Clara Newhall's Guide to Saving an Unperson

Finality

The Russian military never found out who had torn through the insurgent group known as the Vodyanoy. Whoever it was had been powerful or just committed; they killed or injured over one hundred militants. After that they had called the police about the villainous organization that had been nestled in the Siberian tundra for who knows how long. By the time any authorities had arrived, the heroes were gone.

-

Evidently whatever that machine did to Akim had been an attempt to put him into a state of delirium. "Easier to brainwash," Qamar had said, before leaving with his pay and a promise to return if he was ever injured.

They had certainly succeeded, if that really was their goal. The boy had woken up before the five of them had even reached the clinic, but he was confused, frightened, muttering nonsense in languages none of them could identify. Eventually he allowed himself to be comforted and fell back unconscious.

The next week was more of the same. Clara spent every moment she could spare with Akim, until he could at least understand that he was safe, even if he couldn't figure out what was going on. The good part of this was that his malaria finally worked its way through his system, so he was perfectly healthy within five days.

Clara had exhausted herself. She cared for Akim as she would a child, because really that was what he was. She had tried and tried to figure out how she could be misinterpreting those files, but it just explained too much. The Vodyanoy had cracked the secret to artificial aging and created the perfect unperson. Smart and strong as an adult, but emotionally malleable, and totally dependent on his masters.

It explained his behavior too, all down to that first smile. And why Clara had instinctively wanted so much to protect him. The only thing that didn't make sense was why his parents' deaths took place a year before his birth. But that was a mystery for another day.

The only problem now was, what do you do with a five-year old killing machine?

-

Akim opened his eyes and finally remembered where he was.

The clinic. A nice place.

He had mentally called himself Akim again. Oh well. He could with that later. Before Kruschev found out.

He wasn't tied to the bedframe this time. Obediently, he placed his hands where they would be if the doctors hadn't forgotten. That was when he noticed Dr. Newhall sleeping in the chair by his bed. Her head lolled back awkwardly, making her snore. That must have been what woke him up.

"Why am I here?" he asked himself abruptly. 

Dr. Newhall jerked awake. "Akim! Are you alright? You're okay, you're fine, don't worry." 

Akim wondered why she'd asked whether he was alright, then immediately answered her own question. She had asked it like there was some reason he might not be alright, and he wasn't sure what that reason could be. He remembered being upset, then delirious, then afraid, then in lots of pain, then delirious again. Actually, he was pretty out of it that entire time. "What happened?"

Now it was Dr. Newhall's turn to look confused. "What happened when?"

"I do not know. I was here, then I was on a plane and Master was angry with me, then I was back in Russia so they could fix me... but I'm not fixed, am I?"

She propped her head up on her arms. "Do you want to be? I like you the way you are now."

"It is not what I want, doctor. I belong to Russia. What I want does not matter." He stared her down, daring her to argue.