"Light him up," he heard Ocelot mutter, and one of the Ocelots sprinted back to yell some words into the cockpit of the Kamov.
After a moment the pilot flashed on the searchlight, and everything within the wide swath of the beam was suddenly flooded with ubiquitous light. It was surreal and hyper-illuminating, a day without shadows.
And light gave sudden, arresting form to shapes in the darkness.
He heard a few soft curses, and one choked sob. No one judged that man, or looked for him.
A soft, low whistle came from Isaev.
Even after some time in the Internal Service, Nika was given pause at displays like the diorama that had been staged here among the boulders.
The figure that was lashed to the crude X-shaped edifice bore a passing resemblance to a saint.
His head was bowed low, face hidden behind a veil of light hair.
The torso itself was lashed to the frame with barbed wire, it criss-crossed the young man's stomach and solar plexus.
Venus de Tselinoyarsk, he thought, grimacing.
Slimmer body than Captain Molokov's. Still a nice physique...apart from the obvious limbs gone astray.
Nika frowned.
...Not a soldier, he thought.
The man's hips were thickly swathed in camoflauge net, like a loincloth, covering his genitalia.
To reinforce the barbed wire, crude metal stakes had been driven through each shoulder point, and anchored into the wood.
Liadov wasted no time in approaching now, his curiosity aroused, slipping on a pair of evidence gloves that Rakitin wordlessly put into his hand.
The lieutenant already wore his scene gloves. Forethought, and a good thing.
"Thanks," he said. "Are you ready?"
There was one thing that would determine how easy their first job would be- and that was the face, and whether he still had one.
Nika gently grasped the young man by the hair, raising his head and looking into his face.
His face, yes. He had one. A nice one, with half open doe-eyes, and child-like lips. He was not much over twenty.
"We've got features," he said, to Rakitin. "Someone will be able to ID him."
He raised the man's head, steadying his chin, cradling the face in his gloved hands like a statue or an artifact.
Presenting him to the assembly.
"Does anyone recognize him?" he asked. "He was probably a scientist, or a medic. Maybe a mechanic?"
no subject
After a moment the pilot flashed on the searchlight, and everything within the wide swath of the beam was suddenly flooded with ubiquitous light. It was surreal and hyper-illuminating, a day without shadows.
And light gave sudden, arresting form to shapes in the darkness.
He heard a few soft curses, and one choked sob. No one judged that man, or looked for him.
A soft, low whistle came from Isaev.
Even after some time in the Internal Service, Nika was given pause at displays like the diorama that had been staged here among the boulders.
The figure that was lashed to the crude X-shaped edifice bore a passing resemblance to a saint.
His head was bowed low, face hidden behind a veil of light hair.
The torso itself was lashed to the frame with barbed wire, it criss-crossed the young man's stomach and solar plexus.
Venus de Tselinoyarsk, he thought, grimacing.
Slimmer body than Captain Molokov's. Still a nice physique...apart from the obvious limbs gone astray.
Nika frowned.
...Not a soldier, he thought.
The man's hips were thickly swathed in camoflauge net, like a loincloth, covering his genitalia.
To reinforce the barbed wire, crude metal stakes had been driven through each shoulder point, and anchored into the wood.
Liadov wasted no time in approaching now, his curiosity aroused, slipping on a pair of evidence gloves that Rakitin wordlessly put into his hand.
The lieutenant already wore his scene gloves. Forethought, and a good thing.
"Thanks," he said. "Are you ready?"
There was one thing that would determine how easy their first job would be- and that was the face, and whether he still had one.
Nika gently grasped the young man by the hair, raising his head and looking into his face.
His face, yes. He had one. A nice one, with half open doe-eyes, and child-like lips. He was not much over twenty.
"We've got features," he said, to Rakitin. "Someone will be able to ID him."
He raised the man's head, steadying his chin, cradling the face in his gloved hands like a statue or an artifact.
Presenting him to the assembly.
"Does anyone recognize him?" he asked. "He was probably a scientist, or a medic. Maybe a mechanic?"