To break a Croft
Set three years after Rise of the Tomb Raider. Contains Rise spoilers.
"Wakey wakey, Miss Croft."
Lara attempted to open her eyes. It was a simple action but it was accompanied by a sensation like someone had brought an axe down on her skull.
It said something about the Englishwoman's lifestyle that she was by now intimately familiar with the cause of the migraine: yet another concussion by rifle butt.
She groaned.
How many more strikes could she take before the damage was permanent?
Her own voice answered dispassionately. No time for musings, Croft. Get moving if you want to survive.
She tried.
Although it was still a struggle to lift her eyelids, slowly her other senses were coming back to her. Hearing, though muffled and directionless, had been first.
Now it was touch's turn. She realised her cheek was pressed against stone, along with the full length of her body.
The tang of blood tickled her tongue.
Get up.
She flexed her fingertips against the cool surface, trying to set a reliable base. But before the tension could spread to her larger muscle groups, fists clamped around her biceps.
She was hauled upright with a speed that made her dizzy.
And nauseous.
When the world righted, she started to make visual sense of her situation.
She was in a high-ceilinged cave, illuminated by orange glowsticks strewn about the space.
She couldn't remember just then how she got there, or why, but it had the aura of a cathedral. Stalactites and stalagmites slick with water caught the glow. Out the corner of the eye they could be confused with rudimentary pillars supporting the ceiling.
They also created a kind of nave, leading the viewer's gaze to an elevated basin at the far side of the cave. Perpetual run-off had eroded the ground around the basin so it appeared raised, and tiered with stairs, just like an altar.
Lara was herself a piece of church imagery. She was strung up in a crucifixion pose between two men in combat gear and balaclava. Even if her limbs weren't weak in the aftermath of unconsciousness, each soldier had a minimum of 50 pounds on her.
Just as disconcerting was the dark-skinned woman standing before the archaeologist, flanked by two more armoured brutes.
The priestess and her acolytes.
Unlike her companions, the woman didn't wear a mask, but she was similarly kitted out in monochrome army fatigues, a multi-pocketed tactical vest and joint guards.
The convenient positioning of pistol and combat knife on her vest meant no thought was necessary if she needed to draw.
Lara felt her skin prickle – her body's instinctual response to threat.
Whoever this woman was, she was the real danger. The tiger in the cave.
She radiated menace despite being essentially the same height and build as the archaeologist.
The woman wore her hair in a tight, all-business bun. She also wore an unsettling, soft smile.
"Nice to see you back with us," she said.
Her accent was hard to place. Not American for once. West African perhaps, through the filter of a lingering colonial education system?
Lara glared at her.
"Who are you?" the archaeologist rasped.
"That's irrelevant. What is important is who I work for."
The woman tapped the badge on her left bicep. The insignia was a winged figure in black on a blood-red inverted triangle.
Lara grimaced.
Of course.
Trinity.
Always bloody Trinity.
Her own dedicated Angel of Death, forever sweeping in after her.
The memories of everything they'd put her through – everything they had done to her family – revitalised Lara.
Despite her headache, despite her frequently blurring vision, she felt defiance flow through her like delicious molten chocolate.
The woman could sense Lara's mood shift. She held out her arms. "You seem surprised. Some people actually do accept Trinity's recruitment offers, you know. We recognise the opportunity when others turn it down."
Lara knew that was true. Kennard Montez and his companions had been her first indication that Trinity was creating a reservoir of young blood. The woman standing before her was further evidence of that. She looked straight out of uni, younger even than Lara in her mid-twenties.
Still, the archaeologist wouldn't give her opponent the satisfaction of a reaction.
She stayed silent.
The woman wasn't at all enraged by her suddenly sullen captive.
She approached the brunette, stopping wisely just out of head-butt range.
Up close, Lara realised that the Trinity agent actually had a good half foot on her. In a hand-to-hand fight, she would probably be more of a handful than Reyes.
The woman unhooked a canteen from her belt, and unscrewed the cap.
"Here. I think you can do with this more than me."
She pressed the bottle to Lara's lips.
Lara accepted a mouthful of water.
And spat it straight back in the woman's face.
It was massively satisfying.
If massively stupid.
A second after she did it, the woman's right-hand man strode forward. He delivered a brutal upper hook to Lara's diaphragm.
Shielded only by a wetsuit, the brunette's body took the full force of the blow.
Lara tried to suck in air; to cry out. She could do neither.
One ineffectual wheeze was all she managed.
The Trinity operative struck her twice more for good measure.
The precision with which he delivered the one-two body shots told her he had a boxing background. Each landed square on their intended marks.
Solar plexus.
Liver.
Lara sagged white-faced between her captors. It was an equal battle against vomiting and passing out.
The boxer turned back to his commander. "Faro, you want me to continue?"
The woman was wiping her face. She gave an amiable wave, and the man moved away from Lara.
Into his spot stepped Faro. She chuckled, "My, you are tenacious."
She raised her canteen again.
An instant later, the boxer was back. He pinched Lara's jaw open while Faro tipped the bottle down the archaeologist's throat.
Lara choked as her oxygen-deprived body tried to inhale the fluid instead of swallowing. Embarrassing reflex tears blinded her, and ran over her cheeks. Eventually though, her captor seemed content that she had swallowed enough water.
Faro sighed, "There. We're not all monsters."
The insubordination may have been pummelled out of her for a moment, but the beating had at least flushed Lara's brain with blood and adrenalin. She remembered where she was; why she was there.
The cenote had been the key. The Mexican authorities were clamping down on unpermitted dives at sites with especial historical and environment significance. She didn't have a permit, of course, given her plans, so she'd had to flash a few envelopes in front of the right people.
One hefty bribe later, a local guide was helping her sneak into the sinkhole after dark.
The codex she'd unearthed pointed to that specific pool, located far into the Yucatan Peninsula. However, after a few hours of exploring the walls at different depths, she was beginning to believe she'd botched the translation.
That was until, groping around in a halocline, her fingers brushed over an unexpected edge. It was impossible to spot in the swirling haze, but there was a gap in the bedrock.
She had to shrug out of her buoyancy compensator to squeeze through the crack, carefully manoeuvring her dive gear after her.
On the other side, the space opened up into a flooded cave system studded with pockets of air.
She actually whooped her excitement.
She was close. She could feel it.
The discovery energised her when she needed it most. Her contacts had told her that there was another archaeology team hunting for the same thing – but over land. Not beneath the earth, like her.
Floating then, with her ears above the groundwater, Lara heard tools scraping against stone.
Her rivals were close too.
The Tomb Raider had to get there first.
She did.
Or at least she thought she did.
The egg-size lump on the back of her skull indicated otherwise.
It was still difficult to focus. Pain and cognition mixed in their own murky halocline.
She was hurt.
And frustrated.
She muttered, "Right. Well let's get this over with."
Faro was back to smiling again. "What do you mean?"
"You threaten me at gunpoint. Smack me around a bit. Torture me for information about this place. I know the drill."
"Interesting."
"Of course, if you're familiar with the drill, you'll know that at some point I escape and you all die horribly."
"Thanks for the tip. But I see things playing out a little differently today."
Lara was supposed to respond with a question; allow her captor to continue the fat chat she was clearly relishing.
But as furious as the archaeologist was, her beating had reminded her that silence was typically more valuable than a smart mouth. She clamped down on her tongue. She was in no mood to play the woman's game.
Faro had to continue the elaboration without verbal encouragement.
"You've been underestimated for years, Lara. Do you mind if I call you Lara? I've read so much about you in our records, I feel like I know you intimately."
She ran her index finger over the scar streaking the Englishwoman's right cheekbone. "I know exactly how you got this, for example."
Her hand dipped and stroked the muscle above Lara's left hip. "And this."
Faro unsheathed her knife and nicked Lara's wetsuit at the throat. She sliced just deep enough to part the neoprene and not skin.
It was a nifty demonstration of her skill. No doubt in a fight she would be devastating with the weapon.
Lara didn't flinch. She could feel the carbon teasing her flesh but any motion would be an acknowledgement of fear.
The woman brushed aside the wetsuit fabric, exposing the archaeologist's neck and breastbone. She plucked at the jade pendant resting there. "I even know why you never take this off."
Lara muttered, "You've done your research. Well done. Let me go and I'll give you your Noddy Badge."
"Ha. I don't think so."
Faro returned the blade to its holster. "You've been criminally misjudged in the past." Her smile brightened, "Why is it that men see a young woman and immediately dismiss her as just a girl? Like she's completely inconsequential. Their egos can't handle it."
Chatty, this one.
"Women though, they know a threat when they see one. They're not fooled by the apparently insignificant form it takes. They just know. Am I right?"
"I took Archaeology at university, not Gender Studies."
Faro wagged her finger at Lara. "Ana recognised the truth about you when her brother wouldn't. The way Konstantin saw it, how could you be a threat to his divinely ordained Destiny? One orphaned, banged up girl all alone… Ana identified what you are, though. So have I.
"I'm actually a huge admirer, Lara. You inspire me. Your mind, your theories; everything you've accomplished already. You're my role-model. One day, I hope to be you, but working within Trinity, of course. Hell, if that happens, maybe they'll finally leave you alone."
Lara shrugged, "Is there a point to all this?"
"How many times have people tried to destroy you now?"
Something flashed in Faro's eyes. It reminded Lara of snakeskin glimpsed for a second by torchlight.
Something bad was coming. The archaeologist felt her muscles harden under her wetsuit, and hoped it didn't reflect physically.
"Let me guess?" Faro hissed. "All they ever attempted was the obvious: killing you or professionally discrediting you? Ana, though, she spoke about breaking you. She never did, but I remember replaying that tape over and over and thinking 'What a glorious missed opportunity!'
"But it gave me an idea. Ana was on to something. How could we break the devastatingly resilient Lara Croft – Trinity's most difficult problem? And I realised my organisation had gone about it the wrong way for, what, three years since Kitezh?"
"So you volunteered to break me." Lara arched an eyebrow.
"There are many others dying for the opportunity, but the decision-makers liked my proposal. And in the end, events have dovetailed perfectly."
"So what's it going to be?"
Faro seemed delighted to share her ideas. The megalomaniacs always were. She was practically bouncing; energised like a little girl promised a visit to the zoo.
"I honestly thought about crippling you. You're such a physical creature. How effective would you be if you were trapped in a useless body? But knowing you, you'd still find a way to be a headache.
"No. I settled on a better idea. What frightens you, Lara, truly?"
"Completing my tax return. Public speaking. Running into girls I went to school with."
Faro burst out laughing. "Why do the reports never mention your wit?"
Lara smiled back, sweetly. "Maybe because they're more preoccupied with recording the body count?"
Faro's grin faded. "That's a good point. You've had to do some awful things, haven't you?"
"Had to being the operative words. I wouldn't have done anything if Trinity wasn't dead-set on murdering me."
"Oooh, I can tell it's a sensitive point for you. Understandably."
"Everything I've done, I've done to survive."
"Now that's where I stop believing you. You crossed certain lines a long time ago, Lara, whether you cling to certain self-delusions or not. How many men have died simply for getting in your way?"
"I've never enjoyed killing."
"You've clearly never seen your face. There's satisfaction there, beneath the rage."
Lara knew she was foolishly following breadcrumbs to the gingerbread house, but her temper was rising.
"Go to Hell," she growled.
"There's a reason Trinity has put so much effort into recruiting you, Lara. You're exactly the type of person we prize. Cold. Objective focused. You do whatever it takes."
"Whatever it takes to stop you bastards."
"And in your downtime, you've spent a lot of time wondering what kind of person you've become as a result. I know all about your therapy sessions. All those delicious confessions. The guilt. The nightmares."
Lara felt like Faro had seen her naked. It disgusted the archaeologist, and made her angrier.
The Trinity operative continued to needle. "How much of your humanity is left, do you think? Kind of ironic for someone who is all about protecting what it means to be human."
"You think you're going to break me by making me examine these questions? I've been grappling with them for years."
"No." Faro's gentle smile returned. "I realised breaking you isn't about taking things away from you. It's about giving you something to complete the transformation."
"What transformation?" The words were heavy and ominous in her mouth.
"To something no longer human."
Faro spread her arms in welcome. "You couldn't have led us to a more perfect place."
No.
The puzzle tiles slid into position, revealing the image she hadn't recognised before.
Lara strained in the men's arms, trying to tug herself free. She thrashed and kicked, but lifting her feet off the ground only reduced drag and made it easier to carry her across the chamber.
"No! Fuck! Let go! Bastards!"
It was no good. Of course she couldn't beat them on strength, even running on desperate adrenalin as she was then.
They tugged her wrists behind her back, and forced her onto her knees.
Into a penitent pose.
She gazed down into it for the first time then – the object of her most recent quest. Months of research had gone into finding it, whatever you wanted to call it.
The Fountain of Youth.
Water of Immortality.
It looked so banal – just a basin of cool, clear liquid.
Fingers clenched around the back of Lara's skull and her face was plunged into the pool.
It seemed like they held her under for minutes.
She didn't stop struggling. There was the possibility she could unbalance one of the men; create a split-second where their grip loosened and she had a shot at escape.
It didn't work.
Eventually she was tugged out of the water by her ponytail, and swung around to face her captor.
Water dripped off the tip of Lara's nose and chin as she seethed. Given the opportunity, she was ready to snap at Faro's features, but evidently the young woman had no fear of dog's teeth.
"Did you enjoy your baptism, Lara? Over-dramatic, I know, but I think it makes a lovely point."
"Sod off."
"What better way to get answers than to experience them first hand, as opposed to simply reading about them in a dusty old book? Isn't that the basic difference between an archaeologist and a historian?"
Lara sprang at Faro.
It was a sudden enough motion that she managed to surge free of her guard. For three whole heartbeats.
It was worth it for the flicker of fear on Faro's face.
Not so bloody cocky now, are you?
An elbow connected with Lara's cheek.
Stunned, the element of surprise turned against her. A flurry of pushing and pulling ended with her back on her knees. Immobilised.
"I'm not going to drink," the brunette snarled. "You'll have to drown me."
Faro's lips curled. "I think that may be unnecessary."
She held up her water bottle and shook it.
No! Dear God, no.
"Sorry, Lara, I've been screwing with you."
Faro dropped her hand in signal. Immediately the men pinning Lara released her.
The archaeologist was still reeling, mentally and physically.
She recognised three muzzle flashes. She heard three gunshots. And she felt three bullets rip into her body.
The expected, excruciating pain was there.
But there was something else too. An unfamiliar disconnect.
This doesn't matter.
Her unnervingly steady hand sought out the wound just below her heart. Her eyes followed.
The puncture was there, but there wasn't nearly enough blood. She was too functional. As she traced the hole, it filled in with ruby scabbing. White wisps of scar tissue crawled over the surface like ice over a puddle, captured in fast motion. When the wound was completely capped, the replacement tissue flooded with healthy colour.
She remembered her old rationalisation. We aren't meant to live forever. Death is a part of life.
"Welcome to immortality, Lara Croft."
The archaeologist's head shot up.
Faro stood flanked by her men. She gloated, "It makes everything rather pointless, doesn't it? Every friendship. Every romance. No matter how much you love someone, you will lose them. There's nothing you can do but watch them wither.
"Even if you eventually get around to saving Sam, one day she's just going to die in your arms as a white haired old woman. Insane once more with senility perhaps. The same for Jonah. Your unchanging nature will keep you separate forever from the people you need the most."
It was true. Forever apart. Forever alone.
Lara's chest and throat constricted. She swallowed, trying to force open an air channel.
It wasn't working.
The panic was setting in. The hyperventilation.
She could see Sam in a hospice bed, wasted and brittle with age. And she could see herself, exactly as she was then – healthy, strong, perpetually twenty-five – clutching Sam's bone fingers as she apologised yet again for failures that meant they could never be.
I'm so sorry.
Lara tightened into the protection of Child's Pose, with her arms folded over her gut. Her shuddered breathing was one degree removed from a sob.
Faro sounded elated at the reaction.
"Look at it this way. You've finally got what you always believed was true. That this is your path and yours alone."
The Englishwoman curled tighter against the terrifying realisations.
"Lara, are you listening?"
Finally the archaeologist raised her face. "You – you realise what you've done?"
Faro cocked her head. "What's that?"
Lara's expression hardened. The tension spread down her neck into her limbs. It slowed her motions; made them staccato and unnatural.
She uncurled like a cobra. And like a cobra, her gaze never left Faro.
"You just created the greatest enemy your organisation has ever known…"
Lara let her fists unclench. Nestled in her palms were two grenades with the pins removed.
"…Like I said earlier. You all die horribly."
The next instant, three things happened. A Trinity goon groped uselessly at the empty slots on his belt. Faro's smile flatlined. And Lara flung her explosives.
One went in the direction of her foes.
The other landed beneath a fused stalactite and stalagmite Lara had identified as a ceiling prop.
Faro was as smart as the Englishwoman surmised. The Trinity agent's jaw unhinged. She shrieked, "Shit! Get out! Now. NOW!"
As they scrambled for cover, the bombs went off.
An initial spray of stone fragments was followed by an awful cracking sound. Chunks of rock dropped from the ceiling next; the smallest the size of a football. Another archaeological marvel was about to be lost to the world – a legend that people had sought and died for, for millennia. Yet Lara found herself exhilarated.
She called out over the escalating collapse, "You will never get what you want. I will dedicate every fucking second of my existence to stopping Trinity. Destroying every single one of you! Take that news back to your masters."
Then she sprinted for the tunnel that had originally brought her to the cave.
The destruction trailed her as she raced back to the water and her stowed dive equipment. While she ran, she brushed off pieces of crumbing rock that struck her. They were as meaningless as rain drops.
She'd once marvelled at how human Jacob was, despite everything. Yet he was the exception. Every other immortal she'd encountered had been a monster, wading through blood of their own creation. In that regard, she wasn't any different.
But was she really closer to the Deathless Ones than The Prophet? She couldn't believe that.
She wasn't Jacob – she never could be because of her ferocious temper and capacity for violence – but neither was she one of those faceless brutes, mutated by selfishness. Her way had always been one of dark, underground altruism.
That wouldn't change.
Her place in the world though; her relationships to others….
Faro was right.
Though it didn't mean the smirky bitch had won.
Lara didn't know what she was, except for one thing.
Unbroken.