"This is a test," were the words that Nicholai woke to.

He groaned as he lifted his heavy head and squinted against the overhead lights. He straightened up once he felt his arms tied behind his back and was soon brought to full attention as his blue eyes scanned the surroundings. The voice that had spoken over the PA was not one that he was familiar with. It was an English voice, he was aware of its snobbery from the moment he heard it. One of his arms purposefully came loose, his left arm, the less dominant one. He quickly brought it back around to examine and breathed in relief as he found it unharmed and unaccompanied by any marks or contraptions. He found himself tied down to a bar chair of all things and realised, as he glanced around, that there were at least five other people sitting in the bar with him.

Across from him were three people that he did not recognise. One was a well-muscled blonde man with some facial hair, a behemoth of a man yet shorter than the Colonel who sat not too far away on Nicholai's right. He recognised Sergei immediately from his massive frame alone, adorned with the soft silver of his hair hanging over the right side of his face, slumped in the darkness and illuminated only by the afternoon sun's rays creeping in through the window behind him.

The man beside the well-toned blonde was of African descent, very tall, with short hair. Nicholai squinted to see if he could catch any other details; he spotted a military vest, a white, clean undershirt, and a name badge 'Sullivan'.

On Sullivan's left was another well-muscled man, an American. Nicholai knew because he identified the continent of his origin - Hispanic. This man also had facial hair and a veil of short-cut, black hair, shadowing his forehead. They seemed to be slumped over and in a coma-like state but on Nicholai's left, he started as he heard someone stir with a soft groan.

He craned his neck to try and look around, catching the flash of red and silver along the pale, wrinkled face. He recognised that face, those shoulders, and especially the groan emitted from the older man's mouth.

"Misha!" Nicholai hissed quietly, trying his best not to disturb the three men across from them whilst also simultaneously trying to rouse his colleague. "Misha!"

Mikhail groaned quietly again in protest before his blue eyes blinked open and narrowed to stare at the back of Nicholai's head and shoulders. "Cholai? What..."

The older man glanced around and with every detail of their surroundings that he took in, his greying brows only rose higher and higher. "What is this?" He asked the younger wolf in their native tongue.

Nicholai went to respond when he caught sight of the Hispanic's dark eyes suddenly trained on him. Small and beady, Nicholai stared right back. He didn't know who these men were or why they were tied up here also, but he was going to take in every detail he could about them to try and identify anything. Like Nicholai and his comrades, the Hispanic and his friends also wore military vests. The blonde was in red, Sullivan in green, and the Hispanic in orange. Mikhail wore something of dark grey or black, Nicholai couldn't tell. He was in his green, snow vest with a thermal black sweatshirt underneath. The shadows consumed the Colonel, he couldn't make out anything aside from the other's hair. And it was only then Nicholai realised how hot he was.

"We're not in Russia," he breathed quietly to Mikhail as he craned his neck to keep an eye on him before resuming his staring contest with the Hispanic who was staring right through him.

A thousand-yard stare, a soldier's stare. As if the vests weren't already a dead giveaway.

"In front of each of you is your service weapon."

The voice over the system crackled against the static again and Nicholai finally looked down at the table he was forced to sit at and stared in surprise as he found his Makarov in front of him. It was his, he knew because it had been modified to his liking. No jamming along the barrel and the magazine was sitting not too far away from it. The gun was unassembled but it was there right in front of him.

He quickly glanced across from him to see the blonde staring down at his Colt Python, the Hispanic and Sullivan both had berettas that Nicholai had never seen before. The Hispanic still hadn't bothered to take his eyes off of Nicholai and the youngest Russian found himself wondering if the other man was rather shell-shocked and couldn't fathom what exactly was going on.

"We have examined your behaviour," the voice continued once all six men were awake. "We've given you the chance to prove yourselves in this final hour of your very lives. We have tied your dominant hand behind your back. The first one to correctly assemble and put his gun together gets to shoot whoever he wishes. Only when one man is left alive will this game be over."

"What?" Sullivan breathed as he glanced down at his beretta in shock.

Without waiting for a 'go', Nicholai quickly snatched up the magazine in his left hand and brought it just at the mouth of his Makarov's chamber.

He couldn't hear any movement behind him and he couldn't see anything in front of him. The only competition he had was the blonde who struggled greatly with shoving his clip in.

It's a reload, it's not that hard, Nicholai thought to himself. He managed to successfully clip the magazine in his gun within heartbeats, then he held up the weapon and clicked the safety off.

"No!" The blonde pleaded as Nicholai took aim with his left hand and frowned at him. "No, wait!"

Bang.

No hesitation, Nicholai pulled the trigger and managed a perfect bullseye into the American's skull. He didn't feel anything as he watched the blonde man slump over and die. Only a red trail of blood leaked from the hole in his head, indicating what the Russian had done.

"Well done," it was a rather bland and boring praise that came overhead.

Nicholai huffed as he stretched his thumb forward to brush back the chamber and release the empty bullet shell. It tumbled out of the gun and landed with a light tingle on the table beneath him. He took his time because he was aware of the other men not even touching their guns yet - they weren't threats like the blonde had been. Nicholai's eyes narrowed on Sullivan as the tall, dark man began to panic and tried his best to shove the clip in his beretta as he sniffed and whimpered.

"Kenneth," the Hispanic finally spoke, with a rather soft tone that surprised Nicholai to hear. "Ken, look at me." The Hispanic urged. "It's going to be-"

Bang.

Nicholai couldn't take any chances, loaded or not Kenneth had already desperately grabbed his beretta and had just begun to lift it up to aim when Nicholai took the shot. He was more used to his sniper rifle but a gun was a gun in his opinion, loading a pistol was easier with one hand anyway.

"Very good," the unseen voice spoke after a moment of deafening silence. The quietness that filled the abandoned and dark bar began to unnerve Nicholai as he looked away from Kenneth Sullivan's slumped body, avoided the stare that the Hispanic was giving him as he craned his neck to try and find Mikhail.

"Misha!" He declared. "You need to load your gun!"

Nicholai was already preparing the next bullet as he glanced up at Sergei and froze. The bigger man's one, unscarred eye was staring right at him and there was no other emotion he felt other than complete coldness wafting from him.

"You too, Colonel," Nicholai muttered as he thumbed back the second used bullet casing.

"That man had a family," the Hispanic muttered to catch Nicholai's attention. It worked because he glanced over and followed the Hispanic's gaze down at the blonde.

Again, Nicholai wanted to feel bad but he knew that if he let just even one demon in, the entire floodgates of Hell would cripple his mentality. He couldn't afford to feel remorse for just one thing that he did. It would cause him to crumble beneath the weight of all the other actions he had already committed.

"Are you afraid, American?" Nicholai boldly asked. He was chiding, jabbing the other, hoping for any reaction other than soft pity. He wanted the other to be mad at him, to be so inexplicitly enraged so it made Nicholai feel better when he would shoot and kill him too.

"No," the Hispanic tilted his head at him as his fingers gently drummed against the table, refusing to even go near the metal of his gun. "But tell me something, Ruski."
The Hispanic grunted as he shifted in his chair to lean forward and get more comfortable before nodding at the two men who accompanied him on both sides. "How come your comrades haven't touched their guns?"

Nicholai felt his breath thin out through his throat where it traveled to his nostrils and was released quietly as he continued to stare at the other, not finding an answer within his head that satisfied him. So the man across the bar continued.

"Tell me, after you kill me which one of your so-called 'team-mates' are you gonna shoot first?" He goaded and Nicholai could've shot him then and there and deal with that question himself later but he didn't. The other was beginning to unnerve and unwrap his mind, and Nicholai was no fan of people who thought they could sit there and read him. He needed to be a stone wall, to himself, before anyone else assumed that it was a good idea to take a peep inside and try to 'fix him'.

When Nicholai still didn't respond, the Hispanic looked away as he shook his head and chuckled. "Or is the plan to shoot yourself and let them carry your burdens?"

"Maybe," Nicholai shrugged as the corners of his mouth tugged into a smirk. "Maybe you'll still be alive to watch me shoot one of them."

"Always putting your life above others, aren't you?" The Hispanic sneered. "I wouldn't expect any less from someone like you."

Fury filled Nicholai's blue eyes as he was told that, his grip on his gun tightening in response, yet the barrel was not aimed at the man across the bar just yet. Nicholai thought to himself for a moment before he raised the guy at the Hispanic, then swept it across his shoulder, wrist to his ear as he pulled the trigger.

Bang.

"Koyla!"

He could just hear that angry voice. The ringing in his ear made him groan as his head began to pound. His head was killing him but he did his best to keep his eyes open. His vision swimming for a moment as he watched the Hispanic tilt his head in question at him.

Behind Nicholai, Mikhail's body slumped back in the chair as a single, bullet wound steamed from his chest and blood began to stain his undershirt. A good shot, if Nicholai was being honest with himself, a stupid gamble but it had paid off nonetheless.

After a few minutes, Nicholai shook his head and blinked as he thumbed back the shell casing and watched as it fell to the table to join the others. Mikhail had been a good friend, a kind teacher. Nicholai wouldn't have shot him if he wasn't twenty years younger and still married. His kids were Nicholai's age now, true, it would hurt but it was necessary. Only one of them was getting out of here alive, and despite whatever shit spewed forth from the Hispanic's mouth, Nicholai knew that he was going to die in this bar also.

"Colonel," Nicholai swallowed back the dryness in his throat as he boldly began to order the man above his ranking. "Load your gun."

Only silence greeted him. Sergei only hissed at him from shock upon witnessing the younger mercilessly kill their comrade in cold blood like that. Seemingly without any remorse, either. He knew Nicholai to be a man of tough strength, but he doubted that Nicholai was strong enough to endure turning on them like that.

"No." In his stubborn ways, the Colonel huffed and continued to glare at his subordinate.

"Colonel," Nicholai repeated as he checked his Makarov before aiming at the Hispanic man across from him. "Please load your gun."

"I do not take orders from you!" Sergei roared and Nicholai's hand faltered as his bones vibrated briefly in his body.

Bang.

He cursed as he misfired, the intended bullet for the American whizzed by his face, leaving it without a scratch as the bullet sunk into the wall behind him.

Nicholai growled before he pleaded again as he thumbed back the fourth bullet casing, carelessly letting it fall onto the others that were beginning to pile up on the table. "Sergoya, please. Only one of us is getting out of here, and it better be you."

"Why?" Nicholai resisted the urge to close his eyes and sigh in response to the Colonel's defiance. "I'm old too, why don't you shoot me?"

"Because people need you." Nicholai tried to explain, aiming the gun at the Hispanic's hard face as he spoke to the other.

"I don't have a family," Sergei retorted swiftly as he gestured. "Like the first man who you shot without so much as care."

"He was a threat, he had to be eliminated." Nicholai blankly stated in a monotone voice. Why was the Colonel of all people suddenly the one to care about who had families or not?

"Sullivan was a doctor," now the Hispanic was joining in. "Never hurt a soul."

"Well he can go tend to the sick in the afterlife now," Nicholai hissed.

"Point that gun at yourself, Nikolasha," Sergei hissed.

Nicholai frowned, he had the idea of taking his own life, but only after he made sure that there were no threats to the Colonel. That's what his entire life had been, what all his friends had sacrificed themselves for, to ensure Sergei Vladimir's survival.

"You're a criminal," the older Russian scoffed with distaste.

Nicholai's hard facade faltered for a moment as his face softened. He'd been called many things and berated for his actions but to hear that from the man who had turned him into what he was. It hurt. Nicholai blinked for a few moments as he stared at the Hispanic. He was leaning back in his chair, looking quite smug and relaxed. He said nothing.

Bang.

"Nicholai..."

Sergei watched on in horror as the body of the Hispanic male slumped back gently in his chair. A single, dot of blood began leaking down from his forehead as his eyes closed.

"Excellent!" The unseen voice cheered. "Now there are only two of you left."

"Sergei," Nicholai softly pleaded for the last time. "Please load your gun."

He kept his gaze trained on the body of the three dead Americans in front of him, anything to avoid the horrid sight of Mikhail behind him and the seething hatred dripping from his teacher in front of him. He inhaled deeply as his heartbeat softly in the remorseful hope that it would all be over soon as he heard Sergei clip and load his own gun. As the safety clicked off and the noise echoed throughout the ghastly bar, Nicholai closed his eyes.

Bang.

He stopped breathing for a moment, hoping more than anything that the bullet had been direct, in his brain and had transported him to anywhere but that damned bar. When he opened his eyes, his hand on his Makarov was trembling slightly, the barrel unsteady but also still quite straight to the distant eye.

"Gusha?" He asked, sounding like a frightened child for a moment.

Nicholai turned in the Colonel's direction and stared as he saw the hulking shadow quietly sitting in his chair, staring right back at him. Nicholai frowned, he squinted closely at the outlines of his superior, and little by little, upon each detail, his eyes widened with horror.

"He took his own life," the unseen voice sighed. "Disappointing. But, it still does not count."

"What?" Nicholai breathed, completely stunned for a moment.

"You didn't shoot him, this experiment is a failure."

"No!" Nicholai looked up as his lower lip trembled, too scared to comprehend and collect his thoughts at the moment.

"Alex, torch it." He heard the voice mutter before the connection was cut off with a short shriek and soon the dark edges of the bar came to life with flames. Nicholai acted quickly as he turned and tried yanking his remaining arm and legs out of the chair. He screeched and groaned against the tight ropes digging into his pale skin as he desperately tried to rip himself out of the chair. As a last resort, seeing the flames licking the edges of his table and soon creep under to taste his boots, he turned and shot at the ropes connecting his legs. After feeling their grip loosen, Nicholai quickly shot out of his chair, gun still in hand as he ran towards the front double doors of the bar.

He breathed as cool, night air washed over his face. He bent forward to catch his knees as he inhaled and exhaled fresh oxygen, hoping to clear his lungs of any smoke. He turned around as the flames cackled and the building collapsed in on itself, the harsh amber glow more than alive as it laughed in his face. There was no point trying to go back int to save anything or anyone, they were all dead except for him.

There was only a handful of questions left in his arsenal now. Why had Sergei taken his own life? Who did all of this? Why? What was there to gain from any of this? Where were they? Who would pay for this!?
Sadness soon turned into anger as Nicholai tightened his grip on his gun and turned away from the building to trudge down the road and back into the ghost town at the bottom of the hill.