Subjectivity: Chapter Ten

“If we are to fight, we’ll do it right,” Ludwig spoke slyly and offered a wink at Sonya, who only rolled her eyes and continued their drill exercise. Her breath came out in clouds of white before her face as she panted slowly, determined not to allow her fatigue to show. However the cold was lost to the young woman, for she was beyond the point of noticing the chilly autumn air of Siberia and merely held her attention on the opponent before her. Sonya’s muscles had begun to feel sore and her hand was cramped from holding the dulled bayonet knife for so long, though she continued onward, and spun the knife around in her hand, and held it so that the blade was parallel to her forearm. Blade held in reverse, she lunged toward Ludwig who continued to hold himself as though he had just begun their exercise, for he was bereft of neither sweat nor any indication of fatigue. The bayonet knife was brought upward in an attempt to catch a cross section of his midsection, though she was once more blocked as Ludwig brought his own knife downward, as though he was about to stab her in the shoulder, though landed his knife in the now larger space between her own weapon and forearm. With an efficient jerking motion, Ludwig disarmed Sonya and sent her knife skittering away on the rough concrete below. Sonya’s had throbbed with pain from the hard hilt of her bayonet knife being jerked away so suddenly, though ignored it, and instead feigned to reach for the knife as she threw herself downward, though instead of grabbing the knife, she spun a combat boot garbed foot around and caught Ludwig’s shin and sent him onto his back, sprawled open like a deer caught unaware. “Well well, the Little Fox has some strength left in her still!” Ludwig exclaimed brightly as he chuckled on the ground.

Sonya had her own, once discarded, weapon in her hand once more, for she had re-equipped it as the man fell and held it to his throat. Though the action was made pointless through the dull nature of the practice weapon, she held it firm, determined to take a bit of confidence away from the ever infuriatingly lighthearted Estonian. “If you keep calling me Little Fox, I might just accidently pick up a real knife next time we practice close range fighting, Ludwig,” she warned darkly, though only elicited laughter from the young man once more. Releasing her knee from his chest and the knife from his throat, she stood and offered him a hand to stand up, which he took. The strange Estonian man brushed himself off and ran a hand through his hair. Garbed in a militarily green t-shirt, camouflage pants and similarly coloured combat boots, Ludwig somehow retained an aura of calm and joviality, something which Sonya could neither abhor nor admire. The man had been ever present at her side since they had arrived a month ago, and although she would never admit it, she did enjoy his company, for the vast majority of those drafted were pathetically weak, frail, or otherwise so needlessly engrossed in their training that to escape speaking of such with them was impossible. Sonya’s stormy gaze left the annoying man and instead moved to the central building of the Pacific Union’s Military Training Facility Seventeen, better known as Prison Camp Seventeen for its former occupation, wherein she saw the hustle and bustle of various clerks and officer ranking men and women milling about behind reflective glass. Ludwig followed her gaze with a curious ‘hm’ and rolled his near-black eyes.

The man took a few steps forward and slung an arm around Sonya’s slender shoulders, which she deftly removed with one hand only to find it replaced there once more. “Keep staring like that, it might explode.” Ludwig jeered lightly and received a glare from his counterpart. Though the two’s attention were redirected at the sound of a whistle being blown, and on queue Ludwig and Sonya turned about face and at attention with backs straight, feet shoulder width apart, and hands at their sides. “I bet you’re in trouble for being so grumpy,” the Estonian man whispered lightly, though felt an elbow drive into his stomach before retracting swiftly. Ludwig coughed once, rubbing his stomach, before standing upright once more. “See? Grumpy.” He snickered quietly. A short distance from them, Sonya saw a young man, one of the soldiers in their training platoon, being carried away by two of his fellows, his arms slung around their shoulders and head dipped downward with blood dripping from his hidden face. His legs merely dragged behind the two who supported him and Sonya assumed that someone had gotten a bit overzealous with the training exercise and delivered a blunted knife into the man’s eye. However her skin crawled as she heard Ludwig speak up, his boisterous voice breaking the eerie silence: “Eye think eye see what happened there! Does anyone else see?” He gestured to the man who was being dragged off, “I don’t think he can see what’s going on!” A few snickered followed his own laughter before others erupted into their own fits of laughter at the morbid pun. Sonya felt a smirk pull at her lips, though she kept herself marginally composed and merely stood silently, wishing for once in his life Ludwig would not be such an idiot and most likely get himself, and her by proxy, in trouble. As though her fears were answered, their drill instructor seemed to snap at the break of military stoicism.

“Silence!” The man’s voice boomed: all those who had found their composure not strong enough to resist Ludwig’s cheap puns silenced immediately, and all eyes trained upon the drill instructor. “Are we training soldiers or are we building a comedy club?!” The man who looked to be about ten years Sonya’s senior also seemed to be the type who was obsessed with the military. His hair, buzzed almost completely, save a short tuft of brown hair that rose off the top of his head, projected his military adoration and moreover the various scars that already adorned his body furthered such assumptions of the man. “Back to drilling!” The man’s voice fell silent afterward and nearly instantly, those gathered dispersed once more and drew their blunted bayonet knives and continued practice. Ludwig reached for his own; however Sonya shook her head and motioned to the oncoming drill instructor who quickly approached them. A tense silence filled the air as Ludwig and Sonya merely awaited the man’s scornful words. The two stood at attention as the man finally closed the distance, his gaze transfixed upon Ludwig, “You have a real annoying habit of speaking out of turn, soldier. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Awkward silence ensued following the man’s word as Ludwig’s brow knit in thought. Sonya silently prayed that the man would not say something stupid, and instead apologise for his idiocy. However she knew such hopes to be folly and instead merely awaited Ludwig’s less than welcome words. For the young man had already made a name for himself as an inappropriate fool on very thin ice. “Have you no respect for your country? For your people? You make a mockery of everything the military stands for!”  

The assumption hung in the air with eerie silence as the smile faded from Ludwig’s normally boisterous visage and in its place was an expressionless mask of nothingness. The drilling instructor seemed to grow tense at the change in expression, however Sonya merely stared at the man, silently delighted to see that he had touched a nerve in the annoyingly positive Estonian next to her. “My country?” Ludwig spoke quietly, his question barely audible over the hum of activity about them in the training facility. “My country… was ruined by your country. Now I have to fight for your country,” Ludwig chuckled a little, and ran a hang through ebon locks of long hair before he returned his dark gaze to the man before him, “Tell me why I should respect mother Russia, sir.” The statement too was given silence as a response as the drilling instructor became evermore alarmed and indeed so too did Sonya become worried. She had not seen Ludwig so serious, and had been, up until now, unaware that Ludwig held such bitterness for the treatment of the Baltic nations by the Russian Federation. For many years following the dissolving of the United Soviet Socialist Republic, Russia held an iron grip on the economies of eastern Europe, including the Baltic states of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia and although it was well known that these countries had since joined the European Union, which once included Russia, the bitterness of the cruel treatment by the outlying nations pervaded unto the current day. Sonya saw great danger in Ludwig’s eyes as his hand slowly clenched. Though she knew she could not interfere: Ludwig had been hurt by Russia as she had been hurt by the Pacific Union. At such a point she felt a great deal of empathy for the man and decided that not only would she not interfere, she would stand with him. For all those who were put down by increasingly tyrannical individuals and governments. Silence continued as the drill instructor remained in shocked silence of the bold wars Ludwig so darkly uttered and so the Estonian man reiterated himself: “Well, sir? Why should I respect Russia when it’s left countless thousands in my own country without medicine and like a dog on a short leash for centuries?” Ludwig took a step forward, his voice almost silent as he arrived face to face with the man, “Well?”

Their drill instructor regained his composure and seemed to take nigh instant offense at Ludwig’s words; “Insubordinate scum! How dare you speak of the motherland in such a disrespectful way! You Baltic shits should be grateful for the scraps from our table!” His words, furious and bold, saw a few of those who had otherwise returned to their sparring to stop, and Sonya silently inferred that they were either Baltic peoples or sympathisers thereof. Ludwig’s response to the man was only a curt laugh, though he offered no words, further angering the military man before him. “That’s it, I’ve had enough of you!” The drill instructor spoke quickly and from his waist procured a billy club and proceeded to swing it at the side of Ludwig’s head. Sonya had no time to intervene, regardless of her desires to do so, for Ludwig was already on the move as the man moved to his waist. As the man drew the club from its holster upon his waist, the Estonian raven haired man grabbed his wrist and spun it around with a sickening crunch, causing the drilling soldier to cry out in pain and drop the club. Once more Ludwig was quicker, and as he released the man’s likely broken wrist, he caught the strap of the blunt instrument with the toe of his boot, tossed it into the air with a smooth spin around his foot and caught it with his right hand. Sonya partially expected Ludwig to merely keep the club, however she found herself incorrect as Ludwig delivered a solid strike of the billy club upside the drilling instructor’s head. The impact was made with such vigor that the man merely dropped to the ground, still. Blood poured from the man’s head in torrents, and Sonya found the sight momentarily sickening, though calmed herself as she recalled the many times she had killed deer and seen more blood pour from their stilled bodies.

As though someone was watching, sirens sounded as the man hit the ground, and Ludwig, once more jovial, offered a light chuckle and spoke: “Looks like he had a tracker that set off the alarms when he went unconscious.” Giving the felled man a firm nudge with his boot, Ludwig rolled his eyes. A flurry of motion came to life as all those who were once sparring now looked at Ludwig with shock and some with impressed smirks or devious grins of approval. Sonya found the sight incredibly confusing, for she had believed that many of those who looked on approvingly to be mere indoctrinated pawns of Russia who thought that anyone who defied the government was a traitor or a terrorist. She silently cursed herself for thinking so naively, though found herself at a conflict that evidently Ludwig had come to as well. The dark eyed man looked to Sonya and spoke with urgency; “You should separate yourself from me, they’ll blame you as well as me.” At such words Sonya found a slight laugh try to breach her controlled visage, and although she did not laugh, a small smirk grew across her face. She would not leave Ludwig to face the fury of their superiors alone: she did not wish to be in the Union’s seventeenth military training camp and she knew that such stood for Ludwig as well. Different sirens from the ones overhead had become audible and Sonya recognised them to be those of the military police’s vehicles. The sound seemed to worry Ludwig as he knit his brows and tried to usher Sonya away, “C’mon, go! You don’t want to be dragged into this, do you?”

Sonya shook her head in disagreement, “No, not really,” and although her words seemed to calm Ludwig, she once more brought him worry as she did not move and merely looked to the oncoming military police vehicles. White jeeps adorned with gold lacquer glittered in the already failing light of the day and from them angered demands for Ludwig and Sonya to drop to the ground with their hands on the backs of their heads were being made, though Sonya ignored it for a moment as she spoke once more. “Although I don’t want to get into shit with the Russians for this, I’m more than happy to cause some grief for Laevan’s white and gold mobile gestapo.” The military police jeeps skidded to a stop with the screech of tires and Sonya grabbed Ludwig by the shoulder and kicked out his legs, forcing him to the ground, “Get down! You don’t want to die quite yet, I’m sure,” her voice was quick and harsh, and thankfully Ludwig obliged and caught himself before likely breaking his nose on the cracked concrete below and so the two laid face down on the ground. “Well, you’re anything but dull, Ludwig Von Strauss.” Her words brought a wicked grin from the aforementioned German named Estonian, though all went black as Sonya felt a searing pain enter her back and a violent shock engulf her body. The last sight she saw before her vision failed her was Ludwig’s grin fall into a twisted look of pain as he too was tasered into unconsciousness.

~*~

The cold was the first thing that Sonya noticed. A biting wind attacked her exposed skin and she shivered fervently, her majorly exposed body unaccustomed to such cold. Her grey eyes fluttered open, though she found blackness meeting her gaze and upon the shifting of her head, she discovered that a blindfold of some sort had been placed on her head. Her hand instinctively rose to remove it, though she found them restrained. Her senses were weak and she felt panic grip her as she tried to shift her legs to sit up, though found that her ankles had also been fastened. Moreover, upon the straightening of her back, she found that a cold chain extended from her ankle restraints to those on her wrists. A cool laugh sounded as she struggled, and she paused instantly, her blinded eyes focusing sightlessly on the source of the laughter. Upon her movement to sightlessly look at what she presumed was a man, given the deepness of his laugh, he spoke in English, though with such a strong accent that she had great difficulty deciphering him: “Little whore’s got some fight in ‘er!” The sound of footfalls could be heard which grew ever closer and she felt a gloved hand scratch against her face as the blindfold was removed. Cool sunlight blinded her for a moment and she looked away, though returned her gaze forward and found that she lay upon the floor of a cave. The cave looked to be no more than eight feet across, six feet deep and possibly ten feet tall. The man before her was adorned in a white and gold uniform that was sullied with stains of mud and what Sonya suspected was blood.

“Where am I? What the hell is an MP doing locking me up like this?” She demanded shortly, her arms and legs separating behind her back in an attempt to break the chain that connected the two. Her efforts were in vain as she soon realised that the chain was much mightier than she and so she relaxed, resigned to let her gaze settle upon the English sounding Union soldier. Though the man seemed relish in her confusion and merely ignored her questions and instead sipped at a metallic thermos. A savory aroma of chicken, herbs and broth wafted toward Sonya and she felt her stomach grumble. Her hunger only seemed to amuse the man more as he continued to sip at what she suspected was soup. “Answer me!” She demanded, and cursed herself for allowing her fiery temper to escape, as it made her sound little more than desperate and scared. Once more, the man only laughed his cold laugh and continued to eat his meal. Unable to continue watching the man eat, for it felt as though she had not eaten in a day, her gaze settle upon the near entrance of the cave, wherein she saw snow-capped trees stand on end and jagged mountains loom all around them. Her mouth went dry and she felt a terrifying nausea grip her as she realised where she was: the Siberian wilderness. “Answer me, damn you!” She demanded once more, and finally the urgency in her voice seemed to hold the man’s attention long enough for him to answer.

Finishing his soup, the military policeman refastened the screw on top and placed it next to his sitting place against the grey rocky wall. “Where are you? That should be obvious to a Ruskie, even one from piss poor Murmansk. You’re in Siberia. You and your Estonian friend are being punished for killing your superior,” and though Sonya opened her mouth to protest, the man shushed her and spoke again, “Be glad it’s just temporary exile. This is murder we’re talking about: you got off easy. Luckily for you, your C.O., Jehovah… Jennovah… what’s her name? The fat bitch…” The man trailed off, and Sonya groaned inwardly at the bleak prospects of her future, though the man spoke up again as his memory provided her commanding officer’s name: “Right! Jovanna Kopachesky. Anyways, luckily for you, the angry cow bitched her way into saving your asses since you two were such excellent hand to hand fighters. She said that your value superseded that of a grizzled veteran like the drill instructor whose head you bashed in.” Sonya quirked an auburn brow: she had not expected Kopachesky of all people, a woman whom she had perceivably only seen once and never spoken to face to face to save their lives. Though the idea of the unknown woman saving she and Ludwig did not exactly comfort the rusty haired girl’s mind. “You got two months, but the Estonian kid? He got three. Count your blessings.” The man stretched, his fingers cracking as he interlaced them above his head before speaking again; “Anyways. As much fun as this is, I should get back to the shithole of a training camp that you just got blood all over and leave you to your punishment.”

The man had begun to leave when Sonya lurched forward, causing the man to pause and turn back. His light brown hair was greasy and his imperfect complexion gave Sonya the idea that the man did not bathe as often as he should have, though she ignored his splotchy face and narrowed her eyes, “How am I supposed to survive in Siberia with my hands and legs cuffed like this?” Her question seemed to puzzle the man before her, and he walked back toward her. The young Russian woman’s nose crinkled as she smelt the pungent body odour that emanated from the man assault her senses. The man dropped to a crouch before her and Sonya expected him to unlock the cuffs that bound her so. However she was mistaken as the man placed a hand on the side of her face and stroked it roughly. Sonya shuddered and recoiled, silently wishing she had her hands free to strike the man. However she could not, and felt the rough fabric of his dirty white glove scrape across her face as she was backhanded. She felt foul curses rise to the surface, though she stifled them as the man’s hand then fell to her chest, befouling her. A perverted gleam in his eye silently spoke to Sonya that the man had ulterior motives with her being chained up so, and panic set in without repose in her system. As the man’s hand fell lower onto her abdomen, she delivered her head into the man’s forehead, knocking him backward. A sharp pain throbbed through her head as she realised that adrenaline had caused the assault to be much more potent than she had anticipated. Though the military policeman lurched to a sit and with a baleful gaze sent the heel of his thick boot into her midsection. Sonya felt the air be knocked out of her lungs and she slumped forward, gasping and coughing.

The man was not done and stumbled forward, a trickle of blood falling down his forehead and splitting down the curve of his skull and split its minute river into two on either side of his nose. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the ground, his voice cruel and full of anger: “You shouldn’t have done that, you fucking bitch!” Though his hateful words were lost on Sonya as a ringing deafened her for a long moment as she felt a new pain in the back of her head accompany the one that had invaded her cranium moments ago and so she merely laid there, short of breath and feeling both pained and defiled. The man stood once more and kicked her in the side, and her kidney, soft and susceptible to damage, was hit and she yelped in pain, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “I’d leave you chained up like this, but then I’d get tossed out here.” From his pocket he removed a thumb sized device, pressed a button, and the shackles around her wrists and ankles released. Sonya instantly curled up, her hands gingerly pressed against her side and her stomach. “I hope you die out here, you bitch,” the military policeman spoke hatefully before leaving the cave in a flurry of hurried footsteps, grumbling about the pain in his forehead. The young Russian woman merely lay there, her body throbbing with pain and sore from being stationary for so long.

Though minutes passed and she soon found herself somewhat recovered. Rolling onto her side, she placed  a hand on the ground, and then another, and finally pushed herself to a stand, her balance almost lost as she stumbled and collided with the wall of the cave. Clad in nothing more than a pair of combat boots, cargo pants, and a fleece sweater, she shivered slightly from a sudden gust of frigid wind that assaulted her from the nearby entrance to the cave. Unsteady steps became more assured as she stood at the mouth of the cave. The Siberian wilderness stretched out endlessly before her: lowlands that filled the distance between a nearby row of jagged peaks was made alive with tall, spindly trees, weak shrubbery, and a few partially frozen rivers; all of which was covered in a half a foot of pure snow. Were she not so cold from her poor protection from the elements, Sonya would find the sight before her truly beautiful, though all she saw was a wilderness bereft of food or shelter. The cave she had arrived in was set in such a manner that it was simply too wide at its mouth to provide any shelter from the cold, and so she quickly abandoned the idea of making camp there. “Two months…” The weight of the time that lay before her weighed her down immensely, though she kept her panic in check and took a deep breath of cool air. The young woman stepped out of the cave and she began to methodically open all six pockets on her pants and although she found nothing in the top two nor the bottom two, upon her left leg, just above the knee, was a pocket that held a somewhat dulled knife. She nodded firmly to herself, deciding that the knife was a good omen.

The mountain that the cave she had awoken in sloped gently away from her, and so she as she had begun her descent down, she made careful note to search for any animal tracks. Something large like an elk or gray wolf would provide her with plenty of food and a pelt that she could fashion into a cloak to keep her warm. “Well then, father…” She spoke aloud, her gaze cast into the grey sky abruptly, “I suppose I should thank you for teaching me how to hunt… Even if you did it so that you didn’t have to.” As her mind drifted to her absentee parents, her heart sank as she recalled her younger brother whose name she spoke aloud with a morose, resigned tone: “Ivan…” She was sure that the boy had been totally ignored by their parents and silently prayed that he had not taken up hunting: the bull elks of Murmansk, though rare, looked like promising game to any would be hunter, but if they were not slain in one strike, they would gore a fully grown man, let alone a fifteen year old boy, and leave them for dead. Though she shook her head, and decided that, as much as she would love to return to her home and take Ivan away from Murmansk, she could offer him no more comfort than their parents, and instead focused once more upon the task at hand: survival.

The auburn haired woman continued her descent before she was finally partially shrouded by the narrow trees of the craggy forest that comprised the majority of the mountain bed she was now within. The hushed rustle of wings could be heard from above and Sonya’s trained eyes struggled to find the source of the movement of any aviary being in the blinding whiteness all around. At home she was privy to her father’s hunting goggles which dimmed to the appropriate lighting conditions present for optimal sight. Her eyes raced about, though after a minute of silence, she resigned herself to the frustrating reality that she would not find the bird, and abandoned the idea of using its corpse as bait for something larger. The snow around her was flawless, another fact that caused her great worry, for it meant that nothing large had recently frequented the area. The travelling habits of wildlife in Russia had changed drastically since the near total melting of the icecaps, for some rivers had swollen while others dried up completely: such disoriented animals who used the rivers as fountains and thus confused the animals who hunted upon them and so forth. Moreover, the increased global temperatures had seen a distinctively shift in arctic air currents which now swung much more erratically during the intemperate seasons of Autumn and Spring. Such was made obvious to the stormy eyed woman, for such amounts of snow in October were unthinkable a hundred years ago, but were now merely an unfortunate chaos creating nuisance. The products of the industrial revolutions of the former Global North centuries ago and the relatively recent industrial revolutions of the African nations saw such amounts of carbon to be emitted into the atmosphere that the formerly polar ice melted and threw the delicate climate of the Earth into frenzy.

Sonya snorted derisively at the idiocy of her forefathers of the nineteenth to twentieth centuries, cursing them silently for ruining the world so, if only for their forcing of ancient animal movements in Siberia to deviate and leave her to starve. “No… I will not die here,” her words came out boldly, and a rustling of a nearby shrub responded, and upon instinct she drew the dull knife from her waist and hurled it into the bush. The knife sounded a fleshy impact and a dying squeak could be heard shortly thereafter. The young woman hurried forward and from the bush’s recesses she found a felled mountain hare, whose once pure white fur was now pooling with crimson. The blunted knife had not slain the creature instantly, and Sonya pitied the poor animal as it writhed against the blade embedded in its side. The blade was as long as the creature’s forepaws and Sonya fell to her knees as quietly as possible and removed the knife before merely snapping its neck, killing it instantly. Normally bereft of remorse for her hunting, sadness crept at her mind for the small animal’s struggling in the end, and so she respectfully shut its eyes. Sonya hefted the hare by the hind legs and turned northward, deciding that she would find the exposed parts of the river there and thus a chance to find a watering hole for wolves and elk. If she were lucky, she’d find an elk drinking and be able to kill it before it realised what had happened. It all depended on luck, though at such a point, Sonya doubted luck would aid her at all.

~*~

Darkness had long since fallen when Sonya found her desired break in the ice over one of the rivers that flowed through the valley. Though the mountain bed between the two chains of mountains she had seemed initially small from her vantage point in the cave she had been transported to, the enormity of the valley was only truly felt as she traversed its snowy wilderness. The hare that she had instinctively killed was now tied to her waist and clipped with her from time to time, and such was a feeling that Sonya did not enjoy whatsoever, however ignored it for the sake of the necessity of trapping something larger. However it was the cold and fatigue that worried the young Russian more than anything, for she knew if she fell asleep in the cold, she would most likely never wake up again due to either hypothermia or being killed by wildlife attracted to her hare. Part of her silently wished that she was being tracked, so that she might keep herself warm with the pelt and a fire, but Sonya refused to set up camp and eat the hare. She would not allow it to be squandered, for she did not know if she would come across another means of bait for quite some time. Her legs were cold and sluggish, and her feet had grown wet and cold from snow melting into her boots through the straps, though she ignored this too and forged forward. The night sky provided her with some aid through the moon’s luminescence that brightened the dismal forest enough to be able to see farther ahead than one might otherwise see on a cloudy night.

Conversely, the clear sky only made the chill of the night had set in and left the lands a freezing, black copy of its former day time self. Her shirt had been soaked with sweat as she hurried through the day, determined to find something large to catch, though as night set in, the moisture in her shirt set in and now left her shivering and weak. Her stomach growled noisily at her, and she cursed herself silently for not having eaten more before they had begun their training exercises beforehand. ‘But how long has it been since we sparred?’ Sonya mused silently, and realised that, given her weakness from malnourishment that she had been unconscious for quite some time, possibly a day or two. Indeed her mouth was oddly dry and she was made evermore weaker by it. However she trudged forward through the snow, committed to not making her long trek a pointless one and as she grew closer to the break in the weak forest where one found the now exposed river. Steam slowly rose off its surface, indicating to the young Russian woman that it was indeed colder than she had expected, and silently thanked her Slavic heritage for keeping her mobile in the biting cold. The temperature was falling quickly, and from the sight before her, she knew it would continue to do so. The jet stream had likely dipped below the borders of the Russian Federation and was now on the verge of flash freezing the entire land. Sonya knew she had but hours to find a kill and keep herself warm, though her heart sank at the undisturbed snow about the steam covered river. No animals had come to what might make a watering hole; they had likely all died out or merely escape to warmer climates. Worry had begun to grip her mind, though she pushed away momentarily only to look desperately for any sort of cave or covered area to keep warm in for the night. Her grey gaze glanced about the moonlit valley, though both mountain ranges were too far and the chance of finding a useful cave was too slim and she could not risk getting even more snow covered.

Instead, Sonya moved into the forest and away from the river that she had once placed much hope in. The snow had not piled as high under the cover of the sickly trees and so she was able to make better time, however the true cold of the arctic winds had already set in, and the snow had begun to fall. At first it was a peaceful and slow descent, something one might see out the window of an idyllic cabin in the woods, something she would be grateful to find as he fingers began to move from stinging with cold to having no feeling whatsoever. So too had her feet begun to lose feeling and so she hurried forward with more urgency, desperate to find a fallen tree, a rocky outcropping, anything to keep her safe from the cold. She had spent many nights in the winters of Murmansk which had the potential to be even colder than Siberia, but in such cases she was well equipped and most often had a tent with her. The wind blustered through the trees and the rustling of the needle bearing monoliths sounded with an ominous annunciation of her demise. Sonya ran a hand over her auburn hair and removed the metal band that had held her hair in a ponytail in a desperate attempt to keep her ears from acquiring frostbite. As she did so, she felt her right foot clip with what felt like a tree root, and she was hurled into the ground face first. Her arms did not come forth in time and instead she merely fell into a foot of snow which had collected between two trees.

Sonya rolled onto her back, the snow creeping down her shirt and freezing her utterly. Her gaze looked to the sky where she saw the three stars that created Orion’s Belt. She merely lay there, transfixed by the ephemeral beauty of the sky so high above, silently wishing to be with them, where no harm could come to her, where no evils of the world could assault her or those she loved. Sonya’s mind drifted to a time where she had found Ivan, passed out and sick, in the ruins of Polyarny and carried the boy home. He was only ten, but had attempted to run away, only to have drunk dirty water and fallen ill. Her arms had ached the entire way home and she felt as though she could not use them the next day, but the sight of her little brother asleep in his bed had warmed her heart so. Upon that night she had vowed to keep him safe from their parents and any others who would hurt him. The memory calmed her as she looked up and saw that almost the entire night sky was visible with the weak cloud coverage, and all the distant jewels that blanketed the black shroud of night twinkled peacefully. Sonya felt her heartbeat calm as she watched the beautiful display, and placed the back of her hand on her forehead before beginning to resign to the fatigue that had ripped at her body since midday. “I’ll just…” Her voice was quiet and it made her nauseated to speak, though she continued on speaking; “… doze here… for a minute…” Her grey eyes closed and the cold of the snow that encompassed her faded from her mind. With a slow sigh, her mind shut down and she fell into a deep and deadly sleep. 

~*~

Once more, Sonya awoke to the senses of a foreign place; hushed voices spoke near her, though she could not discern them. The smell of some sort of stew could be faintly identified, though she lay still, determined to not be caught unawares again. The voices nearby had begun to become intelligible, and she silently listened in: “She’s been asleep for ten hours. Are you sure she’ll wake up? Her blood work – did you see it? She hasn’t eaten in days! I force fed her some water, but that’s all I can do for her at this point.” The speaker sounded to be an elderly woman, her voice laden with concern. Sonya was reminded of a woman that she only knew as a small child; her grandmother. The woman had been very sick when Sonya was but a little girl, but the Russian woman had adored the elder lady completely. Her grandmother, though frail, always welcomed Sonya over and would bake for her a home cooked meal before reading from one of her many books. A slight shifting of fabric could be heard as a figure approached her bedside with the increasingly loud sounding of foot falls: “Poor girl. The ID chip in her arm is from the training facility in Krasnoyarsk. She must’ve angered her superiors.” The elderly woman’s words did not herald any sort of fear or mistrust of Sonya, and for that the supposedly resting Russian woman was thankful. She did not cherish merely moving from the deathly cold of the Siberian wilderness to being a prisoner of whomever had taken her in.

However a second person, likely the person whom the old woman was speaking to, spoke up and a wary mistrust was made clear in his cautious tonalities: “I’m not so sure that we should keep her unrestrained like this, then. What if she killed someone? What if they sent her to Siberia as a death sentence? It sounds like something those bat shit crazy Unioners would do; it’s cruel and cheap.” The man offered a bitter laugh, though he was hushed by the elderly woman, “Mother, please,” and from such words Sonya discerned that the man was likely scolded for being so cold. “Look, I’m not saying we toss her back into the snow, I’m just saying we wake her up and go from there.” Silence followed his words, and so a new heavier set of footfalls could be heard approaching Sonya’s bed. Though the auburn haired Russian was unsure how to play this situation; were she to announce herself as having been awake for some time now, she might cause alarm and validate the male’s concerns. Conversely, if she merely remained pretending to sleep, she might be bound to the bed, and Sonya had had enough of being made someone’s prisoner. And so, acting as naturally as possible, she offered a little twitch before opening her eyes. The room around her was humble and it reminded her of her own room in her parents’ house in Polyarny. Dull cement walls  rose all around her with but one large window across from her bed that looked out onto the snow covered landscape of Siberia. Next to her bed, a woman looking to be quite possibly in her seventies or eighties sat with hair as white as the snow outside tied into a loose bun and with kind chestnut eyes that seemed to calm Sonya’s initial worries. The woman wore a thick blue and gold house dress, one that was covered with a white apron.

Conversely the man who stood next to her looked much more worried, and he gripped one of the waist high wooden bedposts at the foot of Sonya’s bed. He wore a thick, grey turtleneck and a pair of what Sonya suspected was jeans, a fabric rarely seen in common fashions. His hair was dirty blond and it was messily parted on his head. A slightly darker beard, both scraggly and untrimmed, grew from his face and she was reminded of a drifter from the twenty first century. His eyes were identical to those of the calm, elderly woman, however his were set upon the young Russian woman as though she were a threat. “I’m just going to sit up,” Sonya cautioned as she moved to push herself upright, though found her arms to weak to do such, and so the white haired woman moved off her seat and placed the pillow which the auburn haired woman’s head had once rested against the wall and helped her sit up as well. “As for your question, I was sent out here for punishment.” Her words alarmed the man greatly, however the woman he had referred to as his mother did not seem remotely concerned. “A… friend of mine, he was about to be clubbed by our drilling instructor, so he moved before him and clubbed him upside the head with his own weapon. They implicated me too, so here I am. In two months I return to the training camp.” Her explanation was kept short and she purposefully ignored mentioning Ludwig by name, deciding that the less these strangers knew of her or her compatriots the better, for she was still very unsure as to where they stood. The chestnut eyed woman looked to her son and offered a small nod, to which he responded with merely a long look before turning and exiting the room. Sonya watched the man leave, a touch of concealed worry knowing at her mind. Had they decided that she was indeed a threat? She was unsure.

“Well you certainly had a bad time of it out there. My son found you hypothermic and starving in the valley. You were near death; treating you was very difficult, since you were so resistant to being fed. Luckily you did relent eventually, but we’ll have to get some food in you right away.” The elderly woman’s voice was kind and soft, and Sonya was once more reminded of her late grandmother. The young Russian felt oddly comfortable in the company of the elder woman and merely nodded in admonishment of her rapidly returning hunger. Her stomach growled loudly and the elderly woman gave a light chuckle, “Evidently you agree. Josh will be back in a moment with something to eat. Just sit tight for now.” A comfortable silence fell over the two as Sonya’s gaze returned to the window across from her bed. The snow was falling in earnest with torrents of the frozen precipitation powdering the secluded landscape without repose. Worry took her mind as she stared at the inhospitable land: was Ludwig well? Was he even still alive? If he had been put anywhere in the same valley she feared the worst. She knew that he was no hunter and thus would not be able to find a great deal of food. Furthermore, coupled with what she suspected to be a wintry climate outside, he would be hypothermic and frostbitten. “But where are my manners? My name is Elsa, but you can call me whatever you wish. Most people around here call me grandma, but I can’t imagine why.” Elsa laughed a light little laugh, and Sonya felt a small smirk grow on her face at the woman’s brevity.

Sonya pushed herself into a more upright seated position, but she felt vertigo gripped her and she almost fell out of bed were it not for the oddly quick actions of the old woman who caught her and placed her back upright. “Sonya, Sonya Volkov,” the famished woman spoke up, and Elsa nodded once. Though as she readied to speak again, the door opened once more and the man acknowledged as Josh walked through with a tray in his hands. A steaming bowl sat next to a plate with a large bun and a glass of milk to accompany the two.  The bearded man extended two sets of legs on either side of the tray and placed it around Sonya’s hips, offering her a quick nod. Before her sat a bowl of what she expected was some sort of mixture of multiple kinds of beans, pork and other additives. “Thank you, sir,” she spoke earnestly, though the silent Josh did not break from his reclusive nature and merely nodded once more. With a tentative look to the elderly woman and thus receiving a nod of approval, Sonya picked up a spoon that had been carefully laid out next to a knife upon a napkin and shakily dipped it into the stew before drawing it to her lips. Deciding that, if they wished to poison her they would have done such while she was unconscious, Sonya readily engulfed the spoon with her mouth. She felt heat rise to her face as she realised how delicious the stew was. Full of meaty flavours, the savory taste of the beans and a smoky undertone, she quickly drew another spoonful and ate it more speedily. Her pace quickened as she realised the extent of her hunger and before long the bowl was empty.

With a few large mouthfuls of milk, she tore the bun apart and greedily ate it without regard for her nonexistent table manners, for she was simply too hungry to care. The dark blond man chuckled a little and shook his head, “You really haven’t eaten in days, have you? Also, if my mother has not yet introduced me, my name is Joshua.” With a roll of his brown eyes, the man was shushed by his mother, though Sonya could not care less. After finishing her meal, the tray was once more taken by Joshua who then exited the room again. A comfortable silence fell over the young rust haired woman and her elderly counterpart. A slight commotion in another part of the house caused Elsa to rise from her own seat, looking worriedly at the near wall, and Sonya surmised that there was likely a room adjoining her own. Deciding that she had rested long enough, Sonya pushed the thick bedcovers off her person and found herself garbed in a pair of flannel, plaid designed pajama bottoms with a strange silvery sheen along with a long sleeved white sweater with buttons up the side. The Russian woman pushed herself to a stand, finding her vertigo lost following the bowl of stew and bread though find Elsa once more supporting her. The younger woman felt a pang of guilt for having such an old woman try to support her weight, and so she moved to the side.

The two made their way toward the door which Elsa opened slowly, however no alarming sights could be seen in the beige coloured hall. Sonya followed the white haired woman outside the room and into the hall and followed its narrow length to an identical door which was ajar. Inside was Joshua, the tray of empty dishes upon the ground, however the dishware remained oddly intact. Before him was a large display upon the wall whereupon one found a news program playing. A young, black haired news reporter stood before the Kremlin in Moscow and donned a full length, double breasted burgundy coat and a thick ushanka. The woman had begun to speak once more as Elsa and Sonya entered the room; ‘Thank you, Vladimir. I’m standing before the Kremlin as a highly controversial bill is being debated in the lower house. Bill C-26, known as the Union Bill by some, is a bill that furthers political integration of the Pacific Union. It would see all executive branches of government in the twelve nations accountable to the President of the Pacific Union, Doran Laevan. We now go live to the President’s address on the controversial bill, which is being debated upon in all twelve nations.’ The feed cut out for a moment before it flickered back to life. Instead of the Kremlin, a long stage was adorned with a singular podium made of flowing glass adorned with the Pacific Union flag. Behind the podium stood none other than Doran Laevan who was adorned in a metallically shimmering black suit coupled with a black ascot tucked into his white shirt. His greying hair was slicked back on an angle and his hawk-like features bored down upon the cameras which faced him.

After a moment, the man had begun to speak; ‘Citizenry of the Pacific Union. Today a tragedy has befallen our friends in the great and vast nation of China. A series of bombs exploded in the crowded government offices, killing thousands of innocent civilians and government officials. I grieve for their loss and to all the Chinese who lost loved ones in the attack, I give you my most solemn of vows: this hatred, this anger, will never rise again. Local Chinese and Pacific Union officials have confirmed that the explosives used were create upon the island of Neo-Palmyra in the same facility as where Subjects are created, for all explosives are branded with a chip to identify their origins. I tell you this now my friends: we will not be made slaves to fear! Our economic blockade of Neo-Palmyra has gone ignored and now the Subjects of NELO have slaughtered innocent bystanders.’ The man slammed his fist into the podium and spoke once more, ‘I say enough is enough! In the name of freedom and democracy we will shut down NELO and stop any more lives from being lost to their evil!’ Once more, he paused, and looked up once more, his visage eerily calm. ‘But to do this we must be united as we have never been before! Divided, the Subjects will flee and hide in all the member nations; a virus waiting to erupt again and sew chaos and hatred. That is why the Pacific Union Senate has introduced Bill C-26 to all member nation democratic houses. This bill will increase regulations on immigration and emigration and all cross boarder movements of dangerous individuals. This is not about power, this is not about fear. This is about justice and peace! And we will have these if we stand as one!’ Doran Laevan thrust a fist high into the air and let it hang there as he shouted: ‘For freedom! For justice! Long live the Union!’ He was quickly echoed by those behind the cameras in an eerie, nigh cult-like chant.

It was Elsa who grabbed who spoke; “TV – off!” Her voice was pained, though thankfully the screen complied and turned black. The elderly woman merely looked to a picture on the wall next to the television screen, wherein an elderly man was depicted. His white hair was left in a loose part and he wore an equally pure suit with a blue tie. Sonya’s eyes widened in moderate surprise as she realised that the man pictured was the late president: William Ehrhardt. Elsa’s voice was broken and miserable as she spoke: “Oh, Bill… Look at what he’s doing… He’s going to slaughter them all!” Joshua was already on the move as she spoke and quickly held the sobbing woman in his arms. It was then that Sonya realised why the Elsa suddenly seemed so familiar, for she had seen the woman many times. She was Elsa Ehrhardt, widow of the murdered president. Elsa, held in her son’s arms, shook intermittently with her cries before composing herself somewhat to speak; “Doran… How could you… Bill trusted you and you killed him! Now you’re going to slaughter those innocent kids!?” Her voice cracked as she spoke and her son, Joshua Ehrhardt merely stood there, his face blank, though eyes wracked with pain. Sonya’s heart lurched as she saw the kind, elderly woman weep, though after a moment her mind had begun to make the causal connections: this was indeed Elsa Ehrhardt, and her husband had been killed by Doran Laevan.   

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