One Step Forward ... Two Steps Back (Molonov)

[Julien Delacroix (3)]

Six years of his life taken. Six years of his life ruined, and yet, all he knew were those six years. Faces plagued dreams; sometimes he heard names in his head, and sometimes in his imagination, he walked down a hall of mirrors. Jules often saw a woman in his dream, and she always tells him things will be alright. She pushes her fingers through his hair, and he always notices that she’s wearing a gown like he wore during treatments. Whenever he looked to her face, he always woke up or was interrupted. Jules didn’t know who she was, but he felt he should. She was important. She seemed more important than his life, and he didn’t know why.

Jules kept the things he remembered to himself. Sometimes they seemed like things he dreamed up just to get away, and yet sometimes, he knew he lived the moments he could remember. They were palpable to the senses. He could smell the wood polish in the hall of mirrors. He could feel the woman pushing her fingers through his hair. They had to be memories. Jules just knew it, and if they were, six years of his life really had been taken from him….

….Jules wanted to know why. Why him?

He’d recently been promoted to a menial. One step above a resident, a thousand steps away from still being free. On the upside, being a menial gave him access to many of the labs. It wouldn’t be too hard to say that he was putting away supplies. That was, after all, his new job.

Jules shut the door to Molonov’s lab, and ran over to the computer. He knew it would take far too long to collect and splice his own genes to see exactly why, on a genetic level, Molonov would want him. It could take days --Jules didn’t have days. Hell, he didn’t even have hours.

Julien pulled up the files he wanted, but they were encrypted. Cursing in French, he glanced over his shoulder. He’d be busted if someone found him at the computer --Menials weren’t supposed to be on them, and he couldn’t think of an excuse.

Jules reached into his pocket, grabbing an ink pen out. He went back to the file, looking at the coding, and slowly started to decode it. With every right code, Jules wrote it on his forearm. Finally his entire medical file was available to him and he set his inkpen down on the keyboard. Jules scrolled down to the genetic testing. Nothing wrong that he could see, but there was a small link beside the results. Clicking on it, Jules glanced over his shoulder again while it loaded.

“Merde” he murmured when he turned back to see that file was encrypted too. It didn’t take him nearly as long to decode that file, and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw the name at the heading…

Molonov, Viktor.

Jules’s brows furrowed as he scrolled through the file. Why in the hell would their medical files be connected to one another? Finally Jules managed to get down to Molonov’s own genetic testing of himself. Jules leaned forward, looking at the screen…. Something looked familiar on Molonov’s file. Julien flipped between the two files, and started seeing the similarities.

Julien Delacroix and Viktor Molonov shared genetic markers.

They shared many genetic markers, actually….

Enough to be related by blood…

As he looked at the files, he could tell they weren’t closely related. The two didn’t share enough markers to be siblings or parent and child. But they were related all the same. First he stared with his mouth hanging open. This couldn’t be right.

But it was.

Jules ground his teeth together as he realized six years of his life had been taken away from a relative. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin as he started to re-encrypt his and Molonov’s files into a completely different coding. Jules then started opening other files --both medical and experiment files from the last year. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he started corrupting the files.

If Molonov could just so easily ruin his life, Jules would do the same for as long as he could live.

Julien closed all the files out, and he wanted to make sure that he’d successfully corrupted the files. He clicked on one of them, and hundreds of smaller windows started popping up, with the message Fuck you Molonov.

Satisfied with his handy work, pushed his sleeves down, the shut down the computer. He turned all the lights off in the lab, and started out the door. Julien walked as briskly as he could down the hall, and finally made it into the social hall.

He saw a girl named Kat, but instead of nodding to her, he brushed past, placing himself in front of the bookshelf. Julien thumbed through the second hand books -- he’d read all of them, but he needed to look like he was doing something if Molonov came storming in.

[Viktor Molonov]

Another bad day. If bad meant inconclusive. But if that was the case, most days were "bad" at the labs in recent months.

Viktor would like to think that the reason there had been so many inconclusive experiments was because they had already discovered all there was to discover. Unfortunately, the man was far too stubborn for that. He had a scientific goal to reach, a calling to fulfill, a world to save, and he wasn't going to relinquish his efforts until he held all the answers. He'd been given such knowledge for a reason: to apply it and to use it to make that first big step toward the ultimate bettering of mankind. Utopia was possible, and he knew how to reach it. The perfect being was the key, immune to all human diseases and even the process of aging. With that key, humanity would be free from the chains that bound it to the barbaric ways of nature. Wars would stop. Violence would stop. Death would stop.

Viktor couldn't attain this key on his own; he was still just sane enough to realize that. It's why he'd put together the aristocratic dwarf government of the laboratories. He and his three associates, Starikovich, Vostrikova, and Oleksei, had the bright minds needed to control experiments, and each of them had their own group of scientists to help them in their respective tasks. Starikovich was focusing on the immune system. Vostrikova, genetics. And Oleksei, the nervous system.

He'd already made the rounds that day. Everything was in working order. The Starikovich and Vostrikova labs were running flawlessly, and Oleksei was still moving forward, if a bit slower than Molonov might've liked. That must have been the problem! Oleksei was the weakness. He was the reason they'd stopped moving forward. The young scientist with the most difficult experiments to host was beginning to get soft, and it was slowing them down. He had a soft spot for innocence; he always had, and now it was starting to show. Thinking about Oleksei's fondness for the residents frustrated the head scientist; there had to be some way to show the young man that these people were just a miniscule fraction compared to the lives they would be saving, if he would just focus. Viktor was pondering ways he could go about setting Oleksei back on the right path when he entered his lab that afternoon.

It was dark, and when Viktor turned on the lights, everything looked to be exactly as he left it. He wasn't expecting anything to have been touched while he was out, but he gave the room a once over anyway, as he always did. He closed the door behind him and ventured inside, prepared to go about his own business in the lab. As part of the routine, he flipped on the power to the computer and moved across the room to unearth some lab equipment he was planning to use. He set the equipment on the table and looked back at the computer screen just in time to see a window pop up on the screen. He drew nearer, until his hands rested on the back of the chair in front of the screen, and he was close enough read the words.

Fuck you, Molonov.

His hands tightened on the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white before he reached forward to close out the window. Another popped up in its place. He closed that one, too, only to be greeted with another. This pattern continued for several moments, until Viktor realized that the effort was futile. His mind raced, pushing through questions and the resulting possibilities. Who had access to his lab? Who could get into the mainframe? Who was tech-savvy enough to be able to hack into it far enough to cause it to malfunction upon startup? Who had the motivation to do such a thing?

His body was moving seperately from his mind, powered fully by his rage. The chair had been flipped. The equipment he'd just set out was scattered around the room. Glass vials and jars were shattered against the glossy floor of the lab. It took every ounce of self-control Viktor had at that moment (which albeit, wasn't very much) not to smash the computer itself. No, this would have to be fixed. There was too much progress that had been made; they couldn't be set back to the beginning. Not now, with six whole years worth of data collected on that mainframe.

As Viktor slowly calmed, his mind began to give him answers to the swirling questions. His lab had been unlocked, which meant anyone who wanted access (aside from residents, who weren't allowed in that part of the building without express permission), had it. Only his associates had the passwords needed to get into the mainframe, but now, as Viktor pushed his memory, he couldn't recall whether or not he'd let it remain on when he'd left. But the actual deed, there was no one Viktor could think of that had both the brain and the motives to do something malicious to his computer. He didn't have to rack his brain for long, though; as he stared back in the direction of the computer, he saw something lying across the keyboard that he hadn't noticed before; a pen, a familiar one. One he'd bought for a certain younger cousin so many years ago, when the by was still living in France with his family.

Viktor didn't know when, how, or why Julien had targetted his computer, but there was no denying that he'd had something to do with it. Viktor's limbs carried him out of the lab before he had a chance to comply or refuse, and he was off to where he knew Julien would be, where Julien almost always was: the catacombs. But to get to the catacombs, Viktor had to pass through the social hall, and it was there that he spotted the damn culprit, his fingers tracing along the bookshelf as if a new one was going to appear any moment. A girl had just approached him, (Katya was her name; she was one of the few Viktor remembered) and was trying to strike up conversation.

Molonov ended that with a single movement, pushing the girl aside lightly enough that it would have barely moved a normal-sized person. But she was a good deal smaller, and she stumbled backward a few steps, almost losing her balance. Viktor paid no attention to her; he was preoccupied with much bigger tasks. He looked down on Julien as he took the girl's place next to him, and had to clench his fists to keep from attacking him right away. No, it would be better to keep his calm, at least at first. He still needed the boy to fix what he'd screwed up, and if he started off on the offensive, Viktor might regret it in the long run.

Instead, he spoke through his teeth. "Been busy today, boy? Why aren't you on task?"

[Julien Delacroix (3)]

Jules was trying to avoid Kat., but she was persistent. He continued to look at the books, walking his fingers over the broken binds. Jules smoothed himself against the bookshelf, inching past Kat, and pulled down an old English book. The words on the cover were faded, but it looked like it said Jane Eyre. Jules flipped through the pages as Kat came around to his side again. Glaring at her, he then went back looking at the book as he leaned against the bookshelf. She was still talking --rattling on about how rude he was being to her. Jules rolled his eyes as he licked his fingers, turning the page. He thought if he ignored her, she’d shut up, but she kept going.

Persistent Buggar.

“Katya, fermez la bouche. Cassez mes pieds.*,” Jules finally looked up at her as he snapped the book shut, and putting it back into the shelf, “I am serious. I don’t feel like talking to you.” Jules went back to fingering the binds of the books, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kat being pushed away from him. Jules glanced up, coming face to face with Molonov….

“Extremely busy,” Jules said, plastering on a fake smile as he looked at Molonov, “I’ve already stocked the labs.”

Julien turned back to the books, trying to avoid Molonov’s gaze. He thought he was sure there was nothing to lead back to him. Why was Molonov talking to him? There were other people he could snoop out who would seem to know more about the mainframe than Jules did.

He glanced back at Molonov, and he could see Molonov was clenching his teeth which made Jules do the same. The anger he’d felt in the lab was coming back to him as he searched Molonov’s face. They did sort of resemble each other, now that he thought about it. They had the same facial strcture, but Jules’s face was more angular and sharper than Molonovs. Maybe that was because he was still young. His face would round out when he grew older. That happened to most young men, didn’t it.

Jules continued to look at Molonov, and an image kept cropping up into his head. The person in the memory looked like Molonov. His hair was a little shorter than it is now, and his face was longer and bonier. But this Molonov smiled. Yes, Jules remembered that --he smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and said Why hello Yulien. Jules had laughed, shaking his head. He was only a small boy then, and he’d hooked his small fingers around Molonov’s fingers, Je m’appelle Julien, Not Yulien!

Julien shook his head. Where had that come from? Was that another thing that his head made up? Or was it something very real? He somehow doubted he could imagine Molonov so young in his head --it had to have happened, and it made him angry. Whatever happened to that Molonov?

“Excusez-moi*, I’d like to look at the other books,” Jules murmured as he tried to brush past Molonov. His shoulder collided with Molonov’s chest ---whether that was intentional or unintentional didn’t really matter, at least not to Julien.

---

Fermez la bouche = shut up (more or less)
Cassez mes pieds = You break my feet/ you annoy me.
Excusez-moi = excuse me

[Viktor Molonov]

Julien's false smile only pumped more rage into Molonov's veins. Of course the boy wouldn't admit it. No, he was far too smart for that, or so it seemed from the stunt he'd just pulled. Molonov was furious that this boy had hacked the system, but he was moreso frustrated with himself for letting him do it. If he'd been more observant for those six years, then perhaps he would have noticed Julien's brilliance---that was a strange word to apply to the young man: brilliance. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Julien's obsession with books, especially books about scientific studies and such. The way he looked down upon the rest of the world. He knew he was smarter than any average person, most likely. Even if his memory had been wiped, the genius remained. Molonov pursed his lips and pushed his fingernails even firther into the palms of his fisted hands. Anger wouldn't solve anthing, not yet. Control. Keep that control.

"I've already stocked the labs."

Had he? Shit, Viktor couldn't remember. He'd been to all the labs already today, on the rounds he'd made just before making his way back to his own lab. But had they been stocked? He pushed on his memory, searching for the smallest hint one way or the other, but there was nothing. Dammit, why wasn't he more observant? That was a scientist's job, to observe, and he was good at it, when it came to the experiments. But as for the rest of the world, it was a sieve, and his memories were fluid, slipping through the openings.

His eyes caught Julien's clench of his teeth, something that hadn't slipped through. There was anger in Julien, too, Viktor gathered. But he couldn't tell if it was the usual anger that leaked from him, added to the strain of worrying he was caught, or something more. It didn't matter, Viktor realized, as long as the rebellious young man would restore his damn system.

Julien pushed in front of him, his shoulder pushing roughly against Viktor's fairly larger and more muscular chest, as he moved to look at the other books. The no-contact approach had been broken, and Viktor angrily grabbed the crook of Julien's elbow, prepared to drag him back to the lab if need be. "Well, I have another task for you to undertake," he growled, before he slowly realized that the characters written on Julien's wrist, now exposed as his sleeve was bunched beneath Viktor's angry grip, were indeed bits of the code that the files had been written in. Viktor yanked back Julien's sleeve, revealing the characters that had made up the encrypted code. Julien had not only hacked into the system, but had also been reading files. Viktor couldn't tell which, from what was written, but it didn't matter; the boy had read classified information

Now raging, Viktor had to refrain from attacking the young man in front of Katya, who so obviously cared for him and might get in the way. Instead, he pulled the familiar pen from his pocket with the hand that wasn't grasping Julien's elbow. "This look familiar to you?!" he fumed, his voice raspy, like an overly loud whisper, as he held the pen up in front of Julien's face.

He was done debating Julien's guilt versus his innocence. He was so obviously the one who had caused the computer to malfunction, and who knows what else he might have done beyond that single twist. Whatever he'd done, he was going to fix. Viktor was going to see to that personally, even if it meant pushing him to mere inches from his death. He turned and gave the boy's arm one good yank. He might put up a fight, but Julien was coming back to the lab, even if Viktor had to drag him there himself.

[Julien Delacroix (3)]

Molonov grabbed his arm, and Jules swung around to look Molonov in the face. He just wanted to punch him. His other hand started to ball into a fist, but he then shoved it into his pocket, pinching the side of his leg.

“Oh?” Julien asked as calmly as he could, “I don’t think there’s anything left for a menial to do.” He could feel Molonov’s fingers digging into his arm, and he glanced down at them, and saw the writing on his wrist. Molonov hadn’t noticed it yet, and his mind was reeling, trying to figure a way to push his sleeve down. As his free hand came up to pull his sleeve down, Molonov had already noticed the writing, and yanked his sleeve. Jules watched as realization washed over the older man’s face, and he gripped Jules’s arm even tighter.

"This look familiar to you?!"

Julien stared at the pen poised in Molonov’s hand. Damn it. How’d he manage to forget that. Jules cocked his head to the side, looking at the pen.

“Non, not particularly,” Jules said as he reached out, plucking the ink pen from Molonov’s hand as if to examine it further, “then again, I do have more property than everyone else --maybe I forgot I had it, or someone stole it from me. Oui?”

He smiled at Molonov. Not the best thing to do, but he smiled anyways, baring his teeth.

“People do that around here,” Jules murmured as if he didn’t want the other residents to hear him, “can’t keep anything shiny for long--someone’s greedy paws away manages to take it.”

Julien was starting to be yanked along, and Jules put all his weight into leaning back, wiggling his arm in Molonov’s grip. His feet were sliding against the floor. Without thinking about it, Jules’s knees buckled, and he sat on the ground Indian style. Somewhere he remembered being told to do that.

If he pulls you along so hard, sit on the ground, Jules. Sit on the ground, and hold the leash to your chest with both hands.

He shook his head, trying to get the voice to go away. Jules tried yanking his arm away again, but when he did so he felt a shooting pain as he almost bent his elbow the wrong way.

Jules put his head down, protecting his face, and underneath his stretched out arm, he could see Katya. He closed his eyes to avoid hers.

[Viktor Molonov]

Frustration boiled in Molonov's blood when Julien spoke calmly of the possibilities behind the pen. He was a clever boy, Viktor now knew. If he hadn't seen the writing on Julien's arm, Viktor might have believed this theory, and started back at the beginning, looking for other suspects. It made him wonder how many other times the boy had slipped past him with simple words like those ones, how many times other people had been punished where Julien deserved the blame. Six goddamn years, and it took a mistake like this for Viktor to discover this much of what Julien was capable of. Six years of using his younger cousin as an experiment, when he could have perished along with the rest and whatever hidden promise he seemed to hold would have been lost forever.

Viktor didn't know which fact was the most aggravating. That he'd so severely underestimated Julien's brainpower, that Julien was using it against him, or that he'd almost gotten away with it. Whatever the reason, Viktor was finding it harder and harder to keep his composure. No, he repeatedly told himself. Not here. Once they were in the privacy of the lab, Viktor could and most surely would do whatever it took to force Julien into cleaning up the mess he made. But he wouldn't show his lack of control to the other residents. Viktor was a good man, and while he knew that most of them didn't believe that, he wasn't going to give them an obvious reason to think otherwise.

"And I suppose someone else wrote that shit on your arm, too?" Molonov growled, giving Julien's arm another tug in the direction, only to be met with blatant defiance. "Come, boy. You're going to fix what you've tampered with." He still pulled, and Julien's feet slid against the floor. Another tug toward the lab, and Julien was sitting on the floor, cross-legged and stubborn.

He turned toward Julien, his bubbling anger now beginning to overflow. "You...," Viktor growled, his resolve snapping beneath the weight of his growing frustration. He no longer cared what the other residents saw or assumed. "Are coming..." Every word was perfectly annunciated, as if he were talking to a young child who knew little English. His hand---the one that wasn't still clamped around Julien's elbow---found a fistful of his dark hair. "Back to the lab..." His fingers curled tightly around the clump, his large hand able to catch hold of a majority of the locks. Damn, it had the same thick texture as his own, a fact that only served to make Viktor angrier. "Even if I have to drag you there myself." With the emphasis of the last word of his statement, Viktor pulled upward, pulling Julien to his feet by his hair, without letting go of his arm. Once he had him on his feet, he again began to attempt to move Julien in the direction of the lab, this time pushing the boy in front of him instead of dragging him behind, with one hand still on his elbow and the other gripping a handful of hair.

[Julien Delacroix (3)]

Molonov pulled him off his ass, and up onto his feet, but jules hunched up on the balls of his feet, wrapping his free arm around his knees. He kept his head down, just incase Molonov struck out. Molonov demanded that he fix the corrupted files on the computer, but he just buried his face into his knees. Jules wasn’t, under any circumstances, going to restore those files --not even beating him within inches of his life.

Jules groaned as Molonov grabbed the back of his hair, pulling him up to his feet. With his freehand, Jules grabbed at Molonov’s wrist, digging his fingers into the man’s skin. He could feel some of his roots giving way. One wrong move, and Molonov would have a handful.

Molonov gave another tug, and Jules was once again on his feet. He could feel Molonov’s fingers biting into the crook of his elbow. Instinctually he pulled his arm, trying to get it free from Molonov’s grasp.

”Let go of me,” Jules said in French, ”Let go of me, asshole.” His voice was strained as he finally let go of Molonov’s hand to try to push him away. Jules’s hand was on Molonov’s chest, and he pushed him as hard as he could…

….too bad he was still weak from the treatments he’d been on before he became a menial.

Jules struggled, but it was really no use. He couldn’t get free, and they were already heading toward the lab. Taking a breath, Jules reached out for Molonov again, despite the fact he still had a grip on Jules’s hair. He rammed his shoulder into Molonov, trying to shove him up against the wall.

[Viktor Molonov]

If Viktor needed a reminder as to why he hated this boy so much, which he did not, the persistance Julien was showing would have done the task. But because Molonov was completely in understanding of the contempt he held against his cousin, the boy's stubborness only served to make the scientist that much angrier. Important information was locked behind a corrupted, hacked startup, and Julien had unintentionally revealed himself as the culprit. And now, when Viktor was trying to pull him back to the lab to break the loop he'd created within the computer, Julien had the audacity to stand his ground---literally.

Yanking at Julien's hair was a crooked but effective tactic, and Viktor didn't care at this point what was immoral and what wasn't. He hadn't wanted to get outwardly violent with Julien in front of the other residents, especially Katya, who seemed so damn protective of the boy despite her chronic weakness. Even though he'd kept himself from doing what he really wanted to do at that particular moment, (which was beat Julien into the ground, no mercy shown,) Viktor still felt like he'd showed a side of himself that wasn't meant to be seen by the general resident's eye. His abuse of Julien (and anyone else, for that matter) was meant to stay behind the walls of the lab.

That control was slowly slipping, though, and with each move Julien made, Viktor's resolve loosened. Julien deserved punishment, and it was getting increasingly difficult for Viktor to tell himself it had to wait until they reached the lab. Molonov's personal lab was at the very top of the building, on the top floor that was generally off-limits to the residents, without his own express permission of course. This explosion wasn't going to hold off that long.

Julien's shoulder met Viktor's chest, in the boy's weak attempt to push him against the wall. Molonov fell backwards a number of steps, and lost his balance for a few quick moments. By the time the heel of the scientist's foot actually met the wall, he had regained himself enough to use it as leverage. He couldn't go backwards anymore, so he pushed off with more force than before, and was now half-pushing, half-dragging Julien toward the elevator.

When the metal doors closed, Viktor seized the chance, deciding that he was most certainly not going to wait until they made it to the lab. He had already begun to boil over, and now, they were out of sight. He pushed Julien into the corner of the small, square space. His arm was against the boy's neck, tightly enough to hold him there but not enough to affect his air supply, yet. His voice was a low growl as he spoke threateningly, "You are going to fix what you've done." He tilted his head jeeringly as he added one last mocking syllable. "Oui?"