❝I'm someone who did not die when I should have died...❞
────── A lifetime of countless identities and faces was enough for Dean Cameron to loathe the curse of living a tortured existence. But it would never be enough to forget his first true love i...
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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── LOSERFRUITZ PRESENTS. . .
005. FOR WE HAVE SINNED
1995
THE MAN IN ICE HAD QUICKLY adapted to the new way of life in which he had been subjected to, the man who claimed that he had 'brought him back to life' and 'gave the fire inside of his veins' had quickly been introduced as General Dreykov, a man working with the Russian government and the headhunter of an organisation, The Red Room.
"Вернешься ли ты домой, брат?" (Will you come back home, brother?) The small voice in which muttered through the walls was clear for the muscled man to hear, as his head pressed against the cold wall—the same as he had woken in the few months ago.
Dean repeated back in broken Russian, "Я всегда буду возвращаться, птичка," (I will always come back, little bird.)
Over the past months that he had been confined in the small room, removed two times in a day to be mercilessly trained then beaten—they would try to beat the kindness out of the ex-soldier, but no matter what—time could not fade that out.
The little girl, whom Dean had learnt was an American by the name Polly Puckett had been brought from a small place in Florida, she recalled to the moment she had been taken from her home, ripped from her mother and father—due to Polly's newfound powers, Dreykov kept her locked away from the rest of the girls.
When Polly did not respond, her humming had filled the silence and Dean hid his smile at the familiar tune, I'll Walk Alone—when she sung, it was like magic and although the ex-soldier didn't remember much from his past, he always resonated with the song but for a reason he didn't know why.
The iron door crawled open, in came the four men who routinely pointed their guns at the Soviet-made weapon dressed in black, "You will be leaving today."
Curiosity filled the man who nodded silently, following behind the four who glared menacingly towards the girls—widows—in the halls, but their emotionless stature did not give anything away, instead eyes brushing over the man in black before carrying on.
Dean did not question who the girls were, sometimes they were eight years old or eighteen—he knew that Dreykov had plans for them, and that caused a fear to brew inside him like no other.
But questions led to answers—and intuition had told Dean that he wouldn't like it.
"The cell makes you crazy, doesn't it?" The General spoke with a patronising tone as Dean entered the sleek, black limousine—but his face did not show what he felt inside; rage, burning rage.
