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Elizabeth swung her arm, screaming as her fist made contact with the poor woman across from her. The cheers and jaunts rang through her ears as her opponent stumbled. She moved forward, swinging once again and causing the woman to fall to the ground. But there was no mercy. The American woman knew nothing but the pain in her muscles from her regular duties during the day and the pain in her fists from the games she was forced to play by night. The Russians seemed to enjoy their prisoners beating the living hell out of one another.

She couldn't deny that it wasn't fair. She was trained to fight. She boxed frequently to keep up her fitness and skill. And a lot of her opponents were women who had no clue what they were doing. But if she pulled her punches, there would be nothing for her but punishment. Besides, she was beginning to enjoy this. Her mind was numb and she was almost forgetful of who she was. This wasn't her. She knew mercy and love. Only preying on those who hurt others. But not anymore. Now, when she looked at reflective surfaces, she only saw those pale dead eyes looking back at her. A ghost of herself.

She breathed heavily as she watched her opponent get dragged out of the makeshift arena, feeling the sweat drip down her face. She took the water being shoved in her hands as guards began handing over money to the bets they failed and immediately making bets on who would win the next fight.

Elizabeth watched as a man stepped in front of her. She glanced over at the guard before looking at the shirtless man. He was taller than her - though that wasn't hard to do - and built. This was the first time they stuck a man in front of her. Guess her beating defenseless women wasn't entertaining enough for them.

The two opponents circled one another, eyes dark. Elizabeth scanned her opponent. He had prison tattoos, Russian in origin. He was well groomed. He wasn't a prisoner. Meaning he was well-fed and possibly had a full 8 hours of sleep. Unfair. But she couldn't help the excitement that bellowed through her.

It wasn't until the man lunged at her that the fight commenced, both getting solid hits in. His swings were brutal, causing her to lose balance and see stars. But it only made her excitement increase. She had an edge though. He seemed to be slightly pulling his punches. And every time he swung, there was a slight hesitation in his shoulder. He was injured. Stupid man. She used it to her advantage, dodging his swing and coming in from behind him. She swiped at his legs and climbed on top, repeatedly punching in his face before the man wasn't moving. She would most likely pay for this later. Punching out a guard tended to do such a thing. But he asked for it. Besides, based on the hoots and hollers, the rest of them enjoyed the show.

Wake up, fix planes, eat, fix planes some more, move cargo, eat, fight, sleep, repeat.

That was it and she had accepted it. It was her life. And the fighting let her pent-up rage come out. She couldn't help but laugh, relishing in the praise of her captures, loving the taste of her own blood seeping into her mouth from her nose. She raised her bloody fists high. She was ready for another opponent. What once was a form of punishment had quickly become the highlight of her days.

—-----

Elizabeth walked back and forth, hauling different building materials to where the Russians were rebuilding their exploded base. The mountain was a complex set of tunnels and chambers. Something she thought only happened in action movies. What were the current popular movies? The last time John had bored her with another attempted escape plan, he informed her it had been nine months of capture.

"Get out of the way, American," spat Anastasia, the ringleader of the prisoners. She was a muscular woman. And tall. She had to be six feet tall, 250 pounds. She made it her mission to strike fear in anybody who wasn't her and her small click of friends. And Elizabeth hated every moment of the woman. That was the second time today she had bumped into her, causing her to drop her things making her get in trouble yet again.

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Elizabeth was a meek thing. She was quiet and kept her head low. She did anything she could so she wouldn't be sent back to the torture chambers. That's when the bullying started. And it had become progressively worse as Elizabeth let it slide. Elizabeth looked down at the broken bricks as a guard came rushing over to her.

"That is the second time today!" the man spat out, his thick accent making it only a little bit hard to understand. "I would say you're doing it on purpose. We will show you what happens when prisoners disobey," he said as another guard grabbed her.

—------------

She remembered begging them, trying to explain. She was afraid of being tortured again. But instead, she ended up here. She remembered the punishment clearly: being beaten so badly till a female guard stopped Anastasia from killing her. She was valuable enough that they needed her to fix planes, do maintenance on trucks. Thank God for that. It wasn't long until the bullying got so bad that Elizabeth purposefully got in trouble. She ended up beating Anastasia within an inch of her life. Now the woman stayed as far away from her and now Elizabeth was the champion of the ring.

Champion or not, it didn't stop her blood from running ice cold when she saw the man she would be competing against next. His eyes were equally as surprised as hers. She hadn't seen him in months. It had taken everything within her not to think about him being dead.

"Liz."

"John."

"Fight fight fight fight fight," the crowd chanted.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," John said over the crowd.

She didn't know what to do. He was her moral compass. And now he was back. He was supposed to be dead. She wished he was dead. Only because it meant he had finally escaped and was free from this hell she hated to admit it was. She loved living in the utopia of her mind. If she was the only one here, then she could give up without accountability. The devil on her shoulder could lull her brain into submitting to her captors as it had for the past several months. But here he was. The angel came back from the dead to bring her back into reality. And she was angry.

She immediately charged forward, jumping up before swinging, punching the mountain of a man square in the face and catching him off guard. She was angry. Why was he here? Why did he have to come back from the dead? She remembered the day he was taken away vividly. They had quickly learned that whenever someone left, they never came back. They were either killed or sent to a different base. And seeing as John was a problem child for the Russians, it was obvious he had to be killed no matter how strong he was.

"Liz, what are you doing?" the man said, panic in his eyes as he saw the woman before him. This wasn't his Elizabeth.

What happened to the broken woman he left behind? Or rather was forced to leave behind? She was feral, bathing in the glory their prison guards gave her. She was comfortable here? The woman he knew would never be comfortable. Not after what they did. He immediately began fighting back, the two brawling it out. But that was the thing. He knew he could easily subdue her. He might not be as muscular or healthy as he once was. But he was still larger. And he knew her tricks.

"Stop pulling your punches you son of a bitch," Liz seethed, punching him again in the face as he tried to pin her down.

He was excited to be back, hoping his disappearance had sent her into overdrive. Maybe she would have escaped. If that were the case, that would make his life easier. Or perhaps she would have had a fire in her and wouldn't have hesitated like the many times she had when he tried to get them out. Anybody else would have hated her for ruining so many escape plans. Or would have left her behind. But he couldn't leave her behind. He understood her hesitation. Her fear. But this wasn't Elizabeth. This was a whole new animal. He hadn't counted on the fact that him being forced away would have made her accept her fate as she had.

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