"If memory serves me right, George Orwell had once written: 'He who controls the past controls the future; he who controls the present controls the past.' Then again, one could not fully control the present without a grasp in the future. Fortunately, the years our diligent scholars dedicated in their tireless research have paid off in securing a future for our cause: The sea of possibilities is a sea of parallel threads, each similar and different in their own ways, each individually extending to eternity without intertwining, but if we could add a thread, perpendicular to all threads, imagine the wonders we could see…With this ability, we have seen the unseen, sounded the unsounded and felt the unfelt. And now, we are prepared. We were misunderstood, banished from our homelands and imprisoned in our own exile. When the time is right, we shall let them know. It started with the Eye, so shall it end with the Eye."
Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, 1985.
The night was cold, a sharp coldness that pierced the thin fabric of a trench coat and reached the spine. There was no wind, but Ilya Abramov wished there was—the calmness made the Lighthouse all the creepier. The sky was clouded, which made the usually clear waters of the Caribbean appear eerily pitch-black, as if a piece of black cloth devouring every bit of light projected on its surface.
Ilya drew a deep breath, the frigid air burned in his nasal and the dry pain cleared his mind slightly. He heaved heavily, his mind burdened with what had happened in the last few days. Warily, he turned his gaze towards the Lighthouse.
The Lighthouse was there, at the end of the breakwater, shrouded within the light fog. Its spotlight constantly turning in a cycle, illuminating any surface it touches with a pillar of bleak yellow. The tower stood grimly in shadows of the night, like a stiff vigilante leaving under the cover of darkness. Old piece of junk. He remembered when he arrived in Havana his guide told him something about the tower being built in 1822, but it slipped his mind then.
Ilya sighed again, this time more lightly, as he began walking down the jagged rocks towards the structure. Fragments of the conversation in the Kremlin four days ago started to bubble up in his head while he strode towards the sinister silhouette of the building.
"Вы понимаете, что это означает, да? (You understand what this means, yes?)"
"да. (Yes.)"
He stepped over a rock and heard the voice of the secretary again.
"У них есть власть, мы не можем остановить их в одиночку. Мы не можем разработать технологию достаточно быстро, чтобы остановить их. (They have the power, we can't stop them alone. We can't develop the technology quick enough to stop them.)"
"Тогда что мы должны делать? (Then what should we do?)"
"Найти девушку. (Find the girl.)"
The girl. He remembers the photograph of the girl. It was an old photograph, taken by one of those brownie boxes manufactured by Kodak. She was a sweet girl with brunette hair and pure blue eyes, smiling whole-heartedly with a rugged man at her side. He noticed that the pinky of her right hand was missing up to the phalanx bone, replaced by a metal thimble.
"Кто эта девочка? (Who is the girl?)"
"Ее зовут Анна ДеВитта. Только она могла бы помочь нам сейчас. К сожалению, есть только одна небольшая проблема: Она мертва. (Her name is Anna DeWitt. Only she could help us now. Sadly, there is only one slight problem: She's dead.) "
"Что мне делать? (What will you have me do then?) "
"Мы можем спасти ситуацию, с этим. (We can salvage the situation, with this.) "
Ilya felt the object against his chest. He took it out from his left inner coat pocket and inspected it again. It looked like some sort of a beacon, now deactivated in his hands. Alongside the beacon he was given a set of coordinates, pointing towards somewhere in middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
"Напомните мне, почему я должен ее найти? (Remind me why I am to find her again?) " He heard himself asking.
"Она имела возможность открывать разрыв - рип в размерности пространства-времени, пока она не потеряла способность в какой-то момент. Вы ищете ее по другой причине: возможность управлять устройством Лютеции. (She had the ability to open a tear- a rip in space-time dimension, until she lost the ability at some point. You are looking for her for another reason: Her ability to operate a Lutece Device.) "
He did not bother to ask what a Lutece Device is. A good soldier does not question. The lighthouse was just ahead. He could see two young Cuban soldiers standing guard at a fence gate, chatting idly.
"Возьмите эти координаты, они будут принимать вас в подводный город, известный как упоение, в 1959 году она будет ждать вас. После этого, пусть она приведет вас к устройству, дать ей эти координаты. Они принесут вам обратно. Я скажу вам больше, когда вы вернетесь. Да благословит вас Бог, агент Абрамов (Take these coordinates, they will take you to an underwater city known as Rapture, in 1959. She will be expecting you. After that, let her lead you to the device, give her these coordinates. They will bring you back. I will tell you more when you return. God bless you, Agent Abramov.) "
One of the Cuban soldiers saw Ilya approaching the gate and raised his assault rifle: "¡Oye! ¡Oye! ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí? ¡Esta es el área restringida! (Hey! Hey! What are you doing here? This is restricted area!)"
"Tranquilícese. (Chill out.)" Ilya raised both of his hands in the air to show that he was not bearing weapons, "Soy el agente de la KGB que estaba prevista para utilizar esta instalación. (I am the KGB agent that was scheduled to use this facility.)"
Upon hearing this, the Cuban lowered his gun slightly, but still looked at the soviet agent with suspicion. He glanced at his bearded companion, who approached Ilya with a watchful eye and an unholstered Makarov pistol in hand.
"Documentos. (Papers.)" The bearded soldier demanded.
Ilya nodded as he took out his passport and gave it to the soldier. The Cuban flipped the pages open to reveal the photograph of a handsome youth and a line of printed text above it.
"Ilya Nikolayevich Abramov?" The Cuban soldier looked back and forth between the passport and the face of the young man in front of him.
Ilya answered with another nod.
The door slid open slowly with the screeching and creaking of rusted metal sliding against twisted railing, the sharp noise carving into the uneasiness of the young KGB agent. Wiping sweat of their faces from pushing the gate open, the Cubans stood aside for Ilya to pass.
"Dios los bendiga, agente Abramov. (God bless you, Agent Abramov)" That was the last thing Ilya heard before shutting the metal gate of the lighthouse behind him.
Indeed, what he is in middle of is something never tried before: a covert operation of experimental nature, but of highest emergency. No one could have predicted what would happen when he starts the mission, no one will know how it turns out unless he came back. It was the dark before the dawn, and he knew that if he failed, the dawn may never arrive. There was little room for failure.
The old stairs creaked and shook under his footfalls, threatening to collapse at any moment. He dragged himself up the winded staircase towards the top of the lighthouse, with no sound except for the tapping of the soles of his leather shoes against the wooden planks and the associated moans of a hundred-and-sixty-year-old flight of stairs.
The ascent ended with the opening of a heavy trap door and after a loud thud. With a tired groan, Ilya found himself at the top of the tower, with the searchlight squished in middle of what little space that could accommodate.
Running his fingers across the dust-caked surface of the metal framework, Ilya came across a subtle bump on a corner at the base of the searchlight. Pressing down on the bump triggered a "tic" sound followed by the turning of gears in the activation of some sort of mechanism that lifted a small platform at the base of the searchlight. Its smooth, silver surface, in stark contrast with the surrounding rusted copper and half dilapidated rock, indicates a recent modification towards this otherwise antiquated construction.
Seeing the small rails on the platform, Ilya flipped the beacon over to find a set of matching grooves on the bottom of device. Remembering the instructions from the stout scientist who gave him the beacon, the soviet agent turned the metal base of the device and installed in upon the metal platform.
With a flip of a switch, the platform lowered back into the curious mechanism with the associated clamor of working gears and pistons. Then, all of a sudden, the spotlight started spinning at an accelerated rate, to achieve incredible speed after mere seconds. There was a sinister buzzing that Ilya had not the slightest clue of what it implies. He could only figure that his surroundings were getting increasingly blurred, to an extent that it became undistinguishable and scorchingly bright. He did not know what will happen next, but he knew that he was about to find out.
"Съ нами Богъ. (God with us.)" Ilya prayed to himself as he closed his eyes.
Hey guys, this is Jas here; nice to meet y'all. This is my first fanfic on the website so thanks for your patience. I'm a sophomore in school so I might not have the time to update very regularly but I'll update a chapter some time or another, so definitely stay tuned if you're interested :).
P.S. Sorry for the bad translate I did it on Google, I'm very sorry and I didn't mean to offend if this poor translation offends anyone :(.
Note: This is considered another storyline apart from the main storyline, which is completed by Jack. It is not an Elizabeth x Jack story, so if you are looking for that you are in the wrong place.