Chapter 1

*I commissioned this story last year, it was written by STC9892 on deviant art, don't hesitate to visit his profile*

Sergei’s alarm woke him at 7 AM sharp. He let out a bear-like grunt as his giant hands fumbled for his phone, which looked tiny in his grasp. He cursed in Russian as his big fingers poked at the screen, failing to shut the alarm off until the third attempt. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in bed and clapped, prompting the lights to come on.


The air felt stale, stuffy. This was an unfortunate drawback to living underground. No matter, he was prepared to deal with that. He got out of bed, a mountainous ogre of a man, 350 pounds and standing a giant six feet and seven inches tall. His neck sat on two large hills that were his traps, which led to chiseled shoulders, shredded arms, and massive pectorals atop a six pack. As he opened his bedroom door, he walked over to a keypad embedded into one of the padded walls, punching a few buttons clumsily as he adjusted the air conditioning and air filtration system within the bunker.


In one corner of the common room was a kitchen area, not unlike one you might find in a studio apartment. In the middle was a carpet, draped distastefully over the drab cement floor, with an old couch sitting on it, and a TV on top of a few milk crates. In the far right corner was a metal door, with a bank vault style lock, its presence foreboding and ominous. In the far left was a rack full of dumbbells and a deadlift weight bar, along with a pile of circular weights strewn around it. A heavy bag hung from the ceiling next to them.


He did a few sets of curls with the dumbbells, sweat bubbling along his scalp and running through the very short blonde hairs sprouting from it. His pale blue eyes had a fierce intensity to them as he stared into the wall in front of him, his expression psychotic and determined. He let out a beastly grunt as he dropped the dumbbells and started laying into the heavy bag.


BOOM.


BOOM-BOOM.


BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.


BOOM!


F or such an enormous man, he was still quick, his size sending the bag swinging backwards and back at him as it built momentum. He punched it in machine gun bursts of jabs, ramping up his pace until climaxing with a spinning kick sent it rocketing backwards so hard the bottom scraped against the soft back wall of the room. As he ran a towel over his head and face he caught his breath, rolled his shoulders, and prepared to shower.


Emerging from the bathroom, he was dressed in basketball shorts and a black tank top, topped off with sunglasses and a backwards flat brim hat. He checked the time. It was almost 9 AM. He needed to be on the road by 10.


After spritzing on some cologne he walked to the metal door. The vault lock was functional, but impractical. He’d gotten it more for aesthetic purposes than anything else. It was far easier to access the room via the keypad installed into the wall next to it.


12-31-91…


BEEP BEEP BEEP.


CLICK…


CLICK-CLICK� �


SHUNK…


The door was so thick and heavy, but Sergei flung it open like a screen door, slamming it shut behind him as he took one last inventory to ensure everything was ready.


The “common area” was empty. Truthfully, it was the only part of the whole thing he felt unsatisfied with. A big, empty room, lined with soundproof padding, with three sets of double doors at the back. He had no idea what to put in there. A TV, maybe a couch? But it would look like an island in the middle of such a spacious room. He would have to really fill it up to make it look decent.


At least it was carpeted. He’d made sure of that. Over a layer of the same soundproof padding he’d used on the walls and ceiling, he’d laid down a dark blue, thick, layer of carpet. If anyone were to have a fall, God forbid, they’d be cushioned by the floor, and… Well…


He chuckled to himself as he walked to the first set of double doors.


Room one. One bariatric hospital bed, capable of supporting up to 2,000 pounds. Reclines and accommodates the occupant as necessary. Maintains a weight on the occupant via a built-in scale, provided it’s plugged in. One hose of tubing, lubricated. One TV monitor, with basic Russian cable channels. Four-point restraints, each tied to a corner of the bed. One hydraulic lift system, also capable of supporting 2,000 pounds. One crane lift, running up to a track in the ceiling, which leads through the common area and to a bathroom. One heart monitor. One IV pole. One oxygen outlet. One drawer, filled with bandages, hygienic items, and miscellaneous lotions, creams, etc.


Room two. Identical to room one.


Room three. Identical to rooms one and two.


As he perused each room, he did a manual test of the crane system. It functioned like the claw game at your average arcade. He positioned the crane down over the bed and lowered it, then brought it back up, sending it through the open door and down the track. He stopped as it approached a set of closed double doors, and opened them up, sending it through to the bathroom.


The entire floor was covered by a non-slip mat, a rubber, gummy, flooring. He’d had to get creative with soundproofing that room. A typical, locker room style shower greeted him upon entering, with a few showerheads poking out of the wall, and a drain in the middle of the floor. A powerful hose hung on the wall, curled up several times over. On the wall directly to his left were a row of sinks and mirrors, sterile and white, an untraceable ominousness to them under the fluorescent light above them. Facing them were a row of stalls, though they had no doors, and were more than the width of your average handicapped stalls. Inside of each one was a bariatric, bench-sized toilet. All of them doubled as bidets.


Walking past the stalls, he flushed each toilet, and ran the water on each sink. The entire bathroom was lined with steel handrails that sat at waist level. He curled his brutish fingers around each one and pulled with all his might, jiggling them, but they held. He nodded.


All that was left to check was the dining room. It sat on the front left corner of the common room and was also guarded by double doors. There wasn’t much there to inspect or account for, but he was very meticulous. A long banquet table sat in the middle, flanked by three chairs that looked more like thrones for giants. Sergei sat down inside one, and even a monstrous individual like him found them to be roomy and comfy. For average people, each one looked more like a loveseat than a personal armchair.


In the corner of the dining room was another metal door, which gave a shortcut back to Sergei’s personal area. After he punched in the code, he went back to his bedroom, grabbing his keys, a wad of cash, a set of handcuffs, some sunglasses, and a pistol.


Re-entering the common area, he pushed a bookshelf out of the way, revealing another metal door, with another combination lock. He shut it behind him, and pulled the chord on a light, illuminating a dusty cement staircase that went upward.


At the top of the staircase was a rusted metal door. Sergei slammed his body into it until it slowly wedged open, making horrific scraping noises the entire time. Parked in the grass just outside was his Hyundai Solaris. He got inside and headed to Moscow.