𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙉 ✮ 𝘯. 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧

{𝟎𝟔} - 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

Unknown Facility

Russia

March 2001

THE floor was dirtier here.

Semna wasn't sure what she expected. Her cell was, of course, a reflection of these people's treatment towards those they see as less. She was nothing more than a prisoner to them, here to fulfill a purpose only they knew. And it was clear from the start that she wasn't the only prisoner here.

She just never thought she would come face to face with him.

Upon closer inspection on their silent walk through the building, Semna noticed that this man's arm, which she had assumed was just covered in metal, was actually made of metal. Instead of being a small part to a larger piece, it was really an integral part to who he was; how he moved. As they walked along the arm shifted many times—sputtering, almost—to the point that he had to clamp his other, bony hand down on top of it to gain control again. It was nothing short of terrifying for Semna, who had to witness his rage each time it occurred.

He had brought her through many dark tunnels. Each one looked the same as the last: scuffed walls, all painted a shade of gray; floors with pieces of tile ripped out of the concrete; and doors upon doors, closed off with no sign of what was behind them. She remembered asking him where they were going, why she was finally getting out of her cell after 42 days of being closed off from the outside world. He never responded, but based on his attitude, she wondered if he even heard her at all. By the constant view she had been getting of his back, she guessed not.

"Soldat?"

The soldier stopped in his tracks. He whipped his head around so fast Semna flinched, jumping back and throwing her arms over her head. She stayed like this a moment, then lowered her arms slowly to get a look at his face. It was half covered, so she could only see his eyes, but she could still see that he looked...amused. In fact, she would even venture to say that he was laughing at her.

Why was he laughing?

"What?" she croaked, narrowing her eyes at him.

He only shook his head and resumed his walk, leading her down another dark hallway. She wanted to ask when they would get to wherever it was they were going, but she remembered what Madame B said once about restlessness gaining no respect. And as quickly as she had opened it, she shut her mouth once again.

The only people allowed to have no patience are winners, Semnadstat. You are no winner.

Truthfully, she was beginning to wonder if the Madame has been right about her all these years. Since arriving in this place, all she'd had time to do was think. About the Red Room, the fighting, her classmates.

About Natalia.

Why was it so easy for Natalia to follow the rules? Why couldn't I do that?

There was never a doubt in Semna's mind that Natalia was the Madame's favorite all those years. She did everything they told her to do and did it with precision on every occasion, earning the respect of the teachers and—whether she knew it or not—the fear of her classmates. Semna in particular had never been scared of Natalia due to the personal affinity they had towards each other, but she had always wished for the same treatment to come to herself one day.She thought that life might have been easier if she had been loved—or even liked—by those at the Academy.

When the man finally turned the last corner, they emerged into a well-lit, polished room. Semna had to avert her eyes against the brightness; against the light she hadn't been exposed to in weeks. Instead of the dull gray that filled the rest of the building, the walls in this room were painted a stark white color. On the wall across from her was a mural of some kind that was simple, yet caught her eye as mesmerizing all at once: a skull, painted a bright red, with several tentacles sticking out below it to create an arc. Around the picture was a perfectly drawn circle, and under this, Semna noticed a single, ominous word in Russian script: