The American Gulag - Part 2

“Sure kid. But American Gulag is warm, three meals, and you know that's about it.” Vas listed. “I mean we're starting with a low bar here from the run down joint you guys were hiding out in. Badly, I might add.”

“We were not ‘hiding out,’ Kir protested, not willing to elaborate. Evi’s tumultuous powers made it impossible for them to hide from anything. “We didn’t expect an American boy scout troop to show up.”

“No one does till we do.” Vas said with a wicked grin. “But consider yourself honored they don't send us boy scouts for just anyone.”

“And me not able to show you my curtsy,” Kir said dryly. “Four of you, and we were not armed. Some honor.”

“Like you even need guns.” Vas chuckled. “Dont play woe is me I’m a defenseless doe-eyed lamb lost in the woods.”

“One on one, outcome would be different,” Kir agreed. “But you know that, because you are not baseline either. You came to Russia. You came for us for a reason. Don’t play I am just an innocent soldier following orders.”

“Doubt it.” He chuffed. “Never said I was innocent. But I am a soldier and I am following orders.” Vas snarked. “Did the eyes give me away?”

“And the blue blood,” Kir added. “All of you have the same. I didn’t see you bleed yet, but I can take an educated guess.”

“Well then, there you have it. We walked in with kid gloves, and we got you in with all ten toes and fingers. Go us.” Vas said as they waited for a security door to open.

“So you are Tanks,” Kir surmised. “ Not even soldiers.”

“I mean, technically, the eggheads and paper pushers call us ‘Bio-Engineered Combat Assets’.” Vas said with air quotes. “The rest just call us Hellhouds. So no, not really Tanks or Soldiers I guess.” He agreed. “More like Meta hunters.”

“You are not hunters,” Kir corrected. “You are retrievers. If you were hunters, we would not be having this conversation.”

“No need to sound so sore about it. You can call us whatever the hell you want, kid. You're still there and we're the ones standing here.” Vas pointed out and he signed a paper ona clip board and passed it along.

“Kir,” He corrected. “You mistake the r for a d. Keer. Are most chudovishche more amicable about it?”

“Nono … I said it right. I call you a baby goat.” Vas said as they moved along. “And I've been called worse.”

“A doe eyed lamb or a baby goat, make up your mind,” Kir snarked.

“Why are you engaging?” Nate asked, catching up to the stretchers.

Vas stiffened. “Intel?” He tried watching critically for Nate’s reaction.

“Labrador retriever got his snout tapped with a newspaper,” Kir snorted.

“Shut it.” Nate warned, signing the clipboard as well. “He’s in here for processing, and she goes down to…”

“She stays where I can see her,” Kir demanded, the smile fading from his face, as he struggled against his restraints.

Vas booped Kirs nose like an unruly puppy. “You want me to take her down or do wana?” He offered, ignoring Kir.

“You don’t understand!” Kir said, fighting the restraints. “She’ll be afraid!”

“Jai, Rey, girl goes to medical. Vas, with me for debriefing. You,” Nate snapped at Kir, poking his finger into the boys nearly concave sternum to get his attention. “Relax. She’s getting cleared by medical. You want to make sure you’re housed together? You let this happen. Behave.”

Kir watched Evi be wheeled away, hitting his head firmly against the table, seething. “Fine,” he snapped, the word feeling sour, tasting like defeat. His eyes watched the stretcher, catching a glimpse of Evi’s braided pigtail as she was wheeled away, looking impossibly small in the silver blanket. He tried to steady his breathing, to remain calm. Evi was the one they wanted, that they always wanted to study, to use her power. Being expendable, he’d played this game before. Behave. Bide his time. Play the game. It wasn’t Evi that needed to be afraid. They just didn’t realize it yet.