When their eyes met and Tord spoke to him, Tom immediately looked away. He heard Tord chuckle at his reaction, as well as several other soldiers. Tom could blatantly hear their smug smirks of triumph. He figured the situation was a lot funnier in their position; he's weak and powerless and alone. In his shoes there was nothing to laugh at. His fate was in the hands of a genocidal Commie who utterly detests him. If there was a world record for most screwed person in the world it would be him with a bullet! Literally! In a few minutes Tom bets he is going to fall over dead with a bullet between his sockets.
Is it bad that Tom actually preferred dealing with an entire horde of Red Army soldiers by himself than face whatever fate Tord has in store for him?
"What's the matter, Thomas? Cat got your tongue?" Tord teased slyly, eye crinkling with amusement as he watched the Brit remain frozen solid like a statue carved from stone. "Don't mind my soldiers. They are only here for our protection."
Our protection? Tom wondered.
"Come. We have a lot to discuss and the night is still young. I seem to recall you have a fondness for the night, correct?"
Tord's attempt at a casual friendly tone did not soothe Tom one bit. The uncontrollable shaking of nerves started again, beginning with his hands which were clenching the counter in a bone-tight grip, and then the phenomenon flooded down to his knees. Every word Tord uttered weakened Tom's mentality and physique; his mere presence tormenting his every nerve, shrouding his thoughts in a foggy mist leaving him with only a powerful feeling of dread washing over him like a thundering waterfall.
He knew Tord was sadistic – he liked to play with his food before eating it. If he was here to personally kill him, Tom knew it wouldn't be a quick death. Tord will drag it out for as long as humanly possible to really milk Tom's suffering for all its worth. The emerging wave of uncertainty and anxiety gradually took over Tom's once stable sanity.
A soldier with brown hair, stubble, bushy eyebrows and a scar over his right eye stepped forward and went around the bar counter, nodding to Red Leader.
Tord smiled. "Give me a whiskey, Paul. You know just the way I like it." He nodded at Tom. "He'll have a Smirnoff."
The Norsk leaned forward and craned his neck a little at an angle that perfectly displayed his brand new appearance to Tom. He bit back a gasp of surprise as he caught sight of the red metallic robotic arm, prosthetic fingers moving eloquently. The right side of Tord's face was burned and scarred pretty badly, an eyepatch covering his other eye.
Tom debated his chances should he try to make a run for it. Tord's forces were all around him, and the Commie himself was too close for comfort. There was no hope, only a foreboding future. Tom couldn't take his nerves for much longer and he struggled for breath.
The soldier, Paul, gave his leader a solemn nod and arranged their drinks. While he turned away, Tord shot Tom another appraising glance, robotic hand resting on his cheek as he leaned on the counter. He couldn't suppress a small spark of satisfaction that coursed through him when he saw Tom struggling to remain composed in his presence.
"What? Too good for a chat over drinks with an old friend?" Tord taunted.
Taking a few deep breaths Tom managed to compose himself enough to get some semblance of normalcy in his mind. You can do this. Commie got nothing on me! He chanted inwardly. If he is here to kill, torture, or enslave me than I have to fight him every step of the way. Don't throw in the towel just yet. Play his little game and strike first!
It felt like hours had passed until Tom mustered the courage to face Red Leader head on. With a snarky chuckle he replied. "I'd be down with that if there were any friends of mine around here to drink with."
Their drinks arrived. Paul slid the glass across the counter and into Tom's awaiting, fidgety hands. He didn't even contemplate whether accepting a drink made by the enemy was a good idea and simply downed it in one go. If it was drugged, then this unpleasant encounter would end sooner. If it was poisoned, Tom would die a relatively peaceful death. But hey, a free drink is always welcomed under any circumstance and if the offer is legit Tom really needed to be drunk for this occasion.
He jumped in surprise. Tord had reached out and unexpectedly touched the back of his head. Tom tensed again; feeling fingers run through his hair, slowly, gently. His heartbeat quickened at his touch, Tord's bare fingers trailing downward, grazing against the side of his neck, causing goose bumps to rise down his back and arms, and his neck hairs to stand on end. Why was he touching him? Tom kept his gaze focused on his now empty glass, praying for Tord to stop his torturous stroking. Any other occasion Tom would've gladly smacked Tord's offending touch away from him and fist fight the fucker, but considering how outnumbered he is, Tom really can't risk the pleasure.
Another tug on his scalp confirmed the hand's return to his hair, smoothing it back and ruffling it tenderly.
"Look at me." Tord commanded softly.
He didn't want to. Tom really didn't want to, but he had a feeling he was going to anyway. The hand in his hair maneuvered his head, making him turn; the touch not once losing its gentle nature. Tom held his breath, fearing the worst as his eyes met Tord's.
Looking at him more closely now, Tord gave off the appearance of a tired outlaw, who's been on the run day and night for years. Chances are, he has been running while also working tirelessly to rebuild his power in the army.
His robotic hand came into view. Tom stiffened, half expecting it to turn into a power drill or some other torture device to hurt him with. To his astonishment though, the prosthetic hand found his chin, gripped it firmly, and tilted his head up. Tord smiled menacingly at him, probably delighted by the confusion and apprehension Tom failed to hide in his features.
"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Tord began, poking Tom on the nose. "You, my dearest friend, is solely responsible for foiling my plans two years ago. The world would be mine by now had you not stood in my way." His eye narrowed, but his grin remained in place. He is so angry that he is smiling. That usually spells bad news for Tom.
Many times he tried to concentrate on something else other than Tord as he was held in place. Like the pool table behind him, or the colorful jukebox to the far left, the ceiling, the floor, anything! But every time Tom tried, Tord would gently recalibrate his gaze by tilting his head back to resume eye contact. He made his intentions very clear. He would have Tom stare at nothing else but him while they talked.
"But it's about time we let bygones be bygones! I have returned, far more powerful than before, to try my hand at world domination again. Are you prepared for that, Thomas?" Tord sneered, still maintaining that mocking grin, greatly amused by Tom's powerless state, knowing there was nothing he could do this time around to stop him.
Tom refused to reply, instead glaring daggers straight at Tord. Just how powerful had the Commie become over the years? What sick twisted plan had he conjured up this time?
"You know, Tom, I have to admit; I admire your strength and tenacity. Most people would simply surrender when confronted by a giant robot, but you managed to persevere and take me down despite all odds. It would be a shame to dispose of such a useful asset." Finally, Tord let go of Tom's lower jaw, allowing him to straighten up from his uncomfortable slouched position.
Tom, for his part, was just more confused. What the fuck was Tord going on about? Why would he claim him to be an asset? The answer crushed him; Tom was to be his asset now. As long as he remained under Tord's mercy, he most likely will be expected to serve him in some way. It was admittedly semi-comforting to know Tord is hesitant to destroy him though. So perhaps there might still be a fighting chance after all. Will that chance cost him his freedom or something greater?
A long drawn out silence lingered following Tord's statement. Tom was deep in thought, thinking things over and considering his options as he mulled over the predicament he found himself in. Tord was unusually silent as well, and that was dangerous. It felt like he could hear Tom's every thought, or he was merely contemplating his next move. Tom looked up at him unprompted. Tord was smiling, warm and non-threatening. Shit, maybe the Commie really was playing him and has every intention to kill him here after all.
"Classic stupid Tom, I am so pleased with your behavior this evening." Tord said, breaking the silence with his warm, honey coated voice. "You've been so obedient and quiet. Your compliance is all I ask of you from this day forward."
Tom reared back in surprise, blinking rapidly.
Compliance? Tom's heart sank. Does compliance from this day forward mean that Tom is to be taken away? That sucks. Tord made his point clear – he doesn't like it when his plans fail, so can't he just let him go? Heck, just kill him! Tom didn't want to die, but at least then he would go out with some dignity. Also, Tom wasn't being obedient! He was subdued because he was caught off guard by all the soldiers invading the establishment. Get it right, you stupid Commie! But something was definitely off about Tord. His demeanor, his voice – how soft and warm it was. Why was Tord treating him like this?
What's worse; his hand is still entangled in his hair.
With a surge of bravery, Tom shoved Tord away from him and toppled him off his stool; not predicting that Tord would latch his robotic hand onto his hoodie and bring him down for the fall. The soldiers in the room tensed and gasped, hands flying toward their holsters but were instantly motioned to back down by Paul, who stared down at the pair sprawled on the pub floor with amusement in his eyes.
Tom landed on top of Tord, his eyes widening, and immediately sought to scramble as far away from the Norwegian as possible, but a hand to his back kept him in place. Tom stiffened, his breath coming in short, quick gasps.
If Tord was too close for comfort before, he now has lost all semblance of personal space. Their faces were inches away from each other. Tord's gray eye shifted between Tom's as if searching for something. His expression wasn't furious like Tom had been expecting; he was surprisingly calm and entertained.
He slowly sat up, still keeping Tom close with his robotic arm. His other hand lifted to the side of Tom's neck, and his thumb slowly brushed the Brit's lower cheek. Tom had never been more horrified in his life as Tord's eye pierced his, and as his hand cradled the right side of his face, his thumb never ending its slow caress against Tom's skin.
Tom's heart leaped to his throat as Tord leaned in closer, his warm breath grazing his ear as he breathed.
"You know… you are quite the handsome, exquisite little thing." He purred soundlessly, his voice so quiet only Tom could make out his words. Another round of chills raced down Tom's spine. The brush of his warm breath against his neck caused every small hair to stand erect. He began to put up a struggle, fighting to get out of Tord's grasp until the Norsk's robotic hand grabbed his shoulder. "Shhhhh, I'm not going to hurt you." He cooed.
Against his will, Tom was brought closer until he was pressed up against Tord's chest, practically draped over his lap; his arms wrapping around him and keeping him in place, Tord's head resting on top of his. The man was like a damn boa constrictor! Every time Tom moved, fighting to get away, Tord would just tighten his grip on him until it became damn near impossible to breathe.
Having wasted all his options, Tom ceased writhing and went limp. He felt fully engulfed by Tord's presence. If there was no chance for escape before, there certainly wasn't one now.
It's strange because Tord could easily snap Tom's neck right now if he wanted to. But instead he was just holding him, spouting some weird shit, and generally being insane. Tom growled into Tord's shoulder as he felt a hand carding through his hair again.
"Your skin is so smooth, your hair is so unruly, and your eyes… oh, there is no one else in the world with eyes quite like yours." Tord whispered softly, his voice caressing Tom's every nerve ending, yet still adding even more to his confusion.
Tom seriously prayed that he was mocking him in some way. Some sort of sick joke at his expanse before he pulled the trigger on him. It wasn't possible for him to have meant what he said, no way in hell. His soothing touch and his caressing voice would disappear the moment he says "sike!" and then he'll have a good laugh at the look on Tom's face.
"You're so vulnerable right now, Thomas. Vulnerable and helpless against me. But don't worry, you're safe with me."
The arms caging Tom in against Tord slowly uncurled and released him as Tord pulled away. Tom lifted his head defiantly only to gulp when he caught Tord's burning gaze staring hungrily down at him. His expression was stern and he was no longer smiling. His voice turned to ice when he spoke up. "And your life belongs to me and me alone."
Tom elected to ignore all the weirdness from this interaction and clung on to his words. His life belonged to him. O-okay? What's that supposed to mean? Stupid cryptic Commie, can't he give me a straight answer for once?
Tord's eye continued to drink Tom in. He was back to smiling again. Warm and non-threatening. Tom couldn't take it anymore and averted his eyes, refusing to look at him for another second. He should have predicted that Tord wouldn't let that fly; his grip on Tom tightened in order to regain the Brit's attention. With a low hiss, Tom reluctantly complied.
With a small knowing grin, Tord relieved his possessive hold on Tom and stood up, towering over the Brit now.
"Thomas." His taunting, sing-song like voice reached Tom's ears and he shivered with apprehension. He looked up at Tord's evil, grinning face and fought hard not to shake or give away his fear. There was no evidence of mercy in the Norsk's face this time. "I am giving you a choice now. A choice between life… or death."
Tom quickly scrambled to his feet so that they were on the same level. He won't let the Commie talk down to him while he's on his hands and knees!
"I want you to come work with me. I could use someone of your talents in my army, and with a little more refined training you could truly become a powerful ally. Anyone would be a fool to pass you up. Now, you can live and be my captive. After you pledge your allegiance to me, of course." Tord paused for a second to relish his reaction before pressing on. "You will be one of us, and you will serve me as I see fit until you've fulfilled your purpose." He paused again, relishing in Tom's turmoil and the anxiety his words plagued him with. Tom stared at him in shock, borderline succumbing to panic now and Tord could sense every ounce of it as he smirked down at him.
When would I fulfill my purpose if I chose to live? Tom thought.
"The option of death is pretty straightforward. You refuse, and I kill you right now… as well as your friends." He finished his offer, no longer smiling. He stared Tom down menacingly, anticipating his decision.
It was bad enough considering his own death, but now Edd and Matt's lives were at stake too and Tom was the one to blame. All because he couldn't stay home! This was a test. More anxiety flooded through Tom as he tried to weigh his options and think things through. If he dies, it would mean he would go out with his dignity still intact. If he lived, he would have to serve Commie, and he would be helping him take over the world.
However, he could still stop him. Being alive and working on the inside would mean a better fighting chance for Tom to take out Tord once and for all. Besides, Tom would do whatever it takes to keep his friends alive. They shouldn't have to die because of his actions.
"Fine… I will join you." Tom said flatly, staring steadily into Tord's eye.
"A very wise decision. I knew we could sort things out sensibly." Tord smiled. "It would have been a great tragedy to lose you tonight, Thomas. Personally, despite what you might think of me, I don't want you dead, my dear. I was hoping you'd choose correctly."
Tom spat crossly. He knew Tord cared little about him, but how could he have no qualms killing Edd and Matt? They were his friends once! Did he forget that so easily he was now totally willing to dispose of them and be confident he'll live the rest of his days unburned by guilt?
The Red Leader cleared his throat and held his robotic hand out for Tom to take. "Now, Thomas, to formally pledge your allegiance to me; you must declare who you are, in your own words, and from the bottom of your heart, that you're willingly entrusting your life into my care."
Tom rolled his eyes and sighed. Tord really liked theatrics, didn't he? Let's get this over with already.
"I, Tom Thompson, swear by today onward to devote my life to the Red Army, and obey the Red Leader's commands." He droned impatiently. "Is that good enough for you or what?"
Tord muffled a giggle behind one hand, staring at Tom adoringly. Next thing Tom knew, a gun was pressed against the back of his head; the audible sound of the safety turned off echoing in his ears.
"Now… let's try this again, but this time act like you actually mean it." Tord murmured condescendingly.
Tom stiffened and gulped. Here goes nothing. "I, Tom Thompson, vow to devote the rest of my life to the Red Army, and obey the Red Leader's commands from this day onward." He uttered solemnly.
There. The world's most terrible and embarrassing deed was done. Even though Tom did not take his own words seriously, an instant wave of regret washed over him when he caught sight of Tord's smug smirk. This isn't over! Tom had to remind himself that this was not a defeat. As long as his heart kept beating, he was determined to make Tord's life a living hell, doing only what he needed to stay alive in order to gain the perfect opportunity to strike back.
"Finally." A curt, triumphant smile spread across Tord's features. Two years of waiting, to get his revenge and he wins. Who is to defeat him now? Whose turn is it to foil his plans and shatter his world since Tom is now his captive – his possession? No one. No one but Tom was allowed to defeat him, and the eyeless man belongs to him now.
Tord stepped closer to Tom, towering over him before he stopped his advances. Tom watched him warily, stiff in place. He was smiling down at Tom warmly, and his expression was relaxed and content.
"You will prove to be very useful to me, Thomas, and you will help me take back everything you've taken from me." Tord vowed, his smile never faltering. His voice was soft and gentle, and yet stern at the same time. "I assure you though, you have nothing to fear, as long as you remain compliant." He stepped back, looked up and nodded to someone behind Tom. "Knock him out and let's move."
"That's not necess-" Tom started to protest, but suddenly a sharp bolt of pain cleaved through his head and everything went dark. The last thing he glimpsed before blacking out was Tord's wide grin as he smiled at his misfortune – at his new control over him as he caught Tom in his arms.
Tord rearranged Tom carefully in his arms into a bridal carry. He gave Paul a brief nod of approval as the Commander gathered their soldiers to leave the vicinity. Humming gleefully to himself, Tord stared down at his prize and followed suit.
Everything was going according to plan.