Chapter Text
A life of running from the police was terribly boring. The police around the Northern Urals either wanted to fuck him or kill him and there was no such thing as an inbetween. Trying to keep track of whom to deceive and whom to evade was the only thing worth his time. Nobody on the streets had anything useful that he could exploit to his advantage. He glanced at the poster that was sloppily plastered to the wall. It was no secret that the police had their own biases. As he focused his gaze, he saw his own photograph staring back. Compared to the previous one, it was of much better quality. People could almost make out his features.
But these posters were pointless; everyone knew he was here and assumed he'd wreak havoc. They believed he was destructive and impulsive, but they only had the word of mouth to rely on. In order to make themselves look better, they spread it around that he was just another gangster kid. A new rumor did spread that was more accurate: he was a sociopathic murderer that stopped at nothing to take down his target. He wasn't focused on killing, but it's a step in the right direction. Survival was the most important thing to him. Without hesitation, he would betray anyone if it meant he'd live.
Which was why he was labelled as a sociopath. He held almost none of the morals that others did—including those other homeless people. There wasn't a God that he would ever believe in. His treatment of people stayed the same: indifferent ignorance unless they served a purpose to him. Once they stopped, they were discarded and ignored. He didn't believe that he was "better" than those around him—even if that was true. Such a position of power wasn't something he wanted.
His hand reached out to touch the poster and rip it off of the wall. As he held it, his wanted poster dissolved into ash. That ability wasn't anything special in his eyes. It's useful to him and that's all that mattered. Destroying evidence was easy if he wanted to. Two pairs of footsteps approached the beginning of the alleyway.
"Come on, Ilya! I told you not to waste our money on whiskey!" a woman's voice yelled. He turned to watch. The woman—which he recognized as Lidiya. Ilya's latest affair. It was known to just about everyone that he was an unfaithful husband, but it was somewhat justified. His sister tricked him into marrying her.
"Why? Did you want some?"
Lidiya grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Of course, you idiot!"
"Maybe you should've let me know," he grumbled just loud enough for Ruvyzvat to hear. Her fist connected with his face and resulted in a crunching sound.
"Now we have no money! How am I supposed to last without something to get me through the day?"
His only response was gurgling, to which she slammed him on the concrete. As her eyes scanned the alleyway, the two of them locked eyes.
"Please tell me you have something on you," she begged.
He considered his options: he could refuse or give her his last bit of cocaine (that he took after killing someone) in exchange for…
Ilya regained consciousness. Ruvyzvat knew she was very emotional—Ilya and Katerina (his sister) didn't serve any purpose to him.
Ruvyzvat took the small baggie of cocaine and walked up to her. "On one condition: kill Ilya and his sister." Her expression shifted into a smile as she stared at Ilya.
"That's a deal." She was even more impulsive than he was. They weren't much different besides their intellect. Lidiya tackled Ilya and started punching him. His screams were going to bring unwanted attention. It was entertaining to see the small pool of blood grow as she kept punching, but he valued his survival more and walked away to another alley.
This one was devoid of anything interesting besides watching the police headlights approach Ilya and Lidiya. He knew she wouldn't tell anything about him to the police if she valued her life.
Resulting in boredom. The cocaine wasn't even that good of a batch to have him consider using the last bit of it. He wondered if they'd search here for evidence—then again, the police didn't care much about the homeless. It wouldn't shock him if they did anyway.
Another woman appeared in the alleyway and turned on her flashlight. The light came dangerously close to him. She caught her breath as they came face to face. His eyes didn't react much to light, and thus he had no issue of staring her down.
Valeriya Novikov—he'd recognize that face anywhere. Her gaze didn't waver as she took a few steps closer.
"About time I found you," she muttered. His hand gripped his sickle, having pulled it out the moment her feet moved. She was one of the more useful police, having great influence on her team. Though, he assumed she wasn't going to be lured away.
Now what? Her flashlight dimmed once she had gotten within stabbing distance. Neither of them looked away.
"I have an offer for you." She was known for her cheerfulness, but he knew that she was just like him. "Would you like to work for me as an assassin? This is going to be a temporary job for nine days."
"What's in it for me?"
"I like how you think. For those nine days, you'll be staying with me! Think about it: this is a job you're incredibly good at. As for anytime after those nine days, I'm always open for you to keep working—and I'll pay you if you choose to keep working after. I admit that I'm not too sure on how to make it worth it to you for those nine days."
He put his sickle back in his jacket. "Fine."
"Another question: do you know what happened to Ilya? We found his body."
"Lidiya killed him in exchange for my last bit of cocaine."
"Did… did you give it to her?"
"No."
A faint smile played across her lips before she led him to her police cruiser.
"Ruvyzvat?" Novikov's voice startled him awake.
He glanced at her. "Hmm?" She frowned.
"Sorry, I thought you were asleep." As a response, he shrugged and followed her inside.
Once she locked the door, she turned toward him. Her attempts to win him over wouldn't last; or so he believed, hoping she met the high expectations he held. No words had to be exchanged for them both to realize the other's intentions. Power-hungry…
He couldn't exactly relate; he hated recognition and even more so admiration. Though he could share her interest in watching people tear themselves apart for nothing. His only goal was survival. Having connections to Novikov would be highly beneficial for that.
"First target?" he asked.
"There's multiple I'm deciding between; they're all my co-workers."
"Cyanide."
"I've thought about that, but it'd be too mysterious. We have to stage it like an accident for the higher-ranking targets."
"The lower of which can simply be shot down—or again, poisoned."
"What's with you and poison?"
He crossed his arms. "I've never gotten the opportunity to experiment with it."
"Can't blame you. They're very effective; use them too much, however, and it'll stop looking like accidents."
"Various methods are needed, but wouldn't killing so many in a short period of time cause suspicion?"
"Yeah… I can't think of a better way to do it."
"Over these nine days, only two people can die before they catch on. It requires patience, Novikov—are you capable of that?"
She broke eye contact and stared at the kitchen counter. "Can't guarantee I'll enjoy it."
"There isn't a faster way to do this without risking your job, which is the opposite of what you want. I want to know: were you able to guess my intentions?"
"Future benefits from the connections I have."
"Correct."
She took off the top layer of her uniform and hung it on the coat-rack. And again, their eyes locked together.
"I don't understand why my co-workers are so obsessed over you."
"People obsess over anything that could even be imagined as attractive. If it helps, people on the streets are way worse."
"By now you should've learned how to use that to your advantage."
"I've been doing that for a while now." She reached out to touch him, but he grabbed her hand and forced it down.
"Your reaction time's fast."
"How do you think I survived?" Novikov stopped struggling and he waited a few seconds before letting go: her only warning. He was much stronger physically, but they may be equals in matters of intelligence. She would be interesting to work with and it'd be disappointing if he had to kill her.
"Your case is splitting up the team; as some want you dead and others are downright insane when it comes to you."
"There is no time for this—if you want this done, then we need a plan."
She flinched at his words. "I suppose."
A list was made pretty quickly, with her labelling low-ranking and high-ranking officers.
Matvey Morozov - High
Alisha Lenkov - High
Mark Gurkin - High
Aleksandr Novikov - High
Emil Abakumov - Low
Julia Pavlov - Low
Novikov set down her pen. "These are the main targets—actually, I'll label them with priority too." Abakumov was the highest priority kill, followed by Pavlov, then Lenkov. "Lenkov will be really easy because she's crazy about you. All you have to do is show mild interest and she'll do just about anything."
"These need plausible evidence to be an accident. You can simply poison Lenkov yourself after convincing her that you obtained custody of me. Abakumov I can just kill without a second thought and same thing for Pavlov."
She tapped her pen against the paper. "I do have Cyanide, but how should I slip it into her drink?"
"Insist on preparing it for her. You'll have to make one for yourself so it doesn't draw suspicion."
"Oh, well I'm taking a day off for tomorrow. I should teach you how to use guns!"
Ruvyzvat glanced back from the list to her. Generosity wasn't something he expected from someone just like him; then again, she was trying to win him over. That wasn't a bad strategy as he had somewhat of a thirst for knowledge. He nodded.
"Do you have any experience with them?" she asked.
His memory wasn't great, so he assumed not. "Nothing I can remember."
"Huh, I would've assumed you knew."
"What makes you believe that?"
She folded up the list after tearing it out of the notepad. "Word of mouth. You allegedly have a talent for killing people with only a throw of a knife, and with that accuracy, I naturally assumed you've used guns before."
"Guns are too attention grabbing in close-range; I naturally didn't bother with it."
"You're not wrong, but wouldn't they be useful for long-distance kills?"
"I never implied that they were useless."
For a moment, she appeared to be contemplating something. "I'd recommend you get some rest for tomorrow."
"Is it fine if I use your shower?"
"Yeah, that's fine." She rose from her chair. "I'll go get you a towel."
Being able to shower was another benefit he looked forward to. He hated the feeling of being dirty, even after years of being homeless. Upon stepping out of her shower, he noticed his jacket was missing. She must've taken it. He sighed and dressed himself, not forgetting to place his towel exactly where she had instructed him to.
Novikov sat on her couch, holding his jacket. Her hands examined every fold in the fabric and every knife he kept in it. Nothing out of the ordinary for someone like her.
"What sticks out to you?" he asked plainly, only doing so to grab her attention. She jumped, turned her head towards him and froze.
"D-don't startle—" Her gaze was glued to him.
"What are you doing with my jacket? We both don't have time for this."
"I was planning to wash it…"
He took it from her hands. "Trying to commit my layout to memory? You don't have to stress about that; I'll put everything back by myself." Then he took out all that was in there and set it on the table.
"For the sake of your quality of work, I don't recommend using cocaine. It has no use for either of us at the moment."
Once enough time had passed to where she didn't answer, he handed his jacket to her.
"Take your own advice and get some rest, too." He sat on the couch opposite to her.
"You're not going to sleep with—"
"That adjustment could ruin both of our performances."
"I guess you're right." She stood up and flicked the light off before heading to her room.
Sleep came effortlessly—even more than he was expecting. During what little pieces he could remember about his childhood, people dreamed. He hadn't ever done that, but they insisted he just forgot. It wasn't the strangest thing about him and he knew dreaming was never going to bring much benefit in the first place.
Ruvyzvat woke up to a blanket covering him that hadn't been there before. The obvious culprit was that Novikov did it to keep trying to win him over. A strange thing about him was his lack of reaction to temperature; he never noticed the heat of flames nor the cold nights people always talked about. He remained laying down and turned on his side, pulling the blanket up to pretend that he felt its warmth. The couch was comfortable enough to please his low expectations. When did she place the blanket on him was something he did not know.
He wasn't tired enough to get more rest, and he was rather interested. If she thought that she could get away with it, what would her limit be? To test her, he put on another act of false sleep. She should have some self-control considering that she's trying to satisfy him the best she could. Rape wasn't going to happen if she knew better; if she wanted to so bad, wouldn't it be impractical to not know his sleeping patterns and behaviors?
Her footsteps were quiet against the carpet as she approached. She caught her breath and reached out her hand to touch him. For the sake of scaring her, he snapped awake and caught both of her hands. The color drained from her face.
"I—"
He cocked his head to the side as he loosened his grip, eventually letting go. "What time is it?"
"Five in the morning." With a forced yawn, he sat up. She composed herself.
"Would you like anything to eat?" she asked.
"No."
"Not eating might affect your performance. I'll make you something simple to avoid that."
"I never noticed a difference, but if it means you won't keep trying to convince me…"
She sighed. "Do you want me to explain why?"
"I already know it's not good—I just don't feel those side effects."
"It's easy to ignore when you experience it all the time."
For the most part, he ignored the texture of what she made, since focusing on food made him incredibly nauseous. So did plenty of other things: sex, alcohol, and heroin, just to name a few he could remember immediately. His sense of taste was pretty bad—which he found to be useful.
She ate in a separate room. He didn't care much about that, as it killed his appetite if other people were eating in the same room as him. Whether or not that was her reason—it didn't matter. He took another sip of water as she walked in.
"I should've done this before you ate, but I need to weigh you."
"Why?"
"To make sure that you're not underweight."
He glared at her. "The answer's obvious."
"For confirmation. If you get caught, I could just say your brain's fucked up from malnourishment."
"Whatever you say…" She then rushed in and out of the bathroom, now carrying a scale.
"I'll weigh you in the kitchen, otherwise it might be inaccurate with the carpeted floors," she said. He followed after a few seconds of waiting, placing his right foot experimentally on the scale—the other came with it.
124 kg.
Her eyes widened. "Underweight."
"Don't bother looking surprised," he mumbled as he stepped off.
"I didn't expect you to weigh that little."
"I don't care—now are we going to do what we're supposed to do?"
"Give me a few minutes to get ready." She grabbed the scale and carried it with her. Once she left, he put on his boots and grabbed the knife he had kept concealed in his pocket. The more recent cuts on his wrist had begun to fade. He held his breath before slicing his wrist open.
More blood splattered across her kitchen floor the deeper he went. What was the point of this, anyway? It didn't bring him anything other than something to look at. The pain was incredibly dull; smoking was more effective than this. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his knife clean before hiding it once more. Hopefully she didn't mind the sight of blood, but he got most of it out—so she can't really complain. It tended to make him focus better anyway and that was something they'd both need.
"Ruvyzvat?"
Lucky for him, she didn't notice. In her arms held his jacket, which he grabbed and threw on.
"Nobody's ever taught you how to steal?" he asked with some interest.
"No, but why do you ask?"
Surprising. "I thought you would have experience with that."
"Typically, I get others to do the dirty work."
"Hmm, forget it then. Are we going now?"
"Yeah, of course! Maybe after, I'll measure you to buy you clothes. It'll help you blend in with people."
"Maybe."
Just as before, he sat in the back, holding her sniper case in his lap. He had a slight urge to open and put it together, but there simply wasn't enough space for that. It looked rather familiar, but really, he'd probably seen several in the years prior. His memory wasn't great.
Upon glancing at his left sleeve, he froze. Blood had seeped through. He regained his composure, knowing to act unaware of it. She wouldn't notice, and certainly wouldn't point it out if she valued her life. Those around him were fragile. It'd be easy to kill her… but he had no purpose in doing so. For the moment, he knew that the both of them were perfectly compatible. She was almost like him, albeit she had a more grand view of herself. That confidence served her intentions of power quite well. As for him, he had no desire for power. If hurting people was the way to survive, he'd do it without hesitation. She seemed less careful than he was, though not by much. He'd have to manage that for her.
For now, his only concern was her noticing his sleeve. It wasn't enough blood to stick out. Once they returned, he'd steal bandages from her and quit worrying. The rush of adrenaline that came when hiding something was horrifically dull, yet he enjoyed it.
She chuckled once she stopped near the mountains. "There's someone out there."
He grabbed the case and opened it. As soon as he stepped out of the car, he assembled it while Novikov stood over him. Once he stopped, she took it.
"Huh, I didn't expect perfection from your first try."
"Neither did I—where's that person you were talking about?" he asked. She pointed, to which he saw what she had. About a kilometer away, a person stood still…
He adjusted the scope without thinking and loaded the rifle. One bullet and they went down. She gasped.
"How— how did you…"
"It's coming back to me. This is the exact model I've used before when I was much younger."
Her breathing remained unstable. "How do you know?"
"My parents were far from normal." She stared at his left hand, which was covered in scars from his childhood. Thinking about that was miserable.
For a moment, she appeared hesitant. One wrong question risked getting a sniper to the face. "Have you met Varya before? Sorry for pointing it out, but your left hand sustains the scars that most of her victims have."
Wrong question. He stared blankly at the sniper he held.
"I have." Before he risked anything, he disassembled the sniper and put the pieces back in the case. "It'd be best for you to stop asking. I don't want you to think that we have something."
She had a look of guilt. Unnatural. Instinctively, he took a step back. Novikov had her hands around his waist. A moment's worth of freezing resulted in her getting even closer.
"She doesn't know how to love, but you're lucky enough to have me."
"Get away."
Her smile sealed his fate. "There's another reason for me taking you in…" She pulled herself in and kissed him, leaving him unable to speak.
He sprung and pressed his sickle against her neck, forcing her away. Nothing he did would make up for the weakness he made obvious. Telling her the truth…
She didn't waver.
"Stop denying that you want this. I've seen it in you."
"Is that the case? There's no reason to assume that is. I've shown the bare minimum of interest to keep you at bay. If that's what you think is sexual interest, then I suggest you stick to your husband."
"It'd be different; think about it!"
He pulled back his sickle and placed it back in his jacket. "I won't pretend for your sake unless something's in it for me."
"Hmm, be stubborn about it all you want, that won't change a thing." Again, she got close. For a moment, he considered letting it happen. He wasn't interested, really, but this was confirmation.
Her hands grabbed him as she smiled. "Now I see some interest."
"I will not deny that, but if I choose to go through, you have to understand that I do not care about us in the long term. I do not care if you like me or if I like you. This could be purely experimental—don't take it too harshly if I decide that I hate sex or… or whatever. Still, I haven't made my decision—"
Novikov kissed him again. He didn't back away or resist physically, but glared at her. All her focus was on kissing him. It felt bland.
Once she retracted from him, he sighed. "Maybe I had a good reason for my uninterest in this sort of behavior. You can stop, I've had enough."
"Why is that?"
"There's no real rush of adrenaline that makes it worth my time. It's too much effort for the both of us. Besides, if we were to have sex, I wouldn't do anything. I'd get bored of it fast." He pulled his hood over his head. "Don't be upset about it. You'd come to that conclusion even if I hadn't said anything. What makes this your focus instead of gaining control? Is this an attempt to gain control of my body?"
"You wouldn't like my answer."
"It is, then. Stay focused on our main goal; there's no need to have more control when it'd render itself useless soon enough."
"I must admit that I'm shocked that you're not mad."
He pulled her closer. "Did you have intentions of raping me?"
"Uhm… not exactly. If you resisted my plans to kill, then I might have to keep you in line."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you planned on raping me just for the rush. I've wondered how that'd feel like mentally."
"But also, you put no effort into this and now you hate it? How would you know?"
"Are you saying this just to get me to do something out of spite?"
"I won't deny that."
Ruvyzvat briefly considered it again: if he put on a good enough act, then he'd possibly gain control over her. As for what her husband would do if he ever found out, he didn't care.
"I'll think about it. Forcing me to make a decision wouldn't end well for us." She frowned slightly.
"You're not going to kiss me?"
"Have some patience." He let go and placed the sniper case in her cruiser. "We should leave anyway."
"But…"
"Do you want to get caught?"
That convinced her to climb inside, so he followed suit. The ride back was just as silent as it was before, now with even more tension between them. His left arm had become numb. She appeared hurt from their conversation, though he doubted that she was. He had resisted her for the time being and knew that she was going to try, again and again.
Minutes later, they returned. He got out whilst carrying the case. She approached him.
"Have you made up your mind?"
"Yes, but allow me to get inside before you continue."
When he finally bandaged himself and stepped outside of the bathroom, she sprung and pinned him to the wall. He didn't bother reacting the way she expected and forced her head up.
"Ruvyzvat?"
"What do you want?"
"You… I didn't think that you would comply."
She was startled by his actions. If he went even farther…
"Be grateful I'm curious." He forced her arms back and held her himself. The pace of her breathing quickened as he made his choice. Her arms embraced him tightly. Backing out was no longer a choice.
"My husband's going to be pissed." He took his chance to kiss her.
As it turns out, maybe she had a point. He never put in any effort to make it enjoyable for himself. But besides that, it really wasn't all that special. In their case, they didn't have a special connection that made it interesting. They didn't love each other. All of it was purely transactional and he made that clear from the beginning. At some point, he stopped putting as much effort in as he did before. She gave him practically no room to kiss her back in the first place. He pushed her back eventually, holding her close enough to believe it wasn't an attempt at resistance.
"Let me know when you've had enough. I don't care enough to know my limits," he muttered.
She smirked. "Relying on my word is a bad idea. I'm only getting started with you."
"What's the point of this?"
"Experimental—and quit being so mopey all the time. You bring down the mood."
"Tell me your plans."
"Sex!" Novikov poked his chest.
"Control freak," he grumbled under his breath.
She laughed, "no, it's not really for control. I doubt rape would serve as a good reason for you to stay in line."
"What would stop me from overpowering you anyway?"
"Exactly! The only reason Varya branded you was because you were a child, and not strong enough to fight."
"Only lost because she was armed and I wasn't."
Her smile fell. "Wait… who were your parents?"
"Krusveto—"
"Shit, no wonder! Varya raped you in nineteen seventy-four, right?"
"Mm-hm."
"That day I was supposed to be watching over you, but I got Varya to do it instead. I was hungover, so it's not like I was going to make rational decisions."
"She's your sister from what I'm assuming."
"Correct! Hopefully you don't hate me for that."
He pulled her closer. "It's not worth holding that against you when I have much to gain from my connection with you."
"Huh… compliance after that. Are you—"
"No, within regular circumstances, you'd be dead. There's no reason to kill when I can simply use you to my advantage. And that's why you have me around to begin with, so we're dependent on each other for the time being."
She looked as if wanting to protest.
"I've known since that day that you weren't the one who did it. Why'd you let her attempt to damage your reputation?" he asked.
"It'd give me a reason to gain more power. I'd kill off those who started those rumors—"
His hands found their way to her neck and began strangling her. "I'll stop you there. Speak more of this and I will kill you. I know it was your idea to kill my dad once he confronted you about me. It's a good thing you have me around to prevent such a shitty plan from going into place. You could've staged something else to damage his reputation and destroy him, maybe start a rumor that he was hiding Rschvania."
"Yet you chose to get drunk and destroy more than what was intended. You didn't earn his place as police Captain! Your plan failed! You had Varya destroy my life for nothing! Do you know how different things would be if I wasn't raped? You and I could've done far more than secure your place as Captain. You'll be stuck as a Senior Lieutenant if you can't act on your word!"
By that time, she had begun getting blue in the face. He let go, still grabbing onto her shoulder. She wheezed and gasped, fear shining in her eyes.
"Listen to me, Novikov. Your plan to inherit power will never work if you keep focusing on me. Stop worrying about sex and do your part!"
"Ruv…"
"I'll even go over our plan one more time. You will go to work tomorrow and poison Lenkov. Then, I'll take care of the others."
She regained control of herself. "I understand."
"Good. If you mess up, you will lose your job."
Her hands took his. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're terrifying when you want to be. Today's our last 'free' day before we have to do something. Why not make—"
"Are you asking for sex… again?" he demanded.
"Possibly!"
"You were on the brink of death."
"Well, it's kind of attractive when you were all pissed off at me."
"Tell that to your husband and see how he reacts."
"Yes or no?"
"Ugh, don't bother acting like I have a choice." He forced himself to kiss her one more time.
Having sex was something. Maybe he would've enjoyed it more if he wasn't consistently on the verge of passing out. His lack of eating started taking its toll on him. She didn't point out that his arm was bandaged (which would make things even worse). Her lips pressed against his once more. Nothing worthy of his full attention. She hadn't yet escalated beyond just making out with him. The constant switching of positions didn't help with his dizziness.
Novikov gave him enough distance to where she was just out of reach, tantalizingly close. At the moment, he was on top of her. He blinked away the spots forming in his vision.
"Are you okay?" she asked, stretching her hand towards his hair.
In response, he fainted.
"Ruvyzvat, you need to eat more," she said with some amount of irritation.
He opened his eyes to see her laying beside him feeling his pulse. "How long was I out?"
"Five minutes." She kissed his cheek. That wasn't the longest duration of his fainting spells, and was probably the shortest.
"Not bad…"
"How do you feel?" Her hands cupped his face and forced him to lay on his side.
"Better than I was five minutes ago."
"Good enough," she murmured before starting again. It felt much more aggressive, with her quickly pinning him down. Yet it was still boring. He was tired of how repetitive everything was. Nothing gave him any adrenaline. She picked up on this and began kissing his neck. Again, he felt nothing besides annoyance. He tackled and pinned her down, driving his lips to her neck. Her breathing only got shakier the longer he continued. Ruvyzvat began biting her, growing more and more aggravated at the lack of a rush. She had her arms around him, her face flushed. He adjusted his position, trying to rest one of his hands on her neck…
"You… you didn't have to go that rough on me," she complained while grabbing a new shirt (as he had accidentally ripped it off of her).
"It was still boring."
"How? How were you bored?"
He shrugged. "Might be less if we actually gave a shit."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't tell me you feel some sort of bond. I will strangle you."
"Please do—" She caught herself and blushed in embarrassment.
"Ugh, there you go again. Your sex drive is disgusting."
She put a shirt on and climbed back onto her bed. He caught her hands as they tried grabbing him.
"I want more from you," she whispered.
"Look, we both have to get enough rest for tomorrow."
"Cooperate with me." An unspoken threat. He was exhausted and far too mentally drained to even think of putting effort into this.
She noticed and got off of him. "This is just the beginning," she murmured before leaving.
It was obvious that she wasn't bluffing. Her face had a flushed look to it; her smile was much too sinister. For the time being, he relaxed his body.
Her gun pressed against his temple, the metal digging into his skin. "You've forgotten your place."
"Novikov," he pleaded.
"It'll be for the best if you do not resist. Besides, we both know you want this."
Exhaustion was going to limit his strength; she was armed… What would he do? She examined his left arm.
"I've wondered about what happened here. Not like you'd be able to stop me from finding out." Her nails dug into his bandages, ripping them off and tossing them aside. The cuts had shifted into a deep crimson, stretching much wider than he thought. Needing stitches was a possibility, but the bleeding stopped.
Novikov gasped. "Ruv, explain."
"Why don't you guess for yourself?"
"I know! But… but why did you do this?"
"You don't need to care."
"I— no, self-injury to this extent is not good for you."
"I will cut myself right now if you don't let it go."
"Stop!"
He exhaled before reaching to pull the trigger, but the pistol jammed. She looked horrified. There was nothing he could do to get her off without violence.
"Please, you know I love you. Stop panicking." She tried to comfort him. As he rolled down his sleeve, her hands moved much too fast. She held a syringe, which found its way to the vein on his right wrist. By the time he processed it, whatever she injected had started to kick in. His movements became sluggish, but he remained perfectly aware as she forced his clothes off and began touching him.
At first, he could mentally block it out. She was testing him. How much could he tolerate before it wore off? When would it end? Her lips made just as much contact as her hands did to his body. It was almost gentle… had he been able to do something. He felt rather disappointed with her. If she hadn't been obsessed about sex, they would've done much more. It wouldn't shock him if she was lying about killing and only did so to lure him in. Maybe he could admire that if she wasn't raping him. As time went on, she grew more bold until he simply gave up on focusing. The ordeal was painful: she kept him pinned down and defenseless.
"Having another kid wouldn't be so bad," she commented. Responding to that wasn't going to happen. Once more, she started kissing him, her lips rough and unnaturally forceful. He was nauseous enough…
"You look good when you're all helpless," she teased. "But now, I've made up my mind. Both of us will enjoy this!" Valeriya Novikov undressed herself and adjusted her position. Her body felt acidic, corroding him away as she forced herself on him. Every moment was unbearably painful. He stifled a sob, despite not crying. Whether or not the following was bad for him or bad for Valeriya wasn't known. No matter what she did, his body failed to carry out. Malnourishment? It stopped mattering. She got frustrated. He winced in pain once more as her body pressed itself down onto him. Her hands gripped his hair.
"Come on, stop resisting!" she yelled. Something crept up his throat; he coughed…
Blood splattered across her body. Of course this had a drawback. He felt some strength return, but didn't know if it'd be enough. It didn't matter since he kept coughing (maybe throwing up) blood. She rose and glared down at him, tempting him to fight.
"That's what happens when you try to resist!"
His fingers twitched, wishing desperately to punch her. Fear was reflected in her expression.
"What a shame," he muttered weakly.
"Huh?"
"We could've had much more."
She sneered. "This is what I want right now! Stop wasting time!" Then she started again, her body thrusting against him.
He was sick of repetitiveness. Blood poured out from his mouth. She jerked back in alarm. The pain was more tolerable if he could keep conscious. He wouldn't have control otherwise. His vision blurred the more blood left his body. The cuts forced themselves open, dripping blood onto her bed. Every second was stretching for longer. She watched, frozen in fear.
"I hope you still think this is worth it, Miss Novikov."
Waking up to his arm freshly bandaged was a nice surprise. Then again, she owed him much more. According to her, she was too worried to continue. A win for him. Yet, she came back inside to check on him.
"Ruvyzvat, how do you feel?"
"How does that wrist feel? Do you need me to break it back in place for you?"
She smiled. "No, no. I just came back from the hospital. You broke it in the perfect spot where I wouldn't need surgery."
"Good."
"I'm sorry about before… I really…"
"Shut up, Novikov."
"Excuse me?" She leaned in close enough. He knew just how to stun her. His arms went around her waist as his lips pressed against hers. Her body shivered as he continued. This, of course, was a manipulation tactic. He didn't care about doing this. It was amusing to see how her face changed: from shock to confusion.
"What'd you say about resisting?"
Her cheeks were pink. "Uhm…"
"Forget it, actually. Is she dead or not?"
"Yes! I poisoned her!"
That was enough. It pained him to pretend when he so wished to kill her. "You better not be lying." He got up and easily pinned her to the wall.
"I'm telling the truth!"
"Because it'd be a disaster if I told Aleksandr…" He left the threat unfinished, opting to let her become aware of how close he was. She remained silent. Her breathing gave it away.
"Your attempt at raping me was a pathetic waste of time. If you so desperately want me, then you have to prove yourself. It is not a question of me being good enough for you—I'm well aware that I outclass you in just about every aspect. Are you worthy of me?"
"Just… come here," she said. This would be a miserable week.
Yet, he needed to regain control. She knew he was a threat. He began kissing her, hardly letting her breathe. Novikov groaned as he moved to her neck. Every second was insufferable. Her weakness irritated him. Had he not been sedated, she would've died.
"Be grateful for the sedatives," he muttered before biting her neck. She held him tightly.
"Fuck, I hate you for that."
"Doesn't seem like you hate me at all. Did you finally learn your lesson or do I have to beat it into you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I will beat the shit out of you if you do that again. You're wasting time!"
"I'm sorry…"
"How old's your daughter?"
"Five months."
He froze. "There's no way that you want to get yourself pregnant again."
"I want to!" She grinned.
"You'd seriously have to pay me for me to even consider that. For now, shut up. I'm only doing this to get you away." He glared at her before he started kissing her once more. It began to tempt him: killing her would be effortless. Easily, he could snap her neck, rip her head off, rip a hole in her stomach with his knife (where was that?), choke her out, or rip her jaw off. She was lucky that he chose to play the long game. All throughout, he stared at her. Her guard was down. Getting his point across would be so simple…
His hands gripped onto her neck and started choking her. He slammed her into the wall, not bothering to let her react as he tackled her to the floor, still choking. She gasped, clawing at his arms to try and break free.
"Remember what I said. Don't ever let your guard down." He let go, but pinned her legs down with his body. She wheezed in an attempt to catch her breath.
"Ruv…"
The air around them heated up significantly. Having this much control gave him a rush of adrenaline. She was threatened.
"Did you enjoy the control you had over me?" he asked, pinning her hands above her head. Novikov winced.
"Yes," she said.
"Enjoy the loss of it."
It was more enjoyable this time around. She was just as in on it as he was. Again, he accidentally tore her shirt off. Yet he found himself within the grasps of boredom. He was sick of it long before she was, but eventually she left to return to work and he stepped into the bathroom. His jacket had gone missing, meaning he had nothing to cut himself with. He glared at his reflection.
Nothing was enough. Sex was boring, drugs were boring, and all he really could do was injure himself. Malnourished, exhausted, and at an advantage. His looks seemed to only improve the more pain he endured. It disgusted him at times. Being normal was something he wanted deeply. He opened the cabinets beneath the sink, coming across a box of razor blades. Settling for that was unsatisfactory, but what choice did he have? He took one out and rolled up both of his sleeves.
Starting with his left arm, there wasn't much space. He applied pressure and swiped. The skin split open just as quickly. Blood poured into the sink. It wasn't close to enough. Again and again, swipe after swipe until both arms were covered in gaping wounds. He turned his arms and repeated. Just his wrists wasn't enough.
Until the dizziness hit, he didn't notice how badly he had fucked up. The bathroom sink and counter was red with his blood. He swayed on his feet after placing the razor blade on the counter, eventually crashing to the floor. With how much he'd done, blood began to pool around him.
"Ruvyzvat!" Novikov screamed. He squinted, barely making out her silhouette in the doorway. The floor was tainted with the amount he bled. His arms felt reasonably sore.
"Wh… what?" Being this quiet wasn't normal. She appeared to barely hear him. Her hands clamped over her own mouth. His vision blurred and dimmed itself.
"There isn't any scenario where I wouldn't take you to the hospital… but we can't risk it!"
"Is it that bad?"
"Yes! I can see your bones!"
He froze. "Shit…"
"You're one to talk about focusing on our task, huh?"
"Whatever."
She grabbed bandages and did her best to stop the bleeding. Her position was an immediate reminder of the day prior, her body pinning down his legs.
"You should know better than this. Really, the self-harm is going too far," she started.
"I don't care about how you feel."
"Start caring, then I won't feel the need to keep you in line."
He flexed his fingers. "I can and will get worse."
"Arguing is pointless, dear." Blood began to stain the bandages.
Ruvyzvat exhaled softly, too weak to fight back, much less speak. She did her best to hold his body against hers.
"Don't do this again," she warned before softening. "I… I don't want to lose you."
"Everything's temporary." He wanted to continue the mind games against her, therefore wrapping his arms around her. For a second, she didn't move. Then she reacted just as predictably. Her lips made contact with his.
"This early is not an option."
"What will you say to them when you bring me to the hospital? 'Oh, I just found him like this!' That'd never work."
Novikov glared at him. "Anything does if you look good enough."
"So it would still not work."
"Excuse me?" She didn't allow him to speak after that, her lips rough as she kissed him repeatedly. His arms fell limp to the floor as his body burned through the last reserves of strength it had.
It was rape. She knew he was weak and exploited it. He wanted to cut himself had he been able to move at all. Her hands branded themselves into his skin. Was it really? Forcing his clothes off… maybe it counted now. His whole body shuddered as she straddled him. He wasn't sure if she had also taken her clothes off, but keeping his eyes closed was keeping him from losing his mind. His body refused to function. She was wasting more time, making it at least worth it to see how frustrated she got. He remained dead silent throughout.
"This is on purpose, isn't it?" she asked.
Ruvyzvat coughed up blood, making sure it hit her. "You're the only one fucking yourself. What if they find out what you've done?"
"They'll never believe you."
"They'll never take you seriously. You've failed to properly rape me twice now."
She gasped, "your arms… shit!"
"How do you feel about a hospital trip? But you'll have to dress me."
"And why?"
"What makes you think I could stand? Much less dress myself? Make this look like an accident or else I will tell them."
She kissed him again. "Ugh, I hate you."
"Feeling's mutual," he whispered.
With a lot of complaining, she got him dressed and by then, he hoped she had a good cover story. She was forced to dress herself and carry him into the cruiser.
"Raping me's a waste of our time. Stop trying to force it."
Valeriya looked exhausted. "You don't understand."
"You'll rape me in the hospital bed for that?"
"No! Enough of this before I tell them that you're crazy!"
He groaned. "Are you getting backup so I don't escape?"
"Oh, maybe." She radioed for backup to arrive at the hospital.
Reinforcements came to the parking lot. One male officer and another female officer came to escort him.
"I'd expect you to notify us sooner," the male spoke sternly. Matvey Morozov—he could recognize him anywhere. He was the only one who actively tried to help. It made him wonder if Morozov thought about the homeless kid that cut himself. There was an immediate mental crash as soon as Valeriya turned around to get him out. He gave up on hiding himself and tackled her out of the cruiser with nothing but adrenaline pushing him forward. She screamed as her body hit concrete. Both officers froze. He began to choke her out with the last of his strength. The helpless look in her eyes made it better.
"Let me kill her first," he muttered. She struggled and tried to get him off. Before he could finish her off, Morozov tackled him. He didn't move at all, not wanting to hurt him. She recovered and got to her feet.
"Oh, God…" she murmured between coughing fits. Morozov had him pinned to the ground, but something took his full attention. He felt particularly woozy and glanced at the concrete to see his own blood. Extreme amounts of it spread, soaking his sleeves dark red in color. Morozov managed to carry him into the lobby after handcuffing him.
The other female officer stood beside him, appearing terrified. Valeriya didn't get a chance to say a word.
"One of our officers managed to escort him here… I'm assuming from how weak he looked. Upon arrival, he forced her to the ground and nearly killed her before interference," he explained to whoever was at the front desk. Ruvyzvat closed his eyes and passed out in his arms.
"No, you don't get it, Matvey! He almost killed me!" a voice yelled. He squinted, making out four figures huddled close together: Matvey, a female officer, a doctor, and Valeriya Novikov.
"Are you sure he did this to you?" asked the doctor. Morozov glared at her—the other female officer didn't seem to react.
"Yes! Don't even bother hearing him out; he'll fill your head with lies."
He sighed. "What are we talking about?"
"Novikov, I am willing to bet that he didn't attack you without reason."
Or don't tell him. Helpful. Then again, he knew she was convincing them that he had raped her. Or… whatever.
"You saw how he sprung at me!"
"When did you find him?" the female officer asked. "How can we believe that—if he was trying to kill you from the start—you didn't call for backup to begin with? Was he injured when you found him?"
She turned pale. "He… he complied and wasn't aggressive. Yes, he was injured. I found him and immediately took him here."
"How could you tell the injuries warranted a hospital visit, Valeriya?" Ruvyzvat drew everyone's attention. "I didn't show you."
"I assumed from the blood. If it wasn't severe, I could double up and have a regular check up."
"Huh. Well, you said nobody would believe the truth. It can't hurt you if you convince them well enough."
Morozov and the other female officer glanced at each other in disbelief.
"Tell the truth," he eventually said before dismissing the doctor.
"No! What the fuck are you doing? His wounds—"
"But you never saw them according to yourself. Stay quiet. You were supposed to arrest me when we first met, but you asked me to work for you instead. Did you even kill anyone you've planned to? Not even Lenkov? I thought she was an easy kill?"
The female officer clamped her hands against her mouth.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Novikov walked until she was right by him. "But lying to us is begging for death."
He spoke quietly to preserve her dignity, "don't beg to kiss me or I will kill you faster than they can."
"I kind of want to because of how much you're pissing me off."
"Enough! Let me speak!" he snapped. She lashed out and threw him to the floor.
"Don't threaten me," she hissed. Ruvyzvat clutched his ribs and coughed up more blood. Morozov rushed to his side. "Back away from him. I know you're frustrated, but don't…"
"He's going to lie his way out of this."
"Just go home, Valeriya!"
The female officer held her back in time.
"I'm going to kill you for what you've done," she sneered.
He relaxed. "You're making yourself look more and more crazy. I know you hate standing out like that. Control yourself this once."
Valeriya began sobbing once the female officer escorted her out of the room.
"Please, stop with the mind games. It'll be another charge added to the extensive list of crimes you've done," Morozov whispered. He was back in the hospital bed. By now, he didn't even have the energy for that.
"What did she say that I did?"
"Novikov tried to convince us that you raped her."
"Knew it. By day two, she had lost track of why we partnered up in the first place. I was there to assist with her plans of taking over your position. She coerced me into having sex, then raped me in my sleep right after. Today she coerced me again… I was sick of it. You might not understand, but self-injury was the only way to deal with it. I went a bit too far and she found me on the floor. I… I can't remember much afterwards until I was carried into her cruiser."
"Doesn't surprise me that you're back to injuring yourself, if you ever stopped." Morozov's face darkened further beneath his police hat.
The female officer stepped back inside. "What's the deal here? We heard everything."
"You better not be believing him."
"His version adds up."
"Ruvyzvat may be lying."
Morozov lost his temper. "For the love of God, I'd rather believe him than Novikov! The kid's exhausted; leave him be! Go home!"
"Excuse me?" The female officer turned uneasy.
"Why can't you? Surely you're not mentally stable enough!"
"I'm getting Aleksandr." Morozov pulled out his radio and spoke a few inaudible words.
"What? You can't do that!"
Pulling Aleksandr back to work seemed rather insane, but he arrived. Not in uniform, but at least he was armed.
"Why'd you call, Mo—" He froze upon seeing the disaster that was the hospital room. Ruvyzvat was the center of attention (bleeding out), Novikov looked horrified, and the other female officer took a step back. Morozov exhaled.
"Just… explain this for me? One of you." Sweat beaded on his bronze skin, slowly streaking down his temples despite the freezing air.
The female officer spoke first: "It's—"
"What's taking you all so long to get a doctor in here?" Aleksandr yelled before rushing out and nearly dragging the doctor inside.
His wounds were cleaned, stitched up, and properly bandaged. Everyone stood in silence, the tension hanging itself in the air.
Once the doctor left, Morozov spoke.
"This won't be easy for you, Aleksandr. Missus Novikov and Pavlov, please step outside. Last thing we need is an interruption." Both left reluctantly.
"Why was I called here?"
"To put it simple: Valeriya Novikov raped Ruvyzvat."
Aleksandr's eyes widened. "Wh… what? Are you sure?"
"I'm going to convince the doctor to test him for traces of her and other forms of damage. For now, it's just his word. Unfortunately for you, his was entirely consistent. She coerced him into sex multiple times before raping him in his sleep."
"God… This is just unbelievable. She wouldn't dream of doing this…"
"She forced you to kill Krusveto. This is his son," Morozov reminded. Aleksandr held on tightly to the counter, his face going through more emotions than he thought were possible. Ruvyzvat could only feel his life slipping away.
"Would you be upset if I tried to deny this?"
"No," Ruvyzvat said. "Anyone else would kill you."
"That's not reassuring."
A knock on the door startled everyone. When it opened, Novikov and Pavlov let themselves in.
"What's the plan for tonight?"
Aleksandr flinched.
Pavlov added, "we were sort of planning to have him sedated, so he won't try anything." He scanned the room and found a camera hidden in the corner. Nobody paid attention to him.
"That's not something to joke about," Morozov scolded.
"What do you mean?"
"For his own safety, I will have that happen. Novikov, you must leave."
"I understand." She turned and left.
At night, he was injected with sedatives. Morozov made sure the door was locked about twelve times before he left. The sedatives might've had something to knock him out, which was an added bonus.
Keys jammed into the lock outside, forcing it open. As for the person that stepped inside, they closed and locked it again. Footsteps echoed all throughout the room. He kept his eyes closed. Hands stroked his hair, pushing it out of his face. Judging by the lack of speech, it wasn't Novikov. Who was doing her dirty work this time? Varya would've gotten to the point, so it couldn't be her.
They blew air into his face, testing if he was awake, but his facial muscles were dead. His eyelid remained as it was.
"Knocked out pretty hard," she murmured. Pavlov. The camera footage would be more convincing if he remained still.
"Even if she hadn't asked, I'd do this anyway." Her hands caressed his upper body. While scanning the room, he noticed a second camera. Could be used as a decoy to get her comfortable.
"Behind and to your left," he spoke, hardly audible even to himself.
"Camera… shit!" A gunshot went off right in his ear, leaving him deaf. He pretended to have spoken in his sleep and remained silent. Even as her hands undid his jacket and took it off. Her lips were surprisingly soft against his skin. He still fought the urge to kill her. Pavlov kissed him on the lips.
Again and again.
Every second his urges grew stronger. Maybe there was something better than killing her, which was why he kept holding out. She forced his shirt off.
Immediately, she gasped. His hearing had returned. Cutting himself all the time resulted in his entire upper body being covered in scars.
"I thought Novikov cut him up…" She winced afterward. It didn't deter her.
He attempted to move his fingers, but the sedatives had been too strong. His heart rate spiked. She chuckled to herself.
"I know you're awake, dear." And blew his cover. No longer did he wish to feel it.
Her knife sliced open his face.
Ruvyzvat's body fought off the sedatives. He held her by the throat before taking her knife and slitting it open. Like trash, he threw her to the ground and dressed himself again. She got back up and ran out of the room, yelling into her radio.
Suicide sounded nice. He was powerless to defend himself when he needed it the most. There was no redemption from that…
"He snapped awake and cut my throat open!" Pavlov yelled. The door opened and the lights came on. Blood soaked him and the floor; staining his sleeves with the consequences of his fresh wounds.
Morozov glanced from him to Pavlov. "Why did you check in on him? More importantly: did you break in?"
"I had to make sure that he was asleep."
"Check the damn cameras," he muttered. She paled.
"There… isn't—"
"Decoy. Now check them, Morozov."
"Aleksandr is already doing that."
Maybe that comment didn't need to be said, as he rushed into the room and tackled Pavlov.
"You knew he was sedated!"
"Wait! What are you doing?" Morozov pulled him back.
"She raped him!"
Tears welled up in her eyes. "God, help me…"
"I'll go take a look for myself. Handcuff her."
Aleksandr sneered. "You dishonor the entire team."
She was dealt with first. Then, he too was handcuffed (once his wounds were treated). Aleksandr was supposed to drive him to jail.
"Now that I think about it, the resemblance between you and Krusveto is really prominent," he said, his police hat obscuring his eyes. "I owe… him a lot. Just know that I'll be seeing you again. And… I kind of owe you for not believing you initially."
"If it makes you feel better."
"This might get me killed, but I will set you free. I don't care about arresting you."
The rest of the ride was only interrupted by conversations occurring between police radios. Tensions rose and dropped. He wanted away from everyone. Isolating himself was his only method of survival.
He saw mountains in the distance. Hours had passed with neither of them saying a word. Slowly, the air became noticeably different in temperature. It was insanity to drive him to the Ural Mountains, but they were close enough. Yet far from civilization. The cruiser slowed to a halt.
"It's time." Aleksandr hauled him out and undid his handcuffs, letting them clatter onto the gravel. "Also, your body's tensed up."