Sooooo. I'm sorry for the long wait, as I've been busy with finals (College student, and looking for a job, not a fun combination with free time. Haha.) So here's the next part of Comrade, I do hope you'll like it. Nice, juicy cliffhanger at the end to tease you all.

Enjoy.


Two days pass. Two long, lonely, disgustingly frozen days. I had snuck on to Ivan's computer, being held for some reason in the main house- probably as a gesture of kindness for surrendering so easily. I began to message Francis, telling him of a plan I had concocted earlier that day. I had no clue of Alfred's where-abouts, but I had every intention to finding him and pulling him out of this place. Honestly, it was stupid on my part to mention anything on such a site as public as deviantArt.

Ivan somehow hijacked the computer, announcing to the world through the comment that I was to be punished and I shuddered softly as I read the details in the encrypted Russian text. I panicked, looking for a place to hide as I thought of escape routes. Then-- either by a stroke of creativity or masochism, not sure which-- I realized this was the perfect way to find Alfred.

Alfred was, after all, being 'punished.' That meant, obviously (well, obvious to me at least), that he was being held in a holding cell either in a separate building all together or down in the bastard's basement. It wasn't long before I heard dark, thunderous footsteps on the stairs, military boots clacking against the frozen hardwood floors. It was early morning back home in London, and I hadn't much sleep lately; so I swayed the slightest bit on my feet as I tried desperately to stand my ground. I was hit with the strongest urge to run, but I remained glued to my position, legs pin-straight and strongly rooted to the floor.

The door swung open and I was met with the cold smile of Ivan himself, purple eyes colder than the snow gathering behind the windows. He was holding his faucet pipe, eyes regarding me icily. "Escape, I see? Da, you are a brash one."

He laughed slightly. The gesture did nothing but chill me further and I shuddered slightly, glaring his way. "So what if I had a plan?"

He laughed darkly, tapping his palm lightly with the faucet pipe. "Kol kol kol. Arthur, you come with me, da?"

Before I could so much as open my mouth for a snarky reply, my neck was trapped between a solid, large chest and the cold, frozen metal he was holding. My fingers instantly flew to the thing obstructing my air flow and I shuddered, clawing at the offending metal. Gasping and choking, I clawed gripped the faucet and tried desperately to pull it away from my neck, needing oxygen. The Russian paid me no mind as he dragged me away, passing Toris Lorinatis, his servant (who, in shock, dropped the tea tray he was holding). One of my hands stopped clawing at the pipe and I reached for Toris desperately, staring at him as my vision slowly grew dim.

My struggling grew weaker, hold going slack on the pipe as the need for air became too much and I leaned my head back on the bastard's shoulder, drifting into unconsciousness as my feet started making the slightest of bumps on each step of the flight he started to pull me down.

When I awoke, I was in a room on the floor, staring up at a cracked ceiling. Frowning slightly, I started to get up, wincing as a foot connected with my side. I fell straight back down to the floor, and curled as another kick connected in the same place. I bit my lip hard, refusing to scream. I wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. "Ah, Arthur, you came willingly, da?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. "Then," the fake sweetness in his voice disgusted me and as he paused, I spat at his shoes. It earned me nothing but another blow. I stayed silent. "Why are you conspiring, da? Silly England, and I was so nice, too, da?"

I remained silent, ignoring the statement and remaining curled up to protect my stomach. "Not any more. You shall be punished."

I'll spare you the details of what happened in the next few hours. However, I will enlighten you to the fact that I made not a sound; every kick and hit bouncing painfully off my skin and every loud, sickening smack that resounded did nothing to kill my resolve. However, what did get to me was the mirrors on the wall of the room. The way I had curled revealed the plethora of broken mirrors on the dirty wall, and as I lay on the dry blood stains of past victims (and the fresh puddles of my own), I was forced to stare at myself in those dirty, speckled pieces of glass.

Just to annoy the Russian bastard, I did. I stared at my own reflection with loathing and grim determination, never so much as wincing away with each hit. By the time it was over, I was being dragged by my shirt (more like his shirt, seeing as I was in a soviet uniform) into a hallway of sorts. I blearily watched the surroundings as I was dragged, licking absentmindedly at the blood collecting on my lip from biting down too hard.

It seemed there was a collection of underground tunnels in the Soviet's basement, and I remember (though it's cloudy in my mind) wondering how long the tunnels stretched out for. It seemed as if I was dragged endlessly, wincing and silently cursing the Russian with everything I had each time my body caught painfully on the uneven floor. Oblivious to my actions, the Russian stopped in front of a door. "You are to clean your clothes. No one wants a dirty pet, da? There is work to do in the morning."

I gritted my teeth and glared up at him, spitting blood at his boots. "Bastard."

The Russian's cold eyes gauged mine, and he simply smiled- a promise of cruelty in those toxic eyes. "If you are not awake and clean by dawn, you will be punished, da?"

With that he swung a heavy door (I hadn't even realized we were next to it, really.) open and threw me inside. As soon as the door was shut, I whimpered softly, curling into a ball on the frozen floor. "Arthur...."

My heart broke at the weak voice calling my name.