Russia 20 years ago
Yasha ran, his breaths ragged and shallow, forcing themselves out in panicked bursts as he darted through the maze of shadowed streets. The rain slashed down in icy sheets, soaking through his thin clothes and searing into his bones with a chill that matched the terror in his heart. The night cloaked him, swallowing him into its darkness and hiding him from the pursuers on his trail—but that same darkness gnawed at him, slipping its way into his muscles and slowing him with exhaustion.
Only a few weeks had passed since his life had shattered into pieces, yet the pain felt as fresh as it did that first night. Estrov—his home, the town where he'd laughed and played and known every face—had been obliterated. The streets he had once run down freely now ran with blood and dust, memories buried under rubble, his family and friends lost to violence he still couldn't fully grasp. Everyone he had ever known, every place that had given him a sense of belonging, was gone.
And now, he was alone, a nameless ghost fleeing from men who hunted him to bury the last trace of Estrov's truth.
His bare feet pounded against the wet pavement, slipping as he rounded a corner, barely catching himself before hitting the ground. The narrow alleys were alive with echoes—the shouts of his pursuers, the harsh barks of orders, and his own pounding heartbeat. Every step he took was a gamble, each alleyway he dashed through a reminder of how little he knew of the world outside the smoldering ashes of his past.
Yasha's heart hammered as he leapt over the wall, barely managing to land on his feet. The impact jarred his body, but he bit back a yelp, pressing himself against the wall and listening intently. Heavy footsteps pounded past on the other side, muffled voices and curses mixing with the rain as his pursuers continued down the alley. They hadn't noticed him slip away. Relief began to flood his veins, but it was fleeting.
A sharp, vicious bark ripped through the air. Yasha spun, eyes widening as a massive dog lunged toward him, its teeth bared, snapping inches from his arm. He stumbled back, his heel slipping on the wet ground as the dog strained against the heavy chain that bound it to a post. Even tethered, the beast was relentless, thrashing and barking, alerting anyone nearby to Yasha's presence.
"Zver, hush!" A voice called from the house, irritated but quiet, as if not wanting to disturb the rest of the household. A boy, slightly older than Yasha, emerged, his brows knit in frustration as he stepped toward the barking dog
Yasha froze, pressing harder against the cold stone wall, praying to be invisible, hoping the boy would be too sleepy to notice him.
The boy tugged on the dog's collar, muttering, "You're going to wake up Mum and Dad." But Zver's growls remained low and unyielding, his fierce eyes still fixed on Yasha's dark figure. Following the dog's line of sight, the boy's gaze landed on Yasha.
"Who are you?" he demanded, suspicion lacing his words as he stepped closer, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "What are you doing here?"
Yasha swallowed hard, his mouth dry and voice tight with fear, but he forced himself to speak. "I'm… running from some people. They're… they're chasing me."
The boy frowned "why?"
Yasha's voice cracked as he whispered, "I know something they're trying to hide… they killed my parents." His words trembled, raw with fear, desperation gleaming in his eyes as he looked at the boy, hoping he'd understand. "Please, they'll kill me."
The boy's gaze lingered, his expression unreadable, as he studied Yasha from head to toe. He didn't seem particularly sympathetic, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes, a flicker that suggested he was weighing the situation, maybe even seeing a hint of himself in Yasha.
After a long pause, he jerked his head in a sharp nod. "Get up."
Fear flooded Yasha, his limbs were stiff and unsteady as he rose to his feet, his knees weak from the night's ordeal. He could feel his body trembling, each nerve wound tight with exhaustion and fear. The rain continued to fall, icy droplets clinging to his hair, his clothes soaked through and sticking to his skin. He kept his gaze lowered, heart racing as he awaited the boy's next move.
The boy gestured, his voice barely a whisper. "Come with me. And be quiet."
Yasha nodded, falling in step behind him as they crept back toward the shadowed corner of the house. The dog quieted, the only sound now the steady patter of rain and the boy's soft footfalls against the slick ground.
They slipped inside through a narrow side door, Yasha following the boy's lead as they navigated through dimly lit hallways, his senses on high alert. Each step felt like a small victory, carrying him further from his pursuers, yet closer to whatever uncertain fate awaited him in this stranger's house.
The boy led Yasha through the darkened halls, their footsteps barely a murmur against the silence of the house. Every now and then, Yasha stole a glance at his unlikely guide, curiosity and caution swirling together. Finally, they reached a small room at the end of the corridor. The boy paused, nodding toward the door.
"Get in," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "Wait here."
Before Yasha could respond, the boy slipped out, the door closing with a soft click, leaving Yasha alone for the first time that night. He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, feeling the warmth of the room sink into his skin, thawing his numb fingers and aching limbs. It was the first time he'd felt warmth in what felt like an eternity, and he allowed himself a rare moment to relax, sinking against the wall, the terror of the night loosening its grip, if only for a moment.
Minutes later, the door creaked open, and the boy reappeared, a glass of water in one hand and a small sandwich in the other. Without a word, he handed them to Yasha, who took them gratefully, his hands shaking. He didn't hesitate, devouring the food, barely tasting it, savoring the simple relief of a full stomach after so many nights on the run.
The boy watched him for a moment before speaking. "I'm Alexei," he said, extending a hand. "Alexei Sarov."
Yasha swallowed, his throat tight, still uncertain of his luck but willing to take the chance. He extended a hand, his voice a low murmur. "Yasha Gregorovich."
Cuba Present
Yassen closed the door to Alex's room, his expression unreadable as he headed back to the dining room where the General sat, a half-finished glass of wine cradled in his hand. Sarov looked up as Yassen entered, a slight smirk on his face as if he already knew what was coming.
Yassen's voice was steady, but a trace of tension lingered beneath the words. "Alex is not your son, General."
Sarov raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Yassen's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he met Sarov's unflinching stare. The light flickered between them, throwing fleeting shadows across the table, turning the room into a stage where unspoken threats and painful truths seemed to linger in the air.
"Alex wasn't supposed to be here," Yassen said, voice low, barely above a whisper but weighted with conviction. "He doesn't belong in this world, General. He doesn't want it."
Sarov's eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating glint behind them. "And neither did you, once upon a time." He leaned forward, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "But the world didn't ask you, Yasha. It didn't care what you wanted. It forced you to become what you are. And that made you strong, unbreakable."
Yassen's fists clenched at his sides, but he stayed silent, the weight of Sarov's words settling heavily.
"This world may be ruthless, but it prepares you, strengthens you. Alex has the potential, the spirit. I won't let him waste it on a life of normalcy and naivety, like a pawn left untouched on the board." Sarov's gaze intensified. "You, of all people, should understand that."
"I understand too well," Yassen replied, his voice tight. "But I won't let you strip away what's left of his innocence. You don't get to decide who he becomes."
Sarov leaned back, his voice a dark murmur, each word laced with a heavy warning. "If you stand in my way, Yassen, you'll be making a dangerous choice. One that could undo everything you've built."
Yassen held his gaze, calm but resolute, a flicker of defiance in his otherwise controlled expression. "I won't stand in your way, Alexei. Just as you didn't stand in mine. But I swore to protect Alex."
Sarov's face softened for a moment before he stood and placed both hands firmly on Yassen's shoulders, a gesture that was almost gentle if not for the weight of his words. "My friend, Alex is protected here, far more than he ever would be in that rotting place they call home. When the world outside falls—when that bomb detonates—he'll be far safer here with us than in London, which will cease to exist."
The next morning Alex was jolted awake by a rough tug on his arm, barely giving him time to gather his bearings before he found himself being led out of his room. Groggy and still defiant, he resisted slightly, but the guard didn't relent, ushering him down the hall until they reached the dining room, where Sarov and Yassen were already seated.
Sarov looked up as he entered, a welcoming smile on his face that felt somehow colder than the chill in the morning air. "Good morning, Alex," he greeted, his voice deceptively pleasant.
Alex shot him a withering look and dropped into his seat without a word, refusing to offer even the slightest acknowledgment.
"today is an important day Alex, do you know why?"
"because you're throwing yourself off the cliff?"
"Careful, Alex," Sarov's voice was laced with warning. "The Russian president is coming here for a visit. Unfortunately, you won't be meeting him today. But tomorrow, I'll host a formal dinner, and youwillattend."
"Who said I wanted to?" Alex's voice held a quiet defiance.
"I did," Sarov replied smoothly, his calm tone hiding a hint of menace. "In the meantime, you'll stay out of the way in your room." He leaned forward, an unsettling smile touching his lips. "And this time, I'll make sure there's someone stationed outside the door before you decide to play with the locks again."
Alex barely had a moment to swallow the last bite of his breakfast before he was unceremoniously pulled up from his chair, his protest cut short by the iron grip on his arm. The guard marched him back to his room, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the long, empty corridors. Once inside, Alex heard the lock click shut behind him, the metallic sound sealing him into solitude once again.
Suddenly, the faint sound of engines and voices drifted through the walls, pulling Alex out of his thoughts. He slipped over to the window, peering out carefully. Down at the dock, a sleek, imposing yacht had just arrived, cutting through the morning fog. Standing at attention on the deck was the Russian president, flanked by a dozen guards, each one poised and alert, their gazes sweeping the island with a practiced vigilance.
Alex's stomach twisted. He'd known the stakes were high, but seeing this level of formality, the security detail, the grim expressions—it all made the weight of Sarov's plan feel even more pressing. This was no ordinary visit, and with the president's arrival, Alex knew whatever was about to happen would be monumental.
Alex's heart leapt as an idea took shape. That boat at the pier—large, quiet, and seemingly unguarded—was a chance he couldn't ignore. It was right there, tethered to the dock, swaying gently with the waves, just waiting. If he could get past the guard outside his door and slip through the winding paths to the pier, he'd be free.
Through the narrow crack of the window, Alex watched as Sarov and Yassen greeted the Russian president. They exchanged firm handshakes and polite smiles, then, in a seamless wave of security and formality, disappeared around the corner, slipping out of Alex's view. His heart raced—this was his moment. The lock was a problem he couldn't just pick it again not with the guard, but the guard outside his door might just be the key.
Alex moved to the bathroom and grabbed a deodorant spray bottle that had been left for him, clutching the cool metal in his sweaty hands. He stared down at it for a beat, feeling a nervous thrill pulse through him. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he positioned himself at the center of the room, raised his voice, and let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed down the hallway. Alex's voice cracked, carrying the perfect mix of panic and urgency. "Please! Something's wrong!" Each shout grew more desperate, filling the room with a frantic energy that made even him a little tense.
He pressed his hand against his stomach, clutching the spray can in his other hand, waiting. His breaths were shallow, and he could already feel the adrenaline starting to course through his veins. Finally, the metallic rattle of keys reached his ears, and his heart leapt. The door creaked open, and the guard stepped in, eyes sweeping the room with concern.
"What's wrong, kid?" the guard asked, stepping closer.
Alex let out a low groan, bending slightly as if in pain, and the guard, uncertain but curious, moved in to inspect him more closely. In a flash, Alex dropped the act. Straightening himself, he grabbed the man's shoulder, and with one swift motion, he drove his knee hard into the guard's stomach. The man gasped, folding forward from the blow, and before he could react, Alex whipped out the spray can, pressing down the nozzle and aiming the mist directly into his eyes.
The guard recoiled, letting out a strangled yell as he stumbled backward, blinded and disoriented. Alex didn't waste a second, drawing back his fist and landing a sharp punch across the guard's jaw. The man crumpled to the floor, completely out cold.
Alex took a few steadying breaths, letting his hands fall to his sides as he fought to keep his nerves in check. The rush of adrenaline sharpened his focus, amplifying every sound and shadow around him. Dropping to his knees, he rifled through the guard's pockets, his fingers searching until they found the cold, familiar weight of a keyring. He pulled it free, glancing quickly at the collection of keys, each one representing a piece of his possible escape.
Acting quickly, he grabbed the guard's legs and began dragging him across the room. The man's unconscious form scraped softly against the floor as Alex pulled him toward the bathroom. With one final heave, he tucked the guard inside, shutting the door and turning the key until he heard the lock click into place.
Stepping back, Alex held the keys tightly in his hand, his heart pounding. It was time to get out—before anyone realized what he'd done.
Alex slipped out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. The hallway stretched out dimly before him, illuminated only by the weak light filtering through a dusty window at the end of the corridor. The shadows pooled thickly around each corner, swallowing any sound as he crept forward.
His heart thudded in his chest as he scanned the hall, listening for footsteps or the murmur of voices, but there was nothing—just a silence so heavy it almost felt deliberate, as if the entire place held its breath. Moving cautiously, he kept close to the wall, every step calculated and careful, his feet barely grazing the floor.
As he approached the staircase, he paused, peering over the banister. The room below was wide open, with two guards stationed near the front door, their backs to him. One casually lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall as he struck up a quiet conversation with the other.
Thinking quickly, Alex withdrew into the shadows, slipping past an open doorway that led to what appeared to be a supply room. He crept inside, pressing himself against the wall as he strained to keep his breathing even. A large window was cracked open at the far end of the room, leading to the garden below—a possible exit, if he could manage the drop.
Taking a final, steadying breath, he slid the window open a bit wider and climbed onto the ledge, feeling the cool air hit his face. The garden below was empty except for the swaying shadows of trees in the breeze. Alex braced himself, and with a silent prayer, pushed off the ledge, landing with a quiet thud on the ground.
For a heartbeat, he froze, listening for any sign he'd been detected, but all remained still. Gathering himself, he darted through the garden, his path winding between hedges and statues, keeping to the shadows until he saw the glint of moonlight off the water in the distance.
The pier was just ahead, his last step to freedom.
Alex's heart hammered as he darted through the last line of hedges, finally reaching the open ground by the pier. The yacht loomed before him, its sleek, dark hull rocking gently on the water. It was his ticket out, and it was so close he could feel the thrill of freedom tighten in his chest.
Keeping to the shadows, he crept forward, one step at a time, keeping his gaze trained on the deck. From the dim light spilling from the cabin, it looked deserted—no guards, no sign of Sarov or Yassen. Just the quiet lap of waves against the hull, inviting him onboard.
He took a careful step onto the ramp leading up to the yacht, barely daring to breathe. But then, as he placed his hand on the rail, he heard the faintest click of a shoe.
Alex froze, his heart sinking.
"Well, well," came a voice, smooth and mocking. "Thinking of leaving us already?"
Alex's stomach twisted as Conrad stepped out from the shadows near the cabin door, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the kind that made Alex's skin crawl. He was standing with a casual confidence, as though he had been expecting Alex's arrival all along.
"I was wondering how long you'd last in that room," Conrad said, smirking. "I had a feeling you'd come here. The General will be... so disappointed." He took a step forward, blocking the way to the boat's interior.
Alex gritted his teeth, his mind racing, but Conrad's hand shot out, gripping his shoulder firmly. Any hope of escaping just slipped further out of reach as Conrad leaned down, his smile growing wider.
"I'll enjoy this, Rider," Conrad sneered, shoving Alex backward, away from the yacht and toward the waiting guards. Alex stumbled, catching his balance just as a firm hand gripped his shoulder from behind, holding him in place. His pulse quickened as he caught sight of Sarov, Yassen, and the Russian president approaching from the far side of the pier, their silhouettes sharp against the misty morning light.
"General," Conrad said with a twisted smile, giving Alex a slight shove forward, "the brat tried to escape. Even took down the guard posted at his door."
Sarov's face hardened, his disappointment palpable as he stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze bore into Alex, cold and exacting, like a parent scolding a child who'd failed an important lesson.
"Alex," Sarov said in a voice devoid of warmth, "I warned you what would happen if you tried to escape." He paused, and though his tone remained even, there was a quiet menace in it, each word deliberate. "You disappoint me."
Alex watched as the Russian president turned to Sarov, eyebrows knit in irritation. "You assured me this place was secure, General. Yet here's a boy sneaking around where he shouldn't be."
Conrad straightened, eager to keep his hold on Alex. "Don't worry, Sir. I caught him before he could do any damage."
Sarov's gaze drifted back to Alex, considering him with a cold calculation. "Alex is... a guest," he said with a forced calmness, "who seems to have lost his way. But rest assured, I will punish him accordingly."
Yassen took a single step forward, his voice calm but firm. "Perhaps Alex has learned his lesson, General. I'll take responsibility to ensure this doesn't happen again."
Alex held his breath as Sarov deliberated, and for a fleeting moment, he thought the general might actually relent. But the president shook his head, his voice sharp. "Nonsense," he scoffed. "A boy like this? If he's touched the boat, he could have seen sensitive information. He needs to understand the consequences."
Sarov nodded, his face set with grim resolve. "You're right, Mr. President." His eyes met Alex's with a cold finality. He turned to Conrad "conrad" was the only command to the man before he was let go and watched as the man walked away with a pleased expression on his face
"Yassen, hold him" Sarov said motion Yassen with his hand
The assassin seemed conflicted but he stepped forward and grabbed Alex arm. Alex struggled as Yassen held his arm, feeling the assassin's grip tighten, but his silent expression held a flicker of regret. Another guard seized Alex's free arm, and he felt his stomach drop as Conrad strode back into view, clutching a whip with a triumphant, twisted smile. The sight of it sent a wave of terror through him, his mind racing with desperation.
"Please," Alex's voice cracked as he turned to Sarov, his fear breaking through his usual defiance. "Please don't do this."
Sarov's gaze softened almost imperceptibly, a faint pity crossing his face. "It's alright, Alex. I forgive you," he said, his tone chillingly gentle. "But sometimes punishment is necessary to teach a child discipline."
He gave a slight nod to Yassen, who turned Alex around to face the dark expanse of the sea, a reminder of the freedom he'd almost reached. Alex's pulse thundered in his ears, his hands clammy as he braced himself. He could hear the faint rustle of movement behind him, the suspense gnawing at him, making each second feel longer than the last.
Yassen leaned down whispering on his ear "take a deep breath" Alex almost wanted to insult Yassen for trying to comfort him in that situation, before he felt the first strike. Pain exploded across his back, hot and searing, the leather cutting into his skin like a blade.
Alex's knees buckled, but Yassen's grip held him upright, forcing him to face forward, the open sea stretching out just beyond reach. The whip cut through the air with a sharp hiss before biting into his back, tearing into skin already bruised from the previous lash. It felt as though a hot knife was slicing through him, and the sharpness of it left him breathless, fighting to hold back a scream that hovered, bitter, at the back of his throat.
His body jerked with every blow, the pain so consuming it left his mind reeling, barely able to hold a single thought beyond the agony. He screamed as he felt the strikes cutting his skin, his thin shirt already falling into pieces not doing anything to protect his skin.
He could feel the rawness, the warmth of his own blood soaking through his shirt and pooling on his back, the sting merciless. His breaths came in shallow gasps now, each movement stretching the cuts on his back, sending fresh jolts of pain radiating through his body. The salt in the air pressed into the wounds, heightening the torture, pricking at the open wounds, making him want to howl but he clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.
But that wasn't enough as Sarov continued his assault nobody doing anything to stop him they all stood there watching as he was reduced to a world of pain.
Each crack of the whip seemed to pull him deeper into a dark, unending fog. He couldn't hold himself up any longer; his legs gave way, and Yassen and the guard kept him from collapsing, though his weight sagged heavily in their arms. His vision blurred with tears, but the world around him stayed painfully clear
Tears spilled over, mingling with the sweat on his face as he gasped for air, each breath searing his throat. He could barely feel the impact of each new lash; his back was numb, yet the weight of each blow seemed to reverberate through his bones. The pain was so overwhelming it became surreal, a throbbing wave that was part of him, consuming him, until he could no longer tell where it ended and he began.
In the haze of agony, he was vaguely aware of Sarov's voice, speaking as though delivering a lesson. But his words were lost, drowned by the pain that pulsed with each heartbeat. Alex's body sagged, his spirit dimming with each strike, yet he forced his gaze to remain steady, as if in this final act of defiance, he could keep some part of himself untouched by the nightmare unfolding around him.
Finally, the assault ceased, yet the searing pain lingered, pulsing through every fiber of Alex's body. His head drooped, strength utterly spent, as he fought to steady his shallow, ragged breaths. Footsteps approached, and he glimpsed Sarov's boots before him. The general's hand lifted his chin, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he wiped away Alex's tears with a tenderness that felt grotesque, a twisted contradiction to the torment he had just inflicted.
"It's all done, my boy. All is forgiven," Sarov murmured, his tone chillingly paternal.
Turning to Yassen, he nodded. "Take him to his room."
Yassen moved forward, slipping Alex's arm over his shoulder, his hold steady but firm. The sudden shift pulled at Alex's raw skin, sending a new wave of agony through him. He couldn't help the cry that tore from his throat. Yassen slowed his pace, letting Alex find his footing with each trembling step. Behind them, the bloodied whip lay discarded on the ground, a silent reminder of the brutality left in their wake.