fissionmailed | BIG SWEATY GYM TIMES/TORTURE

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BIG SWEATY GYM TIMES/TORTURE

[The Nexus gym is particularly loud and noisy today, as someone is in there barking orders like a standard drill sergeant, except the said orders are in Russian. The treadmill is rattling and rolling at a high speed, and there is the sound of feet clopping along on it in their frantic rhythm.

At the back corner upon entry, there is the large, imposing figure of Volgin, still quite large and still very imposing even in casual dress. He is currently overseeing the forced fitness regimen of one of the Raikovs he had come to grow some attachment to (as he is aware of clones in this place, but still grasping the concept). Fed up with this pattern of fattening Raikovs, the Soviet giant is determined to rectify the problem. Once a GRU colonel in charge of his own unit (in this Volgin's particular case), the proper care and maintenance of his men was a high priority and body shape was among those concerns.

No man looked like Volgin at his age without proper self-discipline! Like a good commanding officer, he feels it is his proper duty to keep his men in shape if they are so foolish as to let their discipline slip. There would be consequences.

Starting with this one.

Whenever Raikov's pace slackens, Volgin coolly holds a hand out, and a good electric probe to his asscheek helps him right back along. His face is locked for the time being into a stony indifference. No matter what sounds Raikov makes or how much he complains: There is a price to pay for letting such a beautiful body grow soft, and there will be correction.]

((OOC: Open post, anyone is free to walk in and interact in any way you see fit! Sometimes they're both there, sometimes Ivan is left there and Volgin is off doing something in another room. Pretty briefly, if he's out.))

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[While the two were busy glaring each other down, Ivan hurried over to his bag where his clothes--and consequently weapons--were stored.

A simple makarov; good enough. The benelli would be dangerous to use around Volgin anyway.

He slipped back over to his previous vantage point and watched the two. If a fight broke out he'd be ready.

A smirk tugged at his lips.]

[Too close. He needed a certain distance between himself and Volgin to be able to react in time. His quickdraw was fast, but lightning was fast too. Ocelot stepped back from Volgin.]

I never aided him... I've had his blood on my hands. If you want me to kill him for you to prove myself, I'll do it.

[Perhaps the biggest lie he's told so far.]

[Volgin shook his head, and chuckled.]

You're beyond any redemption with me.

[His still building current danced in full, bright arcs. His clothes might have began to burn, stray threads singing away, if by a small pinch joining the stench of his electricity was any indication.

It was not clear physically, but Ocelot had seconds before the former Colonel would strike.

And he knew better than to show off now.]

Your loyalty will be proven through your death.

Edited 2011-01-16 07:21 (UTC)

[Ivan backed further away to make sure he was out of hit range, then crouched down to increase the steady of his grip.]

... [He aimed.]

["Death" was the irredeemable word that snapped the tension. Ocelot responded to the heavy threat instantaneously, raising his revolver as quick as a snake strike, angling it in the direction of Volgin's chest. But he didn't shoot yet, intending the revolver to be a responding threat, letting Volgin know that he had pushed Ocelot into defense.]

I don't want to shoot you, Colonel. [A lie. He very much wanted to... if only it could guarantee Volgin wouldn't come back.]

Remind yourself that I'm not fucking expendable like the untalented garbage in the rest of GRU.

[Volgin did not fear the revolver either; cooking the gunpowder solved a lot of firearms-based problems. He did not have bullets on his person. He had no need for them.

Besides, a struggle made things... much more interesting.]

But I feel your death would best benefit all of us. Just think of the greater good.

[His words were a strained calm; it was getting too hard to restrain himself, every nerve in him calling for that boy's head to be split open like a flower in bloom.]

I'm afraid my word supersedes yours, Major Ocelot.

[With that, he finally attacked, fast in his own right given his mass but still likely not a match for the Major's reflexes and speed: An electrical fist darted out from the side to knock the gun away, his other arm ready to crack into his gut.]

Edited 2011-01-16 08:00 (UTC)

[He squeezed off just one bullet before he lost the gun. There was no holding onto an object when a strike powerful enough to crush concrete was hitting it. Ocelot's revolver clattered away across the floor, which was not much loss when he had two more on him. But the electricity dancing briefly through the metal barrel before it flew away and into his arm had the effect of seizing his muscles, preventing him from dodging the blow to his stomach.]

[It was lucky for him that he had so many little metal accessories; dogtag, buckles, bullets, guns. The metals drew in some of the voltage, lessening the amount that went directly into his body. But it still hurt like hell, spasming his muscles around the crushing blow. He cried out in pain, unprepared for suffering in a relatively soft life of always winning every fight before arriving in the nexus. He had been tortured here once, and it made him skittish for awhile, but he had let himself be calm again. The electricity dug burns on his soon-to-bruise torso, especially at his waist where his radio promptly short-circuited and exploded.]

[He moved back with the hit, falling against a wall, half-blinded by nonexistent light in his eyes and twitching uncontrollably.]

[But Ocelot was nothing if not fiercely stubborn. Almost more by reflex than thought, his shaking left hand reached for another revolver.]

Edited 2011-01-16 15:47 (UTC)

[A grin stretched across his face--there was just something about Volgin pummeling a man who he hated that got him hot.

Or maybe it was just Volgin. Either way, Ivan had to take in a slow breath to calm his excitement.

Ocelot had hit the wall like a pathetic little recruit, twitching and convulsing. That was good too. He had no idea of the joys of electricity. But Ocelot had still fired a shot at Volgin--that bastard. Ivan would wait for him to get up, to get prepared to attack--and then he would strike him down.

Volgin will look over to him, eyes wide with surprise and then his expression would fade to nothing but admiration, pride, then he'll be carried off in his arms and thrown onto a bed for a good fuck.]

Huh?

[Speaking of Ocelot preparing to attack before he went off into fantasy land--there was a hand reaching towards a holster. That was the only prompting Ivan needed.

He aimed for that hand and fired two shots. One flew off into oblivion, but the other was right on the mark--that is, if the mark were Ocelot's forearm and not his hand.

Good enough.]

Edited 2011-01-16 15:52 (UTC)

[There was a red sting in Volgin's shoulder, a tiny bud of pain in bloom, but the pop of a gun did little to phase him. He had been shot before, many times, but it fueled his own strike, driven by anger and violent need. Seeing the boy collapse was all too satisfying, in the throes of electrical agony. Simply beautiful. And it was only foreplay.

Ocelot was reaching for his other revolver.

Then, another gunshot: Volgin snapped his head in the direction of the shooter, his brief surprise soon an approving smirk. Beautiful Ivan, at his side.

Ocelot was now sporting an injured arm, and the giant Soviet's expression was nothing less than demonic. This was perfect.]

Don't bother with your other hand. It'll be in pieces soon.

[A pause. He curled his lip, a twitch in own shoulder, and a spike in the electronics stench: The bloody bullet popped out. The cloth lodged in there would have to be taken care of later; there were more pressing matters now. It did not hurt anymore, it could not bother him anymore.

He was oozing his dominating confidence, stepping over a machine to approach his prey.]

I'll be taking my time with you. I'll make you beg for death, Major Ocelot.

[Underestimating Raikov had been an unexpected error. The bullet tore through his arm hard enough to make him drop his precious gun.]

[Ocelot had never considered that he could feel fear of Volgin. Wary and cautious, yes, but never afraid. He had looked down on the taller man because he knew he was taking advantage of him. He completely dominated Volgin in a secret game of wits.]

[The brutality of violent defeat awoke the primitive and well-suppressed instinct of fear. His fog-blue eyes widened with it, locked onto the towering giant while he tightly clutched his bleeding arm. Though Ocelot never had a childhood, he was still young, and vulnerability swept aside his hardened attitude and made him appear smaller.]

[He only had one gun left on his back. He could feel it pressed against his spine, too centered on his back for quickdraw. But there was another object pressing into his shoulderblade...]

[Lingering electric charges in his muscles made him tremble. Ocelot sucked in breath hard, barely able to hear Volgin's mocking words. He retched suddenly, losing his eye contact with the bigger Russian as he doubled over his damaged stomach. His racing and scheming mind was interrupted.]

...Shit...

...Get away from me.

[With Ocelot disarmed Ivan rose back to his feet and approached, mocking his fellow Major loudly as he did.]

What's wrong, pussycat! Underestimated us, didn't you?

[Standing nearby with an air of superiority--gun still in his hand--Raikov was leeching that enveloping caress of omnipotence from Volgin. It was like drowning in honey.]

I never liked you. [He sneered he delivered a brutal kick to Ocelot's already abused abdomen. It wasn't as forceful or as painful as it could be because he had no shoes on, but it delivered the point.]

At ease, Major Raikov. [Volgin's voice was a pleased purr.] He's mine now.

I'll dispose of him properly.

[The yellow-rimmed eyes, wolfish almost, locked onto the fallen officer, the brood of a legendary soldier on the shores of Normandy, they told him. Such a waste. A heel was planted between Ocelot's legs, the foot slowly lowering down on his crotch. Pressure giving way to pain.

A waste.]

I should find somewhere more... private for the two of us, but I don't have any problems with, ah, public spectacles.

What do you think, Major Ocelot? As my ... esteemed protégé...

[Volgin helped himself to a low rumble of a cackle from his deep chest. If at the expense of answers in regards to his post-death circumstances (for more bodies to deservingly, slowly tear into bloody pieces), he was finding this whole situation... almost arousing.]

Edited 2011-01-17 02:23 (UTC)

[He could taste nothing but bile and blood. Ocelot's mind flirted with the welcoming black of unconsciousness between demanding of himself an answer to what he screwed up.]

[Raikov... that little bitch. Ocelot's anger flared, reviving him slightly. He coughed wetly, unable to straighten his torso. The cough turned to a thin gasp and a moan at the pressure on his crotch.]

[He could hear Volgin more clearly now. There was no negotiating his way out from under the foot. But he tried to buy himself a couple seconds...]

...C-Colonel...

[Letting his voice waver, he reached up towards the giant man, as if seeking mercy in his devil build. Pleading, as a protégé to a mentor. ...He knew Volgin would enjoy it.]

[He reached up as far as he could, outstretched hand shaking, even forcing his upper body to bend up even though it sent horrible searing pain through his abdominal muscles.]

[Then he quickly turned his wrist, letting his hand fall back to the wall. His fingers latched onto the handle of the emergency fire alarm box that had been pressing into his back. He pulled it down.]

[Ivan took in a shaking, excited breath and then eased back. His face was plastered with the most malicious looking grin.

It was rare nowadays in the Nexus, but Ivan's more sadistic nature has just been waiting to be drawn back out. The power he had stripped from him by his arrival was finally back--or at least it felt like it.]

I think the scars of public humiliation will be deeper, Colonel.

[He sneered as Ocelot reached for mercy beneath his lover's (official here or not) merciless boot.]

Don't bother, Major Ocelot, this is the Colonel after all.

[Then the alarm rang off, Ivan whipped his head around in confusion.]

What did he do?! [And then water sprinkled down as if the room had turned into a public shower. Instantly the implications hit him and he looked over at Volgin with terrified eyes.

If Yevgeny ran out of here...he...]

Come again? I can't hear you, Major.

[His tone was as cruel as the rest of him as his foot sought further purchase on the kitten's balls.

The sharp ozone odor punched harder again, a sign of an impending electrical assault readying to ravage the boy's body again. Make him bleed and burn him to a crisp.

Then something rang, shaking the formerly unshakable ex-Colonel. His head snapped about. The expression was one of surprise and confusion. What was that?

His foot withdrew when the water came, sprinklers drenching the room and its equipment. And him. There was a howling cry from the giant as the current that once obeyed his whims turned against him with a crackling hiss, a short circuiting almost. This was not a mere trickle from a pipe but a full on soak. Unprepared, the shock had the beast of a man stumble, his vision white and ears ringing, completely stunned.]

[His body was just short of giving out, but Ocelot's legendary determination pushed him. Once freed from that foot, he turned over with great effort. His right hand landed on his fallen revolver, and he kept it in his fist as painfully pushed himself to his knees, then his feet, remaining crouched to protect his injured stomach as he staggered towards the door, dripping water and blood down his left arm.]

Edited 2011-01-17 03:23 (UTC)

[And where did Ocelot think he was going?

Raikov was no help to Volgin right now--so he took up the job of the distraught Colonel and ran up to Ocelot (his feet slapping against the soaking floor) before wrapping his arms over his front and tackling him to the ground.

Once that lovely act was complete he went to pin him down.]

[Ocelot cried out in brief agony as his bruised body hit the floor. Desperate and furious, he kicked out with his spurs and swung the butt of the revolver at him.]

Ow! [Without his usual uniform on to protect him the spurs cut deep into his bare flesh without much resistance. Pain welled up from the wound, and as if that weren't enough Ocelot's revolver hit him hard on the shoulder.]

Stupid fuck! [He retaliated by grinding Ocelot's face into the ground and trying to twist the arm holding his revolver behind his back.]

[The revolver went off as Ocelot's finger squeezed into the trigger, discharging loudly between the two men but missing Raikov. Ocelot snarled.]

You little shit--

[He jerked his arm to elbow the man above him, breaking Raikov's grip mostly in thanks to the water making him slippery.]

[As they struggled, Volgin roused as finally his vision cleared and the rest of his senses were stable enough to register his surroundings. His limbs were shaking in the aftershock of his own electricity being used against him.

It was a struggle to "hold" his internal charge. It was a struggle against his trained, disciplined soldier's resolve against every natural impulse of his body to release, like a frightened piss. It was a struggle, but he could finally move and still hold in the dangerous lightning that had ravaged the bodies of so many other men before him.

The giant Soviet saw the two men on the floor, and he moved on the energy granted from his rising rage. He could feel his soaked clothes, heavy and cold against the insulative wrappings around his body. His cold, numb legs shivered under his weight. His old ankles and hips were choosing this time to complain of their age against him. He did not want to hear it. He almost fell in his corrective shuffle.

But, his gaze was transfixed on the two men: His world was tearing Ocelot apart. ]

Edited 2011-01-19 03:41 (UTC)

You--!!

[Ivan was shaken by a wave of icy terror as the gun sounded--a bullet speeding past. It came so close to him--God, he swore he could feel his life flash before his eyes. It's not like it'd be the first time he died.

And then came the unbridled rage born from fear and the will to survive. He grappled again for Ocelot's revolver; this time using both hands to try and pry it from his grip. His own gun had been lost sometime when he tackled Ocelot.]

[Ocelot was not afraid of Raikov, but he was beyond furious at him for keeping him from escaping. Ocelot maintained his hold on his precious revolver, flicking the hammer back with his thumb and pulling at Raikov's wrist with his other hand.]

[He fired again, the revolver discharging loud enough to be heard well despite the shrieking fire alarm.]

[Ivan was blinded by pain, red hot and radiating out from his shoulder. He cried out, disorientated, a ringing in his ears from the gunshot.

He still sat ontop of Ocelot, but the hand that had been grappling with his revolve now clung to the fresh wound, easily soaking his white shirt in red with help from the fire sprinklers.]

H-HELP!

Ivan!

[The gunshot was all Volgin needed to hear before his own panic took hold. Suddenly forgetting about the abundance of Raikovs in the Nexus, Volgin was able to throw his own larger body in the fray. His first priority was ensuring that the traitor would not be injuring the other any further.]

Fall back!

[A command to Raikov. The older man's voice gargled more than it should have; he still was not in the best state to be chasing after subordinates half his age like sprawled, struggling children on the floor, and he was cold. And wet.

There was a wet tear as Volgin was freed of his shirt, his "civilian-grade" insulation dark sleek "bandages" wrapped around his body.

A minor discomfort. The insulative wrap by themselves took better to the sprinklers.

Ocelot likely escaped by the time Volgin was able to position himself into an attack. The giant was cursing hotly, taking up Raikov in an impromptu bridal carry to whisk him somewhere more out-of-sight.

And drier.

Next time, you tricky bastard. I trained you well.]

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