[color=f7976a][b]Helja Petrova[/b][/color][hr]

It was bright and sunny.

A perfect day for fishing — not that she had any real liking for fishing mind you — and a fine day to spend with her father. Lovik was hardly ever home, claiming his business and work kept him very busy, but what little time he had was spent with her, his only child. Time that was precious to Helja. For as long as she could remember, anything she had ever wanted would be handed to her on a silver platter, but always, simply spending time with her father was the most enjoyable, certainly something she could not just ask for with his busy schedule. 

She took a deep breath as they approached the dock, taking in the scent of the forest.

A private lodge, surrounded by a lush forest, and a large lake. Just father and daughter, spending quality time fishing for the day. What servants they had was sent away for the week; indeed there would be little room for them in the small lodge. There should be no one else here save for them.

So then why was it that she could hear car engines reverberating through the forest?

Her father, Lovik, was a tall man, strong and gentle, with ever a way for words. She had never seen him act in anger, nor had she ever seen him wear that expression as the cars rolled in, and the men jumped out. She had never seen him move that fast, closing a distance of about ten metres with what seemed like a step. She had never seen a fishing rod used that way, or did she knew it could ever be as lethal as her father wielded it. 

Helja stepped forwards, her mouth open to ask a question, before everything went black.

[center]***[/center]

"-ong time now, Lovik. Or should I say, Loptr?"

Helja opened her eyes, feeling like there was a lump on the back of her head. With a start she realized she was tied up beside her father. It was an odd scene that had burned itself into her memory; the imposing man looking very pleased with himself, that one fellow in the back looking inside a teapot and that blatantly absurd accusations they were now listing as her father's crime.

"Who dares to level such slander upon my father?" She spoke, barely contained anger in her voice. "Who are you to trespass on private grounds and assault me and my father?"

Surprise passed through the imposing man's features for a moment, before that smug grin returned to his face.

"The Consortium. Don't play dumb. You know perfectly well why we're here. You and your father won't be able to trick your way out of this one."

His continuance of his significantly smugger speech and her father's calm reassuring words to her faded into the background as white started to fill up her mind. There was no doubt of their innocence in her mind, after all, the most she had ever did was lose her temper over some incompetent servant. Her father was certainly not a man that would do any of the thing they were listing off. What sort of incompetent fools did the Consortium send?

Helja did no more than to try to stand up, angry and indignant, before she fell flat to her face. An inhuman howl pierced the air as she realized only her right arm was the only limb attached to her body. There was no pain, only shock and confusion. The screaming and cursing melded together, as did the blur of movements and flailing of limbs in her vision. She was bleeding out, of that she was sure, but she can't help thinking that the fishing trip this afternoon wouldn't be too successful if the fishes were all frightened away by that accursed howling.

[center]***
[b]Six months after[/b]
***[/center]

It felt like a cold black void. 

That was what she would have described death as. A cold black wet void, filled with nothing, so oppressive it felt as if you were drowning, your breath stuck as if you were trying to breath through thick viscous liquid.

In fact, it was getting to be rather painful right about now.

With a gasp, Helja raised her head up from the puddle of water coughing loudly. With her eyes still adjusting, she could barely make out the room she was in. Not that she was in any condition to be calmly observing anything. She started retching, a reflex brought on by her time face down in a puddle of what was hopefully water and just water. It would be rather humiliating to be choking on a puddle of someone's urine after all. 

"Where... ."

Not a room but a large warehouse, lit only by the moon. An old, perhaps abandoned, building judging from the forklift lying there like the carcass of an old beast. Old boxes seemed to fill the space around her, as well as what seemed to be bodies.

Dead bodies.

She would have started screaming if her throat didn't feel so incredibly dry. Dead bodies, the ranks of which she should have joined. But, Helja was still alive, with all her limbs still attached. Even her clothes have been replaced; she was wearing simple sneakers, loose fitting jeans and a dark hoodie now. What sort of maniacs did the Consortium hire?

[i]But how?[/i]

How did she live? The creeping feeling that she might not be truly alive was forgotten briefly as she saw movement from the corner of her eyes. Another woman, perhaps wrongly accused, and rescued from the brink of death as well. Helja moved to stand up, to walk over and start asking questions. Instead, she found her legs unwilling to support her, and collapsed face first into the puddle again.

Deja vu.

For a brief moment, anger flared up within her again, as the memories flooded into her mind. Shaking her head, Helja focused on her current predicament. She was still alive, though god knows how long she had been unconscious, but her limbs wasn't moving the way she wanted it to. Perhaps it was a side effect from being wounded, or from still being groggy after awakening. Unwilling to stay in the puddle — or anywhere near the bodies for that matter — she dragged herself up on the forklift to a standing position, waiting for her current bout of weakness to fade before trying to do anything else.