Fallout || Stranger Things [2]

five || experiments and exile

They'll never find you.

     That was what Colonel Ozerov wanted to tell them. He couldn't wait for the sweet moment of pain on their faces caused directly by him.

     You mess with Russia, and the consequences will come down like a hammer.

     Hefty, subzero winds whipped around the helicopter with staunch aggression, weak lights blaring from the pure white ground below to signal where to land. The large craft rocked back and forth, Ozerov and his team clutching their seatbelts and pretending to not fear for their lives.

     Although they had departed from Geneva, Switzerland only two days before to begin the trek out to the Far East, they longed for it more than they did for their families.

     Kamchatka was hardly forgiving.

     In some kind of miracle, the Soviet helicopter touched down on a snow-covered landing pad, their relief surging only as long as it took to bundle up even more, several layers of furs attempting to protect them from the harsh cold outside.

     Ozerov led the small group he had brought with him to the summit meeting, traipsing along a snowy path lit by oil lamps up to a seemingly unimportant one story building lacking windows or a doorknob.

     Retrieving a key card from his coat pocket, stone white fingers slid the card along a hidden panel, causing the large door to raise and reveal an industrial elevator within.

     Although none of them would ever claim that it was a moment of peace, the elevator stacked with bodies and fur comforted the burly men during the long descent below ground.

     The elevator rumbled as it settled itself, jostling its occupants around until the doors parted to reveal long, dark hallways just the same as their exposed base in middle America.

     Ozerov motioned mildly to his sides, sending the four men that had come with him down separate halls, practically running from him once he shed his coat and tossed it in one of their directions. His large fur hat remained on his head, keeping the tips of his ears warm as he trailed the well-known halls in search of an old friend.

     His large footsteps thundered down the halls, mere echoes sending low level Soviet soldiers scattering out of his path.

     No, he wasn't Stepanov, but he was terrifying.

     Ozerov raised a fat fist to a large door, banging on the metal surface twice before popping the lock and swinging the door open despite the fact that there should have been a guard posted outside. What he considered a smile – showing nothing of happiness – appeared on his face. "Zharkov."

     Poking his head up from a messy work space, the Doctor's glasses amplified his eyes as he scanned the man in the doorway. He lowered a large beaker in his hand, the emerald liquid inside difficult to look at. "Ozerov. You're back. How was the Summit?"

     The Colonel shrugged, running a hand along a large water tank that now held burning green goo that bubbled and bloomed inside the glass. "The Americans will not release my men. They were captured on American soil, so they claim there is no reason to return them on the basis of war crimes." He leaned on one of the large lab tables covered in beakers and syringes, several experiments running at once. "Reagan said we have nothing to offer."

     Zharkov's eyes narrowed as he pressed a bold green vial into an injection contraption. "What do you mean we don't have anything to offer? Of course we do."

     Ozerov hastily shook his head, waving his hands. "No, no it's not time yet."

     "So the rest of our men rot in American prisons while we hope this experiment works? We don't have the right conditions right now and we have no idea when that will change."