Framed

Cleveland

2016, Cleveland

The sound of a spoon clattered against the side of a breakfast bowl as the man holding the utensil chewed through his previous bite. He was sitting at his dining room table, surrounded by a clutter of papers, random objects, and broken ornaments— a testament to a solitary existence.

This man was Vasily Karpov, a former Colonel for the organization HYDRA.

With thin, straw-like brown hair and rounded pencil-grey eyes, Karpov appeared worn and dishevelled in his old jumper and jeans. His attention was abruptly drawn away from his breakfast by the sudden noise of a skidding car followed by a loud crunch outside his door. Setting down his spoon, he approached cautiously, peering through the blinds to assess the situation.

Outside, a young woman stood by a sleek black sedan, looking nervously at the damage caused to his old convertible. She appeared genuine, but his past had taught him to be cautious of strangers.

"Hello?" Her voice pierced through the thin walls of his bungalow. It was an old place for the area and pretty run down, but it did the job of keeping strangers away. Through the gap in the blinds, he watched the woman walk up to his door.

The shadow of her figure passed by the window, "Hello? Is this your car out front?" She voiced louder this time, knowing someone was inside because she noticed someone peeping through the blinds.

The man slowly made his way to the door but didn't intend to open it. He stayed silent as his eyes shifted towards the handgun atop the table by his door. He kept glancing between the weapon and his door, trying to decide whether opening it would be a good idea.

"I jumped the curb." The woman continued, sounding apologetic but also hopeful. "Maybe we could...talk this out ourselves? If - If you want to call the police, that's okay too, I guess-"She was cut mid-sentence by a sharp male voice with a Russian accent.

"-No," the Colonel couldn't let that happen. No police could be involved since he was technically a wanted fugitive. Getting the police involved would not go well for him. He stayed calm, willing to do anything for this woman to go away, even get rid of the woman permanently. He's done worse things during his tenure as the soldier he was." No police."

Making his final decision, he went to the front door and paused right next to it, thinking about whether this was the best choice. He decided, within a matter of seconds and lowered his hand onto the fortified steel lock keeping his door shut. Grabbing onto the knob, he wrenched it to the right so it no longer held the door tight in its place. It was able to be opened after the door lock was taken off its hook.

Slowly, he opened the door, bracing himself for what might come. But before he could react, a sudden blow struck him, sending him spiralling into darkness.

The last sensation Karpov felt was the impact of a tyre iron against his head.

______________________

SMASH... SMASH... SMASH ...

The woman smashed through the plasterboard wall in the basement, wielding a sledgehammer with relentless force. Each strike sent chunks of rubble to the ground, gradually revealing a hole large enough to see through to the other side. Inside the now exposed cubby hole sat a medium-sized chest, positioned as if it wasn't meant to be discovered by anyone other than the owner.

The sledgehammer hit the ground with a loud bang.

Meanwhile, Colonel Karpov strained against his restraints, his wrists raw and bloodied from the tight ropes that bound them. Suspended upside down and leaning against a pole, he could feel the ropes cutting into his flesh with each desperate struggle. Below him, a laundry basin filled steadily with water from a nearby tap, the liquid inching closer to engulfing him with each passing moment.