Beautiful Lie [John 'Soap' Mactavish]

Epilogue

Six years.

He'd sat.

Biding his time.

Waiting.

"Some terrorist" a guard scoffed,

the older man peaked through the small hatch that was eye level on the Door. Turgenev could just about make out glassy green eyes, dark thick eyebrows staring at him through the small gap, he could hear the smirk in the man voice as he cursed him in Russian before slamming the hatch closed. 

Nikita sat in the small dingy cell, only a tiny window allowing a slither of sunlight to penetrate the walls, the halogen bulb buzzing lightly, the noise had become white noise to him now, he didn't notice it anymore, he learnt pretty quickly to not focus on the humming, that alone was enough to send a man mad. 

He sat crossed legged on the musty mattress, his legs crossed as he stared at the Mottled wall, examining every crack and crevice as he had done countless times before, his stark black hair had been shaved stripping him of his identity.

He wasn't Nikita Turgenev in here. Not to the guards, he was barely a person to them, Just a number, a number in a countless stream of numbers. the other prisoner's respected him, avoided him if they could, they knew not to mess with Nikita Turgenev, the mention of his name was enough to send some of the most hardened criminals running to their cells. 

He'd found himself in solitary confinement pretty early into his prison sentence. He'd spent the last five And a half years in this cell. Nothing to do but keep as active as he could.

A hundred push up.

A hundred pull ups.

A hundred sit up.

A hundred burpee's.

The exercise was the only thing that kept his sane. The manic screams of criminals in cells surrounding him echoed off the walls all day and night. Demonic laughter going ignored by guards as the roamed the halls, the lights kept on twenty four hours a day, Nikita could only keep track of some type of normality as his slither of a window pointed to the ocean, he could just about make out the sunset each night, others weren't so lucky, compleatly disillusioned from time. 

He had little to do But work out and plan his revenge. Escaping from the most heavily guarded prison in Russia wasn't an easy accomplishment, he had began planning the moment he was detained, Russian soldiers storming his address, pinning him to the floor before he could react, they had dragged him from the house, straight to the gulag.

this had been his home for the last six years. 

He wouldn't miss it. not a single second. 

He didn't regret slitting the throat of the prisoner who he could barely remember earning his long stay in solitary confinement, he would always demand respect, he couldn't care less for what the man had been put in for, petty crime or murder, it made no difference to him, the man had disrespected him and the rest of the prisoner's quickly learnt not to. 

He lifted his head as a heavy knock rang through his cell.

He inhaled deeply.

Standing.

Stretching.

He strode slowly over towards the door, bare feet tapping against the damp floor as he moved, his old sweatpants' dragging against the floor, as they pooled around his feet. he adjusted the sweat pants, stretching his arms over his chest lightly. 

A small hatch opened at the bottom.

A tray scratched across the floor as it was shoved roughly through the hatch before it slammed.

Nikita bent.

Lifting the tray and moving back to the mattress.

He sighed contently as he sat down crossing his legs once more.

He used his hands. Picking through the beige slop they called food.

A small smile breaking across his lips as he found the note.

Imminent. Alyssa Mactavish.

Nikita chuckled a breath through his nose.

Folding the paper, he lent his head back against the wall.

He closed his eyes.

A loud explosion rattled the walls.

A smile graced the terrorists lips as gunfire rang through the air.

He lifted his head, Glancing towards his cell door.

He rolled his neck lightly. Inhaling deeply as he pushed himself to his feet once more.

He stood silently Infront of the door to his cell.

Another smaller explosion rang through the air.

The door to his cell fell at Turgenev's feet. His toes wiggled slightly as he stepped onto the cold metal.

He inhaled deeply as he finally left the cell after five years.

He rolled his shoulders stretching out his frame, he felt the cold wind whip past his face, he closed his eyes relishing in the feeling, the new found freedom he felt, six years of planning, plotting, it all came to fruition. 

Alec appeared at his side, handing him a golden pistol. Nikita took it, examining it in the sun light illuminating the dark corridor from the missing wall, a small smile breaking across his lips as it glinted. He glanced towards Alec, firmly grasping his second in commands shoulder. 

"Alyssa Mactavish?" Nikita scoffed, Alec chuckled nodding lightly, he handed Nikita a small polaroid picture. 

Nikita smirked.

She looked older than when he had last seen her, but it was her, he'd know her eyes anywhere, he had stared into them long enough, committing them to his memory, she had a fresh scar running along her hair line dipping into her forehead. Turgenev knew it was from the explosion, he wondered how she had survived, No doubt dragged to safety by her team, Alec handed Nikita another photo, of a man Nikita didn't recognise. 

He looked slightly older than the terrorist, a strange mohawk style, he stared lifelessly at the camera, Turgenev took note of the large scar running the length of his left eye dipping into his cheek, he raised his eyebrows slightly, nodding to himself. 

"Captain Mactavish... the one that got Makarov" Alec commented, Nikita hummed, handing the pictures back to Alec, he tucked them safely into his pocket as Nikita began moving through the seemingly never ending corridor. 

The terrorist Spotted the guard who mocked him earlier, he cowered in a corner, seeking cover as he gripped his left shoulder tightly, blood oozing through his fingers in sticky crimson streams. Nikita glanced towards Alec, a dark chuckle leaving his lips as he scratched his head with the barrel of his gun. 

Nikita stalked over towards him. 

Squatted in front of him.

Nikita chuckled lightly, watching as the guard cowered away from him, not so smart now he wasnt hidden behind thick inches of metal, keeping him safe and out of the terrorists grasps, it was different now they were face to face, he could see the fear flash across his eyes as he lifted his gun, pressing the barrel into the mans forehead. 

"Some prison" Nikita chuckled firing a single round.