Page 8

8

SAbrINA

Five days.

That’s how long I’ve been a prisoner of the RMSAD.

And in those five days, I’ve been moved three times—three different facilities, three different levels of sterile hell. But it’s this one, the third one, that’s making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

The others were bad—no denying that: all bright white lights, endless corridors, cold hands, colder smiles. But there were people. Scientists, guards, technicians, and other voices echoing down the halls. Here? It’s a fucking tomb.

The building is massive, but I’ve seen no more than six other people since I arrived. Maybe ten if you count the ones in passing. The corridors stretch forever in silence, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only consistent company.

They haven’t tested me today for the first time since I was taken.

I know that should be a relief, but it’s not. I can’t help feeling a little freaked out. I keep thinking, is this all some kind of test? Some fucked up way of testing me in isolation? Is them not testing me a test? I’m used to a rhythm now: morning wake-up, shower with eyes on me, breakfast, hours of assessments.

Always some new flavor of test—Rorschach, pattern recognition, IQ puzzles dressed up like logic games. Half the shit they throw at me, I’ve seen before. And I now know why my father insisted on teaching Tara and me how to get through endless different tests of that kind. He used to train us on how to beat those kinds of evaluations. How to appear average 101. We must always appear capable. Full of potential, but not exceptional enough to raise flags. We just thought he wanted us to lead normal, everyday lives until we felt ready to show the world who we are—on our terms.

I know it was the way Tara was heading. She wanted to be a physics professor and get tenure. Tara had big plans. I swallow, thinking about my sister as the lump burns in my throat. The only good thing about being here is that I’ve managed to find out they don’t know where she or my mother is. While still a constant source of worry for me, at least I know these fuckers don’t have them.

My mind drifts back to my father’s training. Now that I think about it and know what I know, I realize he wasn’t just trying to keep us seem average so we could live an everyday life, he wasn’t just training us for if my frightening aunt ever found us—he was preparing us for when Yelena and the RMSAD found us.

While I’m still angry with you and Mom, Dad, I sniff away the pain that still rips through my heart thinking about my father, the man who gave his life for mine, I understand why you and Mom did what you did. I’m grateful for all you taught us. I still think you should’ve been honest with us.

I wipe the tear off my cheek and compose myself, reminding myself I’m being watched. Blowing out a breath, I pick up another sad grape and pop it into my mouth. If I’m honest, the tests have kept me from getting bored, and it felt good beating them again.

But it also allowed me to assess the RMSAD black ops division. As no one knows I can speak Russian, they used it as a go-to language to discuss me and other things while I was in earshot. I sigh, thinking of how they have tried to trip me up to find out if I’m pretending not to speak Russian. But I just didn’t take the bait and kept my well-honed ‘I’m oblivious’ look.

“I can’t let them know what I’m capable of, little one,” I whisper, while dropping a grape onto my lap so I can address my stomach without seeming obvious. “I don’t want them discovering you. ”

I shudder picturing the operating and other medical rooms Helga (not Tubby) took me to see. Now I’m wondering what kind of tests they’ll run on me here. So far, they haven’t taken any body fluid samples. Or at least not that I know of.

Something bangs in the distance, I jump, and my head swivels towards the door. Fuck this place! It’s different. It’s too quiet. Too… clinical, and not in the way you’d expect. It feels like a hospital, complete with psychiatric wards, straight out of a post-apocalyptic movie. I want to say all it’s missing are the flesh-eating zombies, but honestly I’m thinking there might just be some in this shitshow of a place.

Even Tubby—sorry, Helga —the one guard who doesn’t glare at me like I kicked her dog, admitted it’s not a regular RMSAD site. Said this building was “repurposed.” Said there were stories about it. Said this is where the real experiments happened. Some of the worst rumors about the RMSAD’s “ghost projects” started here.

The worst part? I believe her. The shit I’ve seen and heard over the past five days is fucking unbelievable. How could anyone be a part of this and sleep at night? Fuck, my mother used to be a part of this.

I shake my thoughts away. While I’m stuck in here, there is not much I can do about it. But fuck, when I get out, I’m going to burn this fucking black ops frankenstein division to the fucking ground.

My eyes catch the large house at the other end of the grounds looming like a shadowy threat through the windows. Helga told me the General’s family lives in that house. I think I was more surprised to hear he had a family. I thought he was a cyborg. Who the hell moves his family into a black ops site?

One that doesn’t want them to leave! I answer my own question. They are probably all genetically enhanced humanoids waiting to procreate with another pure genetically altered humanoid to form a little family of genetic fuckwits.

I sigh and glance around the room once again. I’m alone in this massive dining hall that I could probably fit three of my school’s mess halls into. I shudder and my skin crawls as I swear I can feel the souls of former people like me sitting around here.

I’m freaking myself out even more. I guess I should try and eat my nighttime snack—a bland fruit bowl. It’s not bad. I’ve just never been a fruit girl. Give me pancakes, bacon, maple syrup, and black coffee, and I’m golden. This crap? Grapes and melon, and a slice of kiwi that tastes like it’s been through customs twice?

But I eat it. For the baby. I don’t let myself touch my stomach, not in public, not even when I’m alone, because if they find out I’m pregnant—really find out—I don’t know what the hell they’ll do. And I’m not willing to find out.

I’m halfway through a slice of something orange when someone crashes into my table.

Fruit flies everywhere when the table is thumped and upends my tray, and suddenly I’m soaked. Something cold and sticky slides down my chest and pools in my lap.

“What the fuck?!” I shoot up from my seat, heart leaping into my throat. Jesus, there’s an entire mess hall, and my table is the one that gets knocked into.

My head shoots up as I realize someone walked into my table, and my eyes meet a young woman about my age. She looks like she stepped out of a Hot Topic Goth edition that hasn’t updated its inventory since 2008.

Combat boots. Torn black leggings. A baggy black hoodie layered under a cropped leather jacket. Her hair is dyed black, but streaked through with purple. Her lipstick is dark, her eyeliner sharp, and her face? Her face is flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh shit—fuck—I am so sorry!” she blurts, and her Russian accent wraps around the words in a way that almost makes them musical. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I wasn’t looking—shit—I didn’t even think anyone was in here.”

My chest rises and falls as I fight the instinct to bite her head off. But the look on her face… It’s not fake. She’s not here to test me. She’s just… awkward—and uncannily human, not some robotic, science-y type.

And probably the first remotely genuine human I’ve seen since I was taken.

I exhale sharply and brush a sticky chunk of pineapple off my shirt. “It’s fine,” I mutter. “I mean, if you planned to douse me in a fruit cocktail and start a turf war, congrats—you nailed it.”

She laughs—a short, surprised burst—and then drops into the chair across from mine.

“I was trying to figure out how to say hi without sounding insane,” she confesses, and I nod, realizing the table bump was planned. “Guess I failed.”

“Not entirely,” I mutter, grabbing a paper napkin and wiping my hands. “You got my attention.”

“I’m Valeska,” she says. “Resident inmate number two.”

“Sabrina.” I blink as her words sink in. “So there are more of us.”

“Three total. Including you,” she confirms. “Though Inmate One isn’t exactly what I’d call… friendly.”

“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “What’s their deal?”

She leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s a psychopath. Charismatic. Dangerous. Plays the good guy right up until he gets bored, then decides to twist the knife.”

“Sounds like a delight.”

“My older brother,” she adds with a smirk. “Most people call him Mikhail. I call him Fuckface.”

That makes me laugh. “Noted.”

She nods toward my now-empty tray. “Sorry about the fruit.”

“It’s fine.” I pause. “Well, no. It’s sticky and annoying. But honestly? You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in five days who didn’t have a clipboard or a tranquilizer gun, so I’ll allow it.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she deadpans.

We fall into a strangely comfortable silence. I study her as she pulls two chocolate bars from her hoodie pocket and hands me one. “How about I give you one of these for knocking over your fruit?”

“Shit!” I nearly rip the candy from her hand. “This makes the feeling like I’m about to attract a swarm of bees so worth it.”

Moving to another seat, I peel the candy bar and notice her weird brooch. It is a large spider with red eyes. “Cool brooch.” I nod toward it.

“Thanks.” Valeska looks at it. “It goes with the look.” She laughs.

All thought runs from my head as I sink my teeth into the delicious caramel gooey goodness of the candy bar and savor the taste of sugary sweetness. “Mmmm”

“Good?” She grins.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” I nod. “I’ve had nothing but bland food since I became an unwilling guest of the RMSAD.”

“Story of my life,” she mutters.

“How long have you been here?” I ask slowly.

Valeska looks at me. Shrugs. “In this facility, or a prisoner of the RMSAD?”

“Both?” I frown, and I start to get a funny feeling.

“How about all my life?” Valeska hisses, her eyes flashing with emotion. “In this facility? On and off, depending on what year or season it is.”

“Where are you staying?”

“In the house across the courtyard.” She inclines her head toward the house.

I stare at her. Something ice-cold unfurls in my gut.

“You live there?”

She nods. “I wouldn’t call it live. More like trapped.”

No.

No way.

“Your… father works here?”

Her expression hardens.

“My father runs this place.”

The room tilts for a second.

“You’re…” I trail off, trying to connect the dots even though I already know what they spell. “You’re the daughter of General Vladislav Ergorov.”

My fruit-sticky fingers go cold.

And just like that, the last little illusion I had that I’d managed to meet someone who might be able to help me is gone, and now I’m thinking this is another test.

I put the half-eaten candy bar on the table. Suddenly, it’s not that appetizing anymore, and I don’t know what it could be laced with. Am I getting paranoid—fuck hell yeah. For a moment, I nearly fell for it. I almost let down my guard, which has been up for so long. I think it is starting to rust in place.

I stand. “I’d better find Helga and see if I can go over my quote of scrubs and showers for the day.”

“Fuck!” Valeska swears, standing with me. “It’s my father, isn’t it?”

“I have to admit, I was nearly taken in by your goth, rebel look,” I tell her. “But let your father and my mad scientist aunt, if she is my aunt, know that it didn’t work. I don’t spill my guts to strangers, and I still have no clue where my mother or sister are.” I shake my head. “How could I? I’ve been stuck in here for five days, and I’m not psychic.”

I turn and start to walk away.

“Sabrina, wait!” Valeska rushes after me. “You don’t understand…”

“I think I do,” I say and I’m saved having to say more when instead of Helga, Skinny, who’s name is Vavara and I love to mispronounce it and call her Viagra and it pisses her off which makes me day just a little brighter for it, appears.

“What are you doing here, Valeska?” Vavara’s tone is sharp and clipped like a frustrated schoolmarm. She is probably one.

“I can go wherever I like,” Valeska reminds her.

“Not when it’s almost curfew,” Vavara points out.

“She was helping me because I accidentally knocked my bowl of fruit over,” I tell Vavara, indicating the sticky mess I am.

“How can you be the granddaughter of Anya Novikov?” Vavara hisses in discussion. “You are a disgrace to her name. She was never clumsy. Even at her advanced age, she still floats with poise and grace.”

“Give me a bottle of tequila and I can do that too,” I tell Vavara, and I’m rewarded with a scathing look that could strip paint off walls.

“You had better go,” she hisses at Valeska, then turns her angry eyes on me. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“And what exactly will I be doing tomorrow?” I say, pulling her attention to me while Valeska sneaks away.

“You will see,” she says almost with glee.

I pull a face as if I don’t care. “Cool.”

Later, in my new, sterile room, which admittedly has a much more comfortable bed and warmer blankets, I slide my hand beneath my pillow to make myself comfortable. My hand hits something. I pull the pillow back, squinting through the dark, and find two candy bars and a note. I don’t have to read the note to know who it’s from.

Crumpling the note in my hand, I make my way into the tiny bathroom with just a toilet and basin adjoining the room. I switch on the soft light when I read it.

Sabrina. We need to talk. I didn’t only bump into you to say hi. I’m here to help you, oh, and I have a phone—an untraceable burner. And NO this is not a trick, test, or anything to do with my father’s sick ass world. Like you, I’m a prisoner here trying to find a way out. Did I mention I can get word to a man named Oleksi?

My heart slams into my ribs. This sounds too good to be true. But something at the back of my mind tells me it’s not, and I let myself go over the brief time I spent with Valeska. There was something about her, not malice, more like pain, and for a few seconds, when I’d greeted her, she’d held her breath waiting to see how I’d respond. When I’d warmed to her, her eyes had lit not just with relief but hope!

After I finish a candy bar and find a place to stash the other one and the wrapper, I drift off to sleep wondering if what I saw in Valeska’s eyes was real or am I just seeing what I want to see in my desperation to get the fuck out of here.

But as my mind drifts to Oleksi, as it always does when I fall asleep, I know I’m willing to take the risk.