How the hell had this happened? I looked around at my surroundings to see if my mind could come up with any idea of where I was. Unfortunately, the room was completely bare, save for a door that was unmarked, one fluorescent light in the middle of the ceiling, and the metal chair I was in, safely bolted to the ground. No cameras. Must be a makeshift base. Are they moving west? Or do they think I’m incompetent? My hands were cuffed, and after some maneuvering, I discovered they were quite tight indeed. Strangely, I still had my shirt and pants on, as usually the bastards took them off too, though these were different times. Things get rushed.

How long have I been in here? Time was a blur during times like these, but when you’re a captive, it changes again. Sometimes it seems like time stops, unmoving. Other times, it seems to be in fast forward. No contact with people does strange things to the body.

After some time, I heard a small beep come from the door. It opened slowly, and a man came in wearing nothing that I hadn’t seen before. It was the red and black uniform of OpFor with numerous black bars on the red chest portion of his shirt. Of course, he came in screaming in a foreign language. Hmmm, Russian this time and someone who’s of a decent rank. At least they think that much of me. He was content to ramble on and on about how I had no chance to survive, how this was a war we could not win, and that if I turned they would grant me special privileges.

"Do you understand?" he asked in somewhat broken English.

I smiled and laughed. "Bite me, asshole." Predictably, he came in to slap me, which he did, so I kicked him squarely in the groin. He didn’t like that very well. After he recovered, he got up extremely pissed; it made me laugh again. He wasn’t so nice this time though; he came in swinging his pistol hard, knocking me square in the jaw, again and again. I kept my head down until I heard the beep again; he was gone. I coughed up some blood; I hate doing this part. But it’s what you have to do; have to figure out how aggressive they’ll be. At least he didn’t shoot me.

This type of thing happened a few more times, each time with less abuse as I became more and more cooperative, giving information I knew they already had, but what I figured was good enough to keep them happy. Still, I only saw the one man. After he left, I waited for a few minutes. Alright, time to get on with it. I felt around with my hands, grabbing onto the sleeve of my left arm. Pushing my finger against the fabric, inside to outside until I felt the small metal poke through. I pulled it out slowly and made sure to secure it in my right hand. I moved it so it could reach in the cuff’s lock and began to move it, ever so slowly, inward. I listened and felt intently, the small mechanisms inside clicking into place. Come on, you bastard, open up…

Finally, the cuff began to slide ever so slightly. Good. I waited. It wasn’t too long before I heard that characteristic beep and watched the door open. I tensed up. He spoke in Russian, "Ready to talk some more, my Yankee captive?" I began to "speak," mouthing words with only a whisper coming out. "Hurt you that much, did I? Yankee scum," he spat at me. "Fine, I will come closer, though I loathe being this close to your kind." Is it really that easy? Sure enough, he walked over, leaning in slightly. They really must take me as a weak one. "Well? What are you going to tell me, Yankee dog?"

Without saying a word, I slid my hand out of the cuffs and stood up, smashing him in the face with my free hand. Caught completely by surprise, his head snapped up violently. Not wanting to relinquish my advantage, I stood up and cracked him in the nose with my other hand, the cuffs wrapped around my fingers slightly, making a sort of brass knuckles weapon. I heard the sickening crunch as the cartilage in his nose was destroyed. I wound up and hit him with my cuffed hand again, blood splattering out, and another crunch sounding off, though I’m not quite sure what it was this time. He fell, limp as a rag doll to the ground. Not in my country, asshole.

I searched him quickly, not finding much: his gun, a Desert Eagle knockoff, a few keycards, a few regular keys, and a small radio. I took them all, putting the keys and radio in my pockets and keeping the gun and keycards out, ready to use. I stood on the chair and pistol whipped the light, knocking it out. Darkness. I love this part.

Gun in my right hand, brass knuckles in my left, I made my way to the only small light source in the room; a red light on a scanner by the door. I swiped my card in the scanner. Beep. I slid over to the side of the open door and watched the light flood in. I heard the click of boots, probably two sets right outside. After a few moments, they noticed no one coming out.

"Huh?" a Russian voice said.

"Sir?" said another.

A head poked in, with a body right behind it.

"See anything?" said the second Russian voice.

"What the hell…?" the first said, moving farther into the room. "We may have a problem here."

"Why? What’s going on?" the one outside turned to look inside, slightly poking his head in. Now! I dashed forward, the butt of my pistol finding his jaw, a solid crack of bone as he fell to the ground. The first Russian turned quickly, raising what appeared to be an AK-47.

"Halt!" Instead, I ran forward, quick as a serpent and swiped at the gun, knocking it to the side. I moved inside his reach and snapped off two jabs with my cuffed hand, dropping him without much hassle. I love when they underestimate me, arrogant assholes. These grunts had nothing on them, save their weapons, three clips, and a small identifying card. Gotta love those automatic weapons. I put the bodies in the darker corners, then took up an AK-47 and the extra ammo.