On the Run

20 - Russia, 2003

Russia, 2003.

Snow fell from the grey thick sky, raining down on the isolated building, covering almost everything in a heavy thick blanket of white. There was a harsh nip to the air as cold winds blew across the ground. 

The building had a more aged design to it; it looked like something from the 1920's, but more updated and renovated. Two men stood at the large main doors, their bodies shaking as they stood at their post, watching as a snow jeep drove by, disrupting the oddly calming ambience of the snow storm battering down on them.

Classical music emanated from within the aged building; the music floated through the restored corridors, bouncing off the cream walls. In a large studio-like room, a group of twelve girls were practicing ballet, each of them moving quick and elegantly to the beat of the classical music, their movements were smooth and feminine as they danced. An aged woman walked around the girls, watching them intently and closely, like a falcon watching its prey. She held a thin stick, twirling it with her hands.

"Sloppy," the woman said in her thick Russian accent, slapping the stick against one of the girl's. A small yelp escaped her lips, the sting burning against her arm.

The girl, who had short blonde hair tied up into a smart bun, continued with her pirouettes, ignoring the sharp stinging that was blistering on her arm. She felt a hand gently squeeze her shoulder; glancing behind her, she smiled to see her friend giving her a comforting stare. 

The music came to a stop, the older woman taking a stance in front of the twelve ballerinas. She held the stick behind her back, her eyes running across the girls.

"Ballet is over," she said, her voice oozing power. "Time to apply these skills, devochki."

"Bring them in," she then hollered. Her words were followed by the large glass panel doors sliding open. Twelve men with their heads covered by a bag were brought into the room, their hands bound behind their backs, muffled, panicky screams emanated from under the bags.

"One by one, you'll take down and kill your opponent," she stated, strolling over to the hostages, "be swift and fast. One wrong move and the tables could turn on you."

The girls stood and listened. "Ponimayu?"

They nodded quickly.

"Up first is Nikolina," she announced, moving away from the hostages.

The blonde-haired girl's eyes moved over to her friend as she stepped forward, determination and focus flooding onto her face. Kicking herself from the ground, young Nikolina ran forward. She dropped to the ground, kicking out one of the men's legs; she then threw her legs around his neck, tightening before twirling and smacking him down onto the ground with a hard thud. The man struggled frantically as he tried to free himself from her grip, but it was to no avail.

Nikolina grabbed the man's bagged head and in one swift, clean motion, she twisted his neck with a snap. The man stilled, his head smacking off the floor once more, but there were no further movements.

The woman cleared her throat, "Good, Nikolina. Clean and swift. Join the girls. Danika, you're up."

The blonde-haired girl, a young Danika, gulped as she stepped forward, her eyes nervously locking onto the man in front of her. She charged for him; jumping into the air, she landed a blow to his chest with her feet, sending him flying back. Danika steadied herself before diving on top of him, but she was too late as his binding came undone, managing to wrap his hands around her pale neck. She gasped and gagged, struggling to fight her way free.