1.
Year 2042.
That morning started beautiful and sunny, when I opened my eyes and saw what a beautiful spring day was coming. Winter was behind us, and the warmth of spring felt comforting after a long, cold winter. There were already small leaves on the trees and I loved to wander around the yard, see what plants were coming up, see if everyone had survived the winter.
I still had to get used to my new life because I was all alone now. No longer any cat or dog around. I had been living alone with my animals up to this point, but as I knew, cats and dogs were only ever with me for part of my life. There is death in life. There is a goodbye. There is loss but also growth and adjustment.
Change has never been easy for me. I am pretty much a slave to my habits, and now, not having anyone to look after and no furry companion, was another new thing to learn, if only temporarily. My sister and my parents had passed away decades ago, taken by their sickness, and I was left here with my animals and my memories to stay and live with.
I had lived alone with dogs and cats for twenty years. A week ago, I had said goodbye to my last cat and had not yet considered new animals for myself. Not having animals gave me a new kind of freedom again, but I also felt the loneliness more bitterly than before. I had relatives surviving here and there, some very old, some distant, and I hadn't kept in touch terribly closely all the time. Now, I would just be with my memories, ready to face what was next.
I spent my time in bed. I was in no hurry to get up. There were no cats to feed. I had all the time in the world to enjoy my morning at my own pace. I got dressed and headed downstairs to make myself my morning coffee. I hadn't decided what I would do today. On my way downstairs, I wondered whether I would go to the shop or just go for a drive for fun. Either way, I thought I'd just get the mail because I wanted to see if the results of my genetic tests had arrived yet. There was no need to go to the store; plenty of food and other goodies were left. Driving sounded like a hobby I might be interested in.
I sighed as I put my coffee on, remembering how decades ago we had driven with my mother and sister in the bogs and fields in our old hometown called Joutseno, watching birds in spring, summer, autumn, and even winter. I laughed in my mind as I reeled off all our adventures that were now only in my memories. And maybe, just maybe, I could even browse the internet for kittens and even dogs. It didn't sound bad at all, the idea of a little puppy that would be a fun but demanding project to teach and raise.
I remembered how my dog Honey, who had been a poodle-pumik mix, had had puppies decades ago, four little ones. I also remembered that I still have recordings of those puppy days as well as some of the driving trips. I should probably watch them again sometime.
I remembered how my sister and I would sit on the floor all night and watch Honey give birth. Honey had been officially my dog, but my sister had been the more important one to Honey again, and I didn't know if my dogs were grieving if Honey was grieving my sister's death at the time. There is so much in the world that no one knows or understands and so much more that cannot be measured or scientifically studied.
After I made my coffee, I wandered downstairs and thought about everything I had experienced in this house. I walked into the living room with a coffee cup in hand and sat on the couch. This was still the same couch I had found my father on when he died. He had just fallen asleep.
I got up and walked into the small bedroom. I had slept here once during the renovation, but this was the room my sister had been in for ten weeks before she died. But this was life, and you don't survive life alive. Even though I remembered my losses, I remembered my good times, and I also wondered what I would do.
What kind of dog I might get depends on what I can find. I had considered moving to an even smaller house, but the little thought of a dog or cat kept the idea on the sidelines. As I was drinking my coffee, I looked out the window in amusement, and in the middle of my thought I noticed a white van pull up to our intersection and turn into my yard.
Well, there's nothing strange about that, I thought, because it could be something quite normal, although as far as I know no one was supposed to be coming to visit, but sometimes the electricity company did, but they did have their own cars, and this was just a white van. I went into the kitchen and put the coffee cup down.
I then quickly went upstairs, grabbed my phone, and checked. No messages that anyone was coming. Fine, let's go check it out. I went back downstairs and looked out the window. It wasn't until I saw some rather dangerous-looking men coming out of the van who were definitely not in overalls from the electricity company. These were in civilian clothes, these were tight looking, and I got such a clear threat from these, but I have a good imagination, so I didn't call anywhere yet but decided to go and ask what these guys were about.
They could be on a completely innocent mission, and my imagination was running wild.
I watched as the men got out and approached the front door. At that point, I decided not to open the porch door. My house had two doors: the porch door, which was closed with a strong metal hook on the inside, and the actual door that led into the house. I went to the porch, and I kept my phone available before I asked through the door what was going on. I stepped onto the porch with my phone in my hand.
"Open the door, lady. We need to talk. Do you live here alone?" the man asked through the door.
"Open this door now, and we can talk!" another menacing-sounding voice came from behind the door. I decided to be firm and spoke clearly, hoping my voice would be sharp and terse enough.
"What's the matter? What is this about, and what do you want with me? If you have your ID, show it to me through the window. I have a phone, and I can call 112 right now."
"Damn old woman," someone then said. "you don't make it easy then you bitch. Well, you're the one who's suffering." The voice was squeaky. Somehow, I got the impression that this guy was very impatient.
Then, one of the men took a pole from the wall of the house, broke one of the porch windows, and started climbing in. I slipped inside and locked the second door, tapped the emergency number on my phone, and tried to call, but my phone kept fiddling and slowing down at that very moment.
I heard the other door shatter and tried to think of the best escape route. I knew that even if I called 911, those guys would be inside in a minute, so I tried to figure out the quickest way to get the fuck out. I already had my Crocs on, so I'd better run with my shoes on if I got out.
The downstairs window part was surprisingly good height, but the model wasn't hinged as the windows were removable- that takes time. These were very old windows; the attachment mechanisms were a bit stuck and rusty. I could, of course, try to smash the window, but real-life glass is a bit different from sugar glass in some movies, and I didn't want to accidentally split my veins open trying to escape.
I was a small woman, about 60 years old. Although my age didn't really show, I was only 156 cm tall and not very strong. The men were tall and muscular, so a direct assault would not be very successful for very long. I was always trying to get my phone to work while trying to think where to run. Only one exit, and those thugs were there. Fine, I would have to sneak out and try to escape. I had neighbors fairly close by, but I wasn't in any shape, so this would be a tight spot.
I would have to incapacitate the men, even for a moment, maybe get my phone to work. I grabbed a heavy frying pan off the stove, which I always used when I cooked. I cooked for several days at a time and in large quantities. This was a heavy large frying pan, almost a handle wok pan.
I felt the weight of the pan in my hand, and as the first man approached, I swung the pan in an arc and hit the first man with it as hard as I could. I was small, so I hit the man in the stomach, and his breath caught. There was a loud bellow, and the man cursed as the pan hit him in the gut, and he doubled over. A small object flew from the man's hand, and when it hit the floor, I saw it was a syringe.
I hit the next man with the frying pan as well, aiming a little lower, trying to hit him in the crotch and as hard as I could. He groaned, doubled over, and held his hands in his crotch. I stomped on the syringe, smashing it, and rushed as fast as I could to the front door.
I rushed down the stairs and tried to head out of the yard, close to the neighbors, hoping that somewhere there would be someone moving, even a car driving down the road that ran next to my house. I heard men swearing and running after me. I almost made it to the intersection when the first man caught me and slammed me to the ground.
I hit the gravel road hard. I felt my hands scratch, and my knees hurt as they hit the gravel with the weight of the man pushing me to the ground. I couldn't get up. The man pushed too hard on my back and pulled my hands behind my back, holding me tightly in his grip. I felt my cheek against the ground, blood dripping from the scratches, and it stung and hurt.
"Fuck, give that fucking tranquilizer to that fucking bitch!" another voice said. This was the whimpering, impatient type. The one I'd punched right in the crotch. Apparently, it still felt.
"When that bloody woman broke that syringe, there's nothing to give." This voice was irritated. This one had a frying pan in his stomach. He wasn't terribly impressed with me, either.
A third voice, clearly calmer, almost amused, said: "We don't need any medicine, a middle-aged little lady like that, who is easy to control. as long as you see that she doesn't get a frying pan in her hands, she won't do anything to us."
This guy had quite an ego, but I wasn't going just to be a prisoner. I did know that I was outnumbered and didn't really understand my eagerness to fight back. It was as if I had no instinct for self-protection. i.e., when you're always told to protect your own life, give money, or whatever some thug demands, don't fight back. Well, I wasn't like that, apparently. In fact, I'd never been in this situation before, and I surprised myself. I had read quite a few agent and action books in my time. Maybe I'm channeling them now.
I just thought, yes, I'll fight it and try to escape as long as I can. I'm trying to find a way to escape. One of the men took my phone and stomped on it, breaking it. Then they picked me up and started dragging me towards a white van. One of the men went to open the side door already.
It was a squeaky one, apparently. The men dragged me into the van, even as I kicked, bit, screamed, and even spat in their faces when I could. Their grip on me was unrelenting, too strong for me to escape, and the men roughly carried me into the car. Finally, the men threw me into the car. I flew face first into the back of the car, onto the floor, and before I could get up, the door was slammed shut, and there was no handle inside .fuck, well, I'll work something out during the drive.
My house was located in Kymenlaakso, about 7 km from the Russian border, but the men were possibly talking from Kotka and Helsinki. One man put a message on his phone. I could hear their voices back here, but they didn't see me. The doors were locked, but I was happy that there was no direct line of sight from the car to the front seat.
I started frantically looking for an escape route, a weapon. I started looking at the car's side panels, walls, and even the floor. I was hoping to find something I could sabotage, but I had no expertise with van electrical wiring. I kept on exploring, trying to rip the panels open to uncover where I could find some wires for indicators or lamps that I could rip off, even if the cops stopped the car and I could call for help.
I took a sheet of metal off the side wall. It wasn't terribly big, but it seemed stronger than aluminum and might hold. I started pushing it between the rear doors to get the doors open so I could jump out or attract the attention of other cars. If just a strip of metal sliding between the rear doors would get some attention. I could only hope that someone would call the police when they saw what I was doing. I got the metal plate between the doors and started moving it near the lock if I could get it between the lock or properly visible from the outside so that someone would wonder enough what I was doing.
"What the hell is that chick back there doing?" one of the men asked. He heard noises as I was rattling and fussing, trying to get something done.
This one was the most impatient squeaky, and I had hit him with my frying pan because he seemed very edgy. And right in the balls. He seemed to be still complaining about it. The driver was the calmest.
"Damn, the bitch is going to wreck the whole car," he complained in exasperation. His voice was squeaky, somehow impatient, and he was just a hired thug in this business.
"All right, let's stop somewhere for a rest, and you can see for yourself that she hasn't done anything!" The driver said calmly.
The driver underestimated my will to escape, and he seemed to see me as just a weak, little older woman who couldn't help herself. This guy clearly thought that women were weak and I was no match for him. I didn't even know yet why I had been kidnapped or what they wanted, but I understood that they were just hired to capture and imprison me. They were just mercenaries.
I thought, "Yay, there's my chance. I ripped one of the pipes off the van and waited for it to stop. It was some kind of support pipe or something like that, but I managed to pry it off. Now I had some kind of weapon, something I could find. My plan was to lie in wait at the door, and when the door opened, I would hit the man in the face or wherever with the pipe as hard as I could and run away as fast as I could... I knew we were on a motorway; luckily, there was always traffic.
Eventually, I noticed that the car started to slow down, and the men seemed to be giving the driver a lot of advice about when the rest stop was coming up. I got into position near the door and waited, heart pounding. Now or never, I thought. The car stopped, and the men got out.
The door opened, and I swung the pipe in an arc as hard as I could, feeling it hit a man, a squeaker, and he fell to the ground, knocking the other man down with him. Now I saw my chance. I stumbled out of the car and started running as hard as my legs would allow me towards the road.
This resting place was a little hidden so that there was no direct line of sight to the road from here. I could hear cars driving nearby, but I didn't get far enough before I was knocked to the ground again, and the heavy weight lay on top of me, trapping me completely. I hit the asphalt hard and again felt my arms getting new bruises and scratches, and my cheeks, too.
The weight on my back was relentless, and soon, a man twisted my arms behind my back and pulled me to my feet. The two others came. I saw that the squeaker had a split lip and was looking at me murderously. The men held me in a tight grip as the driver handed me over to them to be caught, pulled out his phone, and made a call.
The man walked some distance away, and I couldn't hear everything. I only heard part of what he was saying in English to someone on the other end of the phone.
"Hello, we have a problem," he said. " She's quite feisty, and she destroyed the syringe so that we couldn't sedate her," the man continued. The man kept talking for a while, listening and muttering something into the phone every now and then. The other man held me while the squealer went to see what I had been doing in the back of the van.
The man listened for a moment and replied briefly, "Okay, we'll be there. " the driver had now also walked around to look at the back of the van and seemed to say they needed a new van and a way to keep me in line, he listed the things I had already pulled out of the van.
I tried to get out of the grip of this man who was holding me, and I tried to stomp on his feet. I tried to do anything. But I couldn't get away. The driver listened to his phone for a moment and then hung up. He and the squeaker came closer. Squeaky came and grabbed me, and not in a friendly way. I knew I was pretty bruised after that.
"So you two can spend some quality time with that wildcat back there until we get to Kotka. There's the next crew waiting to take that trouble." The driver's voice was steady. It was clear this was, in fact, the boss of the gang.
Neither of my captors was terribly impressed, but they dragged me back to the van, threw me on the floor, and went to sit on the bench themselves. The whiny one put his foot on my back and pushed me to the ground. The shoe on my back held me still, and turned my face so my scratched cheek wasn't against the floor. I wasn't going to ask why or where they were taking me. I was just lying still. He said threateningly." We should deliver you safe and sound to your destination, but damage can happen if you are too stubborn. And I have some debts to pay you, you wild beast."
I didn't even try to do anything for the rest of the journey. I thought I'd save my strength for the car change. Maybe there would be another chance, and then if I could convince them, I wouldn't do anything anymore. I tried to be unpredictable and surprising. Finally, the car stopped, the doors opened, and the men dragged me out.
"Where the fuck are they?" An impatient whimpering squealed. There was something about his voice that really hurt my ears. It really did. I braced myself, waiting for the right moment and not even thinking about whether this was in any way wise or safe for me to fight and try to escape. It was as if I had nothing to lose, no sense of self-preservation at all.
"Calm down; we're a bit early, and he'll be here," the driver reassured.
I was ready to run again if the opportunity presented itself. I looked around, trying to make some sort of escape plan. We were in the yard of some building, this was an abandoned building, some old warehouse, and I didn't see any people very close by. I took a look in which direction I could go. I knew we were in Kotka, but I'd never driven there enough to know where I was. Eventually another white van pulled into the parking lot, bigger than the one I had been brought in.
The man holding me was momentarily distracted. I was able to break free of his grip as the squeaky one checked his phone, looked at his messages, and didn't watch what I was doing. I stomped on the man's foot. I broke free of the grip, and started running away in the other direction where the van was.
I had seen the door open, and the man got out, but now I was running away as fast as I could. Suddenly, someone caught me again. I was now thrown backward as the man's arm caught me by the arm and pinned me against him, and a deep voice said: "Oh, my, this little lady is as spry and quick as a rabbit."
The man himself dragged me into another car, and the driver opened the doors. There was a metal cage into which this man lifted me effortlessly, pushing me quickly to the back so that it took me a moment to get to my feet and turn around. He closed the door before I could react or do anything more. The cage was strong, I couldn't twist the bars even if I tried. The man looked at me contemptuously with his satisfied, cold eyes.
"Hmm, one more thing, or two things really, before we go on."
His voice was low with a slight accent, as if he wasn't Finnish, to begin with. He looked at me as if I were some insignificant piece of meat or a bug he could squash, a look I would see on so many people's faces in the future.
The man was relatively tall, muscular, and slight, and I took him for a typical serial killer who didn't really look like anything. He looked dangerous, knew his strength and I could see the holster on his hip. The man jumped into the car and pulled the handles on the front of the cage.
The back wall of the cage started to move, and soon, the man had me flattened against the front edge of the cage. This was a big version of the cages I'd seen at the vet's office, where you put the animal in a cage and, with a moving wall like this, pull it tight so you can give it a shot.
The cage wasn't even that big, probably almost a square meter or less, but the moving wall flattened me against the front wall.
He grabbed my wrist and took a device out of his pocket. It looked a bit like a hemoglobin or blood glucose meter. For some reason, I suspected that it wasn't my blood glucose that was being measured.
He pressed the device against my fingertip, and the needle pierced my finger, and the man waited long enough for the device to suck a drop of my blood. It was probably five minutes or more before the machine beeped in his hand. He looked at it, and his expression was surprised. He looked at me coldly and said: "Oh boy, we've got a jackpot here."
The man took the phone out of his pocket and jumped out to make a call. I heard him say something about finding all eight of them, and he grunted and listened to the person on the other end for a moment. Then he went outside to talk to the three guys who had grabbed me, and I heard some weird thumps. Some muffled thuds almost. Then he called someone, telling them there were no witnesses and the cleanup operation could begin. The target was in custody.
After talking for a few minutes, he jumped back in. I saw through the door all three men lying on the ground in a pool of blood, and I could almost smell the gunpowder. This had killed the men, leaving no witnesses. He approached me again, and I was still flattened against the front wall. He took a box from his pocket. After opening the box, he pulled out a pre-filled hypodermic needle. The man looked at me coldly and spoke. His voice was almost amused, low, and clearly dangerous. This was a killer.
"This will calm you right down, you little wildcat."
I tried to get away from the walls, but they had a locking system, and I couldn't stop it as the man jabbed the needle into my upper arm and pressed the plunger. I thought, yeah, it hit my muscle; it takes 5-10 minutes for whatever's in that syringe to kick in. The man released the wall, and I pulled back as far against the back wall of the cage as I could.
I went to sit down. And wondered what the medicine was if I could fight against it. It was clear at this point that I was supposed to get there alive, so I wasn't so worried about my fate. I didn't panic and just tried to sit there while the man got in the driver's seat and started driving.
Soon, the drug took effect, and I noticed how my thoughts became blurred. My muscles went limp. Everything felt slow and uncomfortable. I didn't quite fall asleep, but I was in a kind of torpor. I felt helpless and paralyzed; I felt the bars pressing down on me, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was completely helpless and sedated, and the further the journey went on, the more I began to hate it.
Then the car stopped. I had no sense of time. I vaguely remembered at some point, there had been talk of Helsinki, so I wondered if we were there. Once the car was in park and the driver got out of the car, I heard the doors open.
My vision was quite blurry, so I would normally need glasses, but I hadn't had them on when the whole thing started. Some men came into the car. They opened the cage door, reached into the cage, pulled me out, and lifted me onto a stretcher to which I was tied with belts.
They put an oxygen mask on my face, and I felt a needle being inserted into my vein, a sharp prick, and then the cannula was threaded deeper and taped in place, and I barely had time to notice the syringe being inserted into the cannula and the plunger being pressed before the darkness took over me.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone