Oliver Llewis slowly woke up, adjusting to his surroundings. The room was dark and wet, the grey walls covered in blood and mould, the tiles cracked in several places, and he was tied to something cold and metal... A chair of some description. He looked down; his green army uniform torn and bloodied. Of course, it wasn't British army; it was Russian. He began trying to fidget, attempting to shake the ropes loose, to no avail.

As he continued, a man in his forties with short, greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard walked round, wearing a Russian Colonel's uniform. He crouched down in front of Oliver. The man had heterochromia; a blue eye and a green eye. He wore a badge identifying him as having the surname 'Azarov.' A scar on his upper lip interrupted the line of his moustache, and another interrupted his left eyebrow. He was wearing an aftershave... Hugo Boss? No, not Hugo Boss. A cheap back street rip off of it. The irritation around his eyes suggested he normally wore glasses but had recently taken to wearing contact lenses, most likely in the last week. Finally, the bags under his eyes betrayed a lack of sleep.

'Exploitable weakness.' Oliver noted in his mind as the man walked over to a metal table in the corner of the room, picking up a pair of pliers from it.

"I can make this very easy or very hard for you." Azarov said to Oliver in Russian, holding the pliers very close to Oliver's face "Tell me, who sent you?"

Oliver sat there silently, eying Azarov's expression; Oliver's silence was annoying the Colonel. Everything was going exactly as Oliver hoped.

He'd been sent in by his employers, MI6, to investigate reports of a rogue element in Russia having access to Nuclear weaponry. His orders were to, upon finding said articles, mark them for pick up by Russian military officials and then proceed to the extraction zone. Of course, he had got distracted; the daughter of the Russian ambassador had been absolutely stunning, and Oliver had never been one to avoid mixing business with pleasure.

Of course, she'd turned out not to be the ambassador's daughter at all, but the head of the rogue element's attaché. It had taken Oliver around thirty seconds after entering her hotel room and noting the less than well hidden military uniform in the corner to realise that. So he'd first dealt with the fun part. Then, he'd let her slip him a sleeping pill, before bringing him to the room he was in now.

That was 36 hours ago. He'd refused to talk until they sent in their leader. Now, he was refusing to talk to him too. He wanted to make the Colonel sweat, to make him wonder what he knew. Then he'd get the Colonel to tell him everything that was going on before escaping, preferably extracting the Colonel for further interrogation, but eliminating him if need be. Oliver had no problems with wet work.

"I'll ask again; who sent you?" Azarov said, before slamming the pliers down on the arm of the chair, the vibrations of metal on metal resonating through the entire structure "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I met a pretty girl at an embassy party and I just had to get in there, you know how it is." Oliver replied in Russian, before adding in English "Or rather, your attaché does. Was she your daughter? No, resemblance is there but not close enough. Niece then. She really did take one for her country, didn't she?"

"English, fascinating." Azarov replied in English "I expected American, from your arrogance. What is your purpose here?"

"Well, you know, your government doesn't like you having nukes, asked me to come in and grab the weapons for them." Oliver said, smirking "Want to tell me how you got them?"

"I ask the questions here, Mr. Savinkov." Azarov said "Care to tell me your real name?"

"Well, since I figure you're going to be unconscious on the floor in about ninety seconds, I think I'll wait." Oliver said, slowly slipping his arms from the ropes tying them behind the chair "Now, Colonel, I have to say, you've made a very big mistake here, and heavily underestimated the gravity of your situation."

"I believe you underestimate me, sir." Azarov said with a slight hint of a smirk "After all, I hold all the cards here, as they say."

"And you should've tied my feet." Oliver said, coming up from the chair with an uppercut to the Colonel's face, shaking his wrist slightly as he flexed his fingers "I do hate violence."

Oliver took advantage of the Colonel's dazed state, putting him in the chair and tying his hands up, before grabbing two lengths of wire from the table and tying the man's legs to the chair legs, finally removing his tie and stuffing it in the Colonel's mouth. He reached down, grabbing the Colonel's Makarov from his holster, checking the ammunition; 12 in the magazine plus one in the chamber, 13 shots in all.

'Maximum body count; 13.' Oliver thought 'Hopefully no resistance out there.'

Oliver stepped outside the interrogation room; the corridor was long, clean and white, the lighting much better than the room. That wasn't the strange thing though; the writing on the door was in English. This facility wasn't Russian at all. He went to look at his watch so he could use the GPS in it to ascertain his location. It was gone.

He stood there for a moment, evaluating his objectives. Objective one; recover equipment. Objective two; ascertain his location. Objective three; escape. Objective four; call for extraction and be extracted. Optional but preferable objective; avoid detection and keep body count as low as possible, preferably zero.

He walked down the corridor slowly, checking each door way to see what the doors said. He saw a cafeteria, four more interrogation rooms and an interview room. Finally, he reached the most likely place for his equipment to be stored; a security office.

He put his hand on the door handle, slowly opening the door and stepping inside. A mixed race man with short cropped hair in a dark grey suit stood facing the monitors. On the monitor, there were several dossiers on Oliver, as well as a feed into the cell he had left Azarov in, where he was now being helped up by men in black ops gear, and the corridor Oliver was coming in from. The man turned around, wearing a pair of wire framed glasses. Oliver raised his gun at the man.

"Who are you?" Oliver asked "What the hell is going on here?"

"No point in trying to shoot me, Mr. Llewis, that gun has no firing pin. Couldn't risk you causing any fatalities during this exercise." The man said, speaking in an American accent "I'm John Johnson, you've met Peter Chichikov, or Colonel Azarov as you know him, my right hand man, and yes, before you ask, John Johnson is a pseudonym, assigned to everyone in my position. You're probably wondering why you're here?"

"The thought crossed my mind." Oliver said, spinning the gun in his hand so the pistol grip was facing the same way as his knuckles "Want to enlighten me?"

"Your assignment was a hoax. We had to see how good you were." Johnson said, cocking an eyebrow with a wry grin "What do you know about division zero?"

"Whispers. Rumours. A covert ops division operated by the UN, not under the control of any one country. Agents taken from espionage and intelligence agencies across the UN countries." Oliver said "Is that what this is about? A rumour?"

"It's quite real, Mr. Llewis." Johnson said "You're in our Russian headquarters now. We maintain one in every country, and you, Mr. Llewis have been brought here because your analytical and field skills are almost unrivalled. Almost. You're here to be offered a job."

"And if I refuse?" Oliver asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Johnson said "We're outside of any government jurisdiction, and are free to do as we see fit. If you're a potential security breach, you will be detained until such a time as you're deemed not a security risk. So, what do you say, Mr. Llewis? Do you want to be a field agent with unparalleled resources, authority and jurisdiction?"

Oliver hesitated. He knew the rumours of division zero. The last man who'd tried to investigate it, six years ago, had been found dead four years later. Oliver knew all about that man. It was his father.

"One condition." Oliver said "If I accept your offer, I want every file you ever had on my father's disappearance and death. I want to know how he died."

"I can do one better." Johnson said "I can show you his killer."

Oliver looked at the screen. On the display was a man in his early thirties, his hair blonde, his eyes blue. He wore a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks with combat boots. He had a pair of shoulder holsters with silenced Desert Eagles on.

"This is Victor Wilkinson, code name Shadow Walker. He was our best. Until he went rogue six years ago. He was also your father's protégé." Johnson said "He told your father everything and your father came looking for us. We recruited him, send him after Wilkinson. He used his relationship to Wilkinson to infiltrate his organisation, which he dubbed 'Division X.' When Wilkinson found out, he executed your father. After torturing him for information first."

"Did he give him information?" Oliver asked, not receiving a response, asking again "Did my father break?"

"No, he didn't. He died without breaking under pressure." Johnson finally replied "So, we want to send you in to Wilkinson. Of course, we have a cover for you to make you a valuable recruit to him."

"What's that?" Oliver said, cocking an eyebrow once more.

"You're going to be found to have possession of some highly classified R&D information from the British Government which you're selling to the highest bidder. Wilkinson will want you for that information. Of course, it's not going to be anything high level in reality; there will be a debilitating defect in the research, but you're just a field agent with an eidetic and photographic memory, and a history as a code breaker and analyst, you can't be expected to know about these things. You are, however, your father's son, which makes you very valuable to Wilkinson. So, what do you say?"

Oliver paused for a minute. He shouldn't be given this mission. Unless they expected Wilkinson's relationship with his father to impair his judgement. All he knew was his answer.

"I'm in."