Soviet Biotechnology Research Facility
Kiev, Ukraine
2:17 PM Local Time
With a loud buzz, the door to the security checkpoint slid open, and Ivana Ganiyeva stepped through, quickly walking away as the door slid shut again. A lone guard stood in the long, brightly lit hallway, assault rifle lazily propped against his shoulder as he eyed her with impassion as she walked by. Ivana paid the guard just as little regard, quickly passing as she headed towards her son’s room, a brightly wrapped package in her arms.
She hated this place, even moreso than she hated most Soviet installments. But as long as Yuri remained a prisoner inside, she would come. Every day, she would come, but especially today, the day of her son’s eighth birthday.
Not a day went by where she didn’t recall that day, two and a half years ago, that had changed her life forever. She and Yuri had been on a bus with the other refugees from Pripyat, unloading at some makeshift camp the Soviets had quickly set up for the refugees. There, they had screened each refugee for radioactive material, “as a precaution”. Combined with the effect of having to abandon their homes, and the reason why, the screening had been a traumatizing enough process. But when the official had hurriedly yanked her and her son out of line, without even initially telling them why, then the experience had been terrifying.
And Terrifying had turned to horrifying when they had finally met a scientist, who had told her the bad news. Somehow, someway Yuri had contracted a dosage of the radiation that had reached fatal levels, and her son, so happy and carefree just a day before, had less than a week to live. Horrifying had turned to infuriating as, with no one else to turn to, she had called Gus to give him the news of her... no, THEIR son. Gus had barely given it a second though, before hurrying her off the phone, telling her to bother his lawyer with her problems.
Infuriating had turned into hope, when the next day, a group of scientists had arrived at the camp. They were researchers, she was told, and they had been experimenting with the idea of using hormones to counteract the effects of radiation. Chernobyl had suddenly given them a fertile ground of potential test subjects, and while no guarantees were given, they were certainly willing to make the attempt to save her son’s life by making him one of their experiments. The utilitarian aspect of the proposal had made Ivana shiver... after all, a child’s life was at stake here. But she had accepted. She had no other options.
Even now, she sometimes wish she had refused. There was no way that dying in a week of radiation could possibly have been worse than what they had done to her son. The needles and syringes, the experiments, the tests they ran every day. To them, Yuri wasn’t a child, or even a human being. He was a subject, to be tested and probed, and experimented on, the only value to his life being the failure of many long-running experiments and resources that had been put into his treatment.
It broke her heart to see these robots treat her son with such dispassion. But what other choice did she have? These injections were the only things keeping Yuri alive, and maybe one day, there would be a chance for him to leave this awful place and live in the real world again. But until that day happened, all she could do was keep coming every day, and reminding her son that at least one person in the world loved him, and would continue to do so.
She had arrived at Yuri’s door, a plain white portal that sported a small window to see inside and nothing else. Through the window, she could see Yuri, curled up on his bed, his body convulsing with sobs. She didn’t know what was worse- the sight she was seeing, or the fact that she was so used to it, it didn’t even break her heart anymore.
“I’m here, Yuri,” she said quietly as she opened the door, trying to keep her voice level. “Are you hurting again?”
Realizing his mother was in the room helped Yuri regain his composure somewhat, and he turned, sitting up with great effort, cringing as he did. Ivana fought back a wave of her own tears as she saw the agony in her son’s face. It was almost as painful to see as what her son had actually become.
The hormones that had been pumped into her son had taken their toll. The face was one of an eight year old, but his body was larger than that of most fully grown men. His size had swelled to well over six feet, and his weight was nearly two hundred fifty pounds. The scientists had expected his gargantuan form to emerge, although they hadn’t bothered to warn Ivana at all. It had been startling at first, but she had gotten used to her son being a giant.
Not so easy to get used to was the fact that these hormones occasionally reacted poorly with his body, causing excruciating pain that no expert on torture could possibly come up with. He tried to put on a brave face for her, but she knew how badly he hurt.
“I’m fine, mom.” Yuri said in Ukranian, acting as if Ivana’ concern was over little more than a scrape. “Honestly, I am.”
“I believe you,” Ivana lied, putting on her best smile. She then leaned forward, and embraced her son, who gently hugged her back. “Happy Birthday, dear Yuri. How did your morning session go?”
“Fine,” Yuri replied, shrugging. “They made me run on a treadmill for an hour. It hurt, especially towards the end, but I made it.”
“Good for you,” Ivana said, smiling. “I know they can be tough sometimes, but the doctors genuinely want you to get better. Just do what they tell you to, they know best.”
It was a lie, but if her son knew it, he showed no sign of it. He merely nodded, and shrugged, his eyes greedily flickering to the package Ivana had brought with her. Ivana wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. For all that was unnatural about her on, he still looked hungrily at a present like any other child.
“Oh, I almost forgot” Ivana handed him the package, smiling. “Happy eighth birthday, Yuri.”
Yuri tore open the paper, excitedly pulling out a book. It was a large book heavy, filled with full and glossy photos of famous landmarks from around the world. Yuri grinned- even before the accident, he had loved looking at pictures of places from around the world. Here, with minimal outside contact, those images became all the more important for him.
Ivana leaned forwards, tapping the book in his hands. “When you get better, you and I are going to go and visit every single one of these locations,” she promised.
The smile faded from Yuri’s face, and he looked over at his mom, suddenly glum. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get out of here,” He finally said. “I just don’t see them letting me, Mom.”
“Don’t say that!” Ivana exclaimed, hushing him. “You’ll get better, and you’ll get out of here. And you’ll have a wonderful life of seeing the world, and being strong, and having as much fun as you possibly can.” Her voice trailed off at the end as emotion fought her voice, especially the notion that her son was probably right.
“So... did you hear anything from Dad?” Yuri asked,
“Of course I didn’t,” Ivana snapped, although she quickly softened her voice. “He’s got his own, ‘real’ daughter to worry about. I don’t even think he knows its your birthday.”
“It’s okay, mom. You’re here, and that’s all that-”
“But it’s NOT okay!” Ivana blurted out, letting her anger get the better of her. “Had it not even been for that asshole, we wouldn’t have been here! We’d have been in America, far away from that horrible explosion, and you’d be in school and playing football and having fun like a child OUGHT TO!”
Yuri put his arm around her, and hugged her. “It’s okay, Mom. Don’t be mad. You’ve always said they will be punished for what they did to us. Someone will do it.”
“They will.” Ivana said. “One day, Augustus Briese is going to get exactly what he deserves. And that little bitch of a daughter he has will too. If not for her, you’d be healthy. Remember that. ALWAYS remember that, Yuri.”
“I will,” Yuri nodded, his jaw suddenly clenched. “I will always remember what they did to me. And to you.”
Ivana smiled, and kissed her son on his forehead. She then reached over, grabbing Yuri’s new book, and opening it. And for the rest of visitation, she and Yuri spent the time going through the book, admiring views and landmarks that they would likely never be able to see in reality.
Saturday March 3, 2012
Drexel University- Courtyard
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
1:13 PM Local Time
Philadelphia’s own Drexel University is the scene as we fade into day, where Wendy is standing next to a large mural of a dragon, flying through the air and breathing fire. The day is cloudy and cool, and Wendy is wearing a simple black windbreaker over a pair of jeans, as she stands in front of the mural.
“So, once again, March has come upon us. Spring is returning, flowers will soon start blooming, and the snow finally melts. It’s honestly one of my favorite times of the year, watching everything come back from the dead of winter towards another vibrant new beginning of a year.”
“Of course, for those of us who are sports fans, March is also basketball season. In just over a week, the field of the NCAA Men’s and Women’s basketball tournaments will be set, and already the debate and speculation is rampant about which teams are and are not getting into the final field of 68 teams that will compete for the championship.”
Wendy gestures behind her, at the mural.
“One of the teams that’s receiving the most attention is right here. The Drexel Dragons, who play right here in Philly. Now, Drexel has been amazing.. they’ve won twenty-two of their last twenty-three games, which is incredible. There’s maybe just a couple of other teams that can say they have done anywhere close to accomplishing that this year.
“And yet... even today, the debate is on over whether or not Drexel deserves to go. Critics point to their schedule, their shaky start, their conference, everything they can think of to say that Drexel is not one of the best sixty-eight teams in the nation, despite all they win. Drexel has done ALL they possibly can to this point, and yet, they still can’t seem to get the proper respect.”
A small lopsided smile from Wendy.
“I can sympathize. Now, I haven’t exactly won twenty-two of my last twenty-three... heck, I’m an even five-hundred over my past six matches, but I know what it feels like to do everything you possibly can do, and yet it still isn’t enough for some people. For Drexel, it’s the selection committee they’re struggling to impress. For me? Well, it’s my boss.”
Wendy sighs, and walks away from the mural, towards a small bench where a bag has been placed upon it.
“So, here we go again. Round one, well, didn’t go so well for me. It’s a shame too, because I think I outwrestled circles around Moxie. I hit Moxie with every single thing I could think of, and the only thing he could respond with was shoving me into the referee. But regardless of what people have had to say about it, and believe me, a LOT has been said, the night has to be considered a win for Starla. After all, it sure wasn’t her who was leaving the arena, frustrated beyond all belief.”
“Round two, well, you have to admire Samantha for mixing it up at least somewhat. At least this time Starla’s only the BACKUP referee... because that’s normal procedure around here, right? At least my opponent isn’t the biggest misogynistic jerk to have ever laced up a pair of boots, but I’ll get to her in a second.”
Wendy grimaces, and shakes her head.
“I’m someone who learns from my mistakes, so I’m not even going to bother appealing to anything of Starla’s. Obviously her sense of fair play and her grasp of the bigger picture are fairly non-existent at this point, and the only thing she can get through her head is the irrational notion that she should be the No Surrender Champion, because, you know, the result of the actual match wasn’t good enough for her.”
“I’m not even going to bother pretending otherwise. Whatever Starla wants to do tonight, she’s going to do it. I have to keep my head on a swivel, and try and make sure that when Starla does pull whatever little stunt she’s planning, I’m in a position to do something about it. Because for all that I have issues with my opponent tonight, I know Jenny doesn’t want this match tainted by Starla’s shenanigans either”
“So here’s the deal Starla. Whatever you want to do... I’m probably not going to be able to stop you. But I’m going to remind you of something I told Jo back when SHE had her sights set on me. All this stuff you pull, consider them deposits into an account. And all that stuff is going to be sitting there for the entire legnth of March, but at Chaos Theory, dividends are going to be paid. With interest. I proved that to be true against Jo, so I’d think VERY carefully about how difficult you really want to make the coming month for me, because in just four weeks, it will be time to cash in.”
Wendy has reached the park bench, and she sits down on it.
“As far as Jenny goes... well, this isn’t going to be an easy thing for me to say. But, I’ve promised honesty in this year, and well, I’m trying to live up to it. Even if I’m sure it’s going to annoy a few people, and get me labeled as preachy again.”
“Jenny, as a fellow wrestler, you’re a woman to be respected. You’ve done very well since coming to FFW, including getting a big win over Emma McIntyre. Heck, I’ve even heard whisperings that you’re approaching contention for the FFW Championship. That’s pretty impressive to work yourself into that position so quickly. And it’s certainly better than the ‘title’ you seem to have gotten your sights set on now...”
Wendy reaches into the duffel bag on the bench, and pulls out a title belt. It’s not the No Surrender, but rather a cheap replica belt that can be brought for ten bucks at the FFW souvenier stands. However, taped over the faceplate is a rather sizeable picture of Alexander Stryfe. Wendy takes one look at the belt, and cringes.
“Wow. But really, Jenny... this is what you’ve turned Alexander Stryfe into. A title belt that you’re challenging for, trying to take it away from the champion. You think that wrestling, and constantly beating up a man’s wife is going to make him love you? You think that interceding yourself in his relationship is going to save him? Really?”
“I’ve been down this road myself, you know, and it was NOT a fun one to go down. Back when I was wrestling in a regional company in Louisiana, a guy thought that I was attractive, and he wanted me to leave Terrence for him. When I told him no, he decided that the best way to convince me was to kill my boyfriend. It got more and more out of hand, until Terrence nearly DID get killed in a stretcher match.”
“So I’m sorry if I’m sticking my nose where it supposedly doesn’t belong here, but what you’ve been doing bothers the heck out of me. You can claim it’s not my business, but you’ve made it pretty much everyone’s business over the past six months by turning this into a huge spectacle.”
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and drops the McIntyre Title into her bag.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like Kaitlynn Stryfe. Heck, I don’t care much for Alexander either. In my opinion, those two deserve each other. The thing is... it’s not up to my opinion. It’s not up to yours, and to be honest, it’s not up to Alexander or Kitty either.”
“I know I’m accused of seeing things in black and white and not shades of gray, and maybe people are right about that to some extent. But here’s one thing that’s pretty cut and dry in my opinion- you don’t break a vow. A vow isn’t just a bunch of mumbled words at an altar, Jenny. It’s a bond. It’s putting our very soul into a promise, and it’s not something to be entered into lightly. And if it’s broken... well, you know all too well the consequences of that, don’t you?”
Wendy’s face darkens considerably, as if the sun had just gone behind a cloud. And although the sun was ALREADY behind a bunch of clouds, it’s still a fairly decent indication of where her mood has turned.
“I know that all too well myself, now. I once vowed to a troubled friend that I would always be there for him. I didn’t mean to break it, but I did, and I wasn’t there for him when he needed me the most. I wasn’t there for him when he returned to drugs and drinking. And I wasn’t there for him when he picked up a gun one night and put it in his mouth.”
“I’ve always said that we get what we deserve in the end, and I’m no exception. Not only did I lose my friend, but I spent four months in a near living hell thanks to an acquaintence of his who blamed me for his death. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret not being there for him. Atonement for a broken vow doesn’t last a few days, Jenny. It doesn’t last months, or even years. It lasts a lifetime.”
Wendy pauses, and takes a deep breath, steadying herself, before looking back into the camera.
“You seem to use that word a fair bit yourself, Jenny. Atonement. And maybe its true, maybe you do want to atone for walking out on Alexander so many years ago, for breaking your marital vows with him. But... you’re going about it the wrong way.”
“Do you really think the way to make up for your own broken vow is by convincing Alexander to break his vow with Kaitlynn? Since when did atonement for sin involve committing more sin? And since when did atonement involve personal gain, and taking things back?”
“Have you ever considered that maybe your atonement is to set your personal feelings aside and let Kitty and Alexander be? That the best thing you could do for the man you still claim to love is to let him go, and to wish he and his wife happiness? Did it ever occur to you that maybe closure in this matter isn’t winning him back, but accepting you blew it, and just moving on?”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and gives a lopsided smile, along with an apologetic shrug.
“Sorry to go off on a tangent there. I guess I am preachy at times. But... six months of watching this circus unfold and... I had to say something.”
“I know you probably don’t like me now, Jenny, and I’m sorry if my speech offended you, but, you’re too beautiful and talented a woman to spend your life and career chasing after something that you rightfully should never have. Look on the bright side though.. at least I said it all just a couple hours before you get a chance to repeatedly punch me in my face.”
Wendy cracks a smile at her joke, then stands up, zipping up her bag as she does.
“You’re right about one thing though. We’re in for a great match tonight, provided certain parties keep their noses from getting where they don’t belong. After all the baloney I’ve gone through over the past couple weeks, I could certainly use a win, so you can bet I’m going to be doing everything I can. And I know you know that beating a sitting champion can propel you up the rankings, towards any belt you might want. So you’ll be wanting the win too.”
“At least this time it’s safe to say that you’ll be working towards obtaining something worthwhile.”
Wendy picks up her bags, and turns to walk away, and the scene fades.
=====================
Sunday March 4, 2012
A Bedroom
London, England,
12:17 AM Local Time
The room was dark, the sole occupant motionless, asleep in her bed. So deep into sleep was she, that she didn’t hear the small chirp her mobile phone gave on her end table. The screen came to life, a new text message on the screen, one that would be unread until morning, but would very certainly be read over and over again.
Ivana- Delaney wants the package. Bring it to Chicago in a week, or I'm dead. He'll find and kill you to. Gus.
No comments:
Post a Comment