Chapter 2
The first thing Napoleon was aware of was the sensation of light and warmth on his face. It seemed to power him from within, dragging him out of the freezing black pit he'd been occupying for what felt like forever. His eyes fluttered open. He could see blurred shapes around him, drifting in and out of focus; he could hear voices, weirdly distorted. He moved his arm, trying to ward off these strange shapes and noises and focus on the light. He felt a hand take his, other hands try to grab hold of him. He panicked, gripping the hand desperately. He heard screaming. The light was shut off, something clamped around his mouth and nose, and the fleeting strength that had allowed him to wake was gone.
Washington
General Swanwick marched into the Situation Room.
"What have you got for me Captain?" he asked.
"Reports from NASA, Sir, of something approaching the Earth, caught on long-range satellite. They're not sure what it is sir, but they do know it's no meterorite."
Swanwick frowned. He hated calls like this, where NASA could never tell him anything.
"Get their experts down here. I want to know what I'm talking about before we go to the President."
Northwest Territories
Illya was walking through the trees. It was summer, they were at the dacha, with the lake and the forest shading the little beach. He moved on, exploring, relishing the freedom from the hot and oppressive city. He could see a dark spot ahead, hidden where the trees met the feet of the hills. He approached, drawn by the darkness and what it might help. As he reached it, he realised it was an opening in the hillside. He squeezed through eagerly. As he entered, he tripped, and as he landed on the ground the cave erupted around him. Screams rent the air. Monsters flew at his face. He picked himself up as fast as he could and ran all the way back to the dacha.
It was only later in bed that he realised that the monsters were only bats. And that he hadn't been afraid. He had felt – what was the word? – kinship.
His return to waking was sudden and violent. As soon as he realised he was himself again, the fully grown Illya with no dacha and no mother and father to run home to, he jerked himself upright and raised his arms defensively. Gaby rushed to his side.
"Illya, it's alright. It's alright. We're at a military base in Canada. Waverly is here. You're safe."
He gripped her arm as he scrabbled to process this, to recall the events that could have brought them to this point.
"Canada? How the hell did we get out of New York? What happened to us?" He found his voice was gruff and rasping, the memory of the cave lingering on the edges of this new and bewildering present.
"I don't have all the answers, but I know we were exposed to something in the vault where we found Solo. We're in quarantine, but it's ok. Waverly is in control." Gaby's voice was soothing, but her mention of Solo that the events of the vault came flooding back.
"Cowboy – my God! I forgot for a moment." He pushed his hand to his forehead in grief. "He must be lying in a morgue in New York still."
"No, Illya, it's—it's hard to explain. It may be better just to show you. Can you stand? Shall I ask for a wheelchair?"
Illya looked at her seriously, searching for some clue to the meaning of this cryptic statement in her face, but finding none. "I can stand. Show me whatever you need to show me Gaby," he answered.