had been the one to steal the files but he'd also have a fair idea of who currently held them.
The pillow was thrown just a few feet from Yuri's head and he fought the urge to reach out to it, instead turning his gaze to the doorway and the second guard that stood, watching in silence. Levitsky drew a flick-knife from his belt and slashed through both mattresses, pulling out stuffing and broken springs, but aside from the towel Yuri had stolen years ago, he found nothing.
Valkov looked furious, kicking out at Yuri's stomach. Yuri flinched, so did the guard in the doorway and Yuri held tight to the realisation. "This is your last chance, boy. Tell me where those files are and nobody else will be hurt."
Yuri clenched his jaw at the fresh wave of pain and shook his head.
"Very well." Valkov turned to the nameless man behind him who suddenly jumped to attention. Yuri committed his face to memory; a guard that was distracted was a guard that could be exploited. "You, go down to the West Wing and check Papov's room, have him taken to my office."
Yuri had to stop himself before he scoffed, miserable laughter bubbling inside him. Ivan wasn't stupid enough to leave evidence out in the open; he knew better than anyone how to play the system in the Abbey.
As if reading his mind, Valkov gave the guard another order. "Have someone clear his workroom as well, and confiscate that old laptop he uses. I want everything checked."
The cables and the little box Ivan used with his laptop to keep his presence hidden from the Abbey's computer security were kept in his workroom. Yuri didn't know a lot about computers, not to the extent Ivan did, but he was sure it wouldn't take long for the technicians to work out precisely what the boy had been doing to their training results, what he'd been looking for in places he wasn't actually allowed to be.
A strangled whimper escaped Yuri's throat before he could swallow it and Valkov noticed.
"Got something to say?" Valkov's eyes burning into Yuri's, the weight of his gaze almost crushing Yuri into the ground. "You brought this on yourself, Ivanov. You and you alone are responsible for whatever happens to your 'friends'. Remember that."
Yuri froze as Valkov's words sank in, white-knuckled fists scraping along the stone floor as he curled around himself.
He'd made the plan and had dragged Ivan into it. He'd deliberately kept Boris in the dark. Vasily and Sergei had helped him get his letters back out. Valkov was right, he was responsible. If he'd just done as Kai asked, if he'd just kept everything to himself… He wondered what might have happened if he'd ignored Kai's request, if he'd torn his letter to shreds and thrown it out of his window instead of clinging to it and filling himself with worthless hope. Imagining the pieces floating away on the wind, their only real chance of escape, Yuri knew he couldn't have ignored Kai at all.
Ivan and Boris, Sergei and Vasily, and even Piotr. They'd all trusted him, their captain—their friend—and he'd repaid them by bringing Valkov's wrath down tenfold. Yuri was no fool; he knew there was no way Ivan would be able to stand up to the torture Valkov would put him through, and there was no reason for Valkov to keep Boris around now that Yuri had been broken. Sergei and Vasily would never see daylight again. He'd already failed Piotr.
Which left him with only one choice.
Yuri swallowed his pride and the lump in his throat and opened his mouth, prepared to admit defeat and suffer the consequences. What else could he do?
A new voice echoed from the doorway. "Sir, the Director called, says it's important."
Valkov scowled and turned his attention to the man ripping apart the mattresses. "Have you found anything?" From the corner of his eye, Yuri saw Levitsky shake his head. "Fine. Go downstairs to room 212 and clear it. Tear the brickwork out if you have to. Send Kuznetsov to isolation."
"How long for?" Levitsky's voice was gruff, more so than Yuri remembered. He pocketed his knife but made no move to fix the mess he'd made. There was a grim look on his face, but Yuri saw it was only irritation at the extra workload. The man didn't seem bothered about the lives he was helping to ruin.
"Until I remember to let him out. In fact…" Valkov's eyes met Yuri's again as if searching for something—for what, Yuri couldn't tell. A beat passed before Valkov smirked. "No, send him to Barinov. I'm sure the good doctor will be pleased to see him."
"Of course." Levitsky nodded and left.
Valkov turned back to him as the man's footsteps disappeared down the corridor, his lips curled into a nasty sneer. "You remember Doctor Barinov, don't you?"
Of course he did, who could forget such a brutal, cold-blooded monster? Doctor Barinov oversaw the science department and was responsible for every twisted experiment they ran. Boris had been thrust into the man's open arms when Valkov realised his previous training had failed. Yuri had only met the doctor once, but he knew from that time alone, and from every rumour he had heard from the other boys at the Abbey, that Barinov's personal experiments didn't have a very high survival rate.
And Boris served no purpose to Valkov now.
A hand landed on Yuri's shoulder, heavy, patronising, suffocating, and Valkov's nails dug into his skin to remind him that everything was real. "When you feel like talking, boy, you know where to find me."
Yuri was sure he heard his heart breaking.