"I swear to god if you touch her!" Steve shouts as I'm pulled away and thrown into a room to be questioned, "I'll chop your balls off and—"
He's cut off by the slamming of the door, and I look up at the man who roughly snatches me and makes me sit on a bench.
"Nice place you got here, Stalin. Can I call you that? I think I will," I say coolly, crossing my legs and putting on an at ease expression. Call it years of torment, call it being good under pressure, but laughing in the face of someone threatening to hurt me has become second nature. So that's exactly what I do, "though it could use some redecorating."
The man just watches me, not saying a word and provoking me to lean forward and continue.
"My Aunt Cheri is an interior designer," I go on, "I bet she could do some real nice work.
Make it a little less techy and a little more cozy, you know? Maybe some floral wallpaper, a vintage rug, you can make the final calls. Personally, I think a crystal chandelier would really be a game changer—"
Suddenly, I'm struck across the face, sending a hissing pain through my cheek. The man seems smug to have shut me up, though it fades when I face him with the same challenging expression, leaning in with a smirk of my own.
"My father hits harder than you," I say fiercely, wiping the smile clean off his face and making him scowl.
"I will ask you this one time, little girl," he says, his accent thick as molasses, "Who do you work for?"
"You're gonna have to speak up."
"What?"
"I said you're gonna have to be a little louder, comrade," I repeat, enjoying the game I play as he obviously gets annoyed.
"I said," he growls, leaning closer in an intimidating manner, "who do you work for?"
I stare at him for a moment before circling a finger around my ear, "One more time. God, this is embarrassing. I think it's your accent. Try speaking into my right ear, my left one is plugged."
He goes to hit me again, though I anticipate it and swerve backwards, effectively dodging his hand and cheering at the success.
"Steeee-rike one!" I exclaim, dragging out the word like a sports commentator as he swings again, giving me the chance to duck underneath and cackle tauntingly.
"Strike two!" I laugh at his angry expression, "I assume you know how the ballgame works, sir? One more strike and you're outta here. Come on, make a little contact this time, I'm embarrassed for you."
He suddenly grabs my collar and pulls me forward roughly, practically foaming at the mouth.
"I'm done with your little games," he says in fury, "answer the question."
I crinkle my nose in a display of disgust, "How many times a week do you brush your teeth? Seriously, it's unsettling. You're ruining my first interrogation experience. Ever heard of a little invention called the breath mint? Maybe your buddy has one, I'm sure he'd be willing to share. That's what you lot are all about, right? Sharing?"
"WHO DO YOU WORK FOR!?" He shakes my collar, flecks of spit flying into my face.
"Woah!" I say, recoiling from his shouting and laughing softly, "Calm down, Stalin. You know, a little anger management goes a long way. I suggest taking deep breaths and counting to ten."
He says something in Russian, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was a word that belongs in an R-rated movie, as he throws me to the ground in a fit of rage.
"I'll get more out of the boy, bring her back," he says, and I laugh for real this time.
"Seriously? You're just giving up?" I scoff, "Wow. You're not setting a very good example for your children, young Olga and Dmitri. What would they say if they found out that—"
He cuts me off by punching me in the nose, making excellent contact, through not enough to break it. Blood gushes out of my nostrils, and I yelp with the sudden, unexpected pain. He seems satisfied as the other man picks me up, and yet I still manage to crack a grin as I'm dragged to face him.
"What is so funny?" Stalin asks, seething at the fact that I'm not crying.
I just shrug, unable to hide my glee.
"Maybe it's the foggy mind. Or it could be the blood Russian down my face," I say, waggling my eyebrows at my own joke as he just watches me get pulled out, obviously not amused. I am shoved into a new room, where my brother sits guarded by three Russians. He looks up when he hears me enter, anger coming over his features as he sees my state.
"Hey, I told you not to lay a hand on her!" He shouts at my interrogator.
"She needs to know when to shut up," Stalin spits back, and Steve and I look at each other before shrugging, his anger fading away.
"Yeah, fair enough."
"Now you," Stalin says darkly, nodding at the man to bring my brother forth. Steve struggles, but essentially loses the battle and is taken away. I feel a slight anger in my bones, but remind myself that if I got out barely scratched, I'm sure Steve will be fine.
Though something tells me they won't go as easy on him, and something tells me he won't be cracking jokes in the face of the scary Russian man.
As I sit on the floor, my hands tied in front of me and my eyes scanning over the few Russian guards, I try to think of a way out of this mess. Our only real hope is Dustin and Erica at the moment, and I pray that they have made it back to the elevator, though the chance is unlikely.
If we do manage to get out of here, we would hardly be in the clear. Considering these dimwits are trying to reopen the gate for whatever reason, we've definitely got some more stuff to deal with. I bet Will, Mike, Lucas, El, and Max are at the mall right now, just lounging around and completely clueless to what's happening beneath them. I bet Mike is still trying to win El over, and Max and Lucas are fighting over practically nothing. I bet Will is sitting there wishing everyone would just calm down so we could play Dungeons and Dragons again. I smile at the thought. Out of all of my friends, I miss him most of all right now. It makes me sad thinking that I might never see him again; I didn't even say a proper goodbye.
I lean backwards until I'm lying on my back, my knees bent and one leg crossed over the other. I stare at my beaten down sneakers before glancing at one of the Russians and nodding at it.
"They teach you how to tie shoes in communist school?" I ask, and he looks at me, his unimpressed look signalling that he knows English and understood what I said. I sigh, "Hey man, if I'm gonna die here, I want to die with both my shoelaces done up, or else I'll just look like an idiot."
He looks at his Russian friend, who just shrugs, before grunting and walking forth to my shoe. I wait for him to lean down and then bring my foot up, hitting him right in the face and sending him falling backwards. I then roll myself up as the second Russian comes at me, managing to duck under his swinging arm and kicking him in the kneecap. He yells out in pain and I take the chance to run, out the door I came through and right into the chest of Stalin himself. He immediately grabs me by the hair and tugs my head backwards so I'm forced to look up at him.
"Foolish girl," he says, bearing his teeth before looking behind me and seeing the two groaning guards. He looks slightly surprised, but that doesn't stop him from throwing me back into the room. I think fast as he reaches for me, pulling the ice cream scooper from my pocket and swinging hard so it hits him in the face. He yells out in pain, saying a lot of Russian words I don't understand, before coming at me. I swing again, hoping to do more damage that the slice that's now under his cheekbone, but he grabs my arm, pries the scooper from my hand, and throws me down to the ground, rough enough that I hit my head on a table during the descent and hard enough to knock me unconscious.
***
"Liz, wake up."
"Five more minutes, please."
"Liz."
"I can miss my first class. It's Math, who needs it?"
"Liz!"
"What!" I shout, my eyes springing open. I feel my irritation slip away as I remember where I am, and my chin comes off where it sits on my chest to look around me.
I'm tied to a chair, is the first thing I notice, with my brother and Robin next to me. Steve is looking almost worse than when Billy had a go at him, his face bloodied and puffy. The second thing I notice is all the Russians are gone, and I crane my neck as if expecting to see Stalin lurking in a corner.
"How long have I been out?" I grumble, crinkling my nose and feeling the dried blood underneath it crack. My head pounds from where it hit the table, only adding to where I hit my head on our descent down into this hellhole.
"Half an hour or so," Robin says, "Listen, we need you awake for this. You see that table over there?"
I look around, my eyes landing in front of me, where a table sits adorning a pair of scissors that belong in a cannibal's house.
"The one with those teeth-wrenchers?" I ask uncertainly, and she nods.
"Yeah, that. If all three of us move at the same time, I think we can get over there," she says, and I have no doubt she's been planning this while Steve and I were out, "and Liz, you could kick the scissors into Steve's lap."
"And I'll cut us out," Steve says, and I nod, eyeing the table warily.
"Okay. We can do that."
"We can get out of here."
"Those morons," my brother says, "they left scissors in here."
"Yeah, morons." Robin laughs shakily.
"Total morons."
"Okay," I say, cutting their giggling short, "On the count of three, we hop."
"Yes. We hop." Robin nods.
"Hop on three, I gotcha."
"One," I start, "two, three."
We take a big jump, me going forward and then sideways, making successful headway towards the table.
"Okay that worked," Robin says, sounding shocked.
"Okay."
"All right," Robin says, "let's try again. One, two, three."
We hop again, covering another foot and gaining on the scissors. I laugh in glee.
"Holy shit this is gonna work!"
"We're close, ready?" Steve says, and I nod in concentration.
"One, two, three."
We hop again, but this time the wheels of the chair slip, and we go crashing to the floor. I land face first, my nose erupting once more like a volcano and my head making harsh contact for the third time in the last fifteen hours.
I groan in pain as we lie there in defeat, and I feel Robin shaking next to me.
"It's okay, it's okay," Steve says over his shoulder, "don't cry, Robin."
But it's clear she's not crying, and I smile slightly at her laughter.
"Are you laughing?" Steve asks in disbelief, and I snicker.
"Yeah."
"Jesus!" Steve rolls back over, and I try to lift my head from where it's pounded into the ground.
"I'm sorry!" She cackles, "I'm so sorry, it's just . . . I can't believe I'm gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve 'the Hair' Harrington. It's just too trippy, man."
I feel myself laughing, though it's muffled against the floor, my headache making my vision slip away.
"We're not gonna die." Steve is saying, "We're gonna get out of here, just let me think for a second."
"If our plan is letting Steve think, we're gonna die quicker than I thought," I mumble half heartedly, feeling myself slipping away.
Steve can't whack me from where he is, but if he could he would've, "Now is not the time, Liz . . ."
But his voice runs away as I close my eyes, my head throbbing and my vision going black. I'm vaguely aware of Robin speaking, but I can't bring myself to listen, letting my mind wander instead.
I wonder aimlessly what my friends are doing, and if they're okay. Part of me thinks it's likely that they're just going about with their days as usual. The other part of me thinks that maybe this stuff has carried up to the surface. If they're powering something to reopen the gate, then surely things are changing. The flickering lights at the movies, feeling the presence of he Mind Flayer when I touched Will, what Eleven saw Billy doing . . . It all contributes into the likely event of another happening. As much as I hate to say it.
This thought only makes me more worried. Being stranded down here unable to help them, not knowing what's happening. What if something terrible has occurred? I think of Max and Eleven going to find Billy. Did they make it? I think of Mike and Lucas, stressing over the girls. I think of Will, who just wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons like they used to. I think of him calling on me, all panicky and upset. I think of how I talked to him in Scoops, just calming him down. I think of that woman and her accusations, and how it made me second guess things with Will. Do I have feelings for him? I can't. Not another relationship in the group. I've seen how it's driven us apart.
Maybe I'm just making excuses, but as I sit here drifting in and out of consciousness in a Russian base while Steve and Robin reminisce over their high school experiences, I find that my feelings should be the last thing on my list of worries. Far far away from number one, which is finding a way out of here and back to the surface.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Long time no update.
Tell me if you catch any mistakes please and thank you.
Here's a question: If you could ship any characters from Stranger Things with characters from another show or movie who would you ship?
Word count: 2470