𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘝𝘖𝘙 || 𝘋𝘔𝘐𝘛𝘙𝘐 𝘈𝘕𝘛𝘖𝘕𝘖𝘝

||ᴏɴᴇ||

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The metallic smell of sweat filled my nose as I rested my back on the bars behind me.

The sound of grumbling filled the small cell as my stomach started to rumble. I was currently on a diet of stale bread and maggots; even the thought of a sandwich made my mouth drool.

In the near distance, two guards spoke to each other.

I sat up, trying to decipher what they were saying. The guards were speaking Russian. The only languages I knew were English and some Spanish I learned in school.

I poked my head out of the cell, gripping the cell bars, continuing to eavesdrop on the Russian conversation. The only word I could make out of the conversation was 'doctor'.

I wondered if they were talking about me.

My thoughts were interrupted by a guard opening my cell door. The thumping of his boots echoed throughout the small cell.

He was tall, with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. He wore a soldier's uniform, similar to the Russian one I wore under the Starcourt mall, only with more layers.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs. He put them on my wrists and looked back at me.

''Follow me.'' The guard spoke with a thick Russian accent.

I steadily trailed behind him, wary of where he was taking me.

We both stopped at a tall metal door.

''Wait here'' He told me.

The door made a loud screeching noise, sounding like a creaky floorboard. He stepped inside, leaving me handcuffed, waiting there for him.

I thought about what my friends were doing right now. Did they think I was dead? I laughed at the thought of the only people coming to my funeral were a bunch of 14-year-olds.

The large metal door soon unlocked, revealing the guard who took me here and a man I had never seen before.

He was wearing different clothes from the other guards; maybe he was a warden of some sort. His hair was spiky and stuck up. It reminded me of Mike's friend, Eleven when I had first met her.

I followed the shorter man into the office-like-looking room. There was a small neat desk in the corner, distracting me from the decomposing walls. The room felt like a classroom, only sadder, and duller.

''I've heard you're a doctor?'' The warden spoke to me.

''Yes,'' I replied.

"Great, To make use of your time here, you will work here to treat prisoners. You will be accompanied by a guard during your work.'' He told me.

Before I had time to respond, he threw a bag at me and watched as I struggled to catch it with handcuffs. It held a dark blue uniform along with a thin pair of gloves.

I coughed and looked back at him. He didn't expect me to work here, did he? He has no right to tell me to work here.

The guard behind me must've sensed I was about to talk back because he decided to pull me back, almost making me fall.

The two men spoke to each other in Russian while I stood silently near the door.

I wondered if Hopper was doing any better than me in here. Maybe he would have a plan to escape, or a way to contact somebody back in Hawkins.

As the guard led me back to my cell, I trailed behind him, trying to find a way to communicate with Hopper.

As we entered, he unlocked the handcuffs on my wrists. I placed the bag on my bed and looked back at him.

"I'll wake you up in the morning to show you around where you'll be working," The guard told me.

I nodded my head at him and waved back at him as he walked out of my cell.

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