Chapter Two
A key clicked in a lock, once… twice… the noise of the unlocking the only thing penetrating the dead silence of the old, early Soviet-era apartment building in the Gorelovo quarter. No electronic locks, no building number, the particular block they were in, was long-scheduled to be torn down. No Intellicams, at least not any working ones, for three blocks.
Naturally, given the schism following the Aug Incident, and the amount of augmented workforce no longer available for the city's construction companies, all such projects were put on-hold, indefinitely. Which practically turned Gorelovo into something akin to Derelict Row, a crime-ridden slums where even the police feared to tread without very good reasons to do so.
In other words… a perfect hideout, for anyone wishing to remain a ghost. If one knew the lay of the land, and maintained a… cordial relationship… with the local chapter of Bratva, the Russian organised crime syndicate.
The attic living space which Yelena claimed as her own, was hardly more then a glorified studio flat, with a good portion of it barely furnished. A long, narrow table dominated a back wall, stained with moisture-spots, a plastic-sheet covered TV taking up most of the space on the table. When they entered, Yelena glided over to turn it on and set it to low volume, a Picus news report currently running.
The floor was laminated, without a carpet, and certain tiles looked displaced, indicative of pooling moisture below them, as well. Opposite the TV, a wardrobe stood against the opposing wall, looking in relatively good condition. Irwine just caught a glimpse of the contents, as Yelena glided over to open it, and leave her trenchcoat on a hanger. Then she unclasped her belt, with the holsters and the grenades, hanging it on a rack within.
Below, organised in orderly rows on the bottom of the wardrobe, one could see several ammunition boxes, a crate containing three more grenades, what looked like a spool of nylon rope and a climbing hook, and some disposable, highly-illegal mag unlock tools for electronic locks. Propped against an inner corner, an FR27 Sanction rifle stood.
He whistled softly, leaving his shoes by the door. Serious hardware. All of it banned for civilian possession. How she managed to smuggle it all in, was anyone's guess.
"Make yourself at home." - the lithe woman murmured over her shoulder, moving over to the small kitchenette-cum-bathroom, behind a pair of drapes that she pulled away, revealing a sealed shower-cabin, a small electric cooking stove and a few shelves of non-perishables. There was no fridge. Peering closely, the man noticed a few labels on the topmost shelf – the distinctive yellow-on-gold colouring of Neuropozyne, as well as several other proprietary Aug-only necessities.
"You weren't kidding… it really doesn't affect you. But not everyone is that lucky." - Irwine commented, pointing at the medicine.
He wasn't being accusatory, or bitter, but Yelena still picked up on the undertone, as she glanced at him, taking a bottle of vodka off one of the lower shelves, and filling two glasses.
"It affects me differently. I'm paying different kinds of prices. Did you see those two outside, in the car? Just inside the abandoned schoolyard under that crooked oak tree?" - she asked.
"Yeah… I'm guessing they weren't there for their health. Nice sightlines to this apartment, too." - the man made the connection, "Bratva handlers?"
She blinked at that, her dark eyes flashing, and a trace of that predatory grin flashed across her lips, before it was replaced by vague - regret.
"Not exactly handlers. They can't… handle… me. Not without me being more trouble then it's worth. And more bodies then they can spare without showing weakness to other chapters. But… minders. Intermediaries. I do occasional work for the chapter, out of the kindness of my heart… and they provide supplies, keep watch and run… interference… if the law should come to stick it's nose too deep in Gorelovo. Out of the kindness of their hearts. Give me enough advance-warning to disappear, if I need to." - she didn't elaborate.
"Work? I thought you… well… didn't do that sort of work anymore. The way you reacted back there, I mean." - Irwine commented quietly.
She didn't answer, as she set the two shot glasses on the counter, then crouched next to another object, going almost-unnoticed, in a corner. He took a step closer, trying to make out what it was, in the shadow of the shower cabin…
It was a small altar, with an Orthodox-style crucifix with three bars dominating it, as a single candle's light made clear, accompanied by a soft click of a gas lighter that Yelena used to light it. She then knelt in front of it, taking off the pendant around her neck, and cupping her hands around it. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, then began praying.
"Svyatoy Sarov, Presvyataya Bogoroditsa i vse svyatyye, ugodivshiye Bogu v zhizni Tvoyey; moli Khrista Gospoda moyego, chtoby ya mog zhit' sey den' v mire lyubvi i smirenii.
Moli Boga o mne, svyatoy Sarov, blagougodnyy Bogu: yako k tebe pribegayu, skoryy pomoshchnik i zastupnik o dushe moyey."
"Amen."
"Amen." - Irwine echoed softly. He was struck by the reverence in the woman's tone. Understanding most of it, he figured she was praying for her soul.
"Does it work?" - he asked. She stirred, hanging the pendant around her neck again.
"You tell me." - softly, as she got up, and moved back to the counter, gently picking up the two glasses, and offering him one. Her eyes met his, with an almost… pleading… aspect in them.
It was clear to the man, that she wanted it to work. Badly. He considered what to say. Humouring her was the obvious choice, but… again. She would know if he did. Honesty was the way to go, with her. But then… he didn't want to shut her down, either. And she was trying.
And who the hell am I, to pass judgement? Seems like she's already left that part to God, if there is one.
"I'm not sure. But when I look at you, I don't see a monster, Yelena." - he said out loud, gently, opting for a slight… redirection.
Her gaze remained locked on his, as she slid up a hand, across his chest, sidling-in close. The sense of… relief and gratitude… from her was palpable. And the way she was looking at him, made his heartbeat quicken. Suddenly he wanted nothing more then to ravish her the rest of the night, the two of them entwined in a maelstrom of ecstasy.
Setting his glass on the nightstand, next to the only other piece of furniture remaining, a hardwood-framed bed with turquoise sheets and a lace-rimmed pillow, he reached out to caress her cheek. Her expression turning vaguely hungry, she brushed her lips against his, denying him an actual kiss this time, as she set her own down, as well. Then she lightly pushed him, to plop down onto the bed.
He held her gaze, mesmerised, which seemed to grow deeper and more hooded, by the moment, as she began unzipping the flak-vest. The two halves separated, giving him a glimpse of a supple, toned midriff, a small emerald-stud nestled in the creases of her bellybutton. It made for a subtle counterpoint to the circuitry-lined sections surrounding it, slightly-elevated rectangular shapes beneath the skin. He imagined they were subdermal armour implants of one kind or another, and the circuitry running to them probably meant they were powered, as well.
The flak vest slid off her shoulders, effortlessly, as she limberly shook them, letting it fall to the ground at her feet with a soft thud. Slowly, she pulled on each finger of each glove, slipping out of them, before then joined the vest at the floor. Her hands were slim and feminine, yet the well-defined forearms, and hard, firm wrists, belied the strength beneath the beauty.
He followed the flow up her forearms, past her toned biceps, to her shoulders, noticing the circuitry embedded throughout the skin there, before a seamless transition from human tissue to polyfibre musculature, just at the shoulder. He imagined there was much more of it then was visible. But the transition was so subtle and elegantly done, that in the dim lighting of the apartment, he had a hard time seeing where she ended, and the technology began. Her breasts… seemed natural, if perhaps a touch too firm to be entirely so. But there was no telltale signs of silicone implantation. The skin looked a bit tension-regulated, likely the result of bioelectrical propagation, but the firmness of them, curving perfectly into that hard, supple midriff, made him let out an almost unwilling, subvocalised growl, of desire. He felt his pants go tight.
She must have heard, biting her lower lip, as her nipples began to harden.
Damn those cochlear implants… !
He thought, still mesmerised. But he couldn't take his eyes off her, as her hungry gaze caressed his mind. Without laying a finger on him, she was driving him… crazy, as he gritted his teeth, gripping the bedsheets tightly. Just with her gaze. Not breaking eye-contact for a moment, she slid down on all fours, climbing limberly onto the bed. She straddled him, then began unzipping his hoodie, lifting the T-shirt beneath and baring his chest and torso, before she went down on him, tracing a line of hungry kisses and nibbles, up his own midriff, to his neck. He had a fairly developed physique, and it was clear by the way she ravished him, that attraction was mutual.
Finally, she reached his lips, and he chose that moment to assert, rolling her onto her back and pressing down on her, assaulting her lips with a deep, wanting kiss. He wanted her, so much! He could feel her arms at his back and neck, pressing her to him with more force then he expected, as she hungrily melted into the kiss, with a keening moan of pure desire.
He lost it. With a growl, he switched his attentions to her neck, pressing her down into the soft mattresses, his teeth leaving subtle marks, making her moan in delight, before he slid down, to ravish her breasts.
The taste of her...! It was at the same time sweet and spicy, inviting and forbidding, fire and ice! She was a contrast of untamed, wild feminine desire, mixed with that ever-present counterpoint of a coiled snake, ready to strike for the kill. And an undertone of deep, unyielding sorrow, that he desperately wanted to lift her out of. The need, for someone to love her, as she was. Flawed. Damaged. But not broken. And he could feel them, too. The otherworldly, buzzing, sizzling arcane energies of those infernal machine-systems, permeating her body. Enhancing her, empowering her, yet also taking away from her. Taking away, so much. But as much as they took away, they didn't take away the essence of what she was. Her soul was still there, even if a large part of it was missing. Misplaced.
"Y-Yelena…" - he breathed into her breasts, but she smothered him softly, urging his lips back to work, as she threw her head back, biting her lip hard enough to draw a trail of blood.
"N-no… words. Please… just… take me. T-take me away from it. Take me… away from myself!" - she whispered longingly.
In no time, the two of them were beneath the sheets, naked, intertwined, conjoined into one, as he penetrated her lovingly. The pressure of her powerful cybernetic thighs on his waist, and the way her nails kept digging into his back, hard enough to draw blood… he could tell a part of her wanted him to use her. Roughly. But the sweet taste of her lips, and the way she continued to melt into his kisses, made it clear that at least an equal part of her relished him making love to her.
He could acutely feel, where those thighs ended, and her womanhood began. Perhaps two-three centimetres of transitional tissue at the pelvis, at both sides, laced with bionetic contact points, that sent soft electrical jolts through him… somehow only adding to the mood. But inside…
She was natural. Tight. Wanting. Wet beyond belief. Hungry beyond reprieve. Even if their coupling lasted for an eternity, he knew she would always want more.
Meeting point, eastern Karelia, near the village of Priozersk, just north of the city…
A beat-up looking Motokun was driving up the countryside, splotches of wet snow slushing sideways as the tires crushed through them. It was about as drab and dreary a late-autumn morning in Russia, as one could reasonably expect. The sky was low over the horizon, lead-coloured clouds giving the entire landscape a colourless feel.
The two occupants of the car, sat in very companionable silence. Dressed again in her flak jacket and black cargo pants covering most of her leg cybernetics, alongside her combat loadout, Yelena Fedorova this time lacked a trenchcoat and hood. Letting her dyed-blonde hair flow in a ponytail down her back, to just below shoulder level, she looked very different from two months ago, and her utilitarian half-shaved style. There was still a somewhat-noticable difference between the two halves, in length and flow, giving the ponytail a slight imbalance, but she presented a very different image, as she stretched in the back seat of Irwine's car.
Her expression was full of suspicion, however, as she carefully scanned the surroundings.
"I don't like this." - the woman murmured, almost to herself.
Irwine marvelled at the speed and totality with which she could change her mindset. The entire morning, he was positively glowing, still very much under the… influence… of an absolutely incredible night together. Come early morning, they still had a couple of hours before the scheduled meeting with the Juggernaut contact, out here. He was ready for more cuddling and pillow-talk, and given her… mood… all night, it was a foregone expectation.
But like she did so many times, the woman surprised him. He woke up alone in the bed, to the sounds of a shower. She barely acknowledged him as she stepped out, and got dressed. She didn't reject his touch, far from it, she was receptive, but distant… elsewhere. He didn't know what to think. She didn't seem regretful of what happened, or resentful, or anything - just detached. Like it never happened. She returned his kisses, but they felt… surface-level. No emotion behind them.
He decided not to ask, since they had better things to do to get ready, but now, out here… he figured it was the right time to broach the subject.
"What's wrong?" - he asked, with a smile.
She didn't return it, still gazing outside. Her eyes seemed to be shifting in hue slightly, and he guessed she was doing something augment-related with them. Zooming-in perhaps, or whatever?
"It's too quiet." - she glanced at him, "I am not talking about traffic or lack of checkpoints. We picked this road for a reason. But I am not picking up anything. Not even subsonics from microwave transmissions. Almost like… there is some kind of dampening-effect, over the area."
"Well, we are out in the middle of nowhere… wouldn't expect a lot of signals out here, right?" - he offered, then added.
"So…?" - not sure how to say it without sounding either desperate or overly mooshy.
"So… what?" - she tilted her head slightly, with a frown. Gazing at him with neutral curiosity, still mixed with that nameless – watchfulness of the surroundings.
"So… how did you like - ah… tonight?" - he asked tentatively, sounding stupid even to his own ears, his smile turning slightly sheepish.
The car swerved slightly to the side, threatening to go off-road.
"Eyes front!" - she snapped, her reflex-booster implant kicking in, as she made made a lightning-quick lunge past him, to grip the wheel and swerve the car back in line.
"O-oh! Sorry… I-uh… yeah. Need to watch the road." - he muttered, feeling embarrassed in addition to silly. Shaking his head to himself, he focused on the road ahead. Feeling her gaze on the back of his head.
Great…
Wishing he could disappear.
"I loved it." - Yelena's suddenly-sultry tone made him grin stupidly.
"You did?! I mean you… you didn't… exactly seem – ah…" - he trailed off, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.
"If I did not, you wouldn't woken up alive!" - she smirked, a touch of that predatory aspect on her face. But it only lasted a moment, as she saw the… hurt... expression on his face.
He heard her sigh, her eyes conveying her apology.
"Don't take it personally Irwine. It's… how do I put it.. ?" - she paused there, searching for the right word, her eyes going somewhere… past him.
"If you don't want to talk about it, it's-" - he began, but she interrupted. "NO! No… I do. I want to talk about it. I am just not sure… how to make you understand. Not sure if I even understand it myself."
He waited patiently for her to continue, as the car trundled onward.
"I'm trained to… no. No, training isn't the right word. Conditioned. To compartmentalise." - Yelena began slowly, twirling her trench knife between her fingers, "...I suppose you can see it as a kind of - controlled bipolar personality disorder. Minus the depression. Last night, when I… wanted you to take me away, from myself – I meant that literally. I wanted to find a… part of myself that still exists, before everything that happened to me. Before what they did to me. I wanted you to help me access it."
She glanced up at his eyes, in the rear-view mirror.
"And you did. And I think… I love you, for it." - she said simply, giving him a sweet smile. He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.
"Wait. Let me finish. This morning, when I woke up – you have to understand one thing about me, Irwine. I have a… a switch. An on-off switch. In here. Not literally, but… I don't know. It's just there." - she pointed at her head.
"When I woke up, I wanted to kill. I needed, to kill." - coldly.
"Me?" - he echoed, feeling a sinking feeling in his gut.
"No. Myself." - Yelena quickly corrected him. "Because I allowed you to take me away from myself. So I did. I… killed myself. That - my self, that made love to you. That - my self, that wanted to run away."
"So you killed your humanity?! Why would you do that?" - the man suddenly turned angry at the idea. She waved her hand with an exasperated growl, dismissing the notion.
"NO! Not... not killed, as in killed it... Damn you, stop being so literal! Pridurok! You can be a real idiot, you know that?!" - she hissed petulantly, giving the man a withering glare.
"I give up… at least you didn't stab me in my sleep! That's something." - he rolled his eyes, suppressing a chuckle.
"I just might! And lucky for you my humanity is still here, or you would be dead!" - she snapped, petulance still there, gesturing with the knife, then continued, shoving it back into the scabbard in a fluid motion.
"I 'killed' the part of me that… that… let you get close. That… was accessed, when you made love to me. But that doesn't mean I want it gone! Do you get it?!"
"Nope." - he deadpanned.
She rolled her eyes, sinking back into the back seat.
"Well I suppose I'll just have to SHOW you what I mean, the next time we do it." - crossing her arms, her glare turning to challenging.
He smiled at her.
"Looking forward to it." - with a wink.
"Don't. I'm a real bitch." - Yelena was the one who deadpanned, this time, before she turned her attention back outward.
"Oh I know that. And I wouldn't have you any other way!" - Irwine replied easily, with a laugh. He got his answer.
Half an hour passed, with Fedorova growing increasingly unnerved by what she was certain by now, was some sort of signal-dampening field over the whole area.
"There it is. The airfield." - Irwine announced, as a run-down, fenced in clearing came into view, just past a scattering of trees beyond the horizon.
He could feel her close behind, as she leaned forwad, narrowing her eyes at the smattering of abandoned hangars and storage buildings, in the distance.
"Stop here. Just short of the trees. Park the car behind, and keep it out of sight from the airfield." - she ordered, all business again.
"But we're supposed to-" - he began, but was cut off.
"Now." - the icy command in her tone left no room for argument. Nor did a Diamondback revolver, in her hand.
He complied, then turned around.
"Alright Yelena, what the hell is going on? You've been on edge ever since that whole lack of signals thing."
"I have. And now that we're here, I'm going to find out why. When is their plane supposed to land?" - she growled. He frowned, consulting his phone.
"Thirteen minutes from now… I understand they're using a special transponder signal, not to be picked up by- hold on." - he paused, looking at his phone.
"It's off the grid. You're right… there's no signal at all. Not even a network prompt." - he scowled.
She gave him a look of strained patience.
"So tell me how are they planning to land, without a beacon signal to lock their transponder on-to? Out here in the middle of nowhere? No big landmarks to navigate visually? We leave the car and continue on foot. Take my Sanction. Find a good vantage point here between the trees, and cover me. I want to investigate that airfield."
"Got it." - he didn't argue, opening the driver-side doors and stepping out, before he headed for the trunk. Now that he thought about it… it was strange.
"How will we keep in touch?" - he asked, once he had the weapon in his hands. She handed him a small, handheld cylinder-shaped object.
"Handheld infolink transceiver." - she explained, "Locked on my specific frequency." - she tapped the side of her neck, just below the ear.
"Okay… good luck. And be careful, Yelena." - he nodded.
With only a nod, she took off towards the distant smattering of structures. He moved over to a convenient growth of low bushes next to another three, which looked like a good place to set up an overwatch position, without being obvious from the air.
As he went prone and set up, keeping track of her progress via the rifle's ACOG scope, she suddenly – vanished. He blinked, but there was only a brief flicker of reflected light, at the spot where she'd just been, and an even briefer outline of a glass-lined figure. Then – nothing. At least nothing he could spot, from this distance.
Active cloaking augmentation of some kind. Wow… didn't realise she was THAT kitted up! Damn…
At the same time, he scowled. Now that she was invisible, it would be much harder to anticipate where the trouble might be coming from, at her.
~"Comms check. Respond."~ - Yelena's cold voice came, tiny-sounding over the transceiver she gave him.
"Reading loud and clear." - he replied.
~"Set the scope wavelength to EM imaging. You should have a visual on me. Out.~ - she signed off.
He did as instructed, and instantly, the image through the rifle's scope shifted into a grayscale spectrum. While it made small details in the landscape more difficult to make out, the contrast between larger objects was improved. And the sun-glare was gone. And he could see one, fast moving silver-lined shape, still on approach to the airfield.
He nodded to himself, with a chuckle. One of these days, he'd learn to stop second-guessing her!