The car sped through the streets of Moscow, its tires making a crunching sound over the cold slippery road. Dmitri clutched the steering wheel of the car, his knuckles white as he sped through the winding streets of Moscow. Yelena sat in the backseat of the car, holding Fiona close to her, speaking softly to her in Russian. Ivan sat in the passenger seat of the car, looking anxious, glancing occasionally at the rearview mirror.
Unbeknownst to them, a black SUV followed at a discreet distance, its headlights turned off. Inside the vehicle, two of Natasha’s n watched the family’s car closely, ensuring they stayed on course. Natasha had planned every detail, from the funeral to the hospital visit, and her n were there to ensure everything went smoothly.
"Они направляются в больницу, как и ожидалось," one of the n said, his voice calm but alert. (They’re heading to the hospital, as expected.)
The driver nodded, his eyes never leaving the car ahead. "Доктор уже готов. Всё идёт по плану." (The doctor is already prepared. Everything is going according to plan.)
At the hospital, the sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air. Nurses moved quickly through the corridors, their soft footsteps echoing against the tiled floors. The reception area was busy, filled with patients and visitors bundled in heavy coats to ward off the winter chill.
The family rushed inside, Dmitri leading the way as he carried Fiona in his arms. Yelena stayed close, her hand gripping Fiona’s tightly, while Ivan spoke to the receptionist, his voice firm and urgent.
"Нам нужен врач. Срочно," Ivan said, his tone commanding. (We need a doctor. Urgently.)
The receptionist nodded, her gaze flicking to Fiona’s pale, bruised face. "Мы позовём доктора. Подождите минуту," she replied, picking up the phone. (We’ll call a doctor. Wait a mont.)
Natasha’s planted doctor appeared almost imdiately, his white coat pristine, a stethoscope draped around his neck. His na tag read Dr. Andrei Karpov, and his deanor was calm and professional. But behind the mask of competence, he was nothing more than a pawn in Natasha’s ga.
"I’m Dr. Karpov," he said smoothly, switching to English as he addressed Fiona. "I’ll be taking care of you."
Fiona’s eyes darted to him, her expression blank and confused. She didn’t respond, her lips trembling as she glanced at Yelena for reassurance.
"I’m not sure she understands English so wear, she hasn’t spoken a word," Dmitri said sharply, his tone defensive.
"She’s in shock," Yelena interjected quickly, her voice trembling. "Please, help her. She... she’s been through so much."
Dr. Karpov nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Let’s take her to an examination room. I’ll run so tests and make sure she’s stable."
Fiona was placed on a hospital bed in a small, sterile room. The walls were bare, the only decorations a faded poster about hand hygiene and a clock that ticked loudly in the silence. Yelena sat beside the bed, holding Fiona’s hand tightly, while Ivan and Dmitri stood near the door, their expressions tense.
Dr. Karpov moved efficiently, checking Fiona’s vitals and examining her injuries. He spoke softly, his tone reassuring, but his eyes were calculating as he observed her reactions. Natasha had briefed him thoroughly, and he knew exactly what to say and do.
"She’s stable," he said finally, turning to the family. "Her injuries aren’t life-threatening, but I’m concerned about her ntal state. She seems disoriented."
Yelena’s grip on Fiona’s hand tightened. "Она потеряла память?" she said, her voice breaking. (She’s lost her mory?.)
Dr. Karpov nodded, his expression serious. "It’s not uncommon after a traumatic accident. mory loss—or amnesia—can occur when the brain experiences a sudden shock. It’s temporary in most cases, but we’ll need to monitor her closely."
Ivan frowned, his arms crossed. "Вы уверены, что это временно?" (Are you sure it’s temporary?)
Dr. Karpov hesitated, as if considering his words carefully. "There’s no way to know for certain right now. But with the right treatnt, she has a good chance of recovering her mories."
Yelena wiped her tears away, her voice trembling. "Что мы можем сделать?" (What can we do?)
Dr. Karpov smiled faintly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "I’ll prescribe so dication to help her relax and stabilize her condition. It may also stimulate her mory over ti. But for now, she needs rest and care."
He turned back to Fiona, who was staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind a fog of confusion. "I’m going to give you an injection," he said softly, switching back to English. "It will help you relax."
Fiona flinched slightly as he prepared the syringe, but she didn’t resist. Her body felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish. She barely reacted as the needle pierced her skin, the serum entering her bloodstream.
Dr. Karpov glanced at the family, his tone reassuring. "This will help calm her down. She’s been through a lot, and her brain needs ti to recover."
What he didn’t say was that the serum would deepen her mory loss, erasing any fragnts of her identity that might still linger. Natasha’s plan depended on Fiona fully believing she was Viktoria, and this was a crucial step in ensuring that happened.
After the injection, Fiona’s eyelids grew heavy, and her breathing slowed. Yelena stroked her hair, murmuring softly in Russian. "Ты будешь в порядке, моя девочка," she said, her voice filled with love. (You’ll be okay, my girl.)
Dr. Karpov handed Ivan a prescription slip, his expression calm. "Give her these dications as directed. They’ll help stabilize her condition and support her recovery."
Ivan took the slip, scanning it briefly. "Это безопасно?" he asked, his tone sharp. (Is it safe?)
"Absolutely," Dr. Karpov replied smoothly. "They’re commonly used for cases like this. You have nothing to worry about."
The drugs were anything but safe. Natasha had ensured they would gradually erode Fiona’s mory, making it impossible for her to recall who she really was. The family wouldn’t suspect a thing—they would believe the drugs were helping, unaware of the damage they were causing.
Hours later, Fiona was discharged from the hospital, her condition was stable but her mind was completely blank. Yelena and Ivan helped her into the car, their movents gentle and careful. Dmitri sat in the driver’s seat, his expression tense as he started the engine.
Dr. Karpov stood at the hospital entrance, watching them drive away. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "It’s done," he said simply.
On the other end of the line, Natasha’s voice was cold and sharp. "Good. Keep monitoring them. If anything goes wrong, I want to know imdiately."
Dr. Karpov nodded, his grip tightening on the phone. "Understood."
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