If You Don't (Fyodor X OC)

The Contract

"𝙼𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚖𝚎."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Based upon my observation, I am forced to believe that you have yet to sleep," I heard a man speak with a thick Russian accent. Two alarm bells were ringing in that moment. one, whoever it was, they spoke english fluently. This likely meant that they often traveled, and in this line of work, that wasnt a good thing. Two, they know I'm an American.

I lifted my head from its resting place against the wall, with the concrete hugging my spine. From the right side of the hall, I could make out the shadow as it seemed to glide forward with grace. I heard the metal door lock itself with a mechanical whine, and his form finally appeared in front of the glass. He wore a black coat with a fluffy white collar, ushanka sitting neatly ontop of his head, and a white suit underneath it all. His brown boots scraped against the concrete as he came to a halt in front of my chamber.

"Ivan, my chair please," he requested from someone i couldnt see, though the shadows told me he was on the right as well.

As the Russian requested, a chair was placed down for him. It was wooden, and oddly cheap, but he sat in it happily regardless. His piercing lavender eyes bore holes into me, and a rush of complete and utter anguish washed over me. This was Fyodor - the man i was sent to kill. The fact that he was on the outside of my prison could only mean one thing. He knew.

"Most of my visitors tend to fall asleep rather quickly once left alone," he hummed, locking his fingers together as he placed his hands in his lap. He had one leg crossed over the other, and he looked menacingly comfortable, though his face had a stoic nature to it.

"There's your first mistake. I am not a visitor," i spoke flatly. I had one leg propped up, and i used it as an armrest. My hand hung loosely as i toyed with my knife. Naturally, when i first arrived after the weird jester looking guy had left, I already attempted to break the glass. Much to my dismay, it was bulletproof. Impenetrable.

"My apologies. It seems as though you are correct. You are not a visitor," he smiled. It wasnt a friendly one, either. "You are an enemy"

I made sure to keep my facial expressions to an absolute minimum. For all i knew, this could be a ploy. He could be trying to make me believe he knew who i was, so that i would admit it myself, thus, incriminating myself.

"Depends on what you consider an enemy," i responded blandly. I kept my response vague. I left it open for him to answer in many ways, hoping it would give me a clue on what was going on in his head.

"I believe that even in America, those who are sent to kill you, are sure to become your enemy, no?" He cocked his head to the side with a look of satisfaction. His eyes seemed cold. Distant. His smile didn't reach them.

"I dont even know you. What makes you think I have any intention of killing you?" I countered. I made sure to keep direct eye contact with him. Throughout the years, i learned that people tend to avoid looking at you when they're hiding something. They also tend to have nervous twitches, or tics. I crossed that off my list as well, making sure all of my movements seemed natural and fluid.