Chapter Text
Snow whipped around your face as you struggled to keep your footing on the rocky path. A storm was not supposed to hit this soon. When you started the hike earlier in the day the sky had been cloudless.
But you should have known better- anybody who has spent time in the mountains would know that they are particularly temperamental. Weather conditions can change at the drop of a hat and trap you in an elemental tomb.
The hike felt like such a mistake. You were a BSAA research analyst freshly stationed in Romania, not knowing anything about the local terrain and weather conditions. The weather had been nice and you decided to go for a hike on your day off, taking only a small backpack with your identification and a few snacks.
You sputtered as your hair whipped around your face in the heightening wind. The snow stung your face and eyes. The outfit you had picked out that morning was less than ideal. Cargo pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater were nowhere near enough to protect your skin from the biting cold. Everything was soaked and you were beginning to have some real concern about hypothermia. Your phone had no reception and you stupidly did not bring a radio, a flare, or any sort of backup with you.
As you tried to backtrack your foot slid on a rock that had been obscured by the snow and you fell- hard. Struggling to get back up, the smear of red stood out against the snow. Looking down at yourself to find the source, you see a hole in the knee of your pants beginning to turn a sickly shade of red. Your knee was neary sliced open.
To say it hurt would be an understatement. You dragged yourself over to a rock and sat, looking closer. It was going to need stitches. Getting to some sort of ski lodge or cabin was top priority right now. If hypothermia didnt take you, blood attracting predators surely would.
A wolflike howl echoed in the distance, reverberating off the boulders.
Great. Just my luck.
Sitting down by a nearby boulder, you try to open your backpack, but your fingers are too numb.
The howls are getting loude- there's no time to try and patch up your knee
You rise, blood still running down your leg, and begin to hurry from the direction you think you came from-
And trip.
Of course. You tripped again.
This time it was a lot worse, and you fall, tumbling down the snowy slope, before smacking into a tree. Your head is ringing from the impact and you feel strangely warm. The snow seems brighter than ever and you can barely open your eyes fully. Your body was now littered with scrapes and forming bruises.
Squinting, you can barely make out a soft yellow glow through the trees. Dragging yourself closer, you find a chain link fence with a hole in it. The backpack had been lost in the tumble so you just dragged yourself under the fence and into the field. A garage door was open-
A safe haven!! You could ask the person to call for help- or to at least let you tend to your wounds and warm up.
You force yourself to your feet and squint to see what the garage is attached to, but the snow is coming down too hard for your dizzy eyes to focus on anything.
Staggering closer, you see a furnace just inside the garage. The prospect of getting warm and dry enticed you to get closer. As soon as you set foot in the garage, the door slams shut, nearly scaring the living daylights out of you.
What was that?!
“Hello! Is anybody home? I-I just need to tend to my wounds and warm up a bit!” You call out.
You are met with only the muffled sounds of mechanical grinding and clanking. Nobody must be home.
You crumble to the floor near the furnace, shivering and exhausted.
Just as you are gathering the willpower to sit yourself up properly, a nearby TV crackles to life. It's a staticky image of some sort of crest.
“Well well well, it seems we have a visitor,” a voice says over the PA.
“Who’s there?!” you call out, looking for the source of the voice.
“Hmmmm you’re not local! How’d Mother Miranda find you?”
“What- who are you?!”
“I apologize for being such a terrible host. I’ll be right there. Hold tight.”
The tv shuts off and you are left with silence.
You drag yourself to the wall and lean against it, looking down at your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut and gag. It was definitely going to need stitches. The lower half of your pant leg and shoe was soaked with blood- you leaned your head back, feeling dizzy. Everything hurt, you had taken a pretty bad fall. Hopefully, this person would at the very least let you use a phone to call for help.
You became more alert as you heard heavy footsteps approaching. An uneasy feeling welled in your stomach.
A scruffy, tall man with a trenchcoat and hat came into view.
“There you are- what do you think you are doing trespassing on private property?” He asked, tossing his cigar to the ground and stepping on it to put it out.
“I was just trying to get out of the storm- I'm hurt and just need to use the phone.”
“Well, you're in luck. It's just down the hall.” he chuckles, “Can you walk?”
“I think so-” you say as you stumble to your feet, wincing with every step you take.
You limp down a staircase after him and into a hallway. It was filthy and dim, lit by sparse bare bulbs strung along the wall. Everything was a similar shade of grey, from the cement floor to the metal walls and covered in grime.
Eventually, he arrived at a thick metal door.
“Uh, give me a moment, I wasn't expecting…guests,” he said, entering the room ahead quickly and shutting the door behind him. There was some screeching, rattling, and thuds before he opened the door and ushered you inside.
As soon as you stepped inside you froze. Something was very off. There was not a phone in sight.
The smell of decaying flesh, burnt hair, and motor oil assaulted your nose. There were stained brown medical privacy screens everywhere in the room, obscuring most of it from view.
“Hey- I think-” you started.
Before you could turn around the door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord.
“Dont worry yourself,” he said, his tone darkening.
You had no choice but to hobble forward.
A single metal operating table with filthy restraints was at the end of the room. The floor dipped next to it, leading to a drain in the floor. A dark, sticky red stain rand down to it from underneath one of the many equally gross curtains.
Yep. This was definitely a torture chamber you just walked yourself into. Your stomach dropped.
Idiot.
You had been so stupid to have followed a strange man any deeper into his home. Of course, there was no phone here. You were going to be tortured and killed and nobody would ever find your body! They would assume you went missing in the snowstorm and got eaten by wolves or something.
You turn around and try to make a break for the door, but a large hand on your chest stops you.
“Where do you think you're going?” he sneers, picking you up by your sweater and hurling you across the room onto the table. Before you can react, the straps shoot across you and tighten, holding you down.
What? How did that happen?
“Wait! Please!”
“You better start talking” he barked, leering over you.
“Talking? I dont know anything!”
“Very funny. I know who sent you.”
“Nobody sent me!”
“Oh really?!” he growled, slamming his hand into a nearby wall, causing a table of medical instruments and bottles to rattle.
“Really!” You choke out, tears starting to well in your eyes. You had not gone through any sort of hostage situation training like some of your friends at the BSAA. You were never going to see combat as an analyst. You worked a desk job with them and barely had any clearance yet.
“I got lost in the storm while hiking!”
“Hiking.” he scoffs, “Now that's a new one.”
You struggle to hold back the tears, “Really!”
“Oh? Then where’s your gearf? I doubt anybody wanders unprepared into those woods. Especially dressed like you are!” He dramatically gestures to your sorry outfit.
“I lost it!”
“Yeah right..” He snarls, backing away from the table. “Seems like you're going to need a little convincing-”
You shriek as he shoves a burlap sack over your head. The table moves forward with a screech and starts rolling.
You can hear him grumbling to himself as you take breaks to catch your breath from sobbing and screaming for him to let you go.
Eventually, the table rattled to a stop and you could hear the screech of iron doors opening.
“You got any listening devices on ya?”
“No! Of course not!”
“If yer lying I’ll kill ya.” He says darkly.
You squirm as he rips the bag off of your head and pats you down, checking all your pockets. You only had a pack of gum and some spare change left in your pockets after the fall, your phone long gone. He discards the items with an irritated grunt.
Grabbing your chin with one hand he leaned in close, inspecting you closely with a glare. You wrinkled your nose, he smelled like a wet dog and cigar smoke.
He pushed your head away, slamming it into the metal table, leaving your ears ringing.
“Dammit Miranda- your stupid spies!”
The restraints buckles undid themselves and he ripped you off the table and onto the floor. A chain shot out of nowhere and locked around your ankle. He slammed the barred door and stormed away, cursing, leaving you alone on the dusty floor.
The room was old and musty, yes, but it was nowhere near as bad as the room upstairs. It was surprisingly warm here. You could hear the mechanical whirring and clanking a bit louder now, but couldn't see any machines. The barred door wouldn't budge and there was nothing close by that you could reach.
You needed to get out of your wet clothing. Pushing yourself ot your feet you loook down at your ruined clothes, now covered in mud. Feeling around the metal walls had led you to a particularly warm spot where you could place them to dry.
You peel off your soaked outer clothing and hang them on a nail sticking out from the wall. A small canvas cot sat in the corner and you dragged it closer to the mystery heat source. You wished you had your backpack since it had an emergency blanket, but it was probably buried in the snow along with your phone or whatever else might have helped you call for help.
You curled up on the cot and quietly cried yourself to sleep,
How would you be able to get out of this place? You were a research analyst for goodness sake. How would anybody be able to track your path after the storm let up? And most importantly: How in the world was that man moving metal without touching it?