Frozen Kitten (Legends Of Tomorrow/ Leonard Snart)

14: A Blood Bath

"Labour Camp Number fifty-four, formally known as the nightmare gulag built in the 18th  century-"

"Can we skip past the Wikipedia crap and get to the good stuff?" Snart interrupted Gideon agitatedly, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Like how to break in?"

Gideon remained utterly silent upon the irritated request, whilst Sara, Rip and Snart gazed upwards waiting patiently for any form of a response, a response that was not going to be delivered. Rather they remained standing in silence for a moment.

"Perhaps you did not register that as a question, Gideon?" Asked Sara, her face contorted with confusion and her arms tightly crossed over her chest and she neared the cyan, illuminating control panel.

"I understood, but in its two hundred years of operation, no one has successful escaped-"

"No offence Gideon." Snart once again interrupted as he huffed out his frustration. "But, I never met a building that I couldn't break into. Or a building that could keep Mick and Clary under duress."

"Well, I hope you're right." Stated Rip as he stood from his bent-over position, directing his gaze upon the thief with a look of complete seriousness. "Savage knows that Stein created Firestorm, but if he were to find out that he is Firestorm..."

"Oh, its always Savage with you isn't it." Sniped Snart, drawling out his words carefully and slowly whilst he laced them with his poison like sarcasm.  "Both of my partners are imprisoned too! Clarissa was bleeding out and YOU told me to leave her like that!"

"And Ray-"

"Yeah whatever. The point is YOU didn't lift a finger-"

"You know full well, that it was not my intension to get them thrown into a Gulag." Rip shouted as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Completely cutting Snart's snipe as he did so. "But, I had no other option. Besides, I doubt it is Miss Falls or Mr Rory's first time in prison, or second, or third. Nor would I imagine tenth! Between a pyromaniac and a meta-human, I think that they are MORE than capable of keeping themselves alive until we get to them!"

"Alright, arguing is not going to bring the team back any faster." Stated Sara, cutting the argument off before it could continue. Snart huffed out a noise of frustration before clenching his eyes shut in an attempt to calm himself down.

"And Rip is right. Criminals often do feel more at home in prison, and they know it better than anyone else."

"So?" questioned Snart.

"So what if the key to breaking in is asking someone who has been in and out of Soviet prison their whole life?"

"And whom might that be?"

"Are you familiar with the Bratva?"
"Oooh, the Russian mob." Snart smirked as he leant closer towards the assassin. "in 1986 they would have ruled the Russian underground from inside every prison."

The murky prison was dimly lit, thick with stale and old sweat that lingered permanently within the air and assaulted the senses once inside. The main room held only two prisoners at the time, and as the bulbous, half naked man sauntered into the confinements of the enclosed room, barely covered by the suspiciously pristine towel that was wrapped half-heartedly around his pelvic and wide hips, it made three. The room, itself, was like a bursting sauna, much to Snart's evident discomfort and produced a dizzy haze of steam between the inhabitants. At the very front, also sporting nothing but a white towel, was Rip who had sat himself comfortably upon the first metal bench. Just behind him, clad in what appeared to be a soft materialled dressing gown was Leonard Snart, spread across the further metal bench proudly with little care.