Dmitri

A teenage Dmitri Miroslav slept in his cot silently. His cot was small and sat in a corner of his nine by nine cell. It was late, somewhere around four in the morning. Moonlight shone dully through the slit in his wall that served as a window.

Suddenly, and without any warning, the greasy door to his cell flew open, and two men rushed upon Dmitri. They clenched their fists, and began to beat the sleeping teen without mercy, their blows wielding the full power of their muscle.

Dmitri awoke, sharp pain shooting through his nerves and to his brain as the two men attacked him. He reacted quickly. He launched his right foot towards one of his attackers, hitting him square in the jaw. Dmitri flipped sideways off his cot, and flung his fist at the other attacker. He hit him, but only to be punched by the first assailant in the left side of his rib cage. He turned and raised his knee into the attacker’s stomach. He dodged the other attacker’s blow, and returned the hit with an elbow to the face, crushing the man’s nose. He turned around, and stuck his thumb into the first assailant’s eye. He then proceeded to beat the two assailants to the floor. He spat red blood onto the floor, then opened the greasy door of his cell.

Outside, four men stood with large assault rifles pointed at him. He realized that fighting would be futile against four men with guns.  The four men grabbed his arms, and led him down a dark hallway with his arms held behind his back.

Dmitri clenched his teeth. This had happened before. The men were taking him to the infirmary where he would be injected with numerous syringes containing strange liquids. “You’re going to pay for the pain you have caused me.” He said, struggling. One of the men holding him spat on the floor and said, “Sure we will.”

The door to the infirmary was clean, unlike many of the other doors in the structure. The inside of the infirmary was spotless. Everything inside was a glaringly bright white, from the walls, to the small hospital style bed in the middle. Dmitri arrived at the infirmary without a struggle. He knew resisting was pointless, he had tried before, and the only thing he had gained was three broken ribs, a displaced jaw, and numerous lacerations on his back.

He knew who he would see inside the infirmary. He had seen him many times before. He was a tall and thin man with dark thinning hair that was slicked back with grease. The man’s eyes were gray, almost white, and had a dark look in them as though he knew something you didn’t. Dmitri didn’t know his name, but he knew he was Italian, and called him “The Italian”.

The Italian greeted him by quickly saying “Buon giorno”. He then told the men that held onto to Dmitri to strap the teen down to the hospital bed in the middle of the room. The men shoved Dmitri forward with more force than necessary, and pushed him onto the bed. They pulled thick leather belts across his chest, legs, and arms, and locked them into place with metal clips. The Italian looked at the men and said with heavy accent, “You may wait outside.” The men filed out of the room immediately.

The Italian walked over to the cabinet on the far side of the room. While doing so he started up small talk as he always did. “You have shown to be very promising number three-fifty-six. The serum has worked very well on you. You conquer every test we give you with an unstoppable determination. You kill without remorse, you fight like a master, you shoot better than the best sharpshooters. We are very impressed. In the very near future you will be allowed to fight in the war.”

Dmitri hadn’t the slightest idea what war he was talking about, but he assumed being able to leave the facility was a reward, and he looked forward to it. The Italian was standing next to him holding a large syringe with a thick needle and a blue liquid inside of it. Dmitri wasn’t afraid of needles in the slightest. The Italian pushed the needle and the liquid into his arm. Dmitri felt light headed. He closed his eyes, and The Italian mumbled something about the “serum”. As quickly as the lightheadedness had come, it was now gone. The Italian opened the heavy steel door to the infirmary and told the guards to lead Dmitry back to his cell.

The men yanked him off of the hospital bed and shoved him in front of them. They then grabbed his arms and started walking. They led him away from the infirmary and headed towards his cell, but suddenly took a turn down a hall they had never turned down before. “Where are we going?” Dmitri asked after he realized they were not going to his cell.

“Its time to get payback for all the times you’ve disrespected us,” said a man. Dmitri’s eyes widened. He was scared.

The men led him to a small room. It was only slightly bigger than his cell. Standing inside were the two men that had attacked him while he was sleeping less than hour ago. One had a large bloody bandage over his eye. The other’s nose was completely shredded. They were angry.

The men that were holding him pushed him onto the floor. They shut the door and latched it. Dmitri stood; eying each one of the men, contemplating what they were planning.

Suddenly he was attacked. A fist soared toward him. Dmitri grabbed it in pure reflex. He pulled it inward, and pushed his palm down on the arm’s elbow. Hard. The arm cracked, and bent inward. The man screamed. Dmitri pushed the man away from him.

Milliseconds later, he was attacked again. A man hurled his entire body at him. He was going to tackle Dmitri into the wall. Dmitri jumped away, and tripped the man. The man fell on his face. Dmitri didn’t have time to even sense the next attacks. A fist smashed into his face. A foot kicked him in the back. A push knocked him sideways. Five men surrounded him. One was holding a gun.

The men jumped on him like piranhas on a fresh carcass.  He didn’t have a chance. They beat him, hit him, kicked him, and pushed him.

Dmitri’s vision went red, and then faded into blackness.