Siberia, Russia
It isn’t moving.
It’s tiny - a small grey and white kitten, soaking wet and laying sprawled in the gutter behind the facility. She’s supposed to be running her cross-country route, but her feet refuse to cooperate with her as she inches forward towards it.
She furrows her brow and crouches over it. Her hand hovers for a second, before coming down to softly touch the animal. She just wants to know if it’s breathing or not. That’s all. But as soon as the warmth of her hand makes contact, the animal startles, before arching up to push itself further against her hand. She jumps at the sudden movement, but resists pulling away. The creature is letting out small, tiny, mewls- a sound that reminds her of last week when guard Kuznetsov had held his lighter against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.
The cat pushes itself up on shaking legs and takes several unsteady steps towards her before collapsing in her lap.
“Stupid cat,” She whispers. “I could kill you with only a finger. Can’t you see I’m bad?” But she keeps petting it, doesn’t push it away from her like her instincts and conditioning tell her too. The cat is vibrating in her lap, and she doesn’t quite know exactly what that means, but she can’t deny it feels nice, and the cat’s face is softening, and even though the cat itself is half frozen, something about the cat’s hazel eyes looking up to her fills a warmth inside her empty chest.
She glances around herself, checking in all directions for any of the other girls or teachers. No one is there to witness her display of weakness. They’re too confident in their training techniques, trusting that all the girls were too afraid to ever do something as idiotic as she was currently.
Natalia presses two fingers to the cat’s neck, feeling around for a moment before she’s able to find a weak pulse. She knows absolutely nothing about cats, but even she can tell that the pulse is weaker than it should be. The cat is skinny too- she can feel it’s spine and ribs.
She doesn’t know why she does it. But she gathers the cat up in her arms, cradles it close to her chest as she stumbles through the snow towards the forest surrounding the facility. The woods are dense- no one would find it here.
She shrugs off her windbreaker, tossing it to the ground before gently laying the cat on top. Then she drops to her knees beside it, and shoves her bare hands into the snow, scooping out a handful and tossing it to the side. The coldness burns but she continues, shoveling out a small tunneling hole within the snow.
“This will keep you warm,” She speaks to it, as she picks up her jacket and cat all together and maneuvers it into the hole. She reaches in and wraps the jacket snug around the cat. She accidentally meets its eyes for a split second, before diverting her gaze. She busies herself with collecting nearby twigs and branches, places them over the top of the hole. It’s only once she is satisfied that the hole is decently covered that she turns and begins to sprint back, hoping no one has noticed her absence.
She takes the whipping for losing her jacket in silence, just like the good little soldier she is being trained to be.
She should be done with it; she thinks the next morning at breakfast. She gave the cat her jacket. She dug a hole for it to help keep it warm and insulated. She’s already done more than necessary. But she can’t get the image out of her mind.
Keeping a close but discreet eye on the guards and the other girls, she brings the bread roll up to her lips as if about to eat it, and when she is sure no one is watching, shoves it down the collar of her shirt. She doesn’t have any breasts yet to help hide it like the older girls do, so she shoves it down further, near her waist where she can wrap her arms around her torso to hide it by pretending she’s holding her stomach.
She eats the rest of her protein oatmeal, doing her best not to look suspicious, and then fakes an upset stomach towards the end, holding the roll in place until she gets back up to her bed where she shoves it under her mattress.
She isn’t able to focus on her schoolwork. Her teachers are droning on and on about maths, surveillance, survival skills and English lessons. Every bit of it goes in one ear and straight out the other. All she can think about is the damn cat. Did it even survive the night? It was so weak when she found it. Was it warm enough? She knows the hole she dug would help- she and the other girls once had to do it for themselves as part of their outdoor skills class, but she can’t help but worry maybe it wasn’t enough. She knows body heat can only do so much if you’re starving and don’t have energy to produce said heat. Would the cat have even been smart enough to stay inside the hole?
She doesn’t know why she cares so much. It’s just some random animal. She’s never even liked animals all that much - the rabid growling dogs some of the patrolling guards keep have always scared her. But something about the way the cat leaned into her hand, trusted her enough to crawl up into her lap; It felt nice. Nice to be trusted like that, as if she was capable of being anything other than what her teachers tell her she is destined to be.
It’s not until four in the evening that they’re due to begin their running. Natasha lags behind, not wanting the others to be around to see her go off course. She heads straight to the woods, eyes zeroing in on the small pile of twigs. She falls to her knees next to it, begins frantically pulling them away.
The cat is still there, cuddled into her jacket.
She almost cries in relief as she reaches in to pull it out. The cat comes willing, a tiny meow in what she would like to imagine as a greeting.
“Here, I brought you this.” She tugs out the smushed bread roll from her pants waistband. The cat sniffs it before taking a bite. he chews it quickly, then goes in for more. She smiles softly as it eats another piece. It’s tail swishes in contentment.
It makes the hunger in her stomach completely worth it.
She scratches it’s back as he eats. He’s vibrating again, what she now knows is called purring. “Don’t get too comfortable,” She sighs at him. “I would give you a name, but I’m not actually allowed to be here or doing this. Is it okay if I just call you Cat?”
He doesn’t respond, too busy with his bread. But he keeps purring, so she assumes it must be good enough for him.
Somehow, it becomes part of her daily routine. Every day at breakfast she sneaks away with her bread roll tucked securely into her clothes. Every day she anxiously waits for 4 o’clock to come around - when she knows she’ll get to see her friend again. The danger of the situation has died out on her now, the adrenaline no longer pumping through her veins each time and instead her heart fluttering excitedly.
She’s getting smaller, and the nurses and teachers are starting to notice. Her leotard no longer clings to her body, her training tanks falling lower than before. She doesn’t mind, it only makes food easier to hide. They question her about it, interrogating her. There are no good answers- if she claims to be sick, she could be killed. If she says she’s been giving food to someone else, she could be killed. So, she pretends to have no idea what they’re talking about. She puts on her confused face, acts shocked when they read out her most recent weight to her. They threaten a feeding tube on her, and she lies when telling them that wouldn’t be necessary.
She doesn’t remember the last time something felt so good. Winning her sparring matches, acing her tests or even the rare praise from her teachers. None of it could compare to how satisfying it felt to feel Cat purr against her. He was getting stronger each day along with every bit of food she brought. Her newfound obsession of nursing this cat back to health well worth the way her own body is slowly starting to deteriorate. For maybe the first time in her life, she was using her skills to help, instead of to hurt. She was creating life, not taking it.
Natalia huffs a loose strand of auburn hair out of her face, clearing the obstruction and allowing her to watch her opponent better. They’re both out of breath, circling like two eagles fighting over roadkill. The other girls are lined up against the wall, observing the match.
Klara is good. She’s landed several punches to Natalia already, within the first minute. But she’s getting tired. And while Natalia may not be as strong as Klara, she knows she wins in the endurance category.
Klara breaks the standoff and comes at her again, one hand capturing her wrist while she uses her leg to sweep Natalia’s legs out from underneath. Natalia latches onto her torso on her way down, causing them both to tumble to the ground. Natalia takes advantage of her surprise, and quickly clambers over her body, taking control. She straddles her, sitting her weight on the small of her back to hold her down while she captures her left arm and twists it back, hard.
Klara lets out a small whine. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s enough. Both girls pause in their struggle, glance up at their teacher. He doesn’t say anything, but they know he’s heard it. He’s not happy. He makes eye contact with Natalia, gives her a slight nod.
She knows what she’s supposed to do. Knows the punishment for showing weakness during combat. She tightens her hold around Klara’s wrist.
Klara is holding her breath in anticipation. Anticipation of having a bone snapped, at her hands.
The same hands that had pulled Cat from the gutters. Hands that dug him a safe snow burrow, that caringly pet his fur back into place, that fed him pieces of bread every day.
Her hands were capable of more than just hurting. She was capable of more. She could be good.
“No.” The word tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. She releases Klara’s arm, snapping her arms back into her chest and away from her classmate as she shakily stands to her feet, taking a step back to put more distance between them. She doesn’t want to hurt her.
“Natalia.” Their teacher warns. The other girls are watching with wide eyes. She looks at him, shakes her head.
She can see the anger cloud his face as he pushes away from the wall he was leaning on to stomp over to her. She wants to back away from him but stands her ground. He towers over her and seizes her arm.
He doesn’t hesitate. The pop as her wrist dislocates from its joints is heard around the room. She jerks back, causing him to lose his unsuspecting grip before he can fully break her bone. It’s easy enough for him to snatch her back, this time his fists flying down on her back.
She knows the majority of this is just to make an example out of her, but it doesn’t make it any easier as the blood vessels beneath her skin break under his anger.
He tries to switch his grip on her, but her body reacts before her brain catches up. She ducks underneath his arm, feet pounding on the ground as she sprints from the courtyard. They let her go- know that in only her tank and shorts she will have no choice but to return herself before the cold claims her. The fresh bruises covering her body make it hard to move, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps running, muscle memory carrying her to their spot.
Cat is there. She grabs him and pulls him in. It’s not enough- she needs more. Letting Cat down for a second, she takes the bottom of her tattered tank top and yanks it over her head furiously, leaving her torso bare. She gathers up Cat once more, and holds him close to her chest.
“I’m so tired,” She tells him, voice cracking. “I don’t want to be bad.” She slumps onto her side, pulling her knees up and curling into a small ball around Cat. His fur against her bare skin reminds her of velvet blankets. The warmth and weight of Cat in her arms and against her chest are the only things keeping her somewhat grounded.
Cat doesn’t purr, like he so often does when she holds him. Perhaps her sadness is contagious. He stays content in her arms, nuzzling his head into the crock of her neck.
The next evening when she goes, Cat is waiting for her.
Next to Cat is a dead mouse. She frowns in disgust at first, but Cat flicks its tail and noses it towards her. It’s a gift, she realizes. Cat brought her something. Something that to Cat, was valuable- its food and life source. Cat could have eaten the mouse himself. Should have eaten it himself.
Tears threaten to leak from her eyes. She sits down and holds her arms out for Cat. Cat knows the routine now, and hops in the space between her legs.
“Thank you,” She whispers to him. “I love you too.”
She doesn’t actually know what that word means. It’s said a lot in the Disney movies they watch, and sometimes the other girls use it to describe certain material things, but in relation to her as a person, she doesn’t have a clue.
This must be it. Every day that she ventures out here, she is risking her life for this cat. Every bread roll she brings, every minute spent in these woods with this little animal is a risk. And yet here she is.
Words from the adults in her life are ringing in her ears. All the talk about the girls being incapable of love, cold hearted. They were lies, they had to be. There was no other explanation.
Natalia laughs as Cat pounces once again, this time nearly succeeding in grabbing the leaves. Three days ago, she’d plucked this branch from a nearby tree, a long twig with a bundle of leaves at the end that had somehow managed to survive the winter. She hadn’t been sure if Cat would be interested, but the fear was unfounded. The past days, she had spent every minute with Cat playing with him, laughing at all his antics. Her favorite move of his was when he would crouch low, stick his butt in the air and wiggle it for several seconds.
“What are you doing?”
Natalia drops the branch in her startle, quickly spinning around to find one of the girls standing there, an eyebrow raised at her.
“N-nothing. I just-” She gestures flippantly towards the cat, as if it wasn’t her only and best friend. “Just found it here. Was just looking at it.”
Annika wrinkles her nose at the cat in disgust. Natalia watches as her eyes slide past the cat, landing on her makeshift jacket bed several feet away and the realization that dawns.
“Do you have a …. Pet?” she spits the word, and Nat is reminded of why she’s always hated Annika. Annika, who never got in any trouble, never disobeyed or got lectured or whipped.
“No,” Natalia snaps, too quickly. “It’s just some random cat.” The lie physically hurts.
Annika stares at her. Natalia can see the disbelief on her face, and knows the ploy is up.
“Please don’t tell anyone. It just needed some help. It’s really no big deal.”
Annika smirks. “Is this the reason you’ve been acting so weird lately? You’ve been putting everyone on edge, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalia isn’t sure what exactly she’s apologizing for. Why she is saying sorry for caring about something.
Annika doesn’t respond, just glances between her and Cat a few more times before shrugging her shoulders and turning away.
“Wait!” Natalia jumps forward, catching her shoulder before she can leave. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”
Annika shakes her off with an annoyed “Don’t touch me,” and keeps walking. Natalia reaches for her again, but one of the older girls appears in view. She’s too far to hear them, but close enough to see their struggle.
Natalia has no choice but to let her go.
Hands are wrenching her from her bed.
She’s awake in an instant, struggling against them. Memories of the last time one of the guards had taken her from her bed during the night make it hard to breathe through the panic.
The cold hits her and breaks through her initial terror enough for her to realize she is being taken outside. At first, she’s confused- this is not where they usually prefer to take her for this - before realizing there’s only one other thing this could be about.
No.
No no no no no nonononono.
Her panic renews with a fresh vigor. She tries to twist away from Sokolov, but his grip is crushing. Kuznetov is walking next to them, and she doesn’t miss his hand resting on the baton on his hip, ready to strike. They make quick work of carrying her to the edge of the woods.
Madam is there.
In her hands, she is holding Natalia’s dirty jacket. At her shoes, Cat. He isn't moving well, similar to the first time she had found him, and tears leak from her eyes at the thought that they had already done something to him. All the time and effort she had spent rehabilitating and earning his trust, and yet she had failed to protect him when it mattered most.
Sokolov drops her to her feet but keeps a crushing hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place.
“Explain yourself.” Madam’s voice is hard.
“I-” Natalia can barely hear over her heart pounding in her ears. “I couldn’t just let it die.”
“And why not?”
“I don’t understa-”
“You have stolen from us. This jacket was not yours to give away. How much food have you stolen and wasted on this animal?”
“I wasn’t stealing-”
“Do not talk back to me, child.”
She slams her mouth shut.
“Finish this, Natalia.”
It takes a second for the meaning behind Madam’s words to sink in. Natalia takes a step backwards, shaking her head. “No. No, I can’t.”
“I was not asking.”
She keeps shaking her head, has to resist the urge to cover her ears with her hands. “He’s innocent. You can’t make me kill an innocent-”
“I have no interest on its innocence or guilt. I gave you an order.” Madam steps forward and grabs her chin, forcing her face upwards. “You are being trained to obey. It matters not what you think of the orders. You will say what we tell you to say. You will kill who we tell you to kill. Nothing more, nothing less. You are property of the Red Room, Natalia. You are a weapon.”
Sokolov leans over her, his arms coming around to trap her within as he grabs a hold of her hands. He places his pistol in them, but she keeps her hands open, refusing to take hold of it. He shakes her in frustration, hands closing over hers as he forces her fingers to wrap around the handle. She shakes her head and tries to push away, which only succeeds in pressing herself further against Sokolov. He holds her there for several seconds, until her resolve weakens and he’s sure she won’t drop it once released. Kutnetsov is watching from his spot by Madam. The corners of his lips are slightly turned up.
He’s enjoying this.
The gun is heavy in her hands. She clenches her jaw. Grinds her teeth. Inhales. Exhales. Looks at Kuznetsov. At Cat. She closes her eyes. Raises the gun. Pulls the trigger.
Kuznetsov drops, blood pouring from the hole in his forehead. A second gunshot pierces the air, and she collapses just the same. The gun clatters to the snow from her hands as she moves to clutch her right hand, a matching bullet wound.
The searing pain in her hand blinds her momentarily, before a small whine reaches her ears. She blinks back the pain, sees Madam’s hand reaching for Cat.
“Don’t touch him!” She screams. She throws herself forwards, scrambling to position her body over Cat. The snow under them is strained crimson for Kuznetsov’s dead body as well as her own hand. It’s drenching Cat’s fur and smeared all over her. Sokolov’s hand lands on her shoulder. She turns her head and sinks her teeth into his flesh, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. There’s so much blood everywhere it’s threatening to overwhelm her. He rips his hand out of her mouth, delivering a backhand to her before both his hands close around the tops of her arms to tear her off Cat.
The world spins as she is suddenly back upright, but her gaze lands on Madam picking up Cat.
“No!” She screams, trying to lunge forward. Sokolov’s hold almost slips, her skin slippery from the coating of blood, and he grunts in annoyance as he readjusts- reaching down to wrap his arms around her waist and pick her up, holding her captive against him as he trudges back towards the building. “No!” she wails. She kicks her feet back, digging her heels into his body. He doesn’t respond. She reaches back blindly, clawing at his skin. He lets out a string of curses and bends over, keeping her trapped against him. With one hand, he grabs both her wrists and bundles them against her chest, ignoring her yelp of pain as the bullet wound is pressed. Arms contained, he picks her back up again. Continues walking.
She doesn’t stop struggling. “I’ll do it again! I’ll kill you all!” She sobs out, whipping her head back to try and see the scene behind her. “Leave him alone! I’ll kill you!”
As Sokolov takes her further away, carries her further from the only good she has ever known, her screams turn incoherent. A mixture of pleads and threats, and then anguished howls. She helpless to stop this, and the weight of the knowledge comes crashing down on her, pulling her into the depths of unconsciousness.
Natalia awakes in the infirmary, which is weird. She hadn’t expected to wake up at all after her show of defiance. She doesn’t struggle against the cuffs chaining her to the bed. She already knows it’s useless.
The presence of Madam is next to her. She can feel her there before she even opens her eyes. She doesn’t want to talk to her, but something about this situation is wrong, and the question nags until she can’t ignore it. She opens her eyes, leveling Madam with a glare.
“Why am I still alive?” She questions. “I killed –”
“Do you feel bad for shooting him?” Madam sits down on the doctor’s stool next to the cot, leaning towards her. It’s a good thing she’s cuffed tightly.
Natalia isn’t sure what game Madam is playing, can’t think of what answer would be considered the correct one to her, so she goes with the truth instead. “No. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Madam smiles. “And that is why, Natalia. A child who can kill without an ounce of guilt is very useful.” Madam leans in closer to her, but she doesn’t look away. She keeps her glare fixed, refusing to let the women intimidate her. “You are no different than any of us now.”
Madam stands up abruptly, giving her a curt nod before turning to the doctor standing in the doorway. “A wipe is needed. Prepare her and then bring her to the machine.”
Natalia jerks up. “What? No. I don’t need to be wiped- it won’t happen again, I promise! I’m fine!” Madam doesn’t even glance in her direction. She moves out the door, leaving her alone with the doctor. She turns her sights on him as he closes in, syringe in hand. She scoots back as far as the cuffs allow, her wrists and shoulders straining with the effort.
She shakes her head. “No…I want to remember him. Please.”
The doctor is silent, just grabs her right arm and shoves the needle into her vein, dispensing the medication. Less than three seconds later, her eyelids are growing heavy.
“Please,” She tries again.
He doesn’t care.
Her vision fades to black.
Natalia doesn’t remember how she got the bullet wound in her hand. She flexes her hand, staring at it intently while one of the teachers up front talks more about the importance of the Motherland. It’s been bothering her for a week now, ever since she woke up with a bandaged hand and no memory of being shot.
It feels wrong. She’s used to gaps in her memories, it’s not uncommon here. But there’s some part deep in her brain that nags at her. There’s fading bruises on her back, along with a sore wrist. She had refused to hurt Klara, had been punished for it.
She doesn’t know why she had refused that day, but somehow, it feels like part of the puzzle. So she takes that memory of showing mercy to her classmate, and clings to it as if it was the only thing holding her together.
Odesa, Ukraine
Natalia slashes the knife across her opponent's chest, and he grunts in pain, throwing himself away from where she is laying on the ground. She coughs, ignoring the burn in her chest as she tries to force herself to stand up. She’s lost too much blood to be coordinated, the stab wound in her stomach making things much harder than they should have been.
He comes at her again, is on top of her raising his fist -
There’s a blur of black, and suddenly his weight is gone, knocked to the side as he struggles with the new combatant. He squawks in surprise and pain.
Natalia turns herself onto her stomach, pushing herself up slightly and stretching her arm out, fingertips just barely brushing the barrel of the gun. It’s enough, and she’s able to pull it into her grasp and turn back. She fires the twice, landing two instant kill shots. The struggle stops as his body flops limply to the ground, and she breathes a sigh of relief.
One more KGB agent dead. Another name to cross off her list.
Something steps into her view. She lifts her eyes.
A black cat is standing there, droplets of crimson on his whiskers from where the cat had mauled the agent’s face.
Great, she thinks, now I’m hallucinating.
She stares at the cat. He stares back. His eyes are a shade of Hazel she’s seen before.
This is not the first time their souls have met.
Pain explodes in the back of her head, even though she didn’t hurt her head during her fight. Even if she had, this is a different kind of pain- different than the head injuries she’s had in the past.
A small, cold animal in her lap.
She sucks in a breath at the random image. She doesn’t know where it came from. It hurts.
“I brought you more bread.”
That’s her voice, in her memories. There’s no denying that. She brings her hands up to rub at her eyes, willing the abrupt headache to stop. The cat moves towards her, pushing it’s head against her thigh.
Nuzzling his head into the crock of her arm
“I love you too”
“I want to remember him”
Natalia gags as the flood of memories push past the dam in her head. Both warm and horrifying images flooding her head all at once, of laughing and crying, playing and screaming.
She gags again, the memories too much, and vomits onto the pavement.
She takes a moment to catch her breath, before cringing away from the mess. Now is not the time to dwell on the past. She has a more pressing issue at hand to distract herself with. She forces herself back onto her feet, keeping pressure on the wound in a pathetic attempt to slow the bleeding. She glances at the cat, who is watching her.
“Well. You coming or not?”
He follows her home, circling around her feet. She almost trips over him several times but can’t find it in herself to be annoyed.
She stumbles through the door of her cover apartment, making sure to turn all seven locks back into place once they are both inside. She goes straight to the bathroom, bee lining for the first aid kit.
The cat stays by her side the whole time, even following her the several feet into the kitchen as she goes to find some water. He refuses to leave her side.
“I guess it’s finally time I give you a proper name, huh?”
The cat jumps onto the counter, begins digging around in a paper bag contained a few measly groceries she had bought the day before, searching for food. He somehow finds a stale piece of bread, drags it from the bag. “Geez, you’re like a little goblin now. Is that your name? Лихо? It also means bad luck, you know. Guess that’s fitting considering you keep getting stuck with me.”
She watches him for a moment. Perhaps the English version of the name would be better. It’s stupid, but she can’t bear to name him something in the language of the people who had been so cruel to them.
“Liho.” She cups his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs over the sides of his face. “Your name is Liho. I’m sorry it took me so long.” She presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, fighting back the tears.
He purrs against her.