A/N: This AU is my attempt to make a Svtfoe Suspense Cold War detective/espionage novel. At first it might seems to have little connection to the canon show but as time goes on that fact will most likely change. Plus all the character names are either real life historical figure or a Svtfoe character. So I hope that fact won't deter you from reading this. Feel free to drop a review if you have anything to say about this fanfic as any criticism would greatly help me improve this piece of work.
February 1981, PSYOP began.
The Soviet Union issued a formal diplomatic note of protest, which accused the United States of repeated penetrations of Soviet airspace.
May 1981, Operation RYaN initiated.
Soviet leadership are certain that a United States first strike is imminent.
On June 8, 1982, Reagan, in a speech to the House of Common, declared that, "... Freedom and democracy will leave Marxism and Leninism on the ash heap of history."
The largest peacetime military buildup in the history of the United States began.
March 23, 1983, Reagan announced one of the most ambitious and controversial components to his Soviet containment strategy, the Strategic Defense Initiate, or "Star Wars".
USSR General Secretary Yuri Andropov criticised Reagan for "inventing new plans on how to unleash a nuclear war in the best way, with the hope of winning it"
Mid 1983, NATO plan to deploy Pershing II missiles in Western Europe.
These capabilities led Soviet leaders to believe that the only way to survive a Pershing II strike was to preempt it.
September 1, 1983, the Korean Airlines Flight 007 (KAL 007) was shot down by a Soviet interceptor.
The attack brought relations between the two superpowers to a new public low.
Tensions are at an all-time high.
The doomsday clock is ticking to midnight.
October 22nd, 1983. West Berlin. Her footsteps echoed through the empty streets.
Above her, delineate by the snub-toothed silhouettes of chimney pots, the darkness shuddered with stars.
With hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coats, worn due to the nippy weather of the Berlin night, Star Diaz made her way towards the small Cafe on the opposite side of Clay Allee, where she often waits and relax before her morning shift. It just so happens that this is often the only cafe open at this time of night.
The windows of the cafe, blinded by the rolling drops of water, glow from the light of the yellow, hazy bulbs set behind them.
Star pushed herself into the wooden door, pulling the handle tied to a bell, clanged as she made her way into the cafe.
Stepping on the defined wooden surface of the cafe, she paused for a moment, before heading to the quiet table at the back, as the background continue to blaze with the sounds of conversations and the new being reported through the small box TV.
Despite the interfering noise, Star could clearly make out what the news being shown are.
"3 million people across Western Europe protested nuclear missile deployments and demanded an end to the arms race. The largest turnouts are in West Germany. 400 thousand in Bonn, the same number in Hamburg, a quarter of a million in Stuttgart, a hundred thousand in West Berlin, etc..."
She continued mumbling the numbers down as fast as the reporter was reading them, memorizing them word for word. 4 years of working as an Intelligence Officer has taught her a lot of things, especially in the art of lightning fast memorization.
She stares into the small screen, waiting to be served, disregarding all the thundering noises of a late night pub.
Alone in the dark.
Star wondered in solitude, engulfed by darkness, about what has she become, chasing the goals of her life. She used to be a cheerful happy-go-lucky girl, now she's just an information repeating machine.
But she regretted little, going down this path. She's not going to turn back now, not since that night...
...the night when the person she loved most in this pale blue dot was taken away from her.
As she was pondering upon thoughts that escaped her mind long ago, a young gentleman was standing beside her for who knows how long, seemingly waiting for Star to finish her thoughts. He has a light, slender figure combined with a long, blonde hair that he combed back over his head and tied with a solitary black string of yarn. His name is Felicjan.
He rested a mug full of kvass-a traditional Eastern European fermented beverage that smells like dirty dishwater and tasted like burnt toasts-on the table in front of Star.
"My dearest American..." He said, lowering himself down to the chair beside her "What dreams have brought you here tonight?"
"For there to be dreams, my darling Pole, there would have to be sleep. And I've had very little of that since the day I came here. But don't try to go out of your way and convinced me to sleep either, it's past midnight, there's no point of doing that, I might as well just stay awake."
"Then I shall have the honour of bringing you your first meal of the day"
She did not reply, however. She did not ask for the choice of food, as there was none. Here at this exotic cafe, they only have one policy, they serve only what they made and only when they make it, and she'd never want to cause a complaint for being an exception.
But isn't that the way things have been going since the day she opened her eyes? She has always been an exception, and what's the point of changing it.
As Felicjan ambled back into the kitchen, Star pulled a crumpled photograph from her coat's pocket. The cracks in the emulsion created a random criss cross pattern on the photograph, and it's once sharped edges are now torn and curled up like the ear of an old wild canine. She traced her hand on the old photo, studied it as if he was looking at it for the first time. Even though, she has looked at it for an infinity of times before, so much so that her memory of it seems to be much clearer than the photo itself. And yet, it remains forever in the pocket, wherever she goes. She just can't stand to let it go.
She traced her hand on the old photo, studied it as if he was looking at it for the first time. Even though, she has looked at it for an infinity of times before, so much so that her memory of it seems to be much clearer than the photo itself. And yet, it remains forever in the pocket, wherever she goes. She just can't stand to let it go.
The old photo, shown in only shades of brown and yellow, depicted Star, standing in such a position that describing it as "peculiar" or even "bizarre" would still be a massive understatement. She looked to be loosely hugging a man who seems to be the polar opposite of her, straight forward, leaning against a waist high stone fence, awkwardly smiling, looking into the infinity with his hands deep in the pockets of his red hoodie.
His name is Marco Diaz.
Along with a scattering range of images captured by the shutter and lens of Star's blinking eyes, this picture was the only physical possession she has left to prove to none other than herself, that her most precious memories are not, in fact, just conjured fabrications from a dream.
These thoughts were promptly cancelled, together with all the noises in the cafe, by the sudden ringing of the little bell, and the whacking sound of the wooden door being hit at, as yet another stranger tumbled in, materialised out of the night.
At the same time, in Antartica, a colossal blizzard was raging on. Winds swirling and debris blazing, tearing apart even the little bit of landscape that this desolate wasteland of whiteness has.
Through the windows of this secure-from-nature facility, one of the many in Davis Station, Professor Booth looked to the outside, ponder upon the destructive beauty of mother nature.
He's been working at Davis Station continuously for nearly a year now, so this is no rare sight for him. After getting his degree 2 years early, he immediately began moving to Antartica to do his research. And as much as he loves his job, he still loves these occasions more as they're one of the only exciting things happening in this bleak corner of the globe.
Davis Station, on the other hand, has been here since 1957 and has continued to be Australia's primary outpost in Antartica. The large compound lies far away from any other bases in Antartica, the closest being Mawson Station, also Australian, a couple hundreds of miles East.
"Hey Charlie, you should come down and have dinner. You've been sticking your eyes to that goddamn window for 3 freaking hours."
"Yeah yeah I know Fran, I'm coming. I know you guys love the famous Gustavian meatball" Charlie brusque.
As Francis and Charlie chuckled themselves out of the room, a large flash of purple light appeared behind them, catching their attention. But as soon as they turned around, a massive sound wave knocked them over, as well as shattering the window, the only thing separating them and the blazing storm outside.
As the freezing cold air rushed into the small room, Charlie and Francis started to regain their consciousness briefly. The last thing they remember was the feeling of frostbites started to cover their skin, and the feeling of being dragged away, out of the freezing hellscape that used to be their room.
In Charlie's mind, from the darkness of suspension, emerged a hazy light, flashing on and off, with his name keep repeating, as if his mind was trying to wake him up
"Charlie! Charlie! Wake up!"
"...F-Fran?" Charlie's mind cleared from the hazy fog of unconsciousness, and immediately questioning everything that has changed. Almost everything made out of glass or china is broken, the lights are off, and he's lying on an upside down sofa.
"You're okay?" worryingly asked Francis
"Yeah, I'm fine. What happened?"
As Francis was explaining that a meteorite impacted the region creating a gigantic explosion, Charlie seems to be distracted, not because of the fact that he is still just woke up from a short coma, but by the fact that through the even through the impeccable lens of a human eye, he seems to see a blurry...purple light coming from the wall, a nigh impossible task that even the wildest fabrications concoct from his spinning brain wouldn't be able to match.
"Charlie...are you even listening?"
"Yeah yeah I know, meteorite, storm, meatballs, blah blah..." came the peremptory reply from Charlie.
"I didn't even mention meatballs...-wait, what are you doing?" Francis questioned as Charlie walked toward the door like a mindless ghost, looking through the small circular window on the door, one of the few that survived the recent impact blast, where he saw a glowing purple light, the same one that Francis and he saw before both of them got coup de grâce out of the room, the only difference being this time, only Charlie can see it.
"We need to get that meteorite back," Charlie said, almost in a whisper, as if some strange voice from the sky just muttered the idea into his brain.
"That would be throwing yourself into Hellmouth. It's storming out there." Francis intervened on such insensible idea.
"Get me Hilderbrand on the line," Charlie ordered, disregarding what Francis just say.
"Wha-bu-listen to me Charlie, this is a crazy i..-" Francis stammered. The chubby black haired scientist just want to do the most reasonable thing considering their situation
"That's an order, not a request!" Charles scolded, creating a minute of silence in the room. His best friend has never yelled at him before, the sudden shock of thoughts ran through Francis's mind.
"We don't have time for this, Francis. We've been together since when we were 2 kids getting bullied at Echo Creek. We've gone too far to risk this Fran, it could be the thing that's going to change our life forever."
"Alright, you're my superior after all."
...
"Hilderbrand is on the line", Francis mumbled, as he and Charles stand alone, awkwardly and silently in the dark.
"Are you kidding me, Booth? You want to go out there during a category 1 snow storm?"
"We need to bring that meteor back, Manfred. If we wait after the storm it would be untraceable."
"I'm not going to risk our entire operation just for a piece of rock from the sky, Booth. That bastard is 4 miles away and you don't have any way to get there."
"We're going to use the snowmobiles."
"There's no guarantee that it won't flip from the 100 mph wind. Under all authority, Charles, you are not allowed to lea-"
The radio turned off, cutting off Hildebrand before he can finish his lecture.
"Well, it's time for plan B then. I'm going to take my snow truck. The boys from the West Coast Expedition are going with me. Francis, you're in command of the rest of the American Expedition, from now on, if I never return."
"Can we just cast that thought aside in times like this? Have you told them yet? What was their reaction?"
"They were thrilled, in fact. There's one of the reasons why I chose them to come with me, those boys are always up for some...danggar!"
"Well, that's an amusing way of phrasing things."
"Thanks. I learnt it from a friend a long time ago back in Echo Creek."
As the group depart from the Station and head for the impact site, the storm seems to increasingly get more ferocious, as if it was trying to swallow the snowmobile heading out into the frozen wasteland.
As they approach the supposed impact site, they didn't find what you'd expect after an asteroid collision, such as a crater, but more like what Charlie has guessed, a pile of snow, covering up what's left of the meteor.
"Are you sure this is the right place? It looks identical to the last 4 miles that we drove, why are you so sure that this spot is the impact site?"
"Our friends at Mawson and Admunson-Scott ran a few fancy simulations and some algebra, you can't get surer than that. Alright boys, Disembark!"
As the 8 man crew jump off of the snow truck, what ever little comfort it has to offer inside the vehicle suddenly seems like paradise compared to the harsh weather outside, as all of them were struggling to even stand still much less walk. Using a few mountain climbing tools, they started to familiarise with the icy hell on earth and scatter around to find the "treasure" they're looking for. A few hallucination inducing rocks may not be much, but by the way Charlie is treating this recovery mission, it sure looks like they might as well are finding the Pharaoh's treasure.
After a few hours of constantly knocking the shovel on the deep snow, a few of them started to feel weary. Even Charles is starting to have doubts about this mission.
But then suddenly, Charlie stopped. Few wondered if he finally comes to his senses and figured out that this whole debacle is just a waste of time, but he keeps standing still as if his body was no longer his.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Charlie yelled.
No one replied, only unanimous gestures of disapproval.
From the crispy layers of snow, a hazy purple light emerges underneath, scattered and vague from the huge block of snow between the light source and the surface.
Charles immediately started digging, but nobody else came to help as if he was the only one who saw the obvious sign. But to his obliviousness, nobody else actually saw the light.
But then, a loud clanking noise echoed across the air, as if the snow covered ground is a mistuned clock, something that normally would drive a person crazy, now is saving a person from insanity.
He found something under the thick blanket of snow. A small light at the end of the tunnel emerged, rekindling their hopes on finding their Bactrian Hoard.
Immediately, the rest of them come and help him get whatever is underneath out of the sand-like snow. At last, they finally found their prize. Which was...
"A piece of space rock." Exclaimed an exhausted member of the group "I mean it's a good research artefact for you science nuts, but does it worth going out here to retrieve it?"
"Wait!" Charlie interrupted "Something is glowing inside. Break the meteor open."
As soon as he finished his sentence, the piece of rock broke into 2 from a single strike of a shovel, revealing a magnificent, blue, half-heart shaped crystal inside, glowing a fantasizing shade of purple.
But the beauty is just the cover. As soon as one of the members of the group touch it to get it out, the crystal burst out a blinding purple beam, vaporizing almost everything surrounding it and blasting the team of explorers away.
Everyone but Charles.
As his compadres are rolling over the fluffy white cold mattress in agony, Charlie tried to snatch the crystal, reaching his hand as far as possible. His overstretching arm shuddered off any remnant of white frost that has formed a spider-web formation on his nylon coat as he pushed his ligament to its limit.
At last, the crystal is on his hand. It gleamed a mystical inveigling hazy purple, seemingly mesmerizing light. But no time is left for him to take pleasure in gazing at this magnificent piece of star stuff that fell from the sky. Charles immediately came back to his senses, and order those who can still stand on their feet to help their crippled comrades and withdraw from this god forsaken land.
"Francis, are you listening?" Charlie called as he settles down on the comfy seat of the snow truck.
"Uh-oh!" Francis snapped out from his sleep "Yeah I'm listening, what is it that you need Charlie?"
"I need you to set up a direct line to Langley" Charlie said, his voice shaking from the bumpy ride back home as the snow truck struggled to move in the raging storm
"Langley Research Center? Now?"
"Immediately, yes. I need them to explain to me what the hell we just found." Charlie shook his head.
"Oh, and tell him to make a line to D.C while he's at it." A voice emerged from behind.
"Why?" Charles questioned.
"That's not of your concern." The mysterious figure continued, his hand sent deep into his pocket, before pulling out a golden badge "Robert Hassen, FBI. I will take over your operation here from now on. You've done great service to your country, Mr Booth."
A moment of silence ensued as Charlie tried to make sense out of the situation, as the snow truck continued to roam its way back to the base, disregarding all the dramas from its passengers.