England stared at the Russian medic sitting at his side. While he questioned why Averina would leave one of her own with him while bringing Shiv on one of her raids, there was something about the medic that caught his eye. Through her balaclava, he could see that her face was as pale as Moore's. It was tempting to ask her if she was Moore's contact but it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. The medic got up from her seat and tapped England's leg. It stung a little but the pain was not as bad as it once was. After observing his reaction, she took out a pair of scissors and snipped away at the bandage before pulling it away. Clothing damage aside, his leg looked as it had never been blown off in the first place. Putting the scissors away, she took out a thermometer and placed it near England's mouth.
"Open your mouth, please," the medic ordered.
England complied and allowed the medic to place the thermometer inside his mouth. After measuring his temperature, the medic pulled it out.
"98 degrees," the medic coldly observed, "Not bad. Lena usually runs around a hundred."
England tilted her head, "Lena?"
"I meant Polkovnik Averina," the medic replied.
"Are you two close?" England cautiously asked.
"In a sense," the medic replied before taking out a small torch.
England squinted as the medic shined the torch into his eyes, "She told me about her 'father-in-arms'. Seemed to only like him for what he could do for her."
The medic nodded, "That's Lena for you. I think she likes you unconditionally, though."
"She starved me," England growled.
The medic put her torch away, "Technically, you starved yourself. I speak from experience when I say the transition from animal meat to human is...unusual...but it is an efficient source of sustenance. Especially for enhanced individuals like yourself and her."
"I am not like her," England retorted.
"Of course not," the medic coldly responded, "You're the prototype and she's the upgrade. Though I will say her...physical deficiencies...were difficult to work around when compared to previous test subjects."
Taking all what the medic had said so far, England decided to throw caution to the winds and pry into who or what the medic truly was.
"You're not a real medic, are you?"
The medic coldly glared at England, "Not in the traditional sense. I like to study then enhance the human condition than just...fix people up."
England rolled his eyes, "You leeches are all the same."
"I assume the other 'leech' you're referring to is Director Moore," the medic commented.
England nodded, "You know her?"
The medic let out a soft hum, "You could say we exchanged professional courtesies. But I assure you her and I are not the same. I have humanity's betterment in mind while she focuses on her own betterment."
After enough examination, the medic stretched out her hand to England.
"Try and get up," the medic ordered.
England held onto the medic's hand and slowly moved his leg. Pins and needles shot up from his leg as his foot touched the ground. Moving the rest of his body was slightly easier, though his shoulders ached as he pushed himself up then off the bed.
"Your nerves are responding," the medic coldly observed, "Good. That means you'll give Lena a run for her money."
"Why are you helping me?" England said, "You know what my mission is."
"Of course, I do," the medic bluntly replied, "But much like how you have faith in a fiction that has caused more problems in the world than it was worth, I have faith in the fruits of my research."
England's fists clenched as he glared at the medic, "So that's where she gets it from."
"Gets what from?" the medic coldly asked, "That there is no God? If she didn't learn that fact from nearly every Soviet alive at the time, she would have learned it from her environment long before the late Polkovnik Averin adopted her."
"Just because a lot of people believe in a lie doesn't make it a fact," England defensively retorted.
The medic casually tilted her head before looking back at England, "You say as you continue believing in a lie yourself. But if you are correct and there is a God, then the fact is he's a khuy."
That was the last straw. Without thinking, England's fist connected with the medic's jaw. She tumbled out of the room and onto the floor. Before she could get up, England lunged at her and followed up with a strike aimed at her face. She rolled away, the blow cracking the concrete where her head had been. The second strike, on the other hand, connected. An engine revved in the distance but England barely registered it, his focus solely on the heathen medic beneath him. That was until a sharp voice cut through his fury.
"That's enough!" Averina barked.
England looked to his side and saw the colonel standing with two of her soldiers behind her, Shiv on her right side, and what appeared to be a civilian on her left. She had a bottle of vodka in one hand and a handful of what he assumed were painkillers in the other, while the civilian on her left had a phone hung around her neck as if it was a camera. His leg wobbled as he slowly got up, followed by more stings in his shin area. Averina threw a bottle of painkillers not to him but to the medic, which she swiftly caught. The medic nodded before walking away to tend to her injuries.
"Technically," Averina spoke dryly as she popped open a bottle of painkillers, "You're a war criminal now."
England glared at Averina, not even bothering to dignify her accusation with a response. Averina chucked the painkillers back before placing the bottle down then opened the vodka bottle. With a long swig of the bottle, she washed down the painkillers in one gulp. Even with her enhancements, England saw a subtle shift in Averina's gait. Her shoulders slumped, her feet shifting to keep balance, the alcohol and painkillers were working fast.
"Still want to work for this man?" Averina slurred as she looked at Shiv, "A man that beats up medics like they were Hitler."
"She wasn't even a real medic," England retorted.
"I have papers that say otherwise," Averina shot back, "Speaking of papers, I want you to meet this uh...war journalist, she calls herself. She's here to report on our little showdown."
The journalist steadily approached England and held out her hand, expecting him to shake it.
"Viv Sloan," the reporter introduced herself, "Vice News. Or I was but they fired me while I was out here."
England held out his hand and shook hers. Despite her youthful appearance and civilian attire, her eyes had the unmistakable look of a soldier in them. Her grip was firm, stronger than he expected.
"Was there a reason for your dismissal?" England asked.
"You don't read alotta news, do ya?" Viv replied before letting go, "They filed for a Chapter 11 two years ago."
"I also don't keep an eye on American finance," England pointed out.
Viv pulled out a cigarette from her pocket, "Neither do I. Came here to do a vid on the Bucha survivors, stuck around to document the Baba Yaga herself. Next thing y'know, I'm now interviewing two boogeymen."
Averina threw an empty bottle at Viv's direction, "For the last time, 'Baba Yaga' does not mean boogeyman. Yeblya Amerikanskaya dvornyaga."
Ignoring Averina's comment, Viv lit up her cigarette then took a drag from it. She pulled her phone from around her neck and started recording England.
"So..." Viv asked, "Where have you been hiding all this time?"
"Siberia," England replied, "But not willingly."
Viv raised an eyebrow, "You got captured by the Soviets?"
"Not exactly but one of my own handed me to them," England replied.
"Must have been an inside job," Viv commented, "There have been a lotta rumours and theories about you, one of which being your blood was used to create this witch."
Viv pointed her thumb at Averina, who was struggling to keep her head up.
"I was perfected," Averina slurred, "Not created."
"They are correct," England said.
Viv kept her phone steady, "Then you wouldn't mind me asking who sold you out."
"Naval Commander Samantha Moore," England's voice hardened at the name.
From the corner of his eye, England watched the inebriated Averina tilt her head at the name, with the medic he wounded earlier looking at him too. While he already knew the medic was in league with Moore, he wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if Averina had some connection to Moore too.
Viv exhaled a thin stream of smoke, "Heard that name in certain circles before. Apparently, she's a real man in black. Or woman in black."
"Or mink," Averina commented.
"Anyway," Viv continued to inquire, "Any idea why Moore would stab a war hero like yourself in the back?"
"None that she told me about," England replied.
Averina got up from her slump, "Then guess. We're both soldiers. What do you think the power-hungry, backstabbing cyka blyats that run this world do to people like us?"
Flashes of waking up in the storage facility followed by his hand around Moore's neck appeared before England's eyes as he contemplated his answer.
"They use us as weapons," England replied, "Then discard us once they're done."
Averina smirked as she slowly raised her thumb, "Da. Why do you think I stayed here instead of going back to Russia? I could rip Mishustin in two if I wanted to and the public will love me for it. Be the Eastern version of El Che or even Castro. But the thing is...war? I feel normal in war. I could not handle sitting behind a desk even if I wanted to."
Engines rumbled, followed by the crunch of tyres against dirt. Averina staggered toward Viv, moving with the slow, deliberate gait of a predator sizing up its prey. Viv's cigarette trembled in her mouth for a split second before she exhaled calmly.
"I think that's enough conversation for now," Averina said coolly as she placed her hand on Viv's shoulder, "Now, you and the rest of these mutts will see war in its most basic form."