Deus Ex - Fire and Ice
Chapter One
Sankt Peterburg, Russia – Three weeks after the Aug Incident
A shadowy figure detached itself from the plentiful late-night passerby milling along the Nevsky Prospekt. The figure was tall and vaguely feminine, though it was difficult to tell, being dressed in a flowing trench coat and a hood, both of which did a very good job at hiding the outlines of the person's body. Even through all of it… the individual's gait was almost – flowing, with sinuous grace.
Passing under a stylised overhang of one of the many bridges across the Neva river, the figure stopped, secluding itself behind an abandoned newspaper stand, one of those old-school frameworks that were used to hold paper prints, back in the day.
The moonlight shone through the tattered rags of clouds in the sky, briefly illuminating the person's face. It was an aquilline-faced woman with delicate, yet intense features, a few strands of blonde tresses just peeking under the hood… and eyes of the deepest black, carrying traces of buried regret in them, alongside equally buried anguish. The telltale signs of circuitry within them, also made it clear that the woman was augmented. The way her lashes matched her eye colour, it was also clear that her hair was not naturally blonde. It made for an exotic contrast. A faded scar between her nostrils also made a striking counterpoint, to the rest of her flawless countenance.
Her gaze was fixed to the far end of the river walkway, and a police patrol, harassing a pair of augmented individuals, a man and a woman. As she watched, one of the cops shoved the male civilian, as another slammed a baton across his knees, sending the man to the ground, before they began cuffing him, even as the woman tried to intercede. The effort only got her shoved away by another cop.
"Kakoye krasivoye zrelishche, ne pravda li? I zdes', v gorode, kotoryy kogda-to gordilsya svoim dal'novidnym myshleniyem. Strakh delayet s lyud'mi strannyye veshchi, ne tak li?" - a sarcastic male voice came from off to the side, full of understated bitterness. It came from an average-height, average-built man in his early thirties, handsome-yet-homely at the same time, sporting a trackpants and hoodie, with a mop of shaggy brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He had the look of a street thug, but his manner carried a touch of 'undercover operative' vibe to it. The fact he wasn't augmented, visibly, worked in his favour. He could move about pretty much freely, given the new laws, following the Incident.
The intonation was dreadful, though. Every time he tried to speak Russian, she was just reminded of it. If it was meant to impress her, in his so-far-futile attempts to score, he was definitely going about it the wrong way. And if it was meant to help him blend in better… The hooded woman just rolled her eyes at that.
"Speak English. If you keep butchering my language like this, I might butcher you." - mixed with a mock-glare at him, and a microscopic smirk, making it clear she was… half-joking. Her own English was flawless, but the thick accent was certainly there.
"You don't mean that, Yelena." - he chuckled back, a smile dancing across his lips.
"Keep telling yourself that." - the woman purred, then turned her gaze back at the scene at the end of the walkway. She sighed.
"And if you asked me to meet you here, just so I can enjoy the view… I'll be disappointed. I've seen better sights. Less pathetic ones, anyway. Especially lately." - she murmured, her expression disinterested, as she watched the two innocent augmented civilians being dragged away.
The mustachioed man shook his head in some exasperation.
"Some part of you has to feel sorry for them, right? They've done nothing wrong, and are being persecuted for something that happened utterly beyond their control. They didn't choose to go insane. It was forced on them, for fuck's sake, by a bitter old man with unresolved complexes! And what did society do? Not look for the cause of it all? No. They just started segregating the 'crazy Hanzers', and treating them like second-class citizens! It's happening all over the world, you know? I've even heard stories of prison camps being planned. And you can't tell me you haven't been affected! How do you deal with it? The fear and hatred of 'normal people' you have to put up with? The checkpoints? The cops?"
"I don't. I'm off the grid. I don't exist." - Yelena Fedorova replied, easily. He blinked in surprise.
She turned to face him, and he was struck by the depth of buried pain, that suddenly manifested itself in those dark eyes. "I've been a ghost, for most of my life. And I'm just fine, living as one. Humanity has failed me a long time ago. Normals, hanzers… I don't care. People have always been divided one way, or another. It's how they stay in control. Playing both ends against the middle. As long as I stay off the grid, I get to observe the patterns of it. Sooner or later, they are going to make a mistake, and reveal themselves. They despise chaos. It goes against their whole purpose. I know that better then anyone. When they overplay their hand, I will know where to strike."
"And in the meantime, you don't care who gets hurt?! Even if they're your own people?" - the man insisted.
Her gaze turned into one of strained patience. "My own people… ? And who is that supposed to be? Those two?" - she asked quietly, nodding at the departing police car, with the two augmented civilians shoved inside. "Will my feeling sorry for them, change anything? No. Can I help them? Short term, maybe. I can break into the precinct and get them out. Probably have to kill a cop or two, in the process, and expose myself for no good reason. Will it do any good, long term? No. And I would just paint a nice big target, on my chest, for the people who ARE very interested in tracking me down, because of what I am, and what I know. And what I can do to them. What I WILL do to them." - the last sentence a thinly-veiled growl, as old anger momentarily surfaced.
The man opened his mouth to say something else, but she continued on… voice back to neutral. "I'm an assassin, Irwine. I know the value of patience and discretion, and I'm not in the business of helping people. Did life deal them a bad hand? Yes it did..." - a momentary note of sympathy managed to seep into the woman's tone.
But it quickly vanished, as she continued. "All I can say about that is - join the club." - bitterly. "Now how about you skip trying to tug on my heartstrings, and just tell me what this is about?" - she leaned back onto the stand, crossing her arms.
As she did, the trench coat spread open a bit, revealing her elegant, statuesque, half-cybernetic frame. It lacked the thermoptic armour she used to wear as a member of the Tyrants, as such advanced equipment was now well beyond her means, but the high-end flak vest she worn, did offer her a decent amount of protection, combined with aramid nano-plate implants lining her rock-hard midriff and back, even though her arms were rather exposed. Polyfibre lines beneath the skin at her shoulders denoted the presence of artificial musculature. Her hands were gloved, the leather gloves reaching up to her elbows, with thin strips of carbon fibre-wire sticking slightly out of the rims, ready to be extended into a garrote at will, while a supple holster holding a Diamondback revolver, hung at her right hip. Another holster, with a Buzzkill stun gun, hung at her left one, while a pair of grenades were clipped to her belt; one gas, one EMP, next to a trench knife in a scabbard. Around her neck, hung a small pendant on a chain, that depicted an image of Saint Seraphim of Sarov.
Yelena had found religion, not long after what she did, in London. In her mind, what she did to Namir's family was necessary. But the act had left her even more hollow, then before, even if it did avenge her own family. Praying for the people she killed, was helping her come to terms with it, and helping her rationalize it. But she knew that ultimately - Eliza Cassan was wrong about her. It ran too deep. She was too damaged. If she let go of it, she would... die. And those who were really responsible would get away with what they've done to her. Her vengeance wasn't complete yet. Not even close. And until it was, until they paid for what they did, she couldn't afford, to die. She would be failing her family, again.
"It's… complicated." - Irwine began, peering briefly around the base of the bridge, to make sure nobody was potentially skulking there, before he continued.
"Have you ever heard of the Juggernaut Collective?" - he murmured under his breath, turning his attention to her.
Yelena had to search her memory. The assignment to take out Kontarsky, eleven months ago… the intel briefing mentioned something about the man being in touch with a group of that name, an anarchistic terror-group, according to their sources, that compromised him, but she wasn't privy to the details. Namir and Hardesty were, because of a prior operation that involved them – but she wasn't in on that. The only one of them who had actually spoken to Kontarsky, was Ben Saxon. And that was against standing orders, to kill him. Whatever Kontarsky told Saxon before he died, was something she would never know. Not unless she tracked down Saxon and asked him. Assuming she had any idea where the man ended up, which she didn't.
And given what happened after Icarus… he would want to kill me, before speaking to me. And I wouldn't blame him.
She thought with a private shake of her head. She bore no ill will towards Saxon anymore – far from it, in light of what happened in the meantime. If anything, she wanted to apologise. Sincerely and deeply. But she seriously doubted he would share that outlook. She tried to kill him. She tried to kill Anna Kelso. Twice. She nearly succeeded. All under orders, all in… another life, as she considered it now. But facts were facts.
"A group of anti-globalization anarchists. According to Tyrant files, anyway. One of my… assignments… was to neutralise a target associated with them. But I wasn't the primary." - she finally said out loud, not going into details.
Irwine nodded.
"In a nutshell, they're a… loose collection of individuals with a goal that is compatible with your own. Taking down the Illuminati. Led by an individual named… Janus." - he said the name slowly, gauging her reaction.
That name, Yelena Fedorova certainly did recognise instantly. Janus, whoever or whatever he, she, or it was, figured very prominently on the blacklist of entities flagged by the Tyrants for 'eliminate at any opportunity', maintained by their masters, through the Killing Floor. On reflection, she regretted not digging around a little deeper, while she had the chance, back in Detroit.
"An elite hacker or group of hackers involved in multiple cyber-attacks over the past decade. We were hunting that – individual - for a long time. Never got close. I never knew there was a whole terrorist group, behind the name." - she nodded.
Irwine smiled.
"That's the general idea. Janus and the Collective have been undermining your former masters, for a very long time. And the term 'terrorist' doesn't really apply, now does it?" - giving her a very direct look.
Fedorova nodded with a sigh, slightly apologetically. She pretty much had to accept that nearly every… view... she held prior to her awakening, was either outright skewed, or deliberately manipulated by her conditioning. A lot of 'terrorists' she and the other Tyrants were assigned to terminate, were in fact innocent people who conflicted with... their... interests.
"Sorry." - she grimaced. "So are they offering me a job? Let me just say this in advance – if it has 'need to know basis' as a part of it, the answer is NO. I've had enough of killing people because someone, somewhere said it was 'necessary'." - she growled.
"Nothing like that." - the man assured, "It is purely an intel-gathering assignment, Yelena. Your… abilities… are something the Collective still has in short supply. They don't have the resources or the technology to-"
"...make their own cybernetic attack dogs, so they come to me, because I'm ready-made into a perfect asset. And now that I'm out in the wild, they want to throw a leash on me. Am I close?" - Yelena snapped, suddenly angry, eyes narrowing.
Irwine looked genuinely hurt, by the implication. "Let's get one thing straight – the Collective is nothing, like your former masters! You can take my word for it."
The woman's expression softened, fractionally. "And I'll take you at your word, for now. Because you've never given me reason not to. But if you are feeding me a line – you will die. I've had most of my life taken from me, by a – collective - of power-hungry monsters who destroyed me." - she paused there, taking a deep breath. "I will NOT be part of another." - in a hard voice.
But there was no threat there. Just a steely promise.
"And that's exactly why they want you. Because you want to see the Illuminati fall, at least as much as they do. You do have a common enemy, and they have access to information and intel that you could never get on your own. Not to mention resources and supplies, to fight a shadow-war." - he replied immediately, meeting that hard gaze.
"I know how much you want to make them pay, Yelena. The Collective can make it happen. Simple as that." - he added in a whisper, putting a hand on her shoulder.
The woman regarded him evenly for a long couple of moments, and Irwine had a distinct feeling those dark eyes were boring right through him. Seeing past any attempt he might have made, at obfuscation.
"And what about you? What do you get out of… playing the middleman?" - she finally asked softly. Almost… intimately. There was something in her eyes that… invited him.
He smiled at her, deciding on forthright honesty. He had learned that it was the best policy with someone like Yelena Fedorova.
"Aside from a fat boost to my credit account?" - he winked.
Her lips twitched into a smirk, that had a teasing undertone to it.
"Aside from that." - her gaze turning slightly… hooded.
Throwing caution to the wind, he slipped an assertive arm around the woman's waist, the other caressing her face, pulling her in for a kiss. As he did, he had a distinct impression of playing Russian roulette. If she took offence… this would likely be his last breath. But that just excited him more.
"You." - he mouthed into her lips.
He felt her stiffen for a tantalising moment, and felt a drop of cold sweat sliding from his brow... before she relaxed into the kiss.