[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/VjghfrA.jpg?1[/img]

[color=#5F755E][h2]Sasha Belov[/h2][/color][/center]

He was little more than a very large rag doll as he was heaved off the ground by several guards and stuffed into a wheelchair. Sasha didn't quite wake, but let out a couple soft grunts to indicate that he was still alive. 

He missed the part about being wheeled into the bunker, to the showers to get his body temperature cooled down. It was true that he wasn't quite used to the heat. He'd been locked in cool, dim shelter for the past year, and before that, he had preferred cooler climates. The journey here had left his pale skin blistered and red, on top of the already cruel injuries.

As he was rolled under the cool, running water, some of the blood on his skin began to loosen and wash away. Sasha groaned softly, slowly coming to for a moment. He was confused; dazed. He had no idea where he was or why he was there. 

In his bewilderment, he called out in his hoarse voice. It was weak, strained, and the words were certainly not English. Sometimes, when he was under stress, Sasha found it easier to speak in his native Russian tongue. 

He twisted his body around in the chair, the movement rattling the chains that remained locked around each wrist and ankle. His steel blue eyes met the ones of the young woman. He met her gaze evenly for a moment before he slumped back around, slowly drifting back into a forced slumber.