Shattered Innocence

Encountering the Wounded Soldier

The corridor stretches before us, its pristine white floors and curving walls reminiscent of an entryway. Without windows, the bright lights illuminate the long hallway, leading us to a set of closed double doors. As I count down, I open one, allowing Zack and Nikolay to enter first, followed by Yuri and me. Silent communication passes between us through looks and hand gestures, wary of alerting anyone to our presence as we delve deeper into the bunker. The space seems to expand, growing wider and taller, the echoing chamber nearly the size of the entire base.

I wonder if it extends beneath the structure, perhaps a hidden reason for its construction. Regardless, we can't stay together in such a vast area, so we split up. I veer to the right with Yuri trailing behind, while Zack and Nikolay take the left. In the center, there are machines, likely generators, and at the back, a metal staircase leading to another level above us. It's a colossal room, with no end in sight. The initially opaque and labeled doors—indicating toilets, kitchen, lounge, and bunks—begin to change as I move farther.

The walls transform into glass, revealing the labs beyond, and the more I explore, the clearer it becomes. They are all labs, empty and pristine, equipped with state-of-the-art technology, waiting to be utilized. "What the fuck?" Yuri hisses.

"Do you think this is where they conducted their experiments?" "I don't know, but I don't like it," I murmur, glancing over to see Zack and Nikolay making the same discoveries on the other side. It's like one enormous laboratory, devoid of any signs of life, not even the remnants of failed experiments like us. Where is everyone?

Have we been mistaken? Feeling disheartened, I quicken my pace, each empty lab I pass fueling my frustration. Yuri doesn't object, even though he knows I'm being reckless. When I reach the stairs, I ascend hurriedly, driven by the need to see.

Despite Zack's urgent command over the communication device, I ignore it. There are more labs on this level, larger ones with two on each side, occupying the entire floor. The first two I encounter are vacant, metal tables with restraints left neglected and unfastened. Crossing the metal walkway to the other side, I find the remaining labs similarly unoccupied. Setting my weapon aside, I lean over the edge to glance downward.

"Clear. It's all fucking empty. Maybe they anticipated our return?" I call out.

"Perhaps," Zack responds, warily surveying his surroundings.

"Keep searching. Check everything. I want no surprises." I nod, and after scouring the labs on this level with Yuri, we return to the ones downstairs, each of us venturing into separate rooms. There are limited places to hide, and despite the stale air, blinding lights, and memories of my past experiences, I press on. Breaking down is not an option. We must find the research and obliterate it.

But how can we when this man seems to be one step ahead? When he is always prepared and already gone? My father was right—he's dangerous—but we are fucking lethal, and we will put an end to this. I have to believe it; otherwise, we're fighting for nothing. We search lab after lab, each one igniting a fiercer anger within me.

It's evident they were utilized. Was my father here? If so, why didn't he simply provide me with a fucking list of locations to destroy if he truly wanted to make things right? Is this all just one elaborate game? I'm tired of playing. I want to win. Beyond the labs, I inspect the kitchen, discovering half-eaten food and water on the table and countertops. A door clicks shut behind me, and I whirl around with unnatural speed, my gun raised.

There stands a man with one hand on the door and the other clutching a bloody knife. He's dressed in army fatigues, covered in blood and sweat. His short blond hair is damp and clinging to his head, and his face appears pale. His eyes widen, not with fear, but with pain and something else—I realize it's shock.

He's tall, towering even over me, and built like a powerhouse. The way he moves and his sharp, commanding voice indicate his military background.

"Who are you?" he demands, his thick Scottish accent resonating in the air.

"I should be asking you the same question," I respond calmly, keeping my gun trained on him. I could call for backup, but he might strike faster. I can handle him; he's clearly injured and weak. Who knows how long he's been here?

He might be half-crazed. I'm faster and stronger, so I lower my gun, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm here to uncover what the fuck they were doing in this place," I state, speaking the truth. He chuckles, dropping the knife with a groan, and slides down the wall with an audible thump.

His legs appear oddly bent as if he can no longer move them properly. It's then that I notice a used first-aid kit by his side, covered in blood.

"So, you've found it..." he mutters, gesturing toward himself before promptly losing consciousness.

"Guys!" I yelled, rushing to his side. Placing my fingers against his clammy skin, I focus on the steady thump of his pulse.

Lifting his shirt, I discover multiple wounds and even evidence of recent surgery. Clearly, he attempted to close his own wounds and treat himself. I sit back, studying him intently. Is he another experiment? Are the fatigues truly his? The door bursts open, and Yuri immediately aims his gun at the man.

"Don't," I command sharply, instructing him to stand down. Zack storms in, and I look up at him.

"Fetch Ivan. He's dying."

"Shit," Zack exclaims, approaching cautiously. He looks at me. "Are you alright?" I nod, returning his gaze.

"I believe he's like us. I think he's an experiment, and they left him here to die." Anxious moments pass as Ivan tends to the man.

Zack assists in carrying him to the nearest lab, and once there, they strip him and begin the urgent task of repairing him. He has numerous incisions, and his self-stitched wounds elicit curses from Ivan. Hours pass as Ivan administers fluids, sedatives, and painstakingly operates on him. He cleans the wounds, dresses them, and conducts a thorough examination. Throughout the process, the rest of us wait anxiously. When Ivan finally emerges, exhausted and covered in blood, I straighten up.

"Well?"

"He'll survive, barely. I have no idea how he endured what he did. He has been tortured and experimented on. Those bastards left him with open incisions. He attempted to close them himself. He's dehydrated, in shock, and his body is shutting down. If we hadn't found him when we did, he'd be dead."

"Did he say anything?" Zack asks, his gaze fixed on me.

"Only that we found what we were searching for," I murmur, my eyes lingering on the motionless man sprawled on the table. He appears immense in that position, and I turn to Ivan.

"Did you discover anything?"

"Dog tags and a tattoo. He's definitely military. Since when do they experiment on active soldiers?" Ivan snarls.

"I don't know, but we must find out. Someone should keep a constant watch on him in case he wakes and becomes aggressive. I want Ivan here as well. The rest of us will gather everything we can and try to make sense of what transpired in this place," Zack orders.

"I'll stay," I state firmly, and when Zack raises an eyebrow, I reassure him,

"I'll be fine." He pulls me close, planting a quick kiss on my lips before issuing instructions. The others promptly set about their tasks, and as Isaac takes his position to monitor the man, I find solace by leaning against his side for a moment.

"What did they do to him?" I ask softly.

"What didn't they do? I can't fathom how he's still alive. He's one tough son of a bitch, that's for sure. I hope he pulls through. I truly do."

"Me too," I murmur, squeezing his hand as he returns to keep a watchful eye on his patient. I position myself in the corner of the room, ready to stand guard, but I don't perceive him as a threat. The anger I glimpsed in his eyes when he collapsed indicates that he's as much a victim as we are, and he despises it.