December 4^th, 1998 – The Promethean Research Organisation Facility, Level B5.

“You’ve done well so far,” said a stocky middle-aged Polish man in a lab-coat. He had introduced himself in the expected style – by kissing their hands – and informed them that they could call him Stanisław. “You’ve certainly earned our respect. Your dedication to your country and your way of life is admirable.”

They were seated in an old theatre – the kind they used to crowd soldiers in to see newsreel footage.

“When are you going to tie us up?” said Anna. “I’m starting to enjoy it.”

She knew Anna was being facetious, but Sofiya laughed nervously because it wasn’t a joke for her. While she still had full control of her faculties, this place was getting to her – making her think unsocialist, perverted things.

“Please try to take this seriously, ladies,” said the second man, a Lithuanian defector named Lukas. “This might be your last chance at getting out of here alive.”

There were few things Sofiya hated more than a traitor to the Motherland. The Lithuanians – like all of the Baltic peoples of the USSR – had been preemptively saved from the cruel ravages of Adolf Hitler by Joseph Stalin. Then, later, they were post-emptively saved from the cruel ravages of Adolf Hitler by Joseph Stalin. They should be eternally grateful for that twice over, yet here they were, collaborating with the enemy.

“I’d be more worried about you getting out of here alive. Haven’t you learned anything yet? We will never give in. We will never surrender.”

The two men smiled.

“I think I know you better than you think. I am a Slav and a worker – just like you. Lukas was a citizen of the Soviet Union, and he knows what it’s like there. Will you deny that you’re curious to know what’s really going in here – what the purpose of this facility is? If you hear us out here, I promise to… enlighten you.”

The Russian spies looked at each other and shrugged. In for a ruble, in for one hundred rubles, she thought.

The projector lit up the silver screen with a map of Europe – an old one. It must have been from before the Russian Revolution, but history wasn’t Sofiya’s strong suit. There was a large shaded area stretching from somewhere in Central Europe to the Baltic sea and down as far as the modern USSR.

Stanisław began speaking.

“This country you see before you was one of the most powerful and progressive states Europe has ever known. 1619 – the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Both Poland Lithuania were among Europe’s most powerful and prestigious nations at the time, but were surrounded on all sides by enemies hungry for their land.”

Sofiya couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

“What’s so funny?” said Lukas.

“Oh nothing,” said Anna, joining in with her own snickering. “It’s just – the idea of Lithuania being important is… well it’s a little far fetched, isn’t it?”

Lukas slammed his fist.

“Lithuania is a joke to you?”

“Calm yourself, Lukas,” said Stanisław. “These women are products of a Russo-supremacist education. You remember what it’s like.”

Lukas unclenched his fist and paced back to the projector to move to the next slide. This one looked more familiar – a map of the First World War, perhaps.

“This map shows the state of Europe in 1900. This part here, the Hapsburg realm, was-”

“A reactionary bourgeois monarchy,” Anna interjected.

If Sofiya were an American, she would have given the gesture of camaraderie and support that they call a ‘high five’. Monarchies were a blight upon the earth in any form. The idea of one unelected person holding so much power, and for their whole life – was simply disgusting. The dictatorship of the proletariat was the only fair way to administer a nation as it transitioned to a true state of communism.

“A monarchy, yes,” said Stanisław. “But also an experiment in federalism and the relationship between nationalism and power. We learned much from them.”

The slide changed again. It was a map of the Russian civil war.

“What you see before you now is a map of the Ukrainian People’s Republic, circa 1917.”

“I was born there,” said Anna.

“You were born in the Ukrainian SSR,” replied Stanisław.

“A technicality.”

“No, it is an important distinction,” said Stanisław. “The Ukrainian People’s Republic was an independent socialist country, not beholden to Moscow. It was conquered by Lenin, along with most of the other states that emerged from the collapse of the Empire.”

“Lies,” said Anna. “All of the Soviets were incorporated voluntarily, as they all rejected nationalism and acknowledged the practical, convenient superiority of the central government. I won’t hear any more of this nonsense. You can send me back to my cell right now.”

“I don’t expect you to accept the truth straight away,” said Stanisław. “I have heard you speak, Anna. I can hear the Ukrainian accent you try to hide. Do you not feel something for the nation of your birth? A longing to return, a fondness for it’s land and it’s people?”

“Nationalism is a tool that the capitalist classes use to divide people and prevent them from discovering class solidarity,” Sofiya interjected.

“And in any case, we’re both Russian,” said Anna, perhaps a little too defensively. “The greatest and most advanced nation of the Soviet Union. It is our role to guide and support our brotherly peoples.”

The two men looked genuinely saddened by this.

“It seems that her Ukrainian blood is thin,” said Lukas. “Should I prepare two bags?”

“Ukrainian or Russian – my blood runs red, the same as yours,” said Anna.

“Oh, my beautiful, innocent girl, you will soon find out exactly what my blood is like,” said Stanisław. “Yes Lukas, two bags please.”

“Are you going to keep your end of the deal?” said Sofiya. “We’ve asked you to take us back now.”

“Ah, but our little history lesson is not yet complete,” said the Pole. Sofiya was torn between rolling her eyes and yawning, and strove to do both at the same time.

“Across three wars, Austria, Prussia and Russia took part in three grand partitions of Poland. For centuries we lived under their boot. But the First World War provided us with an opportunity to prove to the world that Poland was not yet lost.”

“Yes, and then Poland invaded the USSR in a vain effort to conquer Ukraine. And ten years later Hitler invaded Poland. I know the story.”

“You don’t even know half of the story,” he spat back. “Two weeks after Germany invaded from the west, the Russians invaded from the east.”

Sofiya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was a disgusting distortion of the true events.

“The Red Army entered Poland only as a humanitarian gesture, to protect minority groups in the east from the invading Germans. You should be thanking us!”

The Pole laughed heartily.

“Oh yes, we thank you. From Katyn to Warsaw, we praise our benevolent Russian saviours.”

“Why does your voice drip with such venom?” said Anna. “I’m always hearing nonsense like this from Polish citizens. For fifty years, we have been brothers and sisters in Socialism. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“My whole life’s work has been resisting your empire, and witnessing it’s ultimate downfall will be my greatest pleasure.”

“Are you done?” said Anna. “When will you tell us what this is really all about instead of boring us with this fascistic revisionism?”

“But Anna, history is exactly what it’s about. Did you see the sign on the way in, by any chance?”

She shook her head.

“The Promethean Research Institute,” said Sofiya. “But I fail to understand the significance.”

“Then allow me to explain. Between the restoration of Poland and it’s conquest by Stalin, much thought was put into the question of how Poland could endure. The USSR and Germany both despised us. They were so much larger than the nations of Eastern Europe – especially the Soviet Union. And so, the idea was born – to break up the USSR into it’s constituent parts and to liberate the oppressed peoples from Russian tyranny. This plan, this ideology, was called ‘Prometheism’.”

It all made sense – why everybody was here together, in one place. This was the one thing the Catholics and the Americans and the Poles could all agree on – they all hated Russia, to their very core, for very mean and unfair reasons.

“So, you’ve all come here to work out how you can achieve the destruction of the Soviet Union.”

“Yes,” said Stanisław, smiling broadly. “And our final victory draws ever nearer.”

The Lithuanian returned from the other room, wheeling in an IV drip. Anna and Sofiya looked at each other.

“What the Trotsky is this?” Sofiya demanded.

“This,” said Lukas, suddenly raising an aerosol can up to her face, “is the part where we tie you up.”

The spray caught her off-guard, and she inhaled deeply. Whatever it was, it was fast acting.

“You…” she said, coughing. “You bastard… you…”

Darkness took her.

When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the pain in her arm. Her eyes were too weak to open, forcing her to focus on the second thing – the music.

It almost sounded like traditional Russian music. It brought back memories of her joyous childhood in Leningrad. But the closer she listened, the more unnerving it became. There was something was subtly off about it. Her trained KGB ear noticed that there were foreign, subversive elements hiding within the melody and rhythm.

This wasn’t Russian Music – it was Ukrainian. A pit formed in her stomach. Nothing good could come of such melodies.

She gained enough control of her muscles to open her eyes, which were struggling to focus. But it was enough to notice that she was hooked up to the IV drip, and a strange blue liquid from the bag was slowly seeping inside of her. And not just her – Anna was receiving the same treatment beside her.

She could feel it inside her – or at least she thought she could. It was a slightly cold sensation in her left arm, radiating outwards from the point of penetration. It was the slightest hint of decadence, a whisper of greed, the shadow of anger and resentment. The dull throbbing pain was getting worse. She panicked and struggled, but she was still so weak. The sturdy metal bindings were not going to budge. Sofiya looked over to her tovarish, and that made her even more concerned.

Anna was not struggling. She looked… content. She looked happy.

“You seem scared, Sofiya. What’s the matter? Don’t you like the music?” said the Pole. His Polish accent seemed softer now, less harsh to her ears.

Her eyes could now focus well enough to see that he had changed his outfit. Gone was the simple lab-coat. In it’s place was a preposterous ensemble; plate armour adorned with traces of gold, a metal helmet and a bold red undercoat. It took a moment before she realised that the large moving shapes directly behind him were wings attached to his armour. They were formed of a metal frame in a squared-off ‘U’ shape with what seemed to be real feathers stuck into them.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he continued. “The Winged Hussars were the envy of the world. But don’t look at me. Look at the screen.”

He moved behind her, and her eyes found their natural focus with the images projected onto the silver screen. Fields of yellow wheat contrasting against clear blue skies. A few frames of something else would flash between the clear images – burning flags, she thought, but it was too fast to get a clear view.

“What are you… doing… to us?” she said.

“I’m sharing my gift with you, Sofiya.”

“Your… gift?”

“Yes, my gift. You see, the Muscovite culture you call ‘Russian’ and the southern culture you call ‘Ukrainian’ were formed under particular conditions. The former, under Mongol rule. The latter, under the influence of Poland and Lithuania.”

Sofiya’s head was running in circles.

“My project here aims to recreate this influence – biologically. What you feel flowing into you now is purified blood taken from Lukas and myself.”

“You… you cannot mean…”

“Yes, my sweet little flower. You are experiencing Ukrainization. Soon this music and these images you’re seeing will make you feel every bit as happy as Anna. It will feel like home. It will remind you of your childhood. You will feel an unshakeable bond, a kinship with Poland.”

“Nyet… you must stop…” she said, as the pain worsened again. “This goes against everything I stand for… My body will reject it!”

“That is unlikely. Poles and Russians are both Slavic peoples, and all Polish blood is negative. It is perfectly suited to convert Russian sluts like you into loyal and patriotic Ukrainians.”

“Sir, she doesn’t seem like she’s taking to it as fast as Anna,” said Lukas.

“I am not blind, fool. That one already had subconscious Ukrainian sympathies. Her mind is taking to the identity like a sponge to water,” he said. “Let us see how they enjoy the rest of the show.”

Anna reached out with her foot to kick Anna’s chair, but couldn’t quite get there.

“Anna? Anna! You have to listen to me. We have to fight this!”

When Anna finally broke her silence, she barely recognised her voice. It sounded provincial and uncultured – not like the brilliant university educated woman she knew.

“I don’t know if I can fight it, Sofiya. I don’t know if I want to.”

She sat there, slack jawed, watching the projector screen. The transitions became more violent. Interspersed between pictures of Odessa and the Black Sea coast were the black flags of the anarchist Makhnovshchina. Traditional Ukrainian pastries blurred into horse drawn carts with Maxim guns firing upon Red Army formations. Sofiya could barely stand to look, but Anna seemed hopelessly captivated.

“I’m so sorry, babusya,” said Anna, tears flowing out of her eyes. “I was so ashamed of you. I was so ashamed of the old ways. But I understand now!”

Whatever it was she understood, Sofiya was now having trouble understanding her in turn. The emphasis of her syllables was shifting. Strange words were entering her lexicon.

“… home… Kava… I must … Snidanok … Tak!”

It was hopeless. She was speaking unintelligible nonsense. Was her friend truly lost to this bourgeois nationalism? Had the Catholics and Capitalists worn down her will to resist, or had she always harboured a trace of Ukraine in her heart, as the mad Polish Hussar proclaimed? Shattering her train of thought, Anna began softly speaking along to the music.

“Shche ne vmerla Ukrainy i slava, i volia.

Shche nam, brattia molodii, usmikhnet'sia dolia.”

Sofiya tried to plug her ears, but could not. To the refined Russian mind, it was worse than nails on a chalkboard. The arm where this luciferic foreign blood was entering burned with every syllable uttered, as though excited by it.

“Zhynuť nashi vorizhen'ky, yak rosa na sontsi,

Zapanuyem i my, brattia, u svoiy storontsi.”

It went on for a while longer. Sofiya struggled not to scream. Finally, the music came to a halt. Sweat dripped off her forehead and she breathed raggedly.

“A beautiful song, is it not? It was composed by a Catholic Priest,” said Stanisław. He turned to Jakob. “Do you have the test ready?”

He nodded, and handed over a sheet of paper. The Pole clanked his way in front of them and held it up before their eyes.

“Engels above, what is that?!” said Sofiya.

It was a pair of words, but Sofiya’s language processing centres were staging their very own October revolution just looking at them.

“I want you to try to pronounce this,” said Stanisław, looking at Anna. He had switched to Polish from Russian, as it was clear that Anna could no longer reply in that tongue.

She leaned forwards a little and considered the words for a moment.

“Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz,” she enunciated slowly.

“Just so!” said the man, excitedly.

The men began unhooking Anna from the drip, its work evidently done. The metal wing-frame attached to Stanisław kept bumping into things and making clanging noises. They lifted up her chin to meet their eyes, and she made no effort to resist.

“Congratulations are in order, child of the Borderlands. Now I must ask you to do something,” said Stanisław.

“Tak, speak it and it shall be done,” she said, gazing up longingly at him.

“It is time to make the pledge.”

“Anna, no! Please!”

Freed from her restraints, Anna took one dramatic, deliberate step back, then knelt before Stanisław. In his shining armour he was a vision of supreme confidence, standing proud before the brainwashed beauty, while Lukas watched on from several paces, biting his fingernails.

“As a subject of Ukraine, do you vow to serve Poland with your heart, your body, and your soul?”

“In this life, and the next, I will serve,” she replied.

“Do you acknowledge the superiority of the West and all its pleasures?”

“It is and shall always be so.”

“Do you dedicate your life to the destruction of all that is good and Russian in the world?”

“I will stop at nothing.”

“Then rise, Hanna of Ukraine. Rise in the name of Jagiellon and obey!”

They were even Ukrainizing her name! Sofiya steeled herself. These monsters must be stopped, she thought. She was going to break out of here. She was going to rescue Anna and find a way to undo this separatist brainwashing. She was going to kill these men – and all the others involved in these vile perversion of science. She flailed against her restraints, then again, then again.

“We will teach you to speak Russian again, but for now, we will need to deal with your friend here.”

“She is no friend of mine,” said Anna. She stormed up to Sofiya and looked her in the eye. They were bloodshot. They were rabid. They were Ukrainian. There was a fire behind those eyes – the zeal of the convert. “She is a Rosiysʹka,” she continued.

The words were uttered with such disdain. She didn’t need a translator to understand the foreign word that had slipped into her Polish sentence. Sofiya couldn’t believe how quickly this had all happened. How quickly her friend and tovarish had turned on her.

They were right. She wasn’t Anna anymore.

“Tell me, Hanna,” the Maniacal Polish Doctor-come-17th-century-cavalryman began, “Tell me what you think we should do to this prisoner.”

“Say the word, my Liege. I long to choke the life out of her. All of the enemies of Poland must be destroyed,” said Hanna.

“No, my eager little soldier. We are to keep this one alive. You will help us to overcome her resistance to the conversion process,” said Stanisław.

“Poland’s will be done,” she replied. She was obviously disappointed.

“We could probably increase the dosage a little,” said Lukas, still cautiously avoiding standing too close to the new convert. He hopped past and tweaked one of the dials on her drip.

“I will never give in,” said Sofiya.

“We shall see,” said the Pole. “Hanna, I would like to give another of my gifts to you. Another of my precious bodily fluids.”

Hanna dropped to her knees again without hesitation. It must have hurt to be constantly getting up and down like that. He fished out his average sized 13.97 centimetre penis from beneath his highly elaborate undercoat and assorted bottoms and stuffed it in Hanna’s mouth. Sofiya looked away. Her Ukrainized former partner and friend slobbered hungrily over it like it was the tastiest treat she’d ever had. She sucked it like she’d been in a desert without water for two days.

“The, uhn, the natural state, of the Ukrainian, uuuughh, as you can see, is one of total submission to the Pole. Their bodies intuitively understand that they are, oooh, the peasant class, and we are the nobility they must serve.”

She made the mistake of glancing back at the spectacle for a moment, and saw Hanna’s tongue extended farther than she had thought humanly possible, head shaking back and forth in a frenzy. This went beyond the techniques of her KGB training – it was like the Polish rod itself was the only thing she had to live for.

Sofiya winced. She began thinking of all of the ways that there were to end a man’s life. His armour would not save him from Sofiya’s wrath.

“Rape us all you want, you slime. It won’t save you. The moment you turn your back, I’ll stick a knife in it,” said Sofiya.

He groaned one more time, and spat his satanic west-Slavic seed down the brazen brainwashed beauty’s breathtaking throat. She swallowed it and made moans of exaggerated satisfaction.

He looked over to Sofiya, checking her reaction but finding only a white hot ball of rage.

“Hmm, I was hoping that seeing this display of total submission would break down some of your resistance. Perhaps we need to try another approach,” he said. Wiping some sweat of his face and catching his breath.

Sofiya’s arm continued to ache, but it had become mere background noise.

“Sir, look here at the blood test – it’s showing something unusual…” said Lukas.

“What is it? Oh. Oh my word. That is a very intriguing result,” said the man occupying the number one spot on Sofiya’s kill-list.

“Perhaps we need some more… positive reinforcement, sir,” said the Lithuanian traitor.

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Stanisław, who looked over at the two women and smiled devilishly. “Hanna, begin manually stimulating your former comrade.”

Hanna’s fire suddenly wavered.

“You mean… I should – but, my Liege, are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s quite alright. This kind of thing is not only accepted in the West, it is quite fashionable in some places.”

“But… Sofiya is not… surely it would be more effective to bless her your divine member instead?” said the confused and anxious Hanna.

“Not according to her blood-work,” Stanisław replied. “It says right here – fifty-two percent homosexual. My goodness, we weren’t even checking for that, but it’s unmistakable. She’s practically French!”

Sofiya and Hanna both went white.

“That’s not… that’s not true! Your test is wrong!” shouted Sofiya. “I am not fifty-two percent homosexual! I resent the accusation! I am a model Soviet citizen!”

“Go ahead, Hanna,” said Stanisław. “Start by giving yourself access to her body.”

The pain Sofiya felt was momentarily displaced by a mixture of excitement and humiliation. Hanna hesitantly stepped towards her, and began unzipping and removing her clothes. Her soft skin rubbed against Sofiya and she felt butterflies in her stomach.

“Kiss her. Not like a greeting. Do it like you want her, sexually,” he continued.

Hanna lingered in front of Sofiya. The moment stretched out into an eternity. But it was Sofiya who moved first.

She leaned forward and began a guarded Soviet fraternal kiss. It quickly turned into something more. It was shameful. It was disgusting and filthy. She knew that if she was caught doing this, she could be sent for mandatory psychotherapy – and she’d deserve it. But she couldn’t stop herself. Her body didn’t seem to care that Hanna had just swallowed a load from an enemy of the state. Her body didn’t care that Hanna was now such an enemy.

“Now, stick a finger in. Nice and gently,” Stanisław said.

Sofiya gasped as Hanna obeyed.

“Oh yes, she was drenched. Perfect. Two fingers should be no issue. Yes, just like that,” he continued. “Monitor how she reacts. Your objective is to distract her so much that she can’t resist.”

“Yes, my Liege,” she said, breathing heavily and staring into Sofiya’s eyes as her hands stimulated her private parts.

“Up the dosage again, Lukas,” said the Pole.

“But sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re already close to the safe level, if –”

“I gave you an order, not a suggestion. Set it to maximum.”

The increased flow brought with it renewed pain. Sofiya found the mixture of pain and pleasure intoxicating.

“Now you, slave, use your tongue down below,” said Stanisław.

Hanna complied. She seemed to love being told what to do.

“Maintain eye contact as you do,” he continued.

Their eyes had to stop meeting like this. Hanna was eating her out enthusiastically, all trace of hesitation eliminated. Had she fully submitted to her new masters, or did she, too, harbour repressed desires? Not even in Sofiya’s darkest and most depraved flights of fancy had she imagined such a scandalous turn of events. It was sinful. It was decadent. It was amazing.

The changes in her body happened so subtly she didn’t notice them at first. She was lost in the throes of passion, and began speaking words of encouragement – but it was coming out wrong.

Hanna didn’t notice or care. She just kept on licking, and Sofiya kept on writhing.

“Da, just like that, oh, tak, give me more! More!” she screamed.

“Wait, what is she saying?” said Stanisław.

“Uhh, I only got a few words of that,” said Lukas.

“Deeper, go deeper, I’m almost there,” Sofiya thought she said, though the men around here were giving her very strange looks.

“She’s… she’s blending in Ukrainian and Russian words with no respect for proper lexicon or grammar. Oh shit, oh fuck,” said Lukas. “She’s going Surzhyk! We have to stop, now, before she’s lost forever.”

They tried to unhook the IV from her arm, but she was cumming. She was cumming. She was cumming.

Finally, as her spasms of pleasure settled, they managed to still her enough to remove the drip. Lukas shone a penlight in her eyes a few times and measured her pulse.

“I think she’ll make a full recov-” he said, before Sofiya coughed up some blood all over his arm. “Oh, Christ, that’s disgusting.” He ran off to clean himself.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” said Sofia.

Sofiya’s finely honed Soviet mind kicked into gear. Lukas leaving had evened the odds. If she could figure out a way to appeal to the Anna inside Hanna, she might have a chance. Stanisław seemed to trust her completely – and that could be his undoing. She’d seen flashes of the old Anna, buried deep below. Or that might have just been wishful thinking as she was riding her former friend’s digits.

“Well, at least we got you, didn’t we, my pet,” he said, stroking Hanna’s hair as she nuzzled his leg – one of the few parts of him one could nuzzle without brushing one’s face against cold metal.

“Have I pleased you?”

“You’ve done very well.”

She beamed, then hugged his leg again.

“Oh, careful there, that’s where I keep my knife.”

Bingo, as the Westerners would say.

She would have to speak in Polish, to make sure she didn’t slip with her lexicon as the vile Polish blood cleared out of her system.

“I bet it’s a beautiful knife. You know, I’ve always appreciated a man who likes to get up close and personal with his prey,” said Sofiya.

“No,” he said curtly. “It’s not part of the outfit. It’s a standard issue combat knife with a bayonet lug. It’s the same type they issued in the Red Army.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m sure you’re very skilled with your hands, either way,” she said, winking. “Why don’t you show it to me?”

“That is the most nakedly transparent attempt at seduction I’ve ever seen. But you know what? Hanna, please show the weapon to your friend. In fact, I want you to make sure she really feels how sharp it is.”

Hanna complied. She brought the knife out of it’s sheath and slowly walked it up to Sofiya, giving Stanisław a little show with her arse and constantly looking back for approval as she did. She ran the knife along Sofiya’s naked body, starting with the leg, drawing it up along her face. She held it mere centimetres from her eye.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” he said.

“It is, thank you,” she replied, then dropped her register to a subtle whisper. “Anna, please, I know you’re still in there. You have to cut me free. Please!”

She could see the turmoil behind her eyes. Or, again, perhaps that was just wishful thinking. It might have just been a reflection from the fluorescent lighting, come to think of it.

Their gazes lingered. Anna’s muscles twitched a little, then she suddenly pulled herself away.

“Please, my Liege, please, order me to kill her, she said, with tears in her eyes. She’s trying to convince me to set her free,” said Hanna.

Sofiya’s heart was crushed by a garbage compactor.

The man looked terribly pleased.

“And did you feel any temptation? Speak honestly.”

“I… yes, my Liege.” She fell to her knees yet again – Sofiya was starting to suspect there was something going on there – then held out his knife to him, hilt first. “I must be punished. I must be reconditioned. My loyalty must be assured beyond any doubt.”

He took the knife with one hand and patted her on the head softly with the other, clanking slightly. She started to sob openly.

“You were right to tell me, slave. And we shall do just that. Two more cycles, and you’ll be ready for us to send out on missions – for us this time.”

He pushed a button to summon guards.

“And as for you,” he continued. “You have proven extraordinarily resilient, and as such, you’ve earned a great privilege. Tomorrow, you will meet the man behind it all.”

He started laughing maniacally as the guards escorted her back to her cell – alone.