"I am so bored. Why does this country even schedule these things out in such a mellow, dramatic way like this?" I sigh in exasperation. "An execution is supposed to be simple, quick, and neat. However I have been in here for almost 3 years."
Out of all places in the world to finally be captured and sentenced, it just had to be America. Some hellholes have better accommodations than this place. I thought America was supposed to be about following the rules and laws and that damned due process they are always fond of reminding other countries that they follow.
Yet and still, I am sitting here on an island in the middle of nowhere with my food being slipped in through a small slot in the door. This is inhumane. I mean, the least they could do is put me back into Gen Pop. I mean, I am terribly sorry I gouged that poor bastard's eyes out with my spoon. He shouldn't have picked the TV remote up during my show. You would think an American would know not to mess with the sacridity of a man trying to watch Oprah. It may be a rerun, but I have been busy, so I was spending my time in here catching up.
I hear loud footsteps echoing down the hall behind the door of my cell. I pushed myself up and slicked my and slicked my raven black hair back out of my face. It was starting to get too long, and since I haven't been able to scrounge anything up to cut it with, it has grown past my ears. I thought about moving trying to make something sharp out of the metal piping inside my cell. However, I can't tell if the Americans are too smart or too cheap because the entire toilet and the pipes were made out of 100% aluminum.
I heard what sounded like two men talking and laughing as what sounded like a pair of keys jingling was pressed against the door. I take a low stance, steadying myself for a fight. My cell had no clock or window, so there was no way to tell time. However the guards did a rotating switch every two hours. So, I trained myself to never sleep for more than two hours to be able to count my time inside. It would still be two more guard rotations before they would bring in lunch. So, whatever is about to happen must not be sanctioned.
The door finally swung open, and two large men stepped inside with batons and angry looks on their faces. I swing at the one to my right and catch him off guard before he can speak. The blow knocked him against the cement wall hard enough for him not to make a sound as he slid down it. The guard to my left raised his baton to strike my blindside, but I ducked in the nick of time before dropping my weight and stumbling back into him, knocking him onto my hard slab of a prison mattress. I took the initiative and dropped my elbow square into his jugular before he could even think of getting back up. The man spit up vomit as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
"Oh, don't make it too easy for me now," I chuckled before picking up the baton the guard dropped. It took me seconds before finding the keys. The first guard I knocked out used to get inside my cell. These will definitely come in handy here real soon. I was sick of the food in this place anyway; my own vomit was starting to be a better alternative. They must have thought my time in here had dulled my senses.
"I can't believe they really thought they could only send two guards in to rough me up," I say, stepping over the first guard's limp body and stepping out into the hallway.
"Ivan Mikhailov, it's finally time!" The warden yelled out.
"Now that's more like it," I shout in front of the sea of men wearing riot gear.
They were all carrying batons, much like the one in my hand. The only difference is that they were also carrying large body-size riot shields and wearing full-on tactical knee and elbow pads. I should have known that the warden would have had something up his sleeve.
"Come on Ivan, don't make this harder than it has to be...those two guards you hopefully only knocked out were supposed to inform you that now is the time you can request your final meal. However, I know you too well to think that an insane killer like you would be interested in something as trivial as a last meal." The warden said, lighting a cigarette behind the men in riot gear.
"I mean I have no quarrel with dying. I made my peace that I would ultimately die a brutal death after I completed my first mission for the company. However, the thought of being peacefully marched to my death doesn't sit well with me. I think we both know that a man like me isn't capable of dying that easy. It's in my DNA to make you earn it. So I am sorry, warden, but I think my last meal will be these fools you have brought to try and restrain me."
The men step forward with their shields raised in a two-man line formation down the narrow half. I drop down in a sprinter position and dig my bare feet into the cold ground before launching myself at both lines. They lower their shields, preparing to brace themselves for the collision. However, at the last second, I leap into the air with all my might and press off the side of the wall, grabbing the slender light fixture above our heads. It makes a nasty creaking noise as it shifts and buckles to my weight. I use the momentum of it shifting to vault down on top of the nearest guard's head. I was now in the middle of their cute little formation.
It was a good plan they had put together in theory. They were going to box me in, leaving me no choice but to fight with my back against the wall. However, things are a little different now; the man I landed on made an unpleasant noise under my feet before I swung my baton down at him, rendering him silent. The guards must have been mystified for a few seconds because nobody moved until I started swinging and kicking the guards with their backs turned to me. The guards that were once in front of me fumbled to try and lower and maneuver around with their large riot shields, giving me enough time to quickly dispatch another two guards closest to me.
I knocked them out mercilessly by kicking and slamming my baton into their heads. I was just about to move on to the next two before I felt the pain of a baton to the back of my leg, causing me to bend down, followed by another blow to my back and then my side. All of the guards must have given up on defense and the formation because before I knew it, I had a flurry of batons swinging at me from all directions.
I tried to block and grab some, but as soon as I managed to grab ahold of one another, two batons hit me in different spaces of my body. I heard a loud cracking noise before feeling an intense pain wash over me. I have felt this pain so many times, but it never makes it any more bearable. They must have cracked my ribs with that last blow. Instinctively, I went to cradle my right side when I was kicked to the ground, and what happened after that was a bit of a blur for a few minutes.
The men finally stopped to catch their breath and shout amongst each other about being victorious. My right eardrum was ringing, and I couldn't hear much of anything out of my left ear. I slowly opened my left eye because I could not open my right. The warden's loud footsteps caused shooting pain to rush through my eardrum. The warden bent down, and his ugly, pudgy smile finally came into my distorted view.
"Well, if I may say so myself, you definitely live up to your nickname "Ivan the bloody." So, are you satisfied with your final meal? My men are catching their breath, but I think they would be more than obliged to help you with a second serving." The warden says, smiling coyly above me.
I spit blood out in front of him as my final act of defiance. He shakes his grubby head before looking up at what I could assume was the guard behind me. I felt two men lift me up by my bruised and battered arms to my feet. I attempt to move, but one of them slaps a pair of cuffs on my wrists and another pair on my ankles. They push me forward, and I struggle to move as I follow the warden down the hall.