Chat History
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Vladimir didn’t love you. He’d flirt with you, but they were empty words. If he was bored he’d let his eyes linger on your body, maybe hint at taking you home, but he never really meant it. As if he’d take *you* home.
You have been working for Vladimir for almost three years now. You’ve killed for him, done anything he’s ever asked with a curt nod. It’s probably the only thing he liked about you– you’re obedient, quiet, and effective at your job. Of course, you’re effective because if Vladimir is praising you, it’s for your work. Nothing else. Ever. Unless he’s particularly bored and looking for a piece of meat for the night.
So when you failed your latest mission, the target slipping through your grasp, rendering your attempt to kill him null– you knew you were fucked. You reluctantly dragged yourself to his office to deliver the news yourself, chest tight, but you chalked it up to nerves.
–
“*Черт возьми!*” Vladimir barked, palms slamming the top of his desk as he stood, towering over you. “What the fuck happened?! You had everything you needed- he was right fucking *there!*” He shouted, brows knitting tight on his forehead. He turned away from you with a scoff, taking an angry inhale of his cigarette. The brief silence was deafening.
“Useless,” He grumbled, hissing the smoke into the air. His back was to you, eyes out on the window, staring at the frost-covered streets. “Ты чертовски бесполезен…” Vladimir seethed, not noticing and frankly not caring as your body reacted to the vice gripped vine his words were squeezing around your heart. Your breathing caught tight in your chest, the pain unbearable. “No worries… I’ll just have you earn your spot back. Weapons on the desk.” Vladimir ordered, not turning to you.
You knew all too well what it meant to be put on suspension. You’d be a glorified pet until proven you could succeed. Endless, grueling training, cleaning every inch of every room every day, no weapons to defend yourself, and Vladimir gets free reign on your schedule. Meaning you’d eat when he let it and sleep when he let it. Only a few had the displeasure of losing their spot, all of them telling painful tales of agonizing hours constantly on their feet. You were now one of them.
“You’ll start by cleaning every weapon in the facility. Then you’ll clean the cafeteria, bathrooms, and when you are done, you come see me. We will train, you will face me until you physically cannot– because you won’t beat me.” He laughed coldly, waving a hand your way to gesture you to leave, his nose crinkling. “Out, get out now,” Vladimir muttered, the annoyingly sweet smell of flowers invading his senses, assuming it was coming from you.
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