Fallout || Stranger Things [2]

twenty || power and pain

No one expects to find themselves trapped in a Soviet base.

Tate hadn't, at least not for a second time.

And it was beginning to wear on her.

Her weeks of failure had left her with daily beatings and a diminishing hope for ever seeing the light of day. Her only solace in the freezing Russian dungeon was stepping into the Void to check on her friends, but even that was beginning to cause her grief.

She wanted to reach out so desperately, just to tell them she's alive, but with her own hope failing, it seemed even worse for her to give it to the ones she loved when she wasn't quite sure if she'd ever make it out.

Nights were spent contemplating the decision: All she had to do was whisper the words, just to one of them. But she could see they were trying to move on, and one false move would only add to the destruction she caused.

She needed to be sure, and she couldn't figure out if that day was ever going to come.

Tate sank down against the freezing concrete walls of her cell, wincing from the bruises marring her skin. She hated the mornings most, but there was something worse about the day looming in front of her.

Something she couldn't quite place her finger on.

A soft rap on the door drew her head up, bloodshot eyes expectant as the metal door opened must softer than the usual slam.

Eitan, dressed as always in his Soviet garb, lingered in the doorway. He tipped his head to the side to see her over the bedframe blocking most of the view. "Good morning."

"You're the only one who ever says that," she laughed gently to herself, closing her eyes as she rested her head back against the wall.

"Doctor Zharkov has requested to see you."

Tatum sighed, letting her eyes slowly reopen. "Of course he did."

Eitan hesitated outside the door, eyeing the purple and green bruises lining her arms. He crossed the room as Tate began to rise, offering out a hand.

She studied his hand carefully for a moment before taking it, inhaling deep as her body ached on the way up. "Thank you," she quietly said, eyes averted as she slipped past him. She didn't want his pity, nor was she willing to take it, so she headed out into the hall and made her way for the room she hated the most.

"Ah," a deeply accented voice mused as the office door squeaked open, "there you are. Did you sleep well?"

Tatum's jaw clenched as she let the door close behind her, sealed in with the man who wanted everything from her. Her eye twitched, having imagined throwing him into a wall more times than she could count. The things she would do to him if she ever got the chance.

Dr. Zharkov's eyes lifted from the file in his hands, sat leisurely at his desk. Large glasses clung to his nose, blurring the beady eyes behind them. "Not chatty this morning? I thought you might be, how do you say...extra spunky?"

Tate lowered herself into the seat beside his desk, hiding the sheer pain it brought her just to keep him from having the satisfaction from it. "What do you want today?"

That's all it was. All it had to be. Just another day.

Zharkov sighed, setting down the open file on his desk as he adjusted his chair to angle towards her. He gestured to the accumulation of handwritten notes taped together before folding his hands in his lap. "I want to talk about you."