Rainbow Six Siege Oneshots

Glaz

"(L/n), you are being sent out on a mission-" Harry paused, "as an undercover White Mask." He finished.

        The woman lifted her head, eyes now wide. "Sir." She said.

        "You know why I picked you, and you know why you're here. Do not disappoint me. Get me my best man back-get him back." Harry said.

        "Y-Yes sir." She said.

        "You're leaving for Moscow tomorrow."

        The prison was outside the White Mask base, situated a little lower on the mountain, on the other side of the city, in a sinkhole that was expanded and fortified and spiraled with seemingly endless descending staircases. It was small--the prison of the White Masks was rumored to be as large as an underground city--but its size situated the city well. Most criminals, after being captured, were shipped to a labor camp in the mines of the frozen north. Those that were left behind were the very worst, and soon executed.

        Oil lamps were lit, and the White Mask leader led (Y/n) down the first black, airless stairwell. It was not hard to imagine that she was a prisoner being led to her cell. (Y/n)'s heartbeat tricked her; it fumbled at the thought of being caught.

        They passed a cell. Fingers curled like white worms through the bars of the cell's small window. A voice rasped something in a language (Y/n) didn't recognize. It had a lisping quality she couldn't place until she realized that this must be the sound of someone who had no teeth. She shrank back.

        "Keep away from the bars," said the White Mask. His Russian accent was like venom when he spoke in English. "This way," he added, as if there were any way but down.

        When the staircase finally ran out of steps, it threw (Y/n) off balance to stand on unstaggered ground. The corridor smelled like wet rock and sewage.

        The White Mask opened a cell and ushered (Y/n) inside. For a moment she hesitated, instantly and wildly sure that he meant to trap her here. Her hand went to the dagger at her hip.

        The White Mask chuckled. The sound triggered a metallic rattle in the corner of the cell, and the White Mask lifted his lamp to illuminate a sitting man who strained at chains embedded in the wall. His bare heels scrubbed the uneven floor as he tried to push back, away from the White Mask.

        "Don't worry," the leader said to (Y/n). "He's harmless. Here." He passed her the lamp, then dragged on a loose end of the chain to draw the prisoner tight against the wall. The man shuddered and wept. He began to pray to whatever god that would listen and not turn it's back.

        She recognized him. It was Timur. Then came a clammy shame to why he was here. She had to try and help him escape. He was going to suffer. She could see his suffering written in the leader's lamplit eyes. (Y/n) had to pretend she didn't recognize Timur.

        (Y/n) would not stay. She could not watch. She turned toward the door.

        "That's against my captain's rules," the leader told her. "If you're gonna become a White Mask, he said that you have to be here for the whole of it. He said that if you become uncooperative, I should cut off this man's fingers instead of his skin."

        Timur's prayer halted. Shakily, it started up again.

        (Y/n) felt like that thin, keening voice. Like the sound of a gear cranked tight and then let go. "I don't belong here," she said.

        "You're my future soldier," said the leader. "You belong here. Or did you think being a White Mask meant only big words and gas?" He checked that the chain was taut. The man hung from his bonds. "The lamp." The leader beckoned her closer.