Illuminae Files oneshots

Sentence Commuted

Surveillance footage summary,
prepared by
Analyst ID 6230-0027-DN

Nik Malikov was shocked when the guard entered his cell, forcing him up and out.

"Hey, what the hell!" he protests loudly, clearly upset at having his routine workout interrupted.

The guard ignores him, not wanting to bother with Malikov and his daily antics. He shoves Malikov into a changing room with new clothes. When he finishes, he gets one final push to the visitor's registration desk. A House of Knives associate is waiting for him with a wide grin.

The officer at the front desk huffs. "Your sentence has been commuted, Malikov."

Malikov's eyebrows shoot into his shaggy dark brown hair. "What? This is a joke, right?"

"No," he grumbles. "Some kid sent in a confession to the NPPD with Oksana Balashova's stolen bracelet."

And I swear, chum, his face turns a ghostly green at the realization.

The HoK associate leads him out quickly before he loses his temper, and for a moment it looks like Malikov is calm.

Traffic cams catch him at the tattoo place the Dom Najov is known for using. Fast forward an hour or so, and the HoK associate is leading him out.

Malikov doesn't seem to mind the pain of his latest tattoo, a single chain around his torso, judging by the HoK database.

He manages to maintain his stoic expression as he gets back in the transport.

Until he arrives at his father's house, that is.

He bursts out of the transport, his face taking on that green tint again at the homecoming party set out for him.

"Welcome home, Niklas," his father greets him.

Malikov ignores him, somehow managing to hold in his sickness enough to ask unsteadily, "Where's Erik?" as if he didn't already know the answer.

Nikky-poo's little brother is in jail, or headed to the New Petersburg Juvenile Detention Center to occupy the cell Malikov was working out in only a few hours ago.

The grin on Zakary Malikov's face should fall flat at the mention of his youngest son, but it doesn't. He already knows what really happened to little Malikov, and he doesn't care.

"Killed himself," he answers simply, as if he were talking about the weather. "He sent the note in, got you out of slam before swallowing a handful of pills. You should be grateful, son." He grins wider, if that's even possible, extending his arms in an invitation for a hug.

Malikov pounces at him, throwing a punch at Zakary's jaw. Something cracks, and three of his uncles jump at him, trying their hardest pull Malikov off of Zakary.

"BASTARD!" Malikov snaps, tears clouding his dark eyes. "YOU ■■■ING BASTARD!"

The only uncle who seems to care, Mikhail Malikov, forces the younger Malikov away from the injured—and stunned—Zakary. He pulls Malikov into the hug his father wanted to give him, but Malikov doesn't hug him back. His fists are balled by his sides, the knuckles on his right hand bleeding, bruises already starting to form.

"Erik," he forces out through gritted teeth. His bottom lip quivers, his voice going unsteady again. "Erik." He chokes on the name as he repeats it for a third time. "Erik."

Mikhail—better known as Handsome Mike—pats Malikov's back, trying his best to comfort him. "I know how you feel, Nik," he says softly. "I nearly lost my daughter to the lysergia plague." He and Malikov stand there in silence for only a few moments before Handsome Mike speaks again. "What do ya say I get you as far away from here as possible?"

Malikov pulls away, wipes his nose on his sleeve. "What, like one of those systems with basically no population?"

He grins. "I was thinking the Heimdall Jump Station. What do you say?"

"As long as it's anywhere but here, I'm in."