Merry ****in' Christmas - OTA
Victor hated Christmas.
Even out here, miles away from anywhere in the middle of the Russian tundra, he couldn't help but be mindful of the date. Everyone else grinning, smiling, looking forward to exchanging gifts, thinking about spending time with their families - because he was sure the other team members would be remembering the times when they had, even if this year they were confined to the military compound here - it made him sick.
All he could ever remember from his childhood was the freezing cold snow making its way into the shack through even the tiniest hole; his father, reeking of cheap alcohol, beating him with his belt, a chair leg, his bare hands; staring up with envy at the Howlett Estate where Logan had lived, warm and safe, not wanting for anything. The one year Logan's supposed father had taken pity on Victor and allowed him to take home a gift meant for Logan - a red toy train, Victor could still remember that, even now - his own drunken father had thrashed him and broken the toy, swearing and cursing, leaving him cowering in the corner, cold and bleeding.
He couldn't help but recall the memories as he sat in the corner of the Mess Hall, picking at his nails with his combat knife, brooding over the shadows of the past and glowering at anyone who happened to walk past.
Even out here, miles away from anywhere in the middle of the Russian tundra, he couldn't help but be mindful of the date. Everyone else grinning, smiling, looking forward to exchanging gifts, thinking about spending time with their families - because he was sure the other team members would be remembering the times when they had, even if this year they were confined to the military compound here - it made him sick.
All he could ever remember from his childhood was the freezing cold snow making its way into the shack through even the tiniest hole; his father, reeking of cheap alcohol, beating him with his belt, a chair leg, his bare hands; staring up with envy at the Howlett Estate where Logan had lived, warm and safe, not wanting for anything. The one year Logan's supposed father had taken pity on Victor and allowed him to take home a gift meant for Logan - a red toy train, Victor could still remember that, even now - his own drunken father had thrashed him and broken the toy, swearing and cursing, leaving him cowering in the corner, cold and bleeding.
He couldn't help but recall the memories as he sat in the corner of the Mess Hall, picking at his nails with his combat knife, brooding over the shadows of the past and glowering at anyone who happened to walk past.