Chapter Text
The colour red was a constant engrain in his memories. In everywhere he looked, when he opened his eyes, even closed them. The back of his eye lids didn’t hold an array of colour, didn't even show a void of blacks and greys. Just red. If he looked down suddenly, his hands would be plagued with a warm, sticky red, and when he blinked it was gone.
He was tired.
Constant reminders of what scarce of colour his life once held.
He would be strolling down the dingy streets of his now home town, yet he felt as eyes were on him, specifically him. His eyes watching, calculating. But when the soldier turned around, he wouldn't be there. He was paranoid.
“Do not turn your back, you are not a target, just the commissioner. be aware young one, always, unless you want a knife in your back and me another soldier on my hands to bury.”
He would tell the boy this. Every. Single. Time.
Constant anxiety pooling at his fingertips.
He was waiting, readying himself to strike out, but not vicariously, like his opponents, calm and calculated, a void of all human beings. But that was how he was taught. That was how they were all taught. Children, if they were still considered that, from around the globe, trained to be something parents told their young ones stories about at night, trained to be the killers they didn't want to be. Freedom from the Red Room was a hard thing to achieve, nearly impossible.
But somehow Tommy did just that. With no help at all.
Tommy. tommy. tommy. It felt good to be named his own name. He had many names back in russia. They called him Arseni, a Russian name meaning “virgile” or “strong”. But Tommy didn’t feel either of those.
He felt weak and unreliable. But most of all he felt lonely. He wasn't supposed to be feeling like this, he was trained to feel nothing, but every living human needs to feel to survive.
You can never truly lose emotion, just bury it deep enough for it to disappear momentarily.
Even if that moment lasts 12 years.
It had been 4 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days since he got out.
4 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days.
Yet it felt longer. All those days of mindlessly wondering what the first step would be, whether to be calm and calculated or brash and vicarious like his opponents. Living like the enemy. Because that's what he is now, isn't he? A fugitive, nothing more than a coward.
Would his brat'ya i sestry, his fellow widows and huntsman, be proud of him? or would they think he’s a coward too.
He felt used, he didn't feel like a real person anymore. In fact he doesn't think he ever felt like a real person.
In the 4 months he had been living in Esempi, Tommy had been void of what was expected of a child at his small age. Not that anyone knew he was a 16 year old ex-child soldier, ex-killer, or whatever twisted selection of words you want to give him.
To the people, he was Tommy Innes, 18 year old boy looking for work experience, born in England.
To him, to them, he was Arseni, the most notorious and exceeding Huntsman for his age. To them, he wasn't a human being, or a person, he was an object, used to do nothing but kill, calm and calculated, but in the most gruesome and horrifying ways possible. He wasn't a child anymore, he was merely a framework, strung up to be cast-off on whatever job or mission the red room wanted him to do.
In some cruel way, they knew he would always get the job done, he was too scared to miss the target, too scared to leave without red added to his dripping ledger.
He had no place in the world anymore. No purpose. At least that's what he was told.
All he can do now is make a new name for himself, build himself up on a fake personality, create a character out of himself until you can't see through the cracks of what he once was. Build on himself until there is no trace of another person living in his body, build until Arseni is gone, and only Tommy is left to pick up the pieces.
______
Tommy’s job consisted of restocking shelves and scanning items. Yes, he works at the supermarket.
Now it’s not bad per say, it’s just around a 5 hour shift, where he has to deal with old ladies telling him how to do his job.
He’s withstood worse before, he’s just gotta stick it out until somewhere else is hiring.
He doesn't mind working at the small cornershop, it's located in the south side of l’manburg, where the middle class live and work, he's lucky to have bagged such a job considering there's nothing rich or special about him.
He walked in after seeing a “now hiring” poster by the bus stop, he wasn't even interviewed, they just asked for his age and name and then told him to restock the pasta section.
That's what led him to where he is right now, elbow resting on the checkout desk, half asleep, until a package is set down in front of him. He's brought out of his thoughts when a brown haired man is staring at him.
“Asleep on the job? That's gonna lose you customers, y’know.” Wow. Not the first time someone has told Tommy how to do his job, yet it still surprises him.
“Yeah? Well good think you don't work here then.” He responded to the older boy.
“Wow, very sarcastic.”
“Your very good at stating the obvious. Did you know that?” Tommy took a second to observe the man in front of him. Dark brown hair, wearing what looks to be a knit jumper, he doesn't oppose a threat, yet nor does Tommy. You’ve always got to be on the lookout in Tommy’s line of work. The man in front of him held himself tall, he kept fidgeting with the watch on his wrist. He was nervous, and that gave Tommy the upper hand.
This man isnt a target. he had to remind himself of this a lot more nowadays.
He seemed to assess everyone, everywhere he went. He could be walking down the street and would observe the old man with a walking stick sitting at the bus stop.
He was just taking cautions. He's paranoid. He didn’t want to make a mistake and let his guard down. He's scared.
The man in front of him once again broke him from his day dreaming.
“Are you gonna scan that for me or not?” He pointed to the bag of sweets Tommy had picked up to scan somewhere throughout the conversation or, his train of thoughts.
“Yeah, just give me a minute.” Tommy responded, rolling his eyes at the other.
“Your a very interesting person, Tommy.” This almost sent Tommy into cardiac arrest, a slight tinge of shock was sure to be visible on his face. He must be rusty on Red Room tactics if he's showing his emotion like this. How did this man know his name? Do they know each other? Did Tommy murder someone important to him? Better yet, was he a part of the red room? Had they finally found him, come to take him back to Russia, maybe even kill him?
“Relax, I read your name tag idiot.” The stranger seemingly sensed the shock on Tommy’s face, a hint of amusement plastered his smile. Oh, Tommy feels fucking stupid now.
“I wasn't even tense prick.”
“Oh really? That head turn to stare into my soul really told me the opposite.” can this man not shut the fuck up? Tommy had 5 fucking minutes left of this shift and didnt want to end it pissed of at a random stranger.
“Are you done yappin’ yet? Cause that’ll be $2.55. Cash or card?” God tommy really wanted to go home and watch shitty sitcoms on his old tv.
“Cash” the stranger handed Tommy a 5 dollar bill, when a phone started to ring. It definitely wasn't Tommys, since the only phone he could afford was an old burner phone he got at a dodgy store at the mall. The older man answered the phone but not before telling Tommy to keep the change, walking out of the store, leaving Tommy to his thoughts again.
The ringtone sounded like an expensive phone as well. He’s heard that ringtone once before. He remembers on a mission, when he was 10, he was assigned to receive information from this man who was supposed to supply the Red Room with weapons, but backed out once he realised what the Red Room was.
Tommy played the part as a poor lost kid who was ‘cold and needed food’. When the man named Sven Belyaev, Born in Ukraine, moved to Russia when he was 32, now 35, offered Tommy his phone to contact his ‘parents’, and let him sit in his car to warm up. The phone rang, nobody on the other line, Sven Belyaev really didn't expect ‘Arseni’ to grasp the silenced pistol hidden in his waistband and shoot Sven clean between the eyes.
“Sir, sir, please do you have a phone i can ring moya mama with, i can't find her.” Arseni's Russian accent was thick as he spoke to Sven Belyaev.
Arseni wasn't nervous when he rang the phone, no one would pick up on the otherside. The ringing of the smartphone kept him on track.
Arseni wasn't nervous when Sven let him sit in his car to keep warm, away from the cold air of Moscow. The ringing of the smartphone kept him calm.
Arseni wasn't nervous when Sven talked him down from his ‘worried expressions’. The ringing of the smartphone grounded him.
Arseni wasn't nervous when he fired a shot, a silencer on his pistol, clean through, the elder man's head. The ringing of the smartphone bleeding in the background.
Exiting the car, there he stood, waiting for Arseni to return with red splattered on his face. A pleasing, proud smile written on his face.
Arseni had done this many times already, yet he felt absolutely nothing.