WHAT THEY WANT

The next several days were hell. 

Not because he was tortured, or interrogated, or fucking anything, really. It was the mind-numbing nothing of being left to his own devices for hours on end. There were several brief things he learned during this time; one, there weren't any other windows aside from the ones on the ceilings of the rooms, and they were impossible to shatter. 

He'd know. He spent six hours trying everything he could, but gave up without so much as a scratch on the glass surface. Two, there was only one way in and out, and Matt never witnessed anyone passing through. There wasn't even a clerk at the desk. And three, Cifer would disappear for extended periods of time, only appearing to him at ungodly hours of the night to slip into Matt's bed with him. 

Perhaps it was a strange habit now that they were grown and Calaway betrayed him, but he simply couldn't overlook the fucker's superior strength as an actual supe. He couldn't deny him if he wanted to.

The hazmat doctor appeared every now and again, taking blood samples or leaving with those electronic boxes should Matt have needed to get sick. Other than that, after the fiasco on the stairs, the thugs who'd taken him wouldn't even look him in the eyes. Cifer must have said something, the prick. It was harder to get closer to someone other than the blond brute; even if it was just to garner intel. 

Nothing good had come from Matt trying to find common ground with Cifer, so now he was rethinking his approach. 

Metallic clinking reverberated in his room as he pulled a few more reps of ten—at some point, Cifer had noticed Matt passing the time with pull-ups in his doorframe. Some basic workout equipment appeared the next time he woke with Cifer having vanished yet again. 

It felt good. The muscle burn, that is. Matt wasn't a supe, so without his usual considerable effort, he's at risk of losing his figure. The alpha had been working out, minding his own goddamn business, when the door flew open without warning. Lev, that short, balding prick, let himself in with his gaggle of idiots. 

He damn near threw the hundred pound barbell he was lifting at his face. 

"Good, you're awake—" the man's face scrunched up as though he'd scented something foul, "it smells like Ubiytsa in here. Fucking rancid. How can you stand another alpha's scent?"

Mid rep, Mattias partially choked on himself and he had to stop. The look he sent the other man was toxic enough to hold the bite of a black widow. 

"I can't smell anything. I don't know what you're talking about."

Lev spat a noise of absurdity. "What's wrong with you?? Is your nose defective?"

"Yes, actually."

It was an easy lie he'd told over the years. Matt knew damn well that other alphas shouldn't smell good to him. It was a biological fact. But he'd learned at a very young age that, after Cifer presented as an alpha early, some alphas just didn't disgust him like they should. 

There was a medical condition that had a colloquial term for it. But Matt spent his life taking blockers and lying through his teeth instead; to be fucked up like that was a shame no self-respecting alpha could shoulder in the eyes of society. He'd be even more of a pariah than he already was. 

So he refused to even consider the possibility that he might be one of those genetic freaks. There was no way in hell. 

"... From your infection?" Lev asked. 

The man had been quiet long enough to let Matt think; curious enough without the strangely personal question out of left field. 

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"... No idea. Since I got sick, I guess. Why?" he replied in English. Matt's brows furrowed, tight lines forming on his features as he regarded the other alpha and carefully placed the weight back down onto the floor. His arm was aching, and his healing burns were at their limit. 

"Why is this not in your records?"

Matt's expression screwed in on itself. "You have my medical records?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Yes??" 

"Bah. We have kept you alive this long. You would not be here right now, not as you are, without the dialysis we gave you in America."

A nasty, tingling sensation pickled up his spine. Those faint recollections of a hospital bed, and sounds of medical equipment, returned to the edges of his mind. 

"Where did you get a dialysis machine, let alone one with a nitranium filtration system?"

His illness had been severe enough for him to know the device's composition that filtered the black sludge from his blood. 

"Shut up. It doesn't matter. The point is, you cannot hide these things from me. If you have strange symptoms, I need to know the moment they happen. Do you understand me?"

Matt's eyes danced a minute jig as he examined the bastard's face. He didn't look like he was messing with him. Still, it was odd that these people were so knowledgeable and interested in his wartime infection. 

"Yeah. I understand. But in exchange, you need to tell me what you want from me."

The glorified clerk pressed his lips into a thin line, but to Matt's surprise, he appeared to be genuinely considering it. Was the info about Matt's illness really worth that much? 

"Very well. I can do this. It is not like you have anywhere to run while we wait for news from the Kremlin."

"The Kremlin? You're not government. I don't believe you."

"Tsk, of course I'm not the fucking government! Those fleas could never do what needs to be done. Besides, with the Accords, getting involved in old affairs would invite war. So the president has asked us to take care of this problem for him instead."

Ah. Third party, illegal intervention. That way, if they get caught drudging old skeletons of the war back out of the closet, the Kremlin could easily wash their hands of it. Matt hated how much sense that made. 

"Fine. Why am I fucking here?"

"The bunker. In Siberia."

Ice filled his veins and his world went askew. 

"... You're not serious?"

"I am. You will take us there. As soon as we hear word from the Kremlin, we will bring you to the Cherskiy Range, and you will bring us there."

"I can't. It's buried under hundreds of tonnes of mountain rock."

"We have been excavating."

"Why the fuck would the Kremlin waste millions, no, billions, on excavating an old-ass war bunker?"

"You know why. Stop playing dumb."

Matt's jaw snapped shut in an instant. One hand shakily rose to claw down his face. 

"I don't remember where it is—"

"You don't need to. We still have that cute map. The one you drew when you were a child." 

"... So. That's what this is about. You're tired of wasting money digging up an entire mountainside, and you want me to find it for you?"

"Clever girl."

The mocking earned a low, guttural snarl from him. Men hovering around his door stiffened and bared their teeth; at least, the guards did, anyway. That half alpha of a man they followed the orders of? Matt could have sworn he saw him flinch. Elation filled his frozen innards ina way that felt like cool water on his irritated burns.

"Enough. I told you what you wanted. You will tell me of all your symptoms. Now. Even the ones you have neglected. Before my men grow tired of your arrogance."

Wound up as he was, a deal was a deal. Mattias attempted to simmer down his hormonal frustration and started the lengthy process of laying it all out on the table. 

This would take him a while, and he didn't want to spend all night talking about the shit that ruined his life. 

… § … 

The day they finally got word from the Kremlin, Matt had been about to lose his damn mind from being cooped up for so long. Besides, his room was fucking freezing, and the longer they stayed there, the more his brain betrayed him. He started quietly looking forward to the moment Cifer returned from whatever the hell it was he'd been up to for damn near fourteen hours a day. 

If only because his warm body pressed against Matt's back chased away the frostbite that threatened to blacken his fingers. 

But now that they'd given him another proper change of clothes, he was less inclined to lose any. He wore thicker, composite black pants that almost seemed skin-tigh. Alongside a black, long-sleeve button up, the boots he wore earlier, some gloves, and a new jacket that was black this time, Matt was far more comfortable. The material was the kind he was used to wearing back home—the ones that wouldn't absorb his infection so easily. As gross as it is, Dr. McTeer had assured him it wasn't infectious in that form. Just staining. Didn't stop the Russians from being overly paranoid, though.

With a shoulder propped against the wall, Matt pretended not to pay attention to the idle chatter behind him.

"Which night train?" a guard asked. 

"Ten-thirty, to Nizhny Novgorod," replied another. 

"The shit one?"

"Obviously. It's faster. Do you want to spend the next several months train hopping?"

"Can't we just take a plane, or a copter?"

"Right now? Too many paper trails. The Bogdanovs have more power on the rails. Enemies rule the skies. We can take private transportation once we get to Siberia."

"Bah, fine. The liquor better not be watered down piss, or I'll intentionally anger Ubiytsa."

One of the gathered men behind him spat with such vitriol it made Matt's shoulders raise defensively.

"Don't even joke about that! He's derailed more trains than I can count. He's psychotic. If you want to die, do it by yourself! Jump from the train, but don't take the rest of us with you!"

Matt couldn't stop the question from blurting out. "Is he really that crazy?"

Silence. An uncomfortable one. Heavy and loaded in all the wrong ways. It almost made Matt turn his head to look away from the exit and over at them. 

"Yes. I thought you knew this?"

"... Not really."

"Idiot! Ubiytsa only fought with that one during the war for a few years, while he was spying on the Americans. How could he possibly know?"

Spiritually, it felt as though a semi had rolled him over on the highway. 

"Oh. Right. 'Old friend.' What a joke."

The men continued their idle nattering for a while longer, but Matt was too stunned to speak. Did these people think Cifer was actually Russian? That Matt had only met him in Siberia? His mind failed to connect the dots long enough that Cifer and Lev had arrived without him noticing. 

"Come. We're leaving." Lev said. 

Matt shot up off the wall and was the first to the door. Cifer's jock laughter at his reflexive need to get the fuck out of here almost earned the brute getting flipped the bird. 

"God, Matt. Sad much?" the blond said in English. 

His hulking frame slipped into Matt's bubble for the millionth time. Teeth pierced the inside of his cheek as Mattias realized he only barely raised his chin with a silent warning. Cifer's hand reached over his shoulder, and for the first time, Matt saw it—an all black card, not unlike a credit card. 

Cifer pressed it against the door as though he were scanning a chip for payment. So, that was the key. He slotted that info away for later. After a moment or two, a beeping sound played, and the doors slid open, disappearing into the walls. 

An elevator. 

That was stupid. They're on the first floor. There were windows on the ceiling of the next floor up. Why were they going up just to get out? Standing there like a dumbass, a feverish hand shoved him forward into the elevator. Matt stumbled inside, and after a moment or two of catching himself, he turned, sharp on his heels, fully intent on flipping Cifer the bird after all. 

However, the dramatic shift in atmosphere left Matt's lips slightly ajar. 

The men—hell, even Cifer—stood at the ready. They held grim expressions; focused eyes of seasoned soldiers stared into the rotting depths of Matt's soul. Lev had remained behind them all, and then some, as though he were staying out of some kind of dangerous situation. Many of the guards had their hands hovering over wherever they'd tucked their weapons away at their waist. 

Even Cifer held his hand up, with his palm out and facing down, as though he were going to summon the infamous weapon he'd used to murder thousands of their American brethren on the battlefield. Cifer's ability as a supe was unique, unknown and terrifying all at once 

Subconsciously, Matt checked the interior of the elevator for any signs of hostiles or threats, but when he found none, he was at a loss. Powerful arms crossed over his chest and he raised his chin. He couldn't release any pheromones, either. Because of the blockers. But even if he wasn't in the beginnings of withdrawals, he wouldn't know how. He'd been on them since he was a boy. 

After eons of staring each other down, Cifer dropped his hand, cracked his neck pointedly from side to side, and made his way into the elevator with Matt. Every move the blond brute made signalled he was ready for some kind of fight. Thumb grazing his own jaw, Mattias gave up trying to sort out what the fuck that just was as the rest of them started filing in cautiously. 

It was a big-ass elevator, but even then, most of the men all clustered together on the opposite side of the space. It's like they were avoiding Cifer and Matt like the plague. 

"This is a shit idea," Cifer said. 

Lev looked like he swallowed a raw lemon. "I know."

"Then why are we doing it?" another voice asked. 

"Because. Orders from higher up. Can't be helped."

"Oh, fuck that!"

Someone behind the man in question elbowed him. Come to think of it, now that everyone was in the same space, Matt couldn't find the guy who'd attacked him in the stairwell. 

"Shut up. Let's get this over with." Lev's hand reached out to press against what looked to be nothing. However, as he did, the elevator beep again, and the doors slid closed. 

Matt had to admit, now that he could smell things to a certain extent, being trapped in a box with seven tense alphas really is a shit idea. He started feeling aggressive himself; if the inflation of his chest and the flex of his arms had anything to say about it. Cifer shifted on the balls of his feet. Calmer than everyone else appeared to be, but he had far less to prove here. 

The elevator began moving, and the box headed up. As soon as it got moving, something painful stirred in Matt's belly. 

It reminded him of that odd, twisting sensation he got at the bottom of the stairs—the one where it was almost as though there were some kind of physical thing squirming around inside him. It flared up again in an instant, tugging a hiss of pained air from partially cringed lips. The moment that left him, the other alphas collectively held their breaths. But the elevator kept going and going and going. The tension and scent got to where Matt could feel Cifer about to snap. 

"Quit it, you're gonna—" set Cifer off, Matt wanted to say, but it got stuck in his throat. 

The lights flickered. An odd black smoke seeped in from the vents, gathering at their feet. 

Skrt. Skkt, skt. 

Matt forgot how to breathe; it sounded like hundreds of tiny, hard insect legs were crawling all around the outside of the elevator at once. He faintly wondered if this was normal before one of the trigger-happy brutes drew his weapon. 

"I fucking knew this would happen!"

Lev grabbed the man's wrist, his face pale as a ghost, "hold your fire! Are you mad?!" 

"But he—"

The pain in Matt's guts wrenched him so violently he doubled over, wrapping his arms around his waist with a stuttering gasp as he did. 

Another guard, the one closest to them, drew his weapon, too. "Fuck!"

Cifer's entire body transformed into a visible threat. "Hold!" 

"HRK!"

Matt stumbled just as the skritch, skritch, scratching intensified. It drowned out the sound of men shouting, weapons cocking and Cifer snarling. Stumbling forward a step, his vision darkened at the edges. From what little he could see of his arms now that his sleeves had ridden up, Matt spotted deep, black lines writhing about in his veins. 

As though they were fucking alive. 

Agony and cement strained his heart so violently it nearly burst in his chest. Mattias fell to his knees, and as he did, he glanced over at the others. 

Whispering voices spun tales of wonder and velvet in his ears. The last thing he saw were the barrels of multiple weapons pointing directly at his head. After that, his world turned black and, as his sickly body was naturally inclined to do, he slipped into what felt like an incoherent dream.