Part 3

Date: April 25, 1967

Location: [REDACTED]

(What….)

A thought broke out.

Everything was quiet.

(What is this?) In a large, dimly lit room with large red curtains covering the windows, a desk near the back, and bookshelves lined against the walls, a thought broke out in his head.

Everything was quiet as the man stood there, trying to comprehend what was just said to the seven men in the dimly lit room.

The seven men stood at the desk, side by side.

(This must be a joke, right?)

Everything now seemed surreal to the young man.

Anatoli Azarov.

The young man stared at the ground.

The words he wanted to say or shout out kept getting stuck in his throat.

(It must be.)

Slowly, his eyes drifted upward, staring at the man sitting behind the table.

The program director.

(Please...)

Now with a more ragged and aged appearance, consisting of a wrinkled face and graying hair.

His eyes were still as cold as ever.

The absurdity of this entire situation was starting to get to him.

Never before did the young man feel trapped in this room.

"It's just as I stated before." The program director started to speak. “Your mission is to 'remove’ an individual that we believe may cause unrest in the coming days.”

Blank.

Just like before, Anatoli could not believe what he was hearing, now that he heard it again.

Everything in the room was silent.

(Surely they are not serious.)

But-

The man sitting behind the desk was serious.

(There is no way we….I can do this.)

The man slightly opened his mouth to protest, to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry, causing him to close his mouth.

(I am not that person anymore.)

Anatoli stared down at the floor.

Even if he was unable to say anything, surely someone else felt the same way he did.

Surely that person felt disgusted by what was being proposed to them.

But nothing was said by the men near him.

Not a word.

He wasn’t what the people at this facility needed anymore. Right now, he had everything he could’ve possibly wanted.

He couldn't do what they made him do now.

He couldn’t lose everything he had gained over the last few years, playing soldier now.

The man gulped.

Slowly, he clenched his fist.

He had to say something.

Then a blank, empty feeling washed over him.

He froze.

The words were caught in his mouth.

He slowly unclenched his fist.

Every fiber of opposition faded from his body as he stood there.

Lost.

Broken.

“So that is what our orders are?”

A voice broke out, breaking Anatoli from his defeated mindset.

Slowly and weakly, Anatoli turned his head left at the source of the voice.

Pavel Zotov.

(…..Zero-three.)

Pavel took a step forward, standing directly in front of the desk.

The program director slightly raised his head, staring at the man.

“More or less,” the program director said as he shuffled in his seat, sliding a manilla envelope forward.

There was a long silence as Pavel grabbed the envelope off the table.

As the man stared at the envelope, the program director leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the desk and folding his fingers in front of his mouth.

“Within that envelope are the target and your operation details.”

Pavel opened up the envelope and slightly pulled out the papers, staring at them in silence, before closing his eyes and sighing.

“You’re all set to intercept this individual within two days. Through our own intelligence, we have learned that this person is set to return to the country from the United Kingdom after meeting a radical group there. Whichever way you choose, just take care of him before he has a chance to bring those wild ideals here.”

Lowering the envelope to his side, Pavel spoke.

“Any particular method?”

The program paused for a bit.

“Whatever method gets the job done.”

“Very well, we’ll head out tomorrow afternoon.”

The program director glanced over to Anatoli before glancing back over to Pavel.

“Then I will appoint you the squad leader and let you handle the mission on the ground, but do not forget, there will be no excuse for failure.”