Chapter Text

Chapter 01

September 5th, 1982.

Seated at the long, mahogany table in the dimly lit meeting room of the Oggaz Underground Labs, Dr. Mohammed Benadda watched with concern as Dr. Olga Yàkov paced back and forth, the clicking of her short, black heels echoing off the cold, concrete walls. Her face was pale and drawn, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of fear and exhaustion.

"He's going to bring this whole place down on us," she whispered in a trembling voice, her thick Russian accent more pronounced than usual.

Mohammed sighed and adjusted his round glasses over the bridge of his crooked nose. "It wasn't your fault, Olga," he said gently. "It's four in the morning. He took advantage of your exhaustion and the lax security in the labs to escape."

His voice seemed to offer all the comfort she needed for a split second. Olga ignored him, however, and continued pacing. She was ignoring everything around her and within her, even the brutal pain she could feel down her back, but none of that was as important as the mess she had made. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She felt like a caged animal, trapped and helpless. She had allowed one of the most dangerous creations of mankind to escape the confines of the facility, and she knew that she would pay the price for her mistake even with her life.

"He must’ve planned it," she said bitterly to her colleague. "There's no way he could have done it on a whim and succeeded." She stopped pacing and turned to face Mohammed, her eyes blazing with fury. "He must have been planning this for weeks, months, maybe even years!"

Mohammed nodded in agreement, not denying that her theories could be their reality. "It's possible," he agreed. "He's a very intelligent man, and he's had plenty of time to study the labs and develop an escape plan. But that doesn’t mean you should be losing your mind over it, it wasn’t your fault."

Olga shuddered, "I can't believe I let him fool me," she said. "I thought I knew him better than that."

"You did," Mohammed said, "But he's changed. He's not the same young boy he was when he first came to us." Silently watching her again and studying her figure in hopes to not notice any discomfort or unbalance in her movement from an injury he couldn’t yet glimpse.

Olga knew that Mohammed was right. The patient had been different lately. More withdrawn, more agitated. She had tried to talk to him about it, but he had always refused to open up. How could she blame him? He was stuck in a prison for years and she was one of his tormentors. Now, when it's too late she realized that he had been planning his escape all along, and she had been blind to it. Perhaps it was his way of revenge, knowing that she would be terribly punished for such a mistake.

At the wide, fearful look in her blue eyes, Mohammed began moving toward her, unable to keep watching her as her thoughts ate her alive. He wanted to aid and give her some type of comfort other than words. But before he could reach the blonde, the storm had finally reached the shores.

The doors to the meeting room burst open and four men entered, followed by a group of tall, muscular bodyguards clad in black suits. The youngest man in the group, Rachid, walked directly toward Olga with a terrifying calm. His deep green eyes were cold and hard as they scanned, his sharp jaw clenched tightly in an anger everyone could feel.

"You better start explaining yourself," Rachid said in a low, menacing voice.

Olga swallowed hard. "I..." she stammered. "I don't know what happened..." All theories, thoughts and excuses she had to back herself up vanished.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rachid snapped, his voice rising in anger. "You had one job, Yàkov! One damn job! And you managed to screw it up." He leaned in close as if ready to strike. "If we don't find him, believe me when I tell you I'll make your worst nightmares come true."

Olga took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen Rachid so angry before. He was always the calm and collected one, the one who kept everyone else in line and comforted. But now, he was like a predator stalking its prey And he’d not be calm again until his claws and canines are buried deep in it. "We'll do everything to find him," she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from his in fear of her neck getting snapped if she dared to look away.

Aleksey Kurov, the director of the labs and the mastermind behind "Project Compas," reclined confidently at the head of the sleek conference table in the meeting room. His impeccably tailored suit, as dark as the night sky, seemed to contrast the gravity of the situation at hand.

Olga couldn't fathom how the project leaders had managed to prepare for this unexpected and crucial meeting with such precision. Their well-groomed appearances raised doubts in her mind; perhaps they had never intended for her to succeed, especially after the warning about her recent performance. It was as though they had orchestrated the mishap to provide a pretext for her removal. But why create such a fuss just to get her removed? Couldn’t they just fire her?

"Enough, you two," Aleksey's authoritative voice cut through the tension, pulling Olga back from her swirling thoughts. "Dr. Yàkov, I assume you have an explanation for what transpired," he added, his accent rough with every word. His baggy gray eyes hiding unspoken threats and stern warnings, locked onto hers.

"Dr. Kurov, we simply can't remain here and wait for Dr. Yàkov's explanations," protested another man in a matching suit who fidgeted nervously in his chair beside Aleksey. Despite his portly figure and perpetually sweaty brow, he spoke with surprising courage, issuing a veiled threat. "If word of this breach reaches the national guard, you risk the closure of the entire operation and potentially face an arrest." For an old, fat man reeking of alcohol and nicotine, he had a sense of courage to speak in a threatening tone to the legendary Aleksey Kurov.

The Russian scientist responded with a slight smile, unruffled by the words hurled at him. "If the national guard catches wind of this, Mr Saidi, your fate could well be sealed atop Mascara's mosque, a stark reminder to all of your betrayal," he calmly stated, painting a gruesome picture in the minds of everyone in the room. And it was an undisputed truth, for the overweight, old man with tanned skin seated next to Kurov was indeed a turncoat.

Omar Saidi, a former director in the Algerian Air Force (AAF), had wielded his military influence to drive substantial projects, including a collaboration with a prominent Russian pharmaceutical company. The partnership, initiated in the 1970s, had ostensibly been aimed at bolstering Algeria's economy and broader development efforts. Yet, deep down, Saidi was privy to the unsettling truths concealed within the company's actions. He held critical information, but his greed, a fervor for amassing power, and a single-minded desire to build a formidable military force for his nation had eclipsed his commitment to ethical principles and moral conduct in the workplace.

Omar swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making a brief descent as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze searched the room, finally settling on Olga, who had adroitly distanced herself from Rachid. She now stood alongside Mohammed, the vigilant guardian, observing the situation with the intensity of a hawk. Mohammed bore no direct responsibility for the mishap, but he recognized that leaving Olga alone to face Rachid and Aleksey would yield nothing but trouble.

"Tell us, what happened?" Omar's voice held a hint of concern as he directed his attention to the blonde scientist. Olga, her nerves manifesting in the rhythmic tapping of her foot and the biting of her nails, took a deep breath and shook her head to regain her composure. Olga, taking a deep breath and shaking her head to compose herself, began her explanation.

“I proceeded to administer Subject North's third serum injection this week, in line with the established nightly regimen.” Her words paused for a moment, and her facade of professionalism began to crack as she admitted, "But...but then he started reacting abnormally. It was a novel and troubling response, one that I hadn't witnessed in years. He began to exhibit distressing symptoms, marked by severe and uncontrolled vomiting, accompanied by agonizing screams."

Rachid’s series of colorful curses had led the doctor to stop explaining herself briefly, fearing the explosion of his wrath and its results. "He... I mean; Subject North did not seem to be responsive to any of my methods of aid, and I had to make a quick decision or find a solution to help him." Olga paused again. Rachid’s whole attention was on her once more, waiting for her to finally say the words that’d lead to his claws to dive deep into her neck. “Continue.” Rachid ordered with a terrifying calm. Swallowing, she finished. Not caring about what would come next, “I untied him from his bed, and that's when the situation took a disastrous turn. He turned on me, and the guards were next. Remarkably, he didn't deploy his supernatural abilities, but he wielded a surgical knife that he'd somehow stolen from the supplies table, and took down each guard that approached him with terrifying ease."

Rachid began laughing, his laugh anything but joyful. He was enraged and unable to believe the strange tale. “A fucking surgical knife!?” He yelled at Olga again, making her flinch as he stepped closer to her again but held himself back when Mohammed stepped next to her, giving the man a silent warning to watch his tone and control his anger. Her fingers instinctively found her inner lip, a telltale sign of her nervous tension as she shifted her gaze toward Aleksey. "It's worth noting," she began, her voice carrying a note of concern but capturing the full attention of her superiors once more, "that he was still blindfolded." The fact seemed significant, an unprecedented detail she couldn't afford to leave out, even if they hadn't previously acknowledged its importance. "He had completely committed his surroundings to memory, and based on my observations, he exhibited a remarkable ability to control his body independently of his eyesight. It strongly suggests a significant period of preparation for such events, possibly over an extended duration." She concluded her -not-so-predictable-report and slid her hands into her lab coat pockets.

Rachid's fury once more consumed him. He forcefully struck the table with a clenched fist, creating a sudden and deafening impact that startled both Mohammed and Olga. Even Omar couldn't help but jump slightly in his seat. "One job," Rachid angrily pointed his finger at the blonde scientist. "You had one critical task, Olga. But it seems that 'Miss Sympathy' here couldn't devise an alternative approach to assist her patient, all while fully comprehending the extent of his dangers.”

Olga remained motionless, her ground unyielding as she endured Rachid's tirade. The pressure he applied with his words felt unbearable. He should have been well aware of her dedication and seriousness about her work. To be humiliated in such a way before their superiors felt like a piercing betrayal, as if Rachid had driven a poisoned blade through her trust and affection for him. "Rachid, please, stop behaving like a rabid animal," Aleksey interjected calmly, his gaze returning to Olga once more, leaving Rachid to gape at him. "Have you ever considered why he did it? Why would he escape? Even with his impaired eyesight, why choose freedom when he seemingly has nothing left, not even the prospect of a normal life?"

It wasn’t Olga who answered her boss’s questions, she knew he had the answers, he was smart and knew these subjects better than any of them all. But rather, Mohammed who was still by her side had the courage and chance to speak. He shrugged with a shoulder, "Because he wants to be pursued and eradicated," he explained matter-of-factly. "However, the real puzzle lies in how he managed to elude our guards and defense systems with such ease." He shot a perplexed look at the silent fourth man who entered the room earlier with the group. He was seated beside Aleksey Kurov, his body rigid and tense. The only response he managed to give was a stern glare at the Algerian surgeon. Meanwhile, Omar remained unfazed by the exchange, keeping his focus on the core of the matter—the experiment.

"So, all of this was orchestrated to secure his own death?" He shook his head, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Killing such a brilliant creation isn't an option. It would have dire consequences, and we can't replicate someone like him. Times have changed since we embarked on this project, and we can't subject more children to it; our actions would be discovered too easily."

Mohammed observed the Director of the AAF in silence, his mind swirling with incomprehension. He couldn't fathom how a man in such a position could have allowed these projects to take root in the first place. He grappled with the paradox of a leader who had witnessed his people's suffering for so long and yet remained willing to subject them to a different form of torment, albeit indirectly. In Mohammed's eyes, the outcome was invariably the same, regardless of the method. At times, Mohammed found himself pondering why he had ever consented to become involved with this organization. Then, a stark image from his past would resurface—his life before he had joined this facility and ascended to his current rank.

Those memories depicted a life engulfed in hellish poverty, a reality where he couldn't bear to watch his parents and siblings wither away each day. Mohammed simply stripped himself from his morals and sacrificed his humanity in order to provide for and shield his loved ones. It was all but mere desperation for a better life. But the guilt and remorse stemming from those decisions would relentlessly haunt him. He wasn’t different from Omar. He saw the profound irony that he had become what he loathed the most—a reflection of the traitors and colonialists who had decimated his country and his life. There was no way out of his role in the whole situation unless it involved a bullet between his eyes. Mohammed had never felt so powerless, worthless and weak.

“Aleksey!” Omar pushed when the Russian didn’t reply, pulling Mohammed from his train of thoughts. With an annoyed glare, Aleksey ran a hand through his silvery hair and exhaled through his nose, “Fine then,” he sighed, standing up from his seat as he continued, “if North wants death, I guess it is only fair to give it to him.” His second in command, who had been quiet and glaring at Mohammed since they entered the room, stood with him, “But first,” Aleksey turned to him, “Tariq will send a search party for him, and he’ll bring him back alive. We’ll talk about the security upgrades once you’re back,” he said firmly to the rough man who nodded without hesitation and left the room.

The relief on Omar’s face at the decision had Mohammed fight back the urge to jump and strangle him. “What do we do?” Rachid asked with a raised brow as he watched Aleksey walk toward the door.

The Russian halted once again and shrugged, “What do you do best when you’re irritated, Rachid?” His grin sent chills running down Olga’s spine as she watched the interaction and understood for the first time why she had almost never witnessed Rachid’s anger linger around them. His released rage was concealed behind those impenetrable doors that concealed their experiments.

“On it,” Rachid smiled back with a nod at his boss and the AAF director before they left the room. Mohammed furrowed at his colleague and shook his head, appearing to have insight into what Rachid had been covertly engaged in all along, “Leave them be, Rachid, they don’t have to pay for North’s actions.” he said calmly as he approached him. But the tall brunette had already set his mind and plans in motion. “It’s my job to test how much of the newly made serum they could take, and hey, we lost a vital part of the compass, might as well find a replacement soon,” Rachid explained, “but don’t worry, I won’t be starting tonight, I’m too tired and annoyed to look at any of them.” he admitted before patting Mohammed’s shoulder as farewell and walked out of the room, leaving Olga and the surgeon alone once more.

A chair subtly groaned as Olga slumped into it, her head dropping into her hands. "What have I done?" she whispered to herself, the weight of the horrors she anticipated witnessing due to Rachid's madness pressing heavily upon her.

“Go have some rest,” Mohammedhe urged softly, his gentle touch on her shoulder had her sighing deeply, “I’ll talk to Rachid, try to distract him, and hopefully Tariq will be able to find North before anything goes out of hand here.” he explained when she looked up at him.

“Alright,” Olga replied, her voice carrying the exhaustion of the events. She rose from her seat and began wearily making her way across the room to leave as well. But she halted when Mohammed called her again.

“Olga, you've got...blood,” Mohammed remarked, his tone with what she swore was fear rather than simple worry as he noticed the darkening red stain on the lower right side of her white coat. He should have examined her earlier; he knew something was wrong. “Are you okay?”

Calmly nodding, Olga offered a weak smile to Mohammed, “Don’t worry about it. I treated the wound, I’ll be okay.” he couldn’t believe her but forced himself to nod.

Deciding not to push any further about the topic, the Algerian allowed her to leave. A few minutes passed before Mohammed himself left the meeting room, traversing the dimly lit corridors of the small lab facility. Upon reaching the control room, he knocked twice and pushed the door open. “The plan worked, he—”Mohammed's words came to an abrupt stop when he laid eyes on the vile scene before him.

His knees momentarily threatened to give way at the sight of blood. His attention remained fixed on the lifeless form of the computer engineer; Nabil who had been his closest confidant for the five years he'd spent at the facility. Nabil had provided unwavering support, standing by him through thick and thin without ever asking questions.

“You can fool Aleksey, but you can’t fool me.” Mohammed whirled around to find the man responsible for the gruesome death of his friend, only to find worse than just a dead man in the control room. Rachid stood against the wall with a gun casually dangling from his hand. In front of him a chair where Olga sat shakingly in fear, tear stains covered her cheeks as she lifted her head and locked eyes with Mohammed.

“Now tell me, Mohammed, why did you do it?” Rachid raised a brow and pointed his gun at the back of the blonde’s head, causing a weak sob to escape her thin lips. Mohammed had the impression that time stopped, he was stuck and had his friend’s blood on his hands. One wrong move or word and Olga’s blood would be indelible on his soul.

“Speak,” Rachid ordered, the click of the safety in his gun echoing in the room.

Mohammed’s eyes stayed on Olga’s as she silently cried in disbelief of his betrayal.

She was his lamb to slaughter all along.