Natalya looked at the passing scenery between the wooden slats as the truck grumbled slowly up the dirt track. It was still only snow. It didn't have the serenity of Yakov's wilderness; everything here seemed bitter and tainted.

Pulling her coat around her as tight as she possibly could, she clenched her body into a tight ball to combat every bump in the road. It did nothing, Andros' wayward driving sending her sliding across the back of the truck. Perhaps distraction would work better. Digging out her bear charm from under her clothes, Natalya inspected it in the dim light.

She missed Yakov so terribly. What she wouldn't give to go back a few weeks and have everything as it was. How many times had she thought that over the last year? Pining for a reality that would never be would not help her, not to mention it was a terrible choice of distraction on her part.

Eventually the truck came to a stop.

Natalya stuffed the bear into the depth of her coat again; she'd far rather keep it in her hand, but she knew what these guards were like. She had to keep it safe. The truck door swung open, light now flooding the dark, dingy space. Andros beckoned her out, Natalya doing as she was told. He lifted her down, setting her on the ground like a small child.

Her eyes were caught by the gate, and the masses of barbed wire that covered the stretching metal fences. A rough sign that read 'GULAG' hung over the opening, reminding all of their fate. She ventured a little closer, straining to look as she clutched her bag tight to her chest.

Beyond the fence lay a mass of different buildings. It certainly wasn't how she had expected it to be. There was nothing neat about these structures; so many strange buildings, all made of different materials and reaching to different heights. It was a seemingly old and ramshackle town, wrapped in the barbed wire fence to imprison those stupid enough to wander inside.

Andros grabbed her shoulder and steered her into the mouth of the beast; there was no turning back now.

Natalya was marched towards a concrete block not far from the front gate. A few other people milled around. Some were guards, dressed in khaki coats and uniforms, the rest clearly inmates, dressed in all grey, ill-fitted clothes. The prisoners were unkempt, wrapped in what little they had to protect them against the lingering winter chill. From what she could see, they were all men, and every single one of them was staring at her.

She made sure to keep a glare firmly painted on her face, holding her bag in front of her protectively.

'Get your papers ready,' Andros instructed as he tugged open the building's door and thrust her inside.

Natalya complied, pulling them from her pocket. They walked down a short corridor before going into a large office, laden with several, small desks and no one behind them. The guards were congregated in the corner, smoking and drinking. They all looked up as she stumbled into the room. She was shocked by how young they all looked. The eldest can't have been more than his early twenties.

'Who is this?' asked one of them.

'Your missing arrival,' said Andros from behind Natalya.

'Aha!' the other exclaimed as he got to his feet and sat at a desk. He beckoned her forward, Natalya striding up to it. He put on a pair of spectacles and looked her up and down. 'Tiny little thing, aren't you?'

'So everyone likes to remind me,' replied Natalya.

'Papers,' he said, holding out his hand.

She placed them in his palm, trying to catch his eye. He was one of the youngest. She couldn't help but think of Nikolai and Jan; how rough and bitter they both seemed. How in the world was a malysh like him supposed to keep prisoners like them in line?

The guard snatched her papers from her. He read through them, nodding a little. 'Yes, we've been anticipating your arrival.' He finally caught her eye. She noted that he gulped. 'You're late. We were expecting you with the others days ago.'

'I missed the train.'

He didn't stifle a huffy laugh. 'That was stupid of you.'

'Clearly,' she retorted. 'And I'm not late. I had until the end of the day.'

He froze, noticeably perturbed by her sharp tongue. 'Less of the lip.' His voice was shaky.

'Or what?' returned Natalya. 'Will you send me to a camp or something?'

Andros nudged her from behind, Natalya looking around at him. He seemed to caution her with his gaze. She ignored him and turned back.

The young guard looked entirely taken aback, needing a moment to gather himself. The others tittered as the young man adjusted himself, finding his courage. 'I'll take her for processing. You can let Grigori Demyanovich know she's here. He likes to oversee as many of the new arrivals as he can.' He stood up from behind the desk, walking round to her.

'Be gentle with her, Lev,' warned Andros as he handed her over. 'She is only small.'

Why did everyone seem to believe she was so delicate that she might break?

'Of course,' Lev replied, going to steer her away.

Natalya stood her ground. 'My papers-'

Lev scoffed, continuing to manhandle her out of the door. 'You don't need those anymore. They stay in your file now.'

Her heart plummeted. She really wasn't going anywhere without those. Even more defeated, she let herself be dragged away.

Soon Natalya was back outside in the brisk air, her eyes darting around as she tried to get her bearings. She was given no time before she was thrust into another dull building block.

This one was even more dingy than the last. It was clearly not cleaned often, damp and muck lining the floor. It seemed to be one large room, with a few wooden chairs at one end. No one else was there.

Lev sighed loudly. 'Wait here,' he ordered.

She gave a definite nod before he bustled away, the door clanging shut behind him.

The silence of the space engulfed her, faraway voices carrying to her through the thin windows perched high on the murky walls. Her footsteps echoed across the damp floor as she stepped further into the room. There was something so unsettling about it; it was completely soulless. Wandering over to the row of sporadic wooden chairs, she noticed that human hair littered the floor. The chairs had razors set on them. So this was what they meant by 'processing'.

Natalya clutched her possessions to her even more tightly. None of the other inmates looked like they were wearing their own clothes, all in some sort of mis matched grey uniform.

She hadn't expected to have her things taken from her.

Why hadn't she expected that?

The door swung open again, causing Natalya to jump and look behind her. Lev had returned with an older male inmate.

When the inmate caught her eye, his brow furrowed. 'You could have said it was a girl.'

Lev huffed. 'What difference does it make?'

'Don't usually do girls.'

'Well you were the only one we could find on such short notice,' snapped Lev. 'Would you rather I do it?'

Natalya grimaced. Whoever won this argument, she knew she'd still be the loser.

The old man coughed out a disgusted laugh. 'And let you butcher her? I don't think so.'

'Well get on with it then, old man!'

The old inmate sighed but approached Natalya all the same. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to take your clothes off.'

Natalya recoiled from him as the guard looked on in interest. 'Idi v'banyu!'

The old inmate attempted to quell his frustration. It didn't work well. 'Look, either you do it yourself, or that one there will strip you. Take your pick girlie.' He stared at her imploringly, no trace of malice in his creased, brown eyes.

She glanced at Lev. He wetted his lips, the prospect of stripping her clearly getting the best of him. Disgusting little pervert. If this was indicative of things to come, then she held out no hope of a quiet sentence.

Acquiescing with a small nod, Natalya set down her things and began to remove her coat.

Then the door opened again.

Clearly, this was the place to be today.

A man of medium height stepped in, everything somehow falling even more silent. He was well dressed, his outer coat clearly new and expensive. It lay open to show a cleaner cut uniform than any of the guards she had seen, an obnoxiously large pistol tucked lazily into his belt. His dark hair greyed near the roots, a thick moustache topping his carved lips, the rest of his beard shaved to a stubble. The other two men cowered immediately, withdrawing so that only Natalya stood in his path.

This pleased him greatly.

Whoever he was, he held weight.

He made sure to stride over laconically, as if the sound of his own footsteps aroused him. Silent, he held his audience captive. Stopping in front of Natalya, no one dared move, not even her.

There was something about him that sent chills sweeping over her body. No one of authority that she had come up against made her feel sick to her stomach; not Lebedev, not Potapov and certainly not Avgust. But this man barely seemed human. The inherent eeriness that cloaked him belonged to one of the evil spirit demons in one of Yakov's stories. They were always defeated by strength and cunning; she would make sure to heed that advice.

Standing straighter, Natalya kept her eyes locked on his. Mere moments passed but being caged in his aura felt like eternity. Slowly, he leaned forward, his body just grazing Natalya's.

She must not show fear. She could not show fear.

'Do you mind?' he said, his voice softer than expected. 'You're in my way.'

Tentatively, Natalya glanced behind her. His hand rested on one of the chairs.

'My apologies,' she managed with surprising strength as she stepped aside. Pulling the chair, he allowed its legs to scrape along the floor. The squeal was long and drawn out, everyone wincing in collective disgust. He surveyed the group in front of him again before he dusted the seat and sat down. Finally, his eyes caught Natalya's again.

Lazily, he waved his hand at them. 'Carry on.'

Whatever this man's game was, Natalya wanted no part in it.

The old inmate nodded, gesturing for Natalya to continue. Huffing, Natalya shrugged off her coat and hat, aware of all the watchful eyes as she removed her clothes. This was humiliating. Should she turn around and try to cover herself? No. No sense in showing fear. Instead, she stood in just her slip and untied her hair so that it tumbled down her back. The man on the chair cocked his head to one side, his eyes moving over every inch of her body. He didn't react at all.

As she tugged her slip over her head, she caught sight of her bear swinging between her breasts. They would take it from her. She tried not to react to it, bundling her clothes together in a pile on the floor. Pretending it wasn't there, she stood still to demonstrate compliance.

The old man cleared his throat. 'The necklace too-'

'I'm keeping that on,' she said firmly.

'You can't-' he began.

'Leave it,' cut in the important man.

'Yes, Grigori Demyanovich,' mumbled the old man and guided her to a chair.

That was the name the young guard had mentioned in the office. Who was he?

'Can you put your leg up here please,' the old man said, gesturing to the seat.

Letting out a long breath, she complied. She suppressed the bile that rose in her throat, trying her best not to dwell on how open she was to them all.

'I'll be as gentle as I can,' the old man whispered.

Natalya could only give a grateful nod, her entire body tensed to prepare for the worst.

As he began to shave her pubic region, Natalya picked a spot on the wall to stare at. This could have been worse. There could be other inmates around her. Then again, perhaps she would have disappeared into the chaos if she had been processed with the others. Now, she was all too aware of the eyes fixed on her, every small sound anyone made echoing off the walls.

She couldn't help but glance at Grigori when she heard him whispering. He had summoned Lev, conferring with him in a low voice. As Grigori sent him away to carry out his duty, his eyes returned to his entertainment.

The old man had finished his first task, and now had her stand flat and raise her arms to shave her armpits. The scrape of blade against skin was entirely unwelcome. It made it difficult to pretend she was somewhere else. At least it was a relatively quick task.

Now, it was time for her head to be shaved.

Natalya was guided into the chair, and she made sure to keep her legs tightly closed and her hands placed neatly on top of them. Grigori moved his own to now sit directly in front of her. She had no choice but to stare straight at him.

Had he done this to deliberately unnerve her?

Most likely.

Their gaze broke when she heard the first snip of the clippers against her hair. She watched a clump fall to the floor, her breath caught in her throat. It was only hair; it would grow back one day. But to be treated this way was simply another pull away from her humanity. She was nothing more than a number.

'I'm sorry,' whispered the old man, touching her shoulder lightly.

'She's fine,' insisted Grigori.

The old man nodded quickly and continued to cut away Natalya's thick dark hair. When the majority was gone, he began to use the razor. He was trying his best to be gentle, she could tell, but he managed to nick the skin on her head.

A hiss escaped through her teeth.

'Sorry.'

Natalya said nothing. He hadn't exactly done it on purpose.

When he set the razor down, her hand brushed over her head. There was only a fuzzy stubble left, Natalya then feeling something warm and wet on her fingers. She inspected her hand, blood clinging to her skin. She rubbed it into her fingers, trying her best to tell herself that it was only a reminder that she was still alive, and that that was a blessing.

It didn't feel like it.

Grigori sprung to his feet, standing over Natalya. He cleared his throat, gesturing for her to stand. She tried not to waver as she did so. Holding only his index finger up, he made a spinning motion. Dutifully, she turned around.

He clicked his tongue. 'Slowly.'

Repeating the movement at a glacial pace, she gritted her teeth so stop any foolish words from escaping. They faced one another again now, Grigori's eyes drawn to her bear. Gently, he reached between them and touched it, his fingertips brushing Natalya's chest alongside.

This didn't feel remotely sexual. It was not an excuse to be intimate. This was pure power.

'It's beautifully carved.' His voice was so low she was certain only she could hear it. 'But you won't get anything for it. We have quite a different form of currency here.'

She really didn't want to know what that currency might be. 'I don't want to sell it. It's mine.'

Grigori didn't stop examining the bear. 'Why should I let you keep it?' Holding it tight, he used it to pull her even closer to him.

High cheekbones gave his face an impish countenance, his eyes earthy, dark and deep. He smelled good. Not just washed, but sweet and musky.

His gaze pressed her for an answer.

'Because it's mine.'

His lips curled into a small smile. It wasn't cruel or teasing, nor completely devoid of feeling. 'Try again.' 

She couldn't work him out at all. This was more unsettling than Lebedev; he'd simply been empty. Grigori seemed to hide nothing of himself yet gave very little away.

Perhaps sympathy might work. 'My friend gave it to me. It's the only thing I have left of his.'

'One last chance,' he cooed. He was clearly enjoying this.

Did he want her to offer this 'different' currency?

Her tongue got carried away and let venom spew from her lips. 'I'm not going to fuck you for a piece of jewellery.'

Time enveloped them in a standstill. Smirking, Grigori stretched his thumb so that it touched the underside of her nipple. It sent a jolt through her and she took in a sharp breath. In one swift movement, he snapped the necklace chord and stepped away from her, the bear dangling from his palm. She glanced at her feet, her hands balled into fists. Despite standing before him shaved and naked, it was only now that Natalya felt completely bare.

Without looking at it again, he chucked it onto her pile of clothes. 'Follow me.'

Not needing to be told, the older inmate slipped away, shooting Natalya a small grimace before he scurried out.

Natalya followed Grigori into an adjoining room. It was small, and poky, the only light coming from the doorway they had just entered through. The cement floor was rough beneath her feet, her toes instinctively curling at the touch.

'Against the wall.' Grigori pointed ahead of him.

She obliged. Her hands were still in tight fists, now held rigid by her sides. Natalya watched him bend and pick up a hose that had been slung in the furthest corner of the room.

Ah, so this is how she would be cleaned.

Grigori reached for the tap, twisting it on with a squeak. Water spurted from the end, slamming into the wall beside her to cover her in a fine, icy cold spray. It was the only warning she had before the hose was turned on her in full force.

Natalya was blasted up against the wall by the force of the water, her hands splayed before her as though it might help. It was like she had been punched in the gut, the pain searing through her inside and out. She cried out, her mouth filling with water to hush her garbled scream.

The water shut off.

Catching her breath, Natalya eyed Grigori. She could still make out his amused, twisted smile through the water dripping from her eyelashes. Again, he lifted his index finger and spun it.

This time, Natalya stayed still.

He was not going to get the best of her. He'd already stripped her of her bear and her dignity; she would not lose what little there was of her nerve. 'Do you do this for every inmate, or am I special?'

'I haven't decided yet,' he said simply. 'Don't make me repeat myself.'

Bracing herself, Natalya spun, and put her hands flat against the wall.

'Good girl.'

The water struck her in the small of her back, smacking her up against the wall even as she tensed. All she could do was allow it to happen and ignore the agony sweeping over her. As the water stopped again, Natalya's legs buckled beneath her. She staggered to remain standing, using the wall for support as she turned to face Grigori again. He was looking over her body, so she did the same. There were fresh, bright red marks on her stomach and thighs. Already swollen, they were almost akin to a burn.

Natalya shivered, her arms wrapping around her to guard against the sudden chill. All the while, she kept a glare aimed at Grigori.

Footsteps brought a woman to into the room. Paused in the doorway, she surveyed the scene before her. She carried a bundle of grey clothing in her arms, her grip on it tightening as Grigori dropped the hose and strode over to her. She pressed herself as far away from him and into the frame as she could.

'Get her dressed.' Drawingcigarettes from his pocket, Grigori sparked one and took a long drag. Cigaretteclenched between his teeth, he shot Natalya a quick grin, then strode away.