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votuun · 3 months

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Et tu, Brute?

chpt . 1

Revolver Ocelot / Reader

Warnings; implied violence, captivity.

Emerging from the helicopter, your battered body protests with every movement, each step sending shockwaves of pain through your already bruised frame. The cacophony of the helicopter blades intensifies the throbbing in your head, making it difficult to focus.

A solider, his face obscured by a balaclava, shoves you forward roughly, into the clutches of two more soldiers. Their grip on your bounded wrists sent jolts of agony up your arms. Disoriented and in pain, you stumble blindly, the ground beneath you feeling unstable and treacherous. The world spins around you, a dizzying blur of noise and pain, as you're propelled downwards towards and off the aircraft landing ramp.

You were roughly manhandled by the soldiers despite being visibly unstable, causing the disorientation to deepen, the relentless assault on your battered body leaves you struggling to maintain your poor balance. The imposing figures around the base, armed to the teeth and clad in intimidating gear, only serve to heighten your sense of vulnerability.

Their harsh, guttural commands reverberate in the air, a language you don't quite understand but whose hostility is unmistakable.

The groans escaping from your lips is a testament to the agony coursing through your body, the ropes digging deeper into your raw, burnt wrists with each movement.

Though you barely understood snippets of the guards' conversation, your ability to process their words is hindered by your disoriented state.

As your unsteady steps falter, you are jerked forward by the guarding soldiers, spared from a fall only by their tight grip on your arms. The sharp impact of a smack (from the butt of a gun) to the back of your head sends a jolt of pain through your brittle skull, momentarily stunning you as the struggle to regain any bearing on the situation.

As consciousness slips away, your body grows limp, unable to withstand the relentless assault of pain and disorientation. Your eyelids flutter, betraying your imminent descent into unconsciousness.

In those brief and final moments of lucidity, you catch the scoff of the guards, a cruel sound that would've made you shutter if you weren't currently weak. The sound echoes in your fading consciousness, a chilling farewell before darkness claims you entirely.

----

As your awareness slowly returns, the harsh reality of your situation begins to sink in. The cold, sterile walls of the cell surround you, their oppressive presence a constant reminder of your captivity while you rest upon the dirtied floor. You were thankful that your captors didn't remove your uniform, as the concrete cell you resided in was cold.

Despite the lingering perplexity, you're acutely aware of the imminent threat of a possible interrogation looming over you.

The language barrier is just one hurdle among many, as you brace yourself for the inevitable onslaught of questions and tactics aimed at extracting information. Whether through torture or more subtle forms of coercion, you know that resistance will be futile in the face of such relentless determination to break you.

In this bleak and solitary confinement, the weight of uncertainty presses down upon you, a grim acknowledgment to a destined struggle that lies ahead.

Each noise in the otherwise silent cell sends a jolt of apprehension through your bruised body, every creak and shuffle amplifying the sense of isolation and vulnerability.

The lingering ache from an earlier beating serves as a memento of the unjust violence inflicted upon you. While you understood the severity of your role as a spy, your mission never intended harm against these captors.

The injustice of your unlawful arrest weighs heavily on your conscience, a sullen realization in the face of your current predicament. You wonder how you'll be able to explain yourself.

Alone in the darkness, you lay with conflicting emotions of anger, fear, and a gnawing sense of loneliness. In this moment of solitude, the subject of your allegiance becomes painfully clear, a poor reminder of the sacrifices demanded by your line of work; espionage.

----

As the door to the cell creaks open, your dazed gaze focuses on the figure entering—a soldier, his presence a makes you freeze. His grunt of disapproval washes over you, a clear sign of the disdain with which you're regarded.

You watch as he approaches your slumped form on the floor, his movements careful and steady until he stops at your feet. He squats down to your level before grabbing your booted ankles and with a rough tug, he pulls your legs towards him, a gesture that further strengthens the fact you are powerless in this situation.

As he looms over you, a sense of dread settles in the pit of your stomach, because you are left anticipating what further indignities you may experience under the will of this solider.

With a weary acceptance of the inevitable, you offer no resistance as the soldier pulls you away from the wall, your exhausted body yielding to his strength.

The idea of defiance seems incapable since there is unknown consequences (you could guess, but thats dreadful) and the weight of exhaustion presses heavily upon you, reducing your will to fight (it was diluted the minute you were tackled and captured).

The solider then gets up off from his haunches and walks towards your head before pivoting around it. As he stands above you, his presence looming ominously, you allow yourself to be hoisted up onto unsteady feet, relying on his support to remain upright.

Every movement is an effort, each step a is a struggle as your uniform rubs against every sore crevice of your body. Your wrists still burn against the ropes that bind them together. in any other circumstances, preferably one were you aren't beaten like a raw and tender steak, you could rip apart the manila fibers with vigor.

As you struggle to steady yourself, your head throbbing and vision still blurred, a harsh push jolts you forward, a crude example of the impatience of your captors. With the footing of a newborn fawn, you waddle through the iron door of your cell, freed from your concrete prison.

The weight of confinement momentarily lifted as you step into the corridor. The presence of the two soldiers guarding your exit barely registers in your disoriented state, their watchful gaze serving as a silent threat to any thoughts of resistance.

Your gaze flickers across one of the soldiers' arms, momentarily drawn to the patch depicting an angry hound with a diamond behind it, you're left intrigued.

The insignia was familiar but you couldn't put a thought into. Your gaze briefly lingers on the foreign words inscribed onto the patch, but the language remains incomprehensible, and you quickly dismissed it as you heard another annoyed and impatient grunt from the faceless soldier guiding you from behind.

As continue to be guided, your gaze instinctively drops to your wobbling booted feet, the uneven rhythm of your steps hindering a specific pace the soldier wanted.

With each labored breath, you focus narrowing to the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. In this moment of your heavy breathing and the company of three hardened soldiers, your gaze remains fixed on the ground, a silent agreement of submission.

----

The minutes (not like you could estimate the amount of time that has passed, your perception of anything and everything has warped) of blindly walking through the labyrinth of metal corridors blur together, each step being slightly stronger than the last as you ignored the aching of your legs.

Abruptly, a sharp tug on your arm wrenches you from your daze, the sudden jolt of pain snapping you back to the present. Before you can even begin to assess your surroundings, you're roughly dragged into another room, the transition swift and bewildering.

The thumping of the three soldiers boots were heard over your soft whines. The soldier that took you out of your cell had the decency to guide you to a plastic folding chair. As you're being led, a tiny wave of relief washes over you for the small act of assistance. Without his support, your weakened knees would undoubtedly have buckled beneath you, further adding to your humiliation.

The minute you sat down, the soldiers took their leave, not without conversing to each other in what you believe to be of the English language. It was odd hearing them speak hastily, as they didn't bother to do so when you were being escorted.

The door to the room you're in slams shut, sounding heavy; definitely made up of strong metals. The resounding echo reverberates through the room, making you jolt. The sharp click of the lock could be heard right after, trapping you within these cold walls.

Despite your weakened state, a bitter scoff--something akin to a cough--escapes your lips at the notion of being considered a threat. The overcautiousness of your captors seems absurd, given your current condition.

Even if you were to entertain the idea of escape, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings and your own physical limitations would render any attempt futile.

With a moment of respite afforded by the soldiers' departure, you take the opportunity to scrutinize your surroundings in the new room.

Before you, a clean, plastic table stands, its presentation a bit odd despite what the room is meant for. Your gaze shifts to the wall on your right, where what definitely is a one-way mirror looms strangely, its reflective surface concealing the unseen eyes that undoubtedly watch your every move.

As you weakly lower your gaze, your eyes fall upon the two decently sized, thick mounts protruding from the floor, their purpose clear and foreboding. They are undoubtedly meant to hold chains, making you shudder at what's to come.

As a soldier yourself, you're all too familiar with the brutal and abusive aspects of interrogation tactics, and the thought of being the one on the receiving end sends a shiver of dread down your spine.

The language barrier only compounds your anxiety, knowing that your inability to communicate effectively could lead to a undesired outcome (for both the oppressive and offending team).

Beads of sweat form on your brow as your blood pressure rises, you are scared.

Despite your training and resilience, the idea of being unable to properly explain yourself fills you with a sense of frustration. You pathetically cling to the faint hope that somehow, against all odds, you'll find a way to survive this ordeal with your dignity intact.

#revolver ocelot #revolver ocelot x reader #metal gear V #mgv #spy #reader is female #mother base #diamond dogs #more chapters later #reader is a soldier/spy #reader doesn't understand english #ocelot comes in later #slow plot build up

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