THE CRADLE

Mattias woke up with a start for the billionth time. And when he did, the liveliness that came with being out and about in a city assaulted him. He was lying on some kind of bench—metal; it seemed—considering it was uncomfortable and flat as hell. Air deflated roughly through pursed lips as he forced himself to sit upright, blinking in the odd, unnaturally low lighting. 

When his world came into focus, Mattias' brain became a blank slate of awe. 

It was like they were in some kind of underground city made of twisted scrap metal, destroyed buildings and a massive cavernous space that went up so high it made his head spin. There were people dressed in clearly illegal supe attire—partial suits that wore colors, symbols or brands Matt had never heard of, let alone witnessed before. 

Men and women milled about in their sunless day, illuminated by old streetlights that were likely scavenged and refurbished from the ruins above. Neon lights blared messages of sales and shady dealings. Peddlers, packed like sardines in the tight spaces, sold guns from what looked like bustling market stalls. 

It was loud. People were shouting for items and weapons, odd smelling street food, or even old mark two or three nitranium suit parts they likely stripped from the dead and sold for profit. It smelled of booze, alphas, sex and food. The streets are compact, but there weren't any signs of roads. 

Buildings were so tall that they blocked his view, disorienting him amidst the chaos. Matt could have sworn he saw eight sets of red eyes peering at him from a dark alley across the way, but they vanished just as swiftly as they arrived. 

"Fresh skewers, Teeth Special! If you've got a hungry monster, bring it here! We'll make sure it doesn't eat you! A Hundred sixty rubles a pop!"

"Anti-supe weaponry, mods, and shield generators! Black market only, no official brands!"

"Where the fuck is the nearest hotel?"

Matt was dizzy. Nauseated, he swung his legs over the bench he'd been resting on and held the edges tight enough to hurt his hands. Spreading his less-pained legs, Matt hung his head and stared down at the scrap metal grating that made up the walkways of this place. What the hell was this place? More importantly, where were his captors? 

Cifer had… 

Something isn't right. They wouldn't just leave him alone on a bench like this. Where were the guards? 

"You look like you may be sick," said a voice somewhere to his left. 

Matt's muscles rolled as his knuckle turned white.

"... I'll be fine."

"Oh~?"

Matt felt someone's presence sink down onto the bench next to him. After some shuffling, a gloved hand, formally dressed, offered him a sealed gas-station water bottle. 

"You speak with an outdated accent. Where are you from?" 

Where was he…? Fuck, was this just some random guy on the street? For a fraction of a second, Matt held out hope the man here may help him. But his wartime instincts told him this whole thing reeked of danger. He also wasn't dumb enough to drink some random liquid he got from a stranger. 

However, he didn't know where he was, much less what etiquette demanded of him. Head throbbing too hard to look up properly, Matt grabbed the bottle, shut his eyes and pressed its cool exterior against his forehead. 

"... Do you always ask people you've never met personal questions right off the bat?" Matt's nausea was waning, but he wasn't moving an inch until he knew he wouldn't actively contaminate a space with so many people. 

"No. But you seemed as though you were being kidnapped, so I assumed you may be in need of assistance. Was I incorrect?"

His breath tightened in his throat. Closing one eye to minimize dizziness and the possibility of double vision, Mattias turned his head toward the voice of the man who'd appeared out of nowhere. 

"... You weren't."

It wasn't exactly safe to admit, but even if this was some kind of sick trick, Matt wouldn't let this pass him by. 

The man next to him was a thin sort; all sharp, refined angles, dark, medium length hair and dark eyes. His nose was sharper than any man's Hedy ever seen before—it was almost unsightly. It reminded Matt of the imperfection on Cifer's back, the one he hadn't had the chance to observe properly, let alone ask about. 

The man wore a plain, unusually clean black suit, considering their fairly dirty and chaotic surroundings. He had white gloves on and somewhat sunken cheeks that made his prominent cheekbones pop. If someone did that intentionally, he would have questioned their taste in facial craftsmanship. This guy had to be a nate baby. Or maybe a nate baby cross with a designer? He was big—not as big as Matt, but his long legs at least suggested height. 

Whereas Lev was ugly by choice of overeating and not bothering to take care of his hairline, this man had a disturbing air about him. There was just something… off. He couldn't peg what it was for the life of him. 

"Figured me out yet?" the man's eyes twinkled. 

"No." 

The stranger laughed flippantly; it was airy, unassuming, and altogether uncomfortable. 

Matt's entire body went on high alert. "What happened to the men who took me?"

"Nothing. I sent them away for questioning. They had the Bogdanovs' calling card. A curious thing, seeing as this is Kvasov territory. The Bogdanovs own the Cradle sector in Moscow, not the ruins of Nizhny Novgorod." 

This wasn't helping Mattias sort out his thoughts. 

"... Are the Bogdanovs that important?"

"Ah, that explains the accent, then."

"What does?"

"Everyone and their mothers know the Bogdanovs are the most powerful family in Russia. Only a foreigner would ask something as absurd as 'are the Bogdanovs that important?'"

Matt's entire being reacted as though he'd been shot. No. That didn't make a lick of sense. Cifer—he was American, how the hell did he—

"That's not possible." 

"Hm. You look rather upset. Did they bring you here for the meat grinder, or are you a stud horse for breeding?"

"What?" 

"Well?"

".... Neither. Shit, it's none of your business. Where's the exit?"

"Down this street, take a left, then go straight until you see the red-light district. Just past there, you'll find an armored gate and an access tunnel."

Matt's legs half gave out on him as he shot up from his seat. "Thanks—" he swayed, still dizzy from whatever mess Cifer had made him breathe. That water bottle clattered to the floor and rolled under the bench just as a long-fingered hand reached out to steady him.

"Careful," said the man. 

"I'll be fine. I just… I need to get to the exit."

"Certainly. So long as you've got a black card, you can get through the gates."

His heart sank. A black card? Oh, hell. Was he talking about that thing Cifer used to open the door to the elevator? 

"Where do I get one?"

"You can buy them at the exchange kiosks. But if you're not affiliated with a family, you'll have a difficult time getting around down here."

Buy. Rubles. He didn't have any cash on him, either. The man seemed to read his features as Matt politely pulled his arm away. "Anywhere I can go to make quick cash, then?" 

If he had to do something messy just to escape cleanly, he fucking would. 

"Certainly. Man like you? Tall, muscular, pretty. And a knot on you, from what I can see. Why not head to the red-light district and offer up a quick fuck?"

His knot? How the fuck could he—oh. When Matt looked down, he realized his jacket was gone. Eyes shifted back to the bench in search of it, quickly finding it bundled up where his head had been before. So much for hiding his partially deflated knot. Subconsciously, Matt brought a sheepish hand down to cover his bulging shame. 

"I can't. I got something. Don't want to spread it around."

"You mean the Rot, don't you?" 

Matt's chest grew, and his chin jutted. "What makes you say that?"

The man pointed at his own neck, and Mattias subconsciously raised his hand to rest against the spot in question. As soon as his fingers touched a feverish patch of skin, he realized what had happened before the man even had to say it. 

"Your veins, just there. They're black."

"... Thanks for telling me. Now, about that work—"

"There are people out there who can touch you without getting ill, you know."

Matt's head emptied yet again, but this time, his eyes narrowed as his lip upturned into a slight snarl. "Don't joke about that."

"I'm not. It's the new world order's best kept secret. There are certain… subspecies of supes who would be immune to your touch. If you'd like, I can tell you all about it. Perhaps over a cup of coffee?"

Was this guy taking the piss? Why did that sound like some kind of attempt at asking Matt out on a date? This entire conversation felt straight out of a loony bin. It made him burst into laughter, his trembling fingers clawing painfully into his neck as he regarded the man with a scowl. 

"You find out the most powerful family in Russia might have just tried to kidnap me, tell me to go fuck for cash to get what I need to escape, then change your mind and ask me for coffee instead?"

"Well. Yes. That sounds about correct. Your Russian is better than I expected."

"... Are you on drugs right now?"

"Aren't you?"

"That's different. They knocked me out."

"With what?"

"Probably chloroform. Quit changing the subject. I'm not fucking for cash. If you don't know where else I can—"

"Supe-grade chloroform? I'm surprised you're able to stand."

"Of course not, it had to be natural gra—"

Ah, fuck. He was just talked in to revealing the fact that he isn't a supe. Matt clamped his mouth shut and took another look around. 

"Look, I'm grateful you saved me, but I really have to go. Maybe we can have coffee some other time. I need to get out of here before things get any worse."

"Some other time? Well, now. I'll hold you to it. Though you may want to reconsider." 

The man held out his arm as though he were planning on escorting Mattias through the busy streets. The dark-haired alpha stared at him like he'd grown a tail on his snout. 

"I have a black card myself. Quite an influential one, actually. If you need help, and you don't feel like wetting your cock or spreading your legs, why not indulge me in that coffee? If you change your mind, I'll get you out of here myself."

Matt's jaw protruded painfully as his sluggish brain tried to turn the gears inside his head. "... You wanna risk pissing off the Bogdanovs?"

"I can certainly try not to. But wouldn't it be their fault for leaving you so poorly guarded?"

Tits. He was being tricked. This guy was one hundred percent the worst option he could pick in this scenario. Matt's traitorous brain decided now was a good time to wonder where the hell Cifer had gone to, because he somehow felt like the lesser evil. He may be in a shit situation, but he was neither some idiot damsel in distress nor completely without street smarts. Matty wasn't going anywhere with this guy.

"Look, I don't—"

Words died in his throat as a sizzling hand grabbed Matt's arm and yanked him back. The war veteran had been about ten seconds away from elbowing whoever had done that in the cock before the soothing scent of campfire, marshmallows, s'mores and hot caramel gave him pause. 

That boiling wall of muscle Matt's back collided against felt wound up so fucking tightly he thought he might pop any second now. "Iosif."

"Ah. Master Bogdanov. What a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you all the way out here. To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

The expression on the man's face changed. It was dark, seductive, yet entirely maniacal and unhinged. It made Mattias feel as though he were a bug that had nearly stepped onto a spider's web.

"Just passing through. Doesn't concern you."

"Oh, but it does."

The tension grew thicker, and Matt realized a little too late this was going south faster than he could rectify. He had to deescalate this in the next ten seconds or there would be blood.