Author's note:
This is your usual disclaimer that runs before the start of a story that no one pays attention to, or if they have one of the good DVD players, skips ahead to the good part of the movie, but I still have to put up here or the feds will eat me in my sleep.
I am not Tecmo. I do not own any portion of the Dead Or Alive franchise, either as designer, creator, or stockholder. I do not stake any claim to the Dead Or Alive Battle System or the Dead Or Alive Multi-Tiered Stage trademark. None of the principal characters portrayed in this fanfiction, with the exception of two author-created characters (TBA), are my creative property, and it is therefore the prerogative of Tecmo, Inc., what really happens. At no point is this fanfiction intended as a challenge to the copyrights and trademarks of the Dead Or Alive franchise and Tecmo, Inc.
Now, on with the show, named suspiciously like a Jean-Claude Van Damme film..
Point of No Return
Prologue
Rwanda
The sun fell slowly across the African landscape, illuminating a solitary gazelle in its ochre glare. Turning its head, the gazelle bounded away, fleeing from the sound of a sputtering diesel engine. A rusted metal troop transport vehicle puttered along the makeshift road, its passengers solemnly silent, only breaking their vigil to spit off the side of the automobile. The driver cursed to himself as the path rounded a bend and led straight into the setting sun. Slamming on the brakes, the driver slammed the wheel with an ebon hand. An acacia tree had fallen across the road, and there was no way to drive around it. Engaging the emergency brake, the driver stepped out of the cab and shouted orders to his passengers. Grumbling, half a dozen militiamen in tattered fatigues got out of the truck and jogged to the front of the truck, where the tree blocked the pathway. Gathering around the trunk, the soldiers began to drag the tree out of the road. A muted chirp sounded, and one of the soldiers slumped forward, his scalp drenched in blood. Several more chirps sounded in rapid succession, and the rest of the soldiers gathered around the tree collapsed, missing internal organs. In the back of the truck, a soldier shouted impatiently to his compatriots up front. As his words echoed across the savanna, the clink of metal on metal at his feet brought his attention back to the truck. Another clink sounded, and two fragmentation grenades rolled around on the truck bed. Soldiers began to shout and scramble to their feet, but the grenades detonated, sending metallic death in every direction. The military transport, which once held troops two dozen strong, now held not one live soul.
Surveying the carnage with a practiced eye, Bayman replaced the clip on his silenced rifle and dug his motorbike out of its brush camouflage. Slinging the firearm across his back, he began the long trek back to civilization.
"The reinforcements won't be coming any time soon. The road is also blocked." Bayman took his money from the shivering tribal elder, and left without another word. It was pathetic. The Tutsi elders had decided that they needed a secret weapon to even the odds against the Huttu tribe, and had hired him. Of course, they couldn't afford to pay him for more than one mission, and now that they had upped the ante, they were doomed against the larger, wealthier tribe. Bayman snorted with disgust as he motored out of the country. Once he was a high-profile operative. His name on an assignment was one of the highest laurels possible. Now, he was fading out. Bayman chuckled to himself. He might even end up like that old fart Leon. The plane flight out of Africa was a sobering four hours.
RussiaBack in Novgorod, Bayman opened the door to his modest flat, old habits causing him to glance behind as he closed the door behind him. His apartment was still the way he had left it. His wall of firearms was still in perfect order, minus the weapons he had brought with him on assignment. His vintage chess set was still set up, with the game timer still wound. And at his feet was a pile of mail. Sifting through it, Bayman sighed with boredom. The same old things. Advertisements for outlet stores. Offers for credit cards. Utilities bills. And a small envelope, whose return address was only a lipstick imprint of a kiss. Dropping the other papers, Bayman tore open the envelope. It contained a handwritten letter that smelled alluringly of perfume.
Nikolai, darling
I really must see you now. We haven't spoken for years, but I really must talk to you now, before I go insane. Come to me in Sicily. I've told my driver all about you, he'll be waiting for you to arrive. I'll wait for you here.
IlyanaLowering the letter, Bayman suppressed both a chuckle and a grimace. All these years, and she still thought she could summon him like a pet hound? Shaking his head, Bayman headed towards his wall of firearms. It was just as well. He hadn't unpacked yet.
SicilyBayman impatiently waited on the seaside terrace as Ilyana's driver went inside to fetch his mistress. Out of his fatigues and into this suit, he felt off-guard and out of place. Staring out over the Mediterranean, he nudged his breast pocket concealed holster to make sure it was still there. Ilyana's voice behind him forestalled any more fidgeting.
"You can relax here, Nikolai." Turning around, Bayman had to fight to keep his eyes on Ilyana's face. She was dressed in a slinky, form-fitting dress that tugged at the eye. Apparently noticing his internal struggle, Ilyana winked slowly at him, then sat down and beckoned him to join her. Bayman did so, uncomfortably. Staring at him sidelong, Ilyana began.
"Nikolai, I need you here because our superiors have some very important plans." That's got to be it. Bayman suddenly understood the motives behind this meeting. She really needs to use every tool she's got to lure me in. He turned his attention back to the topic at hand, to hear her continue. "The top brass have requested that all agents return for active duty in the upcoming operation. I was the only operative who knew where you were." Ilyana's sultry veneer melted off as she got down to business.
"Top Brass is coordinating a massive operation that will require all of our top operatives back in the field again. The critical information is contained in this dossier." Ilyana snapped her fingers, and a servant appeared with a thick manila folder, which was passed to Bayman. Opening it, Bayman shielded the contents with his hand, and read:
OPERATION BOGATYR
Team Alpha will advance to Location 1 (Supplied Map A) stowed inside a sanitation vehicle (Transport 1). Once at the target objective, Team Alpha will set up in position to provide diversion for Team Beta's actions at Location 2 (Supplied Map B). On Team Beta's signal, Team Alpha will open fire to provide maximum diversion until Team Beta has obtained Object A (On Supplied Map B). Team Alpha will then stage fighting retreat, and withdraw to a mail truck (Transport 2). All forces will withdraw and return to Eagle's Nest.
Bayman thumbed through the rest of the dossier text, skimming through the tactical chaff. At the maps, however, his hand froze. The map marked "Location 2" was laid out with surgical precision, with two rings of defensive structures around the quonset hut marked with a radioactive symbol and the blueprints for mobile missile launchers. The map for "Location 1" was a set of schematics for the Munich Opera House, with diagrams marking major checkpoints and routes of access and egress.
Bayman looked over to Ilyana, who returned his surprised stare with one of faint disdain.
"What's wrong, Nikolai? Haven't you ever performed in operations below the belt?" Bayman tossed the dossier onto the table.
"That was different, Ilyana. We killed people just like us out in the middle of the desert. We didn't mow down hundreds of civilians in cold blood." Ilyana raised an eyebrow quizzically, then reached for a glass of wine.
"That's who we are, Nikolai. We are murderers. I hear you just returned from aiding a tribal struggle in Africa. Not very noble today, are we?" Bayman picked up the dossier and pointed to the map of the military base.
"And are we now thieves, as well? Is the motherland so hungry that she must steal another country's nuclear weapons?" Ilyana froze, the glass halfway to her lips. Setting the vessel down, she stared coldly at Bayman.
"I do not dictate the will of the motherland, Bayman. I only enforce it. And I warn you: If you have not reported for duty in under one week, there will be nothing I can do to save you." Ilyana's eyes softened as she stared up at Bayman.
"Ilyana, I have been a murderer all my life. I believe that now, just this once, I will be a warrior." Bayman stiffly walked off the terrace like a soldier leaving a military tribunal. As he left, Ilyana's eyes followed, welling up.
"Nikolai, what have you done?"
End Prologue
Author's note:
And the story gets off to a roaring start like the beginning of a contest between two narcoleptic racehorses! I promise, I will include many more characters to this epic. However, to begin the story, we need to start things slow.
Please R&R! And remember this, I will probably flame you nastier than your flame to me, so save us both some time and don't do it. Constructive criticism is respectfully begged for, however.
