December 3^rd, 1998 – The Promethean Research Organisation Facility, Level B4.

Their clothing was the first giveaway, but their accents were unmistakable. Agent Sofiya Sokolov was being escorted into the next level of the facility by Americans. Anna had been taken in the night, and now it was her turn. The presence of the Anglosaksy in Poland was no surprise – they’d been spreading their tendrils all across Europe. Still, there was a visceral shock to seeing one up close. The arrogant swagger with which they walked, their bleached, perfectly straight white teeth, and the way they never seemed to stop smiling, like they were all in on a big joke they weren’t sharing with you.

“You know I never seen the Eye-Tallians so angry as what you and you friend made ‘em, Girlie,” said the tallest of the Americans, a sun-dried middle aged man wearing a denim ensemble and a high crowned, wide rimmed hat in cowboy style. “Oh I never liked them Catholics anyway. Too much pomp and circumstance. Too many funny words. No Ma’am I’m a Protestant, like my Momma taught me. Least I am on a Sunday morning, if you take my drift.”

Sofiya remained silent as she was seated. Being unrestrained was something of a novelty now, and she took the opportunity to recline in the surprisingly comfortable padded chair. It was luxurious compared to a church pew.

This level didn’t look like a Latin Cathedral. It looked like an office. There were overhead projectors, water coolers, fax machines, and a big board-room table. There was also a slightly ominous looking electronic machine on a trolley being wheeled in by smiling women. Some of them looked American, but others definitely weren’t. It was a very international group. They were all dressed in identical garb, an ensemble of impractical-but-sexy office-wear. Stockings held up by garters, a short dress, high heels, and a tight fitting blazer that covered the shirt but almost none of their cleavage.

Around the perimeter of the room there were several guards armed with what looked to be standard issue American service rifles. Though not bound by handcuffs or ropes, but there would always be that knowledge she was at the mercy of her captors. Sofiya was appalled when one of the guards slapped one of the women on the arse as she walked by. The woman didn’t skip a beat and just kept walking.

The Cowboy’s younger compatriot, an African-American man in a well tailored suit stepped forward and extended his hand.

“The name is Smith – Jack Smith. I see you’ve already met Billy-Bob. It seems he forgot his manners.”

Sofiya was taught this style of American greeting during her comprehensive espionage, etiquette and seduction courses – mandatory for any agent expected to be deployed beyond the borders of the Union. She met his hand, paying special attention to maintaining eye contact, gripped firmly, and shook it up and down several times.

“Woah there, you’ve got quite an arm on you,” he said.

Sofiya didn’t relinquish the grip. She knew that Americans considered the ability to cut off circulation during this traditional greeting to be a sign of strength and dominance. Only after he started wincing in pain did she finally smile and let go.

Billy-Bob laughed and punched Mr Smith on the arm, which he did not seem to appreciate.

“They’re a wild bunch, these Ruskie spies. What’d I tell ya?” he said. “The last one nearly bit my ear off.”

Does he mean Anna? Is she here? she thought.

“Yes, very spirited,” said Jack, backing off a little more.

Sofiya looked around at the machinery, now sitting beside her. Large domed helmets. Electrodes, wires, all hooked up to a step-down converter hanging from the side. It must have been designed for the American electrical grid. From the size of the converter, it also meant it needed to draw a very large current.

“What is that? You won’t break me,” said Sofiya defiantly. “As you should know, all ‘Ruskie spies’ as you call them have been trained to resist torture.”

“Goodness, no! We’re not barbarians,” said Jack, glancing appreciatively at Sofiya’s own cleavage up close. “What do you think we’re here in Poland for? We’re here to make friends, not enemies. We live in a brave new world, where the United States, the nations of Europe and the Soviet Union can all live in peace and prosperity together.”

“Yerunda,” said Sofiya. “You aren’t here to make friends in the basement of a prison camp. If you’re going to try to finish what the Catholics started, you won’t succeed. I’m wise to your Christian tricks.”

The handsome man looked offended.

“As you well know, the American nation has the utmost respect for freedom of religion. It’s enshrined in the first amendment of our perfect and unchanging constitution. And Freedom of religion also means freedom from religion. Though I do not approve of your godless ways, I will make no efforts to persuade you to believe in our lord and saviour Jesus. No, today we’re here to do business.”

Sofiya laughed.

“You speak with honeyed words, but if you think you’re going to convince me to betray my country with bribery, then you’re wrong."

Jack Smith began gesticulating wildly with his hands.

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I don’t want you to betray anyone. We’re Americans, but we aren’t here to represent America. When I said we’re here to do business, I meant it. We work for a branch of the United Nations which you may have heard of – the International Monetary Fund. Our business is the business of business itself.”

Sofiya gasped.

“The IMF? Here?”

“We’ve been invited by the new government of Poland. We – that is, our whole organisation, not just Billy-Bob and myself – are here to help advise them on their transition from a planned economy to a new, free market.”

The words “free market” sent a chill up her spine. She’d already seen the early effects of the transition. These once prosperous lands had been laid to waste, with all power accumulating in the hands of a small group of international bankers and merchants. They had even removed the “People” from the name of this once beautiful and fraternal nation.

“I find that hard to believe, based on what I’ve seen here,” she said.

“Can I start the show yet, son?” said Billy-Bob.

Jack rolled his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he said, then took a seat opposite Sofiya.

Billy-Bob stuck his hands in his mouth and produced an ear piercing whistle. A group of the women ran off, then returned moments later, wheeling in some kind of shop-display. It was positively stuffed with goods. The two women in the lead smiling in that sickly American way out front reminded her of a Western game show she’d studied – “Correct Price”, or something like that. There were eggs and bacon, hamburgers, fruit juices, small machines for turning fruit into fruit juices, sodas, wine and beer, bourgeois cheeses, svelte little portable radios, myriad electronic gizmos and gadgets, finely crafted shoes and all manner of totally unnecessary clothing accessories.

She had to confess there was something a little bit awe inspiring about the display, as grotesque a concentration of wealth as it represented. The smell of food awakened her stomach, which let out a cartoonishly loud rumble.

“Think about it, girlie,” said the Cowboy. “These here tides uh history, they’re only movin’ in one direction, and it ain’t a red tide. The boys in Chyna, they’ve abandoned you. The Yuropeans have all decided to liberalise them there economies. The Vee-ettnamese, how long do you think they’ll last down there isolated like that?”

She stared hungrily at the hamburgers. They were still steaming hot, and the smell of the beef was dominating her thoughts.

“Ohh,” Billy-Bob continued. “I see you’re interested in some of this fine produce from McDowell’s. One of America’s greatest exports. You know they’ve just opened up here in Poland a few months back. Never thought I’d see the day, yet here we all are.” He picked up the plastic tray and brought it over to her. “By all means, help yourself. Smells a lot better than the prison food, dudn’t it?”

She could feel the saliva building up in her mouth to that uncomfortable level. Her hand shook gently as she reached out to take it from him.

“Is… Is this drugged?” she said.

“No Ma’am. On my honour as a Texan.”

That meant absolutely nothing to her, of course, but the thin pretext was all the she needed to begin scarfing the food down in an undignified manner. The first bite was incredible – the processed carbohydrates, the protein and the fat, the salt, the little twang of sweet, sour and umami from the condiments, the mild notes of American cheese – it all hit at the same time. Her pupils dilated and her insulin response went on high alert for the incoming flood of concentrated goodness. It was everything her body craved, at a level she’d never felt before. Oh my Stalin this is unbelievable, she thought.

As she licked her lips in the wake of the gorging, she could see that the two men looked very pleased with themselves. They moved the French fries up to her, and she couldn’t say no. She started shovelling them into her mouth between bites of a second hamburger.

“We hope you’ve enjoyed your first taste of the West. Why don’t you help wash that down with some delicious Soda,” they said menacingly.

Once again, she reached out her hand to take what was in front of her. But with her hunger partially satisfied, she could think a little more clearly. She could practically see her mother looking at her disapprovingly as she poisoned her body with this delicious food, this American opiate, this… stuff. No, she reflected, it wasn’t food at all. That wasn’t a drink. These were products. They were the exploited labour of the capitalist underclasses. She pushed the drink away, and it fell to the ground, splattering everywhere but especially all over Billy-Bob’s leg. He started swearing in English and stormed off.

“Very well,” said Jack. He handed Sofiya some napkins for her hands. “It looks like she’s had enough of lunch. Jane, why don’t you let her get a better look at some of the other goods.”

The smiling woman moved without answering and brought over the shoes. They looked pretty from afar, but they were incredible up close. The craftsmanship was immaculate, the materials, the extremely impractical yet undeniably elegant tall heel. She was almost drooling again, but she did her best to act unimpressed.

“It is a shoe. We have these back home.”

“But do you have designer shoes?” said Jack. “It doesn’t have to be that way forever. If your government in Moscow were just a little more amenable to trade, we could start bringing in some of these fine products of the world. You know they’re not all American. This tracksuit, for instance, comes from Germany. Have you ever seen one like this before?”

Her heart skipped a beat seeing the beautiful red uniform before her. Two tasteful white stripes adorned the sides. It was just like…

“Moscow… The 1980 games…” she said.

“That’s right! I’m surprised you’re old enough to remember that. Isn’t the design truly remarkable?”

He gently rotated the object before her eyes, and she couldn’t deny that there was something special about it. The light, breathable fabric. The practical yet stylish cut. The piercing red offset by just enough negative space. It was a vision of perfection.

“The problem with the Catholics, you see, is that they just didn’t use the right economic incentives. It’s much easier to catch flies with honey, as they say.”

Her head was rolling back and forth gently, tracking the suit.

“Da, easier,” she said. It would look lovely on her.

“We used to sell these in the USSR, before your General Secretary banned us trading there again and set back East-West relations by a decade. We’ve found that these tracksuits have a powerful influence on the East Slavic mind. Can you feel it, Sofiya?”

“Yes… I can feel it,” she said, smiling stupidly.

“That’s right. Focus on this. Don’t take your eyes off it. This could be yours, you know? Wouldn’t you love to possess this?”

As her eyes continued to rest on the item, she imagined what her life would be like with it. She would look so beautiful. She could wear it for any occasion – sports, birthdays, weddings. She’d be the envy of her entire grey apartment block.

“It’s… it’s very nice…”

“Yes, it is. It’s so very nice. And it could be yours, today. I’d be more than happy to sell it to you.”

Her heart fluttered at the thought. There was just one problem, she suddenly realised.

“I don’t have any money…”

“Don’t worry about it that. In fact I insist that you don’t think about it.”

Not thinking about it sounded wonderful.

“We can work out all kinds of financing – at very attractive rates,” he continued. “We’re working on a new technology, it’s called ‘Purchase Immediately, Pay Eventually.’ The name might change.”

She wanted it. She needed it. It was so pretty and sleek and red. But something kept nagging at the back of her mind. This feeling reminded her of something.

“I… wait,” she said, shaking head to wake herself back up. “You’re trying to hypnotise me! I already told you, I’m wise to your tricks now.”

It hurt to pull her eyes away from the tracksuit, but she needed to focus on the mission.

He flared his nose, but kept smiling.

“I won’t try to tempt you with the dulcet tones of Mister Hasselhoff, in that case.” He picked up a record from the pile of goods, kissed it, then sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed you’d require any less persuasion than your compatriot did.”

“What have you done with Anna?!” she shouted.

“Oh, nothing much. She wasn’t interested in making a deal – at first. We were forced to make a few… hmmm, shall we say – structural adjustments?”

At that moment, Billy-Bob returned to the room, flanked by another of the women in the impractical-but-sexy office-wear. But there was something very wrong. She was tall, slender and blonde.

“Anna!” she shouted. “Anna, you need to snap out of it! They’ve done something to you! You sick bastards, you won’t get away with this.”

Anna didn’t respond. Simply followed Billy-Bob, clipboard and calculator in hand.

“Oh, I think we will,” said Jack, somehow finding a way to smile even more broadly. “Everybody’s going to have to get used to the new way of doing business. Didn’t you hear? This is the end of history.”

Sofiya spat at the ground in front of him.

“The workers of the world will never submit to you. Do your worst!”

She immediately regretted her words, as Billy-Bob began groping her tovarish. Anna looked uncomfortable, but didn’t make any effort to resist.

Sofiya looked away, but this only made the problem worse, as she noticed two of the soldiers fucking a pair of office workers as they stood around filing their nails. It was like they didn’t even notice what was happening to them. Their skirts provided instant access to any of the passing men, and they were obviously accustomed to taking advantage. She could see one of the men was applying a condom as he prepared to penetrate a woman, which bothered Sofiya even more than the unprotected sex for reasons she couldn’t explain.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Anna demanded.

“It’s beautiful, ain’t it?” said Billy-Bob, laughing.

“The Washington Consensus,” said Jack, who then gestured over to a gorgeous tanned woman nearby. “Free trade is the most important pillar of the new economic order.”

The woman was in the middle of perusing some economic documents, but she knelt down in front of Jack and fished out his cock with complete disinterest on her face.

“As you can see from Martha here,” he continued, “The Argentines have become fully compliant with all of the IMF’s policy proposals. She happily allows herself to be freely traded around the workplace, or in public, or anywhere else. And soon the rest of the world will be just the same. Isn’t that right, Anna?”

Her tovarish, her friend, her roommate – she took on a forced smile.

“I’m… I’m happy to comply with the IMF’s recommendations,” she said.

The Argentine woman in front of Sofiya began stroking Jack’s cock rhythmically. She had to use her mouth to turn to the next page of her document, as she saw no reason to let this duty interfere with her other work.

Sofiya had no idea how to process this. This was worse than she’d ever imagined from the KGB briefings. The IMF’s destructive policies were well known, but this new vision of a social order fully aligned with the economic… it was unprecedented. Jack bit his lip and suppressed a moan. But just as suddenly as abruptly as it had all started, he shoved the woman away.

“Thanks for warming me up, but I need to save myself for dessert,” he said, eyeing Sofiya’s body up and down and licking his lips.”

Two soldiers seized her and tied her down in exactly the way that she was expecting when she’d arrived fifteen minutes ago. Then, they retrieved one of the dome shaped helmets and fastened it to her head.

“Ohh, I love this part,” said Billy-Bob.

Jack stepped into her field of view again, holding a remote control with a little computerised display on it. She marvelled at the device in his hands. She’d never seen such a small computer before. It could have been no bigger than a medium sized cat. Suddenly, the machine whirred to life, crackling with electricity.

“So you’re going to torture me after all,” said Sofiya.

“Torture is such an ugly word,” said Jack. “Here at the IMF, we prefer to call it… shock therapy.”

He pushed a button, and her entire body tensed up as the currents passed through her.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she said.

“Just a little taste,” he replied. “This device is the best tool we have for easing the transition from a state-owned way of thinking to the capitalist grindset. There can be no progress without pain.”

“You piece of-” she began.

The current ran through her, cutting off her thoughts.

“You see, this device is no mere shock machine,” Jack continued. “The helmet on your head is connected to some of the most sophisticated computers and sensors ever devised by Western science. The cable runs to a cluster of supercomputers in the adjacent rooms, housing tens of megabytes of RAM. It’s capable of detecting anything you’re thinking about, and then categorises it and spits it back out to this device I’m holding.”

Sofia couldn’t believe such a thing was possible. It was inhuman. It was profane.

He held the computerised display up to her.

“You see here, it’s blue, for defiance. Once that blue colour becomes strong enough, It will deliver a shock automatically. You could say it helps to price in the cost of defiance.”

Another shock. Her muscles ached and she let out a yelp. Instinctively, she looked around the room for a way to get out. Another shock interrupted her thoughts. Then again. And then again.

“You know, you’re a slow learner. I’ve seen mice respond much more effectively to their new reality.”

“I will never…”

Shock.

“I… I will…”

Shock.

“Never!”

Shock.

Tears were streaming down her face. Every time she thought, it hurt. It didn’t take long before she stopped thinking all-together.

“About damn time,” said Billy-Bob. “I thought that bitch’d never shut her trap.”

Jack gently raised Sofiya’s chin to look at him.

“Tell me,” he said. “What do you think of market economies?”

Sofiya was too scared to answer. She was also too scared not to answer.

“I think… that they are implicitly exploitative. They allow for the concentration of-”

Shock.

“Wrong answer. Even your precious Comrade Lenin implemented the New Economic Policy, did he not? And you are still paid in rubles, are you not? Now tell me, what do you think about market economies?”

“I think…” she said, sobbing. “I think that with proper state control, they can act as a temporary stage of human development befo-”

Shock.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “A rising tide lifts all boats.”

“A… A rising tide… no…”

Shock.

“A rising tide lifts all boats. Say it.”

“A rising tide lifts… all boats…” she said.

He smiled at her Americanly, and no shock came. She felt a sense of overwhelming relief.

“There is no alternative to Capitalism.”

“There is no alternative to Capitalism,” she echoed. She knew she didn’t believe-

Shock.

She knew she didn’t belie-

Shock.

“I wasn’t joking, it really can read your mind,” said Jack. “May I suggest not thinking, and simply repeating what I say. There is no alternative to Capitalism.”

“There is no alternative to Capitalism.”

“Capitalism is the natural state of mankind.”

“Capitalism is the natural state of mankind.”

“A rising tide lifts all boats.”

“A rising tide lifts all boats.”

“Better dead than Red.”

“Better dead than Red.”

She simply existed. For a moment there was almost total silence.

“That’s good,” said Jack, breaking the serenity. “It’s important that we finish devaluing your existing beliefs. The sooner we can divest you of all this nasty Marxist-Lenninist thinking, the sooner we can liberalise your mind.”

She dared not formulate a coherent thought in response. Jack pushed on a lever on the chair, and it raised height and tilted backwards. He pulled her legs apart and stripped her down.

“And now, for being a good girl, I think you deserve to experience one of the great pleasures of the stock-market – a bull run.”

Jack posed his erect 17.78 centimetre penis to give her a better look at what he was about to shove inside. She just sat there, completely dazed.

“Now, hold on there pardner,” said Billy-Bob. “What we got here is an opportunity to teach these fine young ladies about the merits of competition in a free market.”

Jack looked unhappy about being interrupted, but didn’t say anything. Billy-Bob pulled Anna by the hand and sat her down in a chair next to her. Anna was still smiling, but the lines on her face and her watery eyes revealed her true feelings.

“Now girlies,” he continued, “something y’all will need to figure out is that life is a zero-sum game. If someone’s a winner, then someone’s a loser.”

A second helmet linked to the machine was fastened to Anna’s head, and Billy-Bob picked up the remote computing device. Sofiya started paying full and complete attention to the man holding it. Avoiding punishment was her only goal.

“What do you think about the Washington Consensus?”

“I…” Sofiya began.

“I’m happy to comply with the Washington Consensus,” said Anna.

The shock passed through Sofiya.

“Too slow,” said Jack.

“Put your hands on your head,” said Billy-Bob.

Sofiya tried to comply as fast as she could – until, naturally, her restraints prevented her from doing so. The shock came all the same.

“The market isn’t always fair, I’m afraid,” said the cowboy, laughing loudly to himself. “Now, stick out your tongue,” he said.

Sofiya’s tongue shot out automatically. She was crying again, anticipating the inevitable shock. But when the buzzer fired, it was Anna who was zapped.

“I’m disappointed, Anna. You know speed and efficiency are integral parts of a nimble and flexible economy.”

“Of course, there’s another very important thing to know about a transitioning economy,” said Jack, passing a bottle of lube to Billy-Bob. “Some people are always going to get fucked in the arse.”

“You know, I was just thinkin’ something similar,” he replied. “Thank you kindly”.

At first it was an unwelcome surprise when the impressive 17.78 centimetre member pierced into her. She gasped and struggled to gain control of herself. Anna seemed to be having a similar reaction beside her. After the first few strokes, she managed to relax, and the pain subsided. She found herself strangely excited by the situation.

Being bound in place, faced with extreme psychological pressure, being pushed to her limits and a feeling a rock hard member in her anus – it all brought her back to her KGB training. Use every tool to your advantage. Your mind and your body are your most powerful weapons, her old instructor echoed in her head. At the same time, there was also a trace of guilt. After all, anal sex wasn’t for the sole purpose of procreation.

The thoughts ran in slow motion at first, punctuated by her own moans as her gyrating hips betrayed her further into the pleasure of her tormentors. But then something occurred to her. She was having thoughts. That in itself was a breakthrough. She was having non-compliant thoughts and she wasn’t being punished. The machine wasn’t running on automatic anymore. Of course. They don’t want to get electrocuted as they’re fucking me, fucking me, oh god, Da, da, da! Fucking me, fucking me in my tight arsehole, oh da, just like that, mmmmmmm, she thought.

Priority one was reigning in her lustful thinking. The fastest way out was through. She had to come. That was going to be difficult. Though Anna could and often did get off to anal, he was controlling his pace extremely well, and slowing down when he sensed she was enjoying herself too much.

She looked up into Jack’s big brown eyes and started grinding against him even more. There was no time for pride.

“Oh, Da! Fuck me with your extra large American penis!” she said. She knew it wouldn’t be enough just to flatter his manhood, but it never hurt. “We were all fools to believe in the Marxist ideal,” she continued. “Ohhh, Da!!! Da! Da! Soon all of Russia will understand the superiority of the free market! Soon we will all agree to IMF loans with generous interest rates and perfectly reasonable structural reform requirements!”

That was the ticket. He moaned and started speeding up again. She expertly manipulated her muscles to apply extra tension near the base of his cock, driving him even more wild. He started pounding mercilessly.

“Lift me up! Lift me up with your giant rising boat!” she screamed. “Exploit me! Exploit my resources and take all the profits for the shareholders!”

“Oh fuck, baby girl, fuck!” he eked out.

She came. For a moment her thoughts froze once more, as waves of pleasure passed through her consciousness – but then the fog cleared. She could see things as they truly were again. She could actually see the shame and disgust she felt as a puke-yellow glow emerging out of the thought-reader remote-command-console. But if she couldn’t get out of this bind, she was failing not only herself, but her whole nation. Her whole way of life. Her good friend, Anna, who looked so eminently fuckable sitting next to her like that. Most of all, she was failing the memory of tovarish Stalin.

Some kind of alarm sounded as the glow from the thought-reader remote-command-console turned bright red. Although she was not familiar with the technology, she immediately knew it could mean only one thing.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Jack, that’s – it’s detecting socialist thinking!” said Billy-Bob, still enjoying Anna’s tight and equally well trained Soviet arsehole.

Sofiya, now in full control of her body, began modulating the exquisite pleasure to the almost-but-not-quite-eighteen-centimetre American shaft inside her body. She wanted to keep him as close to the edge as possible.

“Ugn, we can… we can deal with that in a minute…” said Jack. “Oh fuck… I need… mmmm!”

That was the game. He belonged to her – at least until he came. She guessed she could keep him here for a minute at least. It would have to be enough.

Priority two – Rally local support. She took a deep breath.

“Arise ye workers from your slumbers,

Arise ye prisoners of want,

For reason in revolt now thunders,

And at last ends the age of cant.”

Billy-Bob looked around in confusion. Her delicate internal ministrations kept Jack too distracted to notice, let alone care. He was now completely focused on one thing and one thing alone. She turned to look at Anna, whose face was now subtly mouthing words along with her.

“Away with all your superstitions

Servile masses arise, arise

We’ll change henceforth the old tradition

And spurn the dust to win the prize.”

Anna was now speaking the words, too. The alarm sounds were getting louder from the thought-reader remote-control-console, and the red glow was becoming more and more pronounced.

“Jack, I think… I really think…” Billy-Bob said, but it wasn’t getting through. Anna was clearly emerging from under the thick fog of reactionary brainwashing.

More remarkable still was that several of the other women around them had stopped focusing on their work and were now singing or humming along, too, even as a few of them continued to be fucked or molested by the guards around them.

“So comrades, come rally!

And the last fight let us face,

The Internationale unites the human race!”

The thought-reader machine began sparking, overloaded by the power and conviction of both women’s socialist thinking.

At this sign of faltering from the machine that had wielded so much power over her, Anna sprang up out of her chair and delivered a spin kick to the Texan man’s face. The pre-cum leaking out of her gaping arsehole and down the back of her leg did diminish the heroic image she struck, but only slightly.

Jack finally came, both inside Sofiya and to his senses. He looked around, panicked, withdrew his cock and dodged just to the side in time to avoid the same fate as Billy-Bob.

“You… you communally owned whores! I’m going to teach you the meaning of short-term pain!”

He swung forward with a punch, shifting his semi-flaccid Johnson away from the line of fire in the manoeuvre. Anna ducked and rolled away. With Jack distracted, Sofiya tipped over her chair and began worming her way out of the restraints. Anna shot overhead, aiming for Jack with an extremely impressive flying kick. He effortlessly evaded it.

“Nice try, but you’ll never be able to match my speed. I’ve mastered the art of liquidity.”

He moved through the air as quickly and freely as marketable securities, landing a glancing blow on Anna’s arm as she retreated further across the room.

Sofiya was finally free. She popped open the top panel on the thought-reader. Jack moved in to strike at her, but it was too late.

She seized the means of electrical production from inside the infernal machine, pulling them free. When Jack landed next to her, she shoved the non-insulated ends of the wires at his body. He began convulsing uncontrollably until Sofiya finally pulled the wires away. He collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

They’d done it. They were free once more. Or at least she thought they were, until she noticed that her newly won allies had finally been rounded up by the sexually satisfied soldiers and that one of them was raising the alarm.

“Blyat.”

* * *

“I’m scared,” said Anna. Sofiya could see literally see Anna’s breath increasing in tempo in the cold cell. The pace of her words accelerated as she spoke, and her hands fidgeted with an empty spot around her neck. “How are we going to get out of here? There’s too many guards for us to fight them all. Syzmon has been transferred away for medical care. They’ve taken away my icon. I don’t know if I can take another day like that.”

“You have to get control of yourself, you’re going to start hyperventilating. Remember your training!” Sofiya said. It was hard to see Anna like this. She was the older and more experienced of the two. She was usually the one with the plan.

Anna closed her eyes and began to deliberately pace herself. Sofiya mirrored her, visualising her old instructor.

In – One Lenin, two Lenin, three Lenin. Out – one Lenin, two Lenin, three Lenin.

The two girls repeated their breathing exercises a few more times.

“Ok, I’m calming down. It’s just… it feels hopeless,” said the tall, slender Blonde, shivering in the cold. The temperature was dropping rapidly now that the sun was down.

“Nyet”, Sofiya replied. “It’s never hopeless. The spirit of socialism requires us to be imagine that a better future is possible.”

“Enough theory, Sofiya. We need praxis,” said Anna, teeth chattering slightly.

The guards taken most of their bedding away as punishment for staging another little rebellion. They were left just with their sheets. The two spies eyed each other awkwardly, both knowing what needed to be done. Sofiya broke the silence.

“Anna, we both took the survival training.”

“Yes…” she replied cautiously. “You’re right again.”

She carried her sheet over to Sofiya’s bed. It was not built for two, but warmth came before comfort.

As the sexy Soviet spy settled, they combined both sheets and Sofiya felt equal parts shame and thrill as they interlocked their limbs to maximise physical contact. Anna being the taller assumed the role of big spoon. They sat for several minutes in silence, until the awkwardness finally faded.

“Thank you,” said Anna. “I’m sorry for panicking, it was unbecoming of a KGB Leytenant. We’ve never failed a mission before and I’m not about to start now. We’re going to get out of here.”

Sofiya smiled.

“I know we are,” Sofiya said. She moved her arm down below and reached her fingers inside herself. Anna recoiled.

“What the Trotsky are you doing?” she said.

Sofiya gripped on tightly and fished out her prize, trying to hold her composure and not make any unseemly sounds as she extracted it. It was a small radio, around fifteen centimetres long. It had a bright blue silicone exterior, with an embossed icon of a wave and some small text mentioning water resistance. She hoped that meant it was still fully functional after being held in there for the last hour.

“I took this from the product display, as the guards were escorting us out past it. I think I could modify it to send a signal out, and we could call for help next time we’re let out for exercise.”

Anna’s confused look morphed into elation.

“Oh Sofiya, you’re incredible!” Anna said, wrapping her arms back around and squeezing her tight.

Sofiya blushed.