Michael Bunker - WICK

“If you plan on using those things, make sure you stay away from tent 43. That’s my tent. My shift is over and I’m going straight there now.”

“I’ll stay away from tent 43.”

“What’re you gonna do with those things, anyway?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m just using them for leverage. Chances are you’ll never hear about them again.”

“Whatever you’re doing, just leave me out of it, okay? I’m just trying to get by—just like everyone else.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Steve said. With that, he walked away, leaving the guard standing alone in darkness.

Natasha stood facing Mike who sat in his chair with his feet kicked up on his desk. The light from three kerosene lamps basked Mike’s office tent in an orange-yellow glow, and a small kerosene heater clicked rhythmically as it pumped out heat that made the tent comfortable and warm.

“So you want me to be your girlfriend? Are you serious? Are you kidding me, Mike? I detest you! What is wrong with you?” Natasha then broke into a long rant in Russian. She emphasized important points in her speech by pointing her finger in Mike’s face at the appropriate moments.

Mike just stared at her, unmoved by her outburst. “Just a bit of advice,” he said coldly—and in English, “I’d cool it with the Russian-speak, unless you want to start a riot in this place.” He paused and let her consider the truth of that. “Nobody—and I mean not one single person in this place—is a big fan of the Russians right now. You’d do well to try to remember that.”

“You are an idiot if you think I’d ever throw in with you,” Natasha said, now speaking in English with a perfect American accent.

Mike clasped his hands in front of himself, and brought them thoughtfully up to his chin. “It would get you off dragger duty, and probably even save your life. Surely you don’t detest me so much that you’d die to make a point?”

“Don’t be so surprised.”

“Well,” Mike said as he reached over on the desk, picked up a pencil, and rolled it slowly between his hands, “things are about to change around here, Natasha. I mean radically change.” He pulled his feet down off the desk one boot at a time, and then leaned forward in his chair to speak conspiratorially, “I’m taking over this place in the next twenty-four hours, Natasha. Maybe sooner.” Mike fidgeted with a folded paper that was sitting on the edge of his desk. The paper had rows and columns of numbers on it, and looked official. After a moment of silence, he looked up at Natasha to see whether she believed him. He could tell that she believed just enough to keep listening. “Now that you know that little piece of information, Natasha, you will either agree to my proposal, or…,” he paused for effect, “…your body will be in that picker pile for your friend Steve to drag tomorrow.”

“Why are you even asking me? People like you—people who would threaten to kill a girl because she won’t be his girlfriend—they usually just take what they want.”

“I’m not a rapist, Natasha.”

“So, you’ll kill me if I don’t become your girlfriend, but you’re not a rapist?”

“No. I’ll kill you because you know a secret that could harm me and damage our plans. Natasha, I am not going away. We are headed for a worldwide socialist revolution. I am going to see to it that I am at the head of that revolution. This is my reason for existing, Natasha. I only trust you with this secret because I would like you to be by my side.”

Mike looked at Natasha and smiled, before continuing. “Listen… we come from the same place. We have things in common. That’s all this is. It really is as simple as that. Let’s not make this into something it isn’t.”

“You are a piece of work, Mikail.” Natasha spit the words out in anger.

“I’m just trying to help both of us make the best of a bad situation. And, do not address me by that name. One slip like that could get us both killed.”

Natasha ignored Mike’s answer and pointed a finger in his face. “And what makes you think you can take over this place? You failed with your coup at Warwick.” She looked at him and saw that her words cut him. He swallowed before answering.

“I’ve learned a lot since we left Warwick. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”

Natasha paused. “But why? Why take over? You have a powerful job right now.” She let that hang in the air, not understanding why for some men no amount of power is ever enough . “You could help people, Mike! You could do good. These people need help, not another tyrant, so why feel like you need to seize power?”

“I’ve been biding my time,” Mike said, as if he hadn’t even heard her speaking. “I had expected that our friends in the new Red Army would be here by now. An invasion was planned to follow the EMP and the nuke attacks.” He ran his fingers through his short hair and exhaled deeply. “This has been planned for a very long time, Natasha.”

He stood up and walked around the desk, and as he did, Natasha walked to the far end of the desk to increase the distance between them. “Apparently, the invasion has either failed, or it never came off.” Mike waved his hand as if it were all water under the bridge now, and of no importance to his plans. “Whatever the case, we’re on our own here, and we need to act.”

“We?” Natasha snarled. “We? I’m not with you, Mike. I’m not with the Red Army.”

Mike paused for a moment and stared at Natasha through narrowed eyes. “You are Russian, Natasha, just like me,” he whispered.

Natasha looked away. Her mind flashed back to what seemed like only hours ago, when she’d insisted to Steve that she was Russian.

“I’m not Russian,” she whispered.

“Yes, you are, Natasha. Yes, you are.”

She shook her head, as if she were shaking off the remnants of an old life and an old identity. Strength boiled up in her blood, and hardness returned to her gaze. She clenched her jaw in finality. Onlyshe would define who and what she was. She spun around and fixed Mike in her angry glare.

“So what’re you going to do, Mike? Operate a death camp? Is that how you want history to remember you? As a Gulag Commander? That is very Russian of you!”

“No!” Mike said. “I’m going to liberate this so-called ‘death camp.’ That is how history will remember me. The Americans built this camp, just like they built the Charm School. I didn’t destroy our homes and loved ones with a drone attack. The Americans did that. The Americans killed Lang, Natasha, not me! Don’t you blame any of this on Russia!” he hissed. “This prison is being criminally mismanaged for the financial benefit of the one American man who is in charge. Hardly a proper socialistic set-up like the one I will soon implement. The commander is also wasting all of his resources in this fruitless war against the FMA. I have almost 100% of the Missouri National Guard officers supporting my takeover. Any officer that does not support me, will be taken care of pretty quickly. They do not know that I am Russian and, of course, I’ve had to offer them the world in exchange for their allegiance, but we’ll see how that all turns out when the time comes. Promises can be adjusted once power is consolidated.”

“How are you going to end the war, Mike?”

“Easy. I just won’t fight it any more. Once I am in power, I will negotiate a cease fire, and then I’ll withdraw our forces and let the FMA have this useless real estate.”

“Oh? And then where will you go?” Natasha put her hands on her hips in frustration. “Your plan is to take over the camp, then abandon it?” Natasha looked at Mike as if her objection was obvious. “That sounds like a brilliant plan.”