Chapter Text
“This isー... Yona Ivan Belov. ID number 4549312… 091514.” A silence unheard in the quietest voice, run through with exhaustion not indifferent to running consistently and endlessly through worlds unhinged. A dedication wore thin; years of ages promptly discovered its secrets whether or not painted good or worse. No, such words of a man, if called, would be comparable to one’s survival through the harsh reality of a war gone wrong. And such a war had indeed ー gone wrong. Laced with grief, a soft sigh escaped his mouth, ascended deep from within his chest and covert lungs. “... Registering this report for final study, final commemoration, and final input.”
Blue eyes gave a tender look at the device, capturing his thinned voice in the midst of dusty and dead air. From within an office he occupied often, if not forever - running programs by consistency and for a work that drifted into nothingness. All exertion by means of figuring out their places, their livelihoods, their last amounts of effort. Meaningless; once held meaning by means of illusion. “I… acknowledge, that my position class never referred me to make a prompt decision this way through recording, but now I do not have a choice.
I am the last ー to consider my own decisions.
The ones we devoted to, undeviatingly, for what seemed like every beckon is now unanswering. Radio silent, undeclared, unassuming of the realities we’ve had to face, if not currently still reaching for life’s phone call. I am the last to consider my decisions ー because everyone else is dead.” With a harsh wheeze in his whisper, such a broken man lowered the reflecting lenses that concealed the windows to his soul. Burnt out long ago - revitalized - before crushed lower in their outspoken epidemic gone unheard. Seen like no other, yet now focused on the reverberating dream, or perhaps nightmare, of loneliness. A world colder than the ice that coated the nearby decaying windows, concealing the one inside.
While also refraining the soul from gazing back.
“... I could go on to curse the circumstances you placed us in - but I won’t. What good would my words do if falling on closed ears? Fulminate… shout, even beg for any source of reply, but to expect it - absolutely not.” In a huff of amusement, exhausted eyes glanced at the device momentarily again, watching such numbers of time tick down in recording.
“Time is funny. To think one has enough of it, especially in consideration to our work, that such isn’t the case. We are restrained to time like much of anything else. We are born into one body ー committed to changing it to how we see fit; how society sees us, how the world handles our intrusion, and by far the most compelling - how the universe imitates us back in terms of diversity,” Belov tenderly glanced to his hands, noticing the slight chips in his fingers; skin roughed and calloused - slightly stained with blood long dried and unwashed. “Not us, however…
… I couldn’t have been different.
Couldn’t have referenced the last of my life by means of something different. Couldn’t place all my energy into loving myself to the fullest - no, I hated every surrendered ounce of myself. I have no one to thank but you, however. Perhaps that was the greatest lesson we’ve learned in terms of life’s auction. The highest bidder really does determine when, where, and which universe I succeed in. I succeeded in this one, but… at what cost? I celebrate with no one, if not in the belief that their souls watch on in secret.” With another sigh to escape through a choked throat, hands lowered themselves with a soft thump to the metal desk, rendering the recorder to slightly tilt in balance to the subtle movement.
Tiring eyes peeked at the leftover time, watching the full numbers tick away of unwavering descent. Staring endlessly, the iris softly illuminated an otherworldly glow, watching the numbers cease momentarily before continuing on their inevitable countdown. With blue eyes returning to normality, Yona closed them with an amusing smile to crawl along his lips in synchronization. “In conclusion ー this report isn’t dedicated to any higher ups that sought to ignore us during this process and progression of our changed lives. Instead, it is to of any left behind by the slimmest of chances; to those who still contribute unknowingly; to those seeking remembrance of a world we once knew; to those… who we loved,” With voice cracked fine, Yona tenderly picked up the device, eyes never straying from the seconds left away from pure loneliness.
“This is Yona Ivan Belov ー giving a big fuck you to my employers… and signing off for the last time. To anyone who comes across this recording, whether enemy, acquaintance, friend, family or unknown - living body… know this:
Don’t let him drink it.”
It Starts With One.
Gunshot in the dark.
Adrenaline ran through his body in irregular pulses; unnatural and unclean. Likened to ice, reverberating waves through his vessels and arteries in replacement of blood, uncaring of body temperature. It was freezing ー pricking and prodding his veins as if shoving a chunk of frost through a live wire. He felt sick, terrible in the sense of a new peculiar body even if it was his own. His vision no better; his mind drastically searching for any sense of equilibrium balance as the world spun just about any direction and every direction.
“S… Stop.” He managed to choke out in weariness, feeling his throat close despite the desire to vomit just about anything left in his humanoid. Shaking in his hands, his fingers could hardly grip with enough formation - feeling like a new born baby fresh out of an impending womb. At least he was given the courtesy to be sat in a chair, yet that hardly curbed the urge to fall out of it. He couldn’t recall any sort of alcohol poisoning in comparison to now, even if that wasn’t the case. No, this was naturally occurring in an unnatural way. “Please…”
“It will end soon. Just be patient.”
“Y-You’re killing me…” With a soft slurring of his words, the dishonored man soon took a deep, sharp breath - feeling everything settle back into place of relative normality, and for the spinning to fade to a halt. Blue eyes adjusted to the brightness of a sudden flash of light, quietly overlooking the room of imprisonment. Tiled, cold; hooked up to several machines while gazing at a mirror’s reflection of the newest body he didn’t recognize. Color was drained from his face in fading as if indeed all of his warmed blood had been disposed of in the same way. If anything, he familiarized himself with this idea like embalming the body…
Even if he was still alive.
“How do you feel now?” With a dried voice to enter his ears from the intercom, the exhausted man furrowed his brow and gazed at the two-way mirror before him, gazing at the different wires that were still attached to his person in various places, dressed in a paper gown.
“... Like I need to be dead.” Venting heavily, he leaned forward and tenderly rubbed at his face, trying to make sense of what exactly he just went through. The variety of different colored wires held no label of explanation nor what they pumped him full of, but all he could register was how damn painful it was to experience. With the sound of a door opening to one’s intrusion, the strapped individual slowly lifted his head to the other’s approach. Blue eyes gazed at the freshly pressed suit first-hand before hesitantly gazing into their eyes; lacking pupils and color ー an already alien sense of unfamiliarity. Sliding a chair just before the other, the well-dressed gentleman then took it upon himself to sit, crossing one leg over the other in faint dominance.
“What did you do to me… ?”
“I cured you of your ailments.”
“... What ailments? I was perfectly healthy before you snatched me into this room…”
“Your decisive choice has the means of altering certain properties of yourself.”
“... Decisive? … I had a choice?” Responding with quiet sarcasm, the exhausted man softly shifted in his chair, gazing around the coldened room with a tender anger. “W… Where was that choice? You never explained a choice.”
“I understand this is all very new to you in terms of what it means to alter yourself, but do not assume I did not give you the opportunity to walk away from this.” Softly scoffing at the other’s words in a mumble of faint Russian, the weaker man pressed his palm flatly against the armrest of the chair, remaining silent. “I have explained to you the notion of what it means to be a part of this organization ー the life you knew needed to be gone. Displaced and subjected to means of disposal.”
“So I am dead without dying. You strip me of myself, and replace it with something unheard of.”
“It is not unheard of ー merely concealed from everything else.”
“... Then who else am I? … What am I even going to be referred to as?” With silence overcoming the dimmed light of the room, the fatigued individual watched as the older gentleman before him tilted his head slightly to the side, blindly judging what he could not even see. Staring back into those blanch irises, blue eyes then glanced downward to the other’s faint motion of movement, and the item presently available for the taking. A badge - with his new identity documented with no further detail other than name, class, and clearance.
“... A.G.?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Considering that’s not exactly a name, I was expecting more along the lines of an actual name. Not abbreviations.”
“When you are here, your real name will not be addressed ever. You will hold your new identity to the highest regard in terms of disguise ー any attempt to find your true identity will be classified as a security breach and be dealt with accordingly,” Slowly taking hold of the badge within its plastic containment, A.G. tenderly examined it with faint confusion as the other continued. “It is also your duty to uphold such an identity by means of protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“Anything and everything.”
“Considering I have no clue what exactly this organization does, you’re already expecting me to run into some trouble. I haven’t even begun my start, yet.” A.G. tenderly huffed and watched the other slowly stand from their seat, pushing the chair back into place with a low drone of squeal against the tiled floor. “Don’t I have the right to know what exactly kind of work I’m supposed to be doing here? And why is it substantially putting me at risk of being found out?”
“You will come to know more details at a later date, however not by me.”
“Then who? Perhaps someone who can explain it better than yourself.”
Just then, the door opened with an echoed click, as another member of staff entered first before dragging a hefty cart of medical syringes and alcohol swabs in next. Heels presently clacked against the tiles as they walked, as the worker seemingly dressed themselves in hospital scrubs meant to avoid any attempt of cross-contamination of their own person. The first he noticed were the eyes ー feminine, slightly petite in their swoop likened to an exotic bird - a speck of flirtation. Their hair parted with feathered bangs to line the face, the rest scooped up into a steady hold of a tight bun. A woman - no doubt - but not assumed entirely.
“Aurora.” The older gentleman acknowledged, gazing partly to the side as the younger woman approached where A.G. remained seated, quietly glancing at the vitals in their recordings upon the machines. Readings seemingly gibberish to the unknown eyes, yet enhanced in clarity to the one who made it their life’s work. “After you are finished, instruct him to the lab.”
“Yes sir.” With a softened reply, the woman glanced momentarily as her supposed boss decided on his leave, quietly fixing the cuffs underneath his suit blazer. Despite lacking the realm of pure eyesight, the older gentleman found his way out of the room in somewhat memorized ease, closing the door after himself with a deep shut. With the same intensity of an exhale, A.G. then gazed at the woman who was left behind in her duties.
“... Do I have to be called A.G.?”
“Your identity is based on pre-occupied circumstances, meaning the first letter of your real name will be used in jurisdiction to the new title.”
“But they call you Aurora?”
“I am not of your class.”
“... I don’t understand.”
“Your class is along the lines of a subtle public eye. Meaning that you are not confined to a laboratory and will often be out in the field in terms of service.” Quietly pulling some rubber gloves out from a box, Aurora quietly snapped them onto her hands. “I am the opposite effect.”
“... I did not think there was a difference, but there is. And it is based on class?”
“Correct.”
“Doesn’t that seem… unfair?” With a subtle glare of glance to the other, Aurora tenderly moved to grab for a few alcohol swabs to tear from their packages, applying the solution to a spot on the male’s arm. With silence rocked forth in that cold-infested room, A.G. remained still before flinching lightly at the sight of a rather sharp syringe. “W-Wait wait, what is that? What are you giving me?”
“Vaccine.”
“For what? I am not sick.”
“Not yet. But around here, you will be susceptible. Especially in this new environment, as well as in your new body. This vaccine is to avoid complications, but also to track you.” Lightly squishing the sanitized fold of his skin between her fingers, Aurora then softly pricked the epidermis with the needle, gazing momentarily at the other’s cringed reaction before slowly plunging the liquid through.
“Track me?”
“Must you ask so many questions?”
“... Must you assume I know the answer to everything?” Brown eyes flicked to sight the other’s rather tempered gaze, remaining silent at his naive response. A faint sigh dispersed from under the woman’s medical mask, returning her observance to the syringe as the clear liquid fully disappeared into the man’s arm. Grabbing for a cotton ball, Aurora placed it just above the syringe as she pulled it out, motioning the other to hold it. “... I am going to be clueless. At least… humor me ー by telling me what exactly I got myself into.”
“Do you believe in the paranormal?”
“Paranormal?”
“Ghosts. Aliens. Sasquatch一”
“Yeah uhm… when I said humor me, I didn’t mean actually humor me.”
“Do you believe in it or not?”
“I… no. I don’t.” With a scoff of confusion, A.G. watched as the woman disposed of the used syringe into a biohazard container, moving to take hold of the other’s cotton ball yet again, checking to see if he happened to bleed. Finding no speck of the vermillion, Aurora then tossed it into the trash, glancing back at the male with a hand on her hip.
“Start believing.” Suddenly without warning, Aurora slapped hard on the spot she administered the vaccine to, causing A.G. to yelp in pain and grip his arm in present reaction to the reverberating sting. About to protest at the unexpected abuse, the young male then froze in place to the sudden trickling effect his inner skin produced; glowing faint in blue, it was as if he was gazing at television static - watching the particles trace outlines of his apparent veins and vessels like an old road map.
With heightened and shallow breaths, the ghostly man soon watched his skin gather imitation of color, tan; looking alive instead of a deceased body nearing the brink of post mortem. Considerably, that was not all ー his skin loosened in effect, swelling lightly of edema in his fingers before they too turned roughly calloused and aged like the rest of him. Glancing to his reflection in the two-way mirror across the room, A.G. immediately stood and approached closer to the image of himself withering away like a photocard being burnt - not caring if the IV drips and machines were tugged in the same direction from being attached to his body.
“W-Whaー,” He choked out, touching his weathered face and light wrinkles before slicking his fingers through a thinned and pronounced hairstyle. “I lookー I look like that guy that was just in here! I aged 50 years in 15 seconds! How is that possible?!”
“Standard protocol ー for security.”
“. . . S-Security- what are you people?” Keeping his breath shallow and hesitant, A.G. touched at his face and hair yet again, hardly finding any source of explanation of how this sudden change came to be. She just gave him a vaccine; vaccines aren’t meant to alter appearances on a dime! Patting his chest, hips, arms and lower abdomen, the now older-looking male soon studied his hidden lower appendage, venting heavily in slight relief as that remained unchanged before gazing at himself in the reflection. Blue eyes remained their youthful glance of what it meant to be himself ー yet the rest of him hardly fell in line to what he remembered.
Leaving unrecognized traits left behind with little reality of what he had been through.
Despite his previous youth, he was a man of war ー fighting the opposing side by means of protecting the society and its occupants ravaged by egotistical ideals of control and order through the means of surrender and specifics. Yet even that was no guarantee of survival, just based on appearance alone. Millions were slain, innocent at best for being who they are while others deemed them as lesser than. He had even seen children in the midst - cut and gored, left to be picked apart by crows in the golden hours.
Civilians had been lined up blindfolded, and shot like pure game in the streets, letting their surviving offspring watch on in horror before they too were either taken to death camps or hunted for sport. Soldiers by the wayside he had seen blasted into oblivion by German panzers, coating the streets in a thick film of blood and carnage, and that even the Sun above shone through the mist in vermillion like smog through the city. If hardly given mercy - they were lynched high against buildings with fabled words to mock their livelihoods and decision against the regime.
Surrender or die.
How ironic.
To now gaze at himself in the same way ー given the illusion of free choice to be saved from his apparent honorable death and presented a different lease on life. He couldn’t tell if God was making a mockery of his circumstances - if he suggested there was one - or just simply ignorant of true reality. The world he knew was shattered minute by moment.
With just a simple glance at himself in the mirror.
“Are you ready for your new attire?” With the delicate voice of Aurora to sway him back to the newfound reality, A.G. focused his dilated pupils to curb the dissociation freezing in place in the midst of his mental breakdown - slowly growing confused by the seconds ticking by. New attire? Well, surely he didn’t expect himself to remain in a paper dress the remainder of his stay. Hesitantly turning back to the woman behind him, blue eyes watched her approach as she made work of disconnecting him from the machines reading his vitals.
Now, hardly reading anything of him being alive. Quietly pulling the sticky tabs off of his skin, Aurora rolled up the dangling wires to wrap around the pole hook, no longer needed for use. Remaining silent, A.G. watched as she did a quick exam of his person, checking his pupil dilation with a small torchlight, rendering a soft illuminating effect in a streak upon his corneas. Placing the light back into her scrub pocket, the younger woman then held up the male’s hands, checking over the skin lining his fingers and up his inner forearms.
“... Am I going to be an exact replica of that man who was just in here?”
“No. That man is an exact replica of you.”
“Iー I’m starting to get the notion that you people don’t like telling facts around here.”
“It is better to just let it happen than explain the ins and outs.”
“Listen ー Miss Aurora? I get the feeling that we’re going to be seeing each other often here but I think the one thing you should know about me is that I’m not very good with understanding little to no detail about certain circumstances. And I think this is probably one of the occasions where I absolutely need all the detail in order to determine just how fucked my life is right now.” Staring deep into her eyes, A.G. remained quiet as the other gazed back, feeling a tender sense of pity. He had no clue, yet it wasn’t her jurisdiction to tell him. Glancing momentarily over his shoulder at the two-way mirror behind him, Aurora then returned her sights back to the pale man before her.
“I can’t. At least… not now. Just let me do my job, so you can do yours, and he can do his.”
“What job is that?” Venting lightly at his consistent questioning, Aurora eventually let go of the other’s hands to drop at his sides, stepping back to approach her cart full of medical equipment and garb. Realizing that he wasn’t going to get an answer, A.G. subtly stared at the two-way mirror in faint recognition before glancing back at the woman who began to sterilize the surfaces. “... Can you at least tell me if we win? The war, I mean.”
“... Yes.”
“... Do they think I’m dead?”
“Missing.” Aurora quietly responded, almost unheard in her whisper, before wiping down the sanitized cart with a disposable cloth for good measure, letting it air dry. Remaining still in his spot, A.G. gazed back towards the mirror to spot his unknown yet familiar reflection once again, reaching to touch his aged face as if he had been through the thick of many wars, not just one. The life he knew was gone, and those he knew would have no idea of his new circumstances. For the second time in his life, he felt alone ー unable to grasp reality and the decision to bind him to a life unheard of.
Had a choice, no ー he didn’t believe he had a choice in the matter at all. Death by a sniper getting the upper hand in attempts to push back forces in the narrowed streets of Belgium? Or joining an organization that had no means of truly telling him what they were doing, what their purpose was, or even telling him much of anything in that regard of changing his complete identity? What choices were those? His mind couldn’t stop the onslaught of continuous questions because he couldn’t seek an answer from anyone.
Were they afraid to tell him?
Were they no better than the opposing forces who ruined innocent lives in the heat of war? Despite the cold temperatures of the tiled room remaining stagnant in his lessened attire, A.G. quietly gazed back at the two-way mirror off to his left, feeling a sense of being watched to an unknown degree of intensity, as if threatening to keep himself quiet while he still could.
Feeling heavy garments to press into his chest, A.G. gazed down at what he had been given, making note of a freshly laundered - freshly pressed suit within his arms. Woven and materialized in a professional fashion; yet mocking the distant memory of carrying a wounded brother-in-arms who bled out their last drop of vermillion, fighting against the regime ー red.
Surrender or die.