⧗ CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE ⧗


It had started so easily.

The mission started as all the others had; a briefing by Comrade Goncharova, in a new city, in a new safe house. Somewhere in the Czech Republic, though Dmitri wasn't exactly sure. They'd come in at night and were brought to a location outside of the city. The five of them, huddled in a small room as Comrade Goncharova slipped them only the information they needed across a coffee table.

A picture of a man. An address where he worked, and an address where they'd take him. Careful instructions of what information he had, that they needed, and the express permission to use any means necessary to retrieve it. From him, the security details required to pass through the high-security system within the company he worked for; something to do with cyber security, though they weren't given the specifics. It was not necessary to perform their duties.

It was a multi-pronged mission, a bit of a fun challenge. One would go in to lure Mr. Svoboda out into the open, where another would pull in with a vehicle and they'd bundle him away on a street corner with no security cameras. While they brought him to a secondary location and pry away information, a duo would work to infiltrate and retrieve the information. By the time they got out, their target would be dead and they'd be scot-free.

Easy in, easy out. Their first hand at a bit of torture, though Dmitri didn't think it would take much. The man in the picture was middle-aged, receding hairline, large glasses and bookish. He did not look particularly courageous or sturdy at all. He'd break into pieces at the slightest bit of pressure, he was sure.

Mr. Svoboda was unmarried, and thus they drew lots as to who would be the lucky person to coax him out of his shell. Oksana got the short stick, sighed, and went to change out of her catsuit. "You guys get to have all the fun…"

The rest of them — Dmitri, Annika, Rada, and Sabina — huddled in the nondescript white utility van, about a decade old, while Oksana went out on her own. They were all hooked up via commlink and could hear everything said when she entered the bar Mr. Svoboda frequented every Friday night. Her outfit was simple, a black miniskirt and low-collared shirt, like a woman who just got off work. Probably.

"You got this, Oksana," Annika whispered into the mic, as Sabina managed to score a seat next to the target. They couldn't see her, but they could hear the chatter within the bar, kept an eye out from the tinted windows. It was a seedy area on the outskirts of what Dmitri believed to be Prague, a river flowing in the distance.

Oksana's Czech was immaculate, and yet five minutes went by with what was dreadfully dull conversation. It wasn't until they heard Mr. Svoboda excusing himself to the bathroom did Oksana whisper into her earpiece, "He's not biting. I don't think he's interested in me."

"I'll give it a go, then," Rada sighed, and slipped out of the driver's seat. A spare dress was on hand, and she and Oksana switched places by the time Mr. Svoboda had left. Rada didn't take her seat, instead milling about in the bar and observing Mr. Svoboda from afar before going in. "Doesn't seem sad to see you gone, Oksana."

Oksana snorted beside him.

Rada waited a few minutes, before she too eventually reported, "Not even one glance at my boobs. I don't think he's looking for a girl."

"What?" Sabina hissed, and rolled her eyes. "This would've been a lot quicker if he just went to a gay bar like every other closeted man."

"I think that requires a certain level of self-confidence," Rada snickered as she extracted herself from the scene. "That he clearly doesn't have. Your turn, Dmitri. If even you can't get him, then we'll just have to do this the hard way."

"Fun," Dmitri muttered, sighing as he had his turn for a costume change. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but he intended to make this one fast. No need to see any action — all he had to do was get the man out the back door. Which, considering the man's level of insecurity, would not be difficult to convince.

Dmitri liked the catsuit. All black, form-fitting, very flexible. And it covered every inch of his skin. The sheer button-up shirt, unbuttoned halfway down — less so. BUt hopefully tempting to the Mr. Svoboda, who seemed rather perplexed by not one, not two, but the third attractive person approaching him in the same night. The startled look, up and down, as Dmtiri took that still-warm seat next to him at the bar.

He may be a shy man, but he wasn't a stupid one. At some point, he would catch on that this wasn't a mere chance encounter. Which was why Dmitri wanted to get it right this time.

"Long day?" Dmitri asked in Czech, with a nod to what was clearly not Mr. Svoboda's first shot of vodka that night.

"You could say that," Mr. Svoboda replied, chuckling a little, flushed cheeks. "Never a boring day when your clients think crypto will make them billionaires."

He already looked a little tipsy, which Dmitri hoped would work in his favor. He didn't meet Dmitri's eyes for more than a moment, though Dmitri didn't interpret it as a lack of interest. Not with the way he kept glancing back at Dmitri every time the man thought he wasn't looking.

"Crypto?" Dmitri pretended to be impressed. "Isn't that supposed to be a scam? Something the Americans made up?"

Dmitri ordered a matching drink, downing it in one go. Didn't have to, but figured a shot of liquid courage couldn't hurt. He was Russian — it'd take a lot more than that to get him drunk.

Mr. Svoboda laughed despite his unease. "Depends on who you ask. I get paid in real money either way."

This was amazing progress, as far as Dmitri was concerned. Neither Oksana nor Rada had been able to get the man to open up even about his job which, considering the nature of it, was more than a little sensitive. Maybe Mr. Svoboda was just a man's man. Or maybe Dmitri had a particular way of putting him at ease.

"Well, here's to you getting paid, then," Dmitri offered up his refilled shot glass in cheers.

"T-to getting paid, then," Mr. Svoboda smiled nervously and their glasses clinked, downed again in symmetry. Dmitri never took his eyes off the man. When he set the glass down again, Mr. Svoboda seemed to have second thoughts, lifting his head and saying, "Sorry, I'm not usually like this. I'm Filip. I don't think I've ever seen you here before…?"

"Damien," Dmitri replied easily, smiling that smile that had always served him well. Filip Svoboda couldn't seem to look away. "Recently moved here. Thought I'd get a lay of the land."

"Ah. Interesting place to choose," Mr. Svoboda looked around surreptitiously. "Not many people here that are, ah, your age. Figured you'd find more fun in a club or something."

"Not really my scene," Dmitri shrugged casually. "I can't always find what I'm looking for in those places."

All a matter of subtext, reading between the lines. If Mr. Svoboda was truly closeted, then he'd know what to look for, listen to. The man's eyebrows raised, a little surprised, a little hopeful. "O-oh? Then what, er, is it you're looking for?"

"Something…" Dmitri let his sentence drift, as he dipped his pinky into his glass before slipping it in his mouth — turning his gaze towards Mr. Svoboda at just the right moment. "Unexpected."

The man stared, pupils enlarged, completely rapt. Dmitri smiled and turned back to his drink, already satisfied that the fly had landed upon his web, right before Mr. Svoboda cleared his throat and said, "Well, you know, if it's vodka you like, I've got a special brand back at my place…"

Dmitri had to suppress a laugh. It was awkward, terrible really, an absolutely clumsy way to invite home a one night stand. Pathetic really, all the more sad how genuine it was. A man should not be so desperate as to direct his attention to one at least two decades younger than him, but perhaps for someone like Mr. Svoboda, he's never had a chance like this. Never been shown interest before. Why would he question his choices if Damien was willing?

Nevertheless, Dmitri feigned interest. "You don't say?"

Mr. Svoboda nodded, a little excited now. But then looked nervous again. "I'll leave first, and then you'll follow?"

Ah, right. Dmitri made a face, and then leaned in, speaking in an undertone. "We can always use the back door. No one will see us then. Just pretend to use the bathroom."

Thankfully, Mr. Svoboda seemed to see this as a wiser, less potentially humiliating option, and nodded quickly. No questions asked; he was too caught up in the moment to wonder if entering the alleyway behind the bar was truly the safest option or not.

He'd never get the chance.

Svoboda went first, of course, the nervous one, while Dmitri followed behind, making sure no one was trailing them. Not that he was worried, of course, but best to ensure no witnesses. Mr. Svoboda waited for him out in the dark street, looking giddy and failing to hide it, when Dmitri emerged — they hadn't taken more than a few steps before a white van turned on its headlights down the street. Its engine idled for a moment, before pulling up to them with a sudden gust of motion.

Mr. Svoboda jumped, and before he had time to either reassure himself it was nothing or try to run, Dmitri was behind him, ramming his fist int0 Mr. Svoboda's side. He clapped a hand over the man's mouth as he cried out, the electric shock reverberating through Svoboda's body. He went rigid, just as the door slid open, and Dmitri tossed the man's body into Rada and Annika's waiting arms. Dmitri jumped in after, slammed the door shut behind him, and Oksana hit the gas.

By the time Mr. Svoboda woke up, he was tied to a chair.

He'd look around and find himself stripped, sitting naked, in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, with papered windows and cement walls. Dank and musty and absolutely abandoned and lifeless except for Dmitri, sitting on a stool opposite him, waiting for him to wake up. No longer dressed like a fun college kid, but now back in the black catsuit, belt and gauntlets on, looking nothing at all like the man has ever seen before.

"What… what's going on?" Mr. Svoboda asked, still dazed and confused. He pulled weakly at the zip ties around his wrists and ankles, panic starting to set in when he realized just the kind of situation he was in. "D-damien? What is this? Is this some kind of joke? It's not funny!"

"No, this isn't a joke, Svoboda," Dmitri replied, in the same tone and same smile he had used when flirting with the man mere hours ago. Mr. Svoboda paled when he heard the name he had never given to Dmitri. "I'm here on behalf of my employer. And he's very interested in what you know."

When it came to interrogation, it was best that the victim knew upfront what was wanted from them. They might give it up willingly, depending on their mental fortitude. How self-serving they themselves were. But some were simple-minded, might be too blinded by fear to understand. Which was why Dmitri kept his tone soft, friendly even. Good cop, bad cop. (Sabina volunteered for Bad Cop).

Right now, it was just Dmitri. Svoboda didn't need to know anyone else was involved just yet. "Your employer? Who?"

"That's none of your concern. We just want to know how to get past the biosecurity measures in Ark. That's the company you work for, right? The one that pays you real money?"

"Y-yes, but I can't tell you that!" Mr. Svoboda insisted. "It's… it's proprietary! If I tell you, I'll lose my job. Look, I can pay you, I can give you whatever you want, just not that! This job is everything to me! I'll never —"

"Is this job worth your life, Filip?" Dmitri asked, raising his eyebrows. The man was already shaking, sweating, and he hadn't even done anything yet. He had the sense this man must have already gone through a seminar for this sort of thing. Though he doubted kidnapping and torture had been covered. "There's no paycheck bigger than your own life, I can tell you that right now."

Mr. Svoboda sat there, shaking, shivering, scared out of his mind. Dmitri didn't even know how much he could see right now — his glasses had been removed as well. "…What are you going to do to me?"

"Well, that's up to you, Filip," Dmitri sighed, finally rising to his feet and stepping over to the metal cart nearby. One that the man either couldn't see or hadn't noticed until now, eyes widening in fear. Dmitri ran his fingers over a series of tools, from hammers to pliers, screws to clamps. The man might not be able to see them, so he let the sound of metal clinking on metal to illustrate the danger and pain for him. "We can start off small. Your fingers first, then your hands. Maybe your feet next."

In torture, the victim's imagination was almost as effective as the actual pain itself. Dmitri didn't have to do anything, just give the man's panic a little nudge, and let his mind race on its own. To imagine the pain, the torment, build up the tension and terror — whether or not the actual torture lived up to the nightmare was irrelevant. It just made everything feel worse. Like muscles tensing before a vaccine shot. The mind could work wonders in his favor.

When Mr. Svoboda didn't immediately respond, Dmitri continued, "I wonder how you'll be able to do your job, without your hands. All that computer stuff, all that stuff you learned in school — useless if you can't use a keyboard or a mouse. Can't send an email if you don't have fingers anymore."

Dmitri found a pair of sheers and tested them for good measure, letting the sound echo in the empty room. Ms. Svoboda whimpered, and Dmitri caught the scent of urine filling the air.

Disgusting. But clearly he was having an effect.

"What do you say?" Dmitri said, turning around again. "You can tell me right now, Filip, and this can all be over without any blood spilled. Ark never even has to know it was you. But one way or another, you will tell me what I want to know."

Mr. Svoboda's eyes were squeezed shut. His lips were moving, but he wasn't saying anything. It took Dmitri a moment to realize the man was praying. "Oh, God can't help you now, Filip. If you want mercy, you know exactly what to say."

His lips stopped moving. Dmitri waited, hopeful, patient.

Mr. Svoboda finally whimpered, shaking his head. "I can't."

Dmitri sighed, resigned. "You will."

It took longer than he thought. Three hours, six fingers, a shattered knee cap, and a bout of electrical shocks later, Mr. Svoboda finally caved. Dehydrated from cries and weeping, blood splattered across the floor, staring at his own severed digits, the man finally gave in. Described in shaking, stammering detail how to get past the biometric scans and infrared lasers that infested his company's building. The right mainframe to hook into, the back door to access, the code to disable every security feature they desired. The place was truly a masterpiece in security. But as with everything, their greatest weakness was the human element. Nothing could account for that.

Annika and Oksana had already departed to break into the building by the time Dmitri walked out of the room, wiping his hands clean of the blood. Sabina waited on the other side, and they shared a nod. "It's done," Dmitri told her.

"I'll clean up, then," Sabina replied, slipping past him, back into the room where Mr. Svoboda waited, a weak sobbing mess. The heavy metal door shut behind Dmitri. He heard a muffled bang, and a moment later, Sabina returned, holstering her pistol. "Comrade Goncharova will come by with the cleaning crew in a few hours. Oksana, how are we doing?"

"Annika just got inside," Oksana replied over their earpieces. "I'm sitting in the van, watching the front doors. Your man was right, we have remote access to the lobby's computers. All interior and exterior cameras are down."

"I've got access to their digital mainframe," Rada replied, and Dmitri could pick up the clacking of her keyboard from within the van. "We have about thirty minutes before the CEO makes his manual check-in. Who checks their phone at 4am every night?"

"Someone who wakes up at four AM every day," Sabina replied with a huff, hauling a duffle bag of tools over her shoulder. "Freaks."

"I'm in the elevator shaft," Annika continued, as Dmitri and Sabina picked up their effects and cleared the space of what remained of their presence here. "Haven't gotten into any trouble so far. I should get make it to the thirty-second floor in about… twelve minutes."

That was about enough time for Dmitri and Sabina to catch up to the van on foot. They were in no rush, and kept to the shadows, moving slowly. Many mid-grade security cameras (which was what most places could afford on a budget) were activated by light or motion, and at a certain distance weren't triggered at all. Keeping to rooftops was even better.

The abandoned warehouse was about a mile from the Ark building, divided by the Vltava river.

"Huh, that's weird," Annika said, with such a long pause afterwards that all of them had to prod her for elaboration. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just — this floor is under construction. Like, the walls aren't even painted yet, there's wires everywhere. Your guy didn't mention that, did he?"

Sabina and Dmitri exchanged frowns from the rooftop where they were perched. The building wasn't very tall, only a couple floors, but enough of a vantage point. Below, they could see both the Ark building and the van which Oksana and Rada were hiding in, tucked away in a far corner, engine off and lights out.

"No," Dmitri said, looking back towards the building. Some of the floors were lit, but they appeared empty, no movement within. He looked up to the thirty-second floor, which appeared dark. From here, it was impossible to tell what the inside looked like. "He said the biometric scanners covered the whole building. Like, it's embedded into the floor or something. Everyone's weight and gait is monitored. Guests have to be scanned beforehand, and it's always on. Always."

"That has to take a massive amount of power to run at all times, in a building that size." Sabina commented.

"Not just floors, but vents and other places a human could fit into," Rada added. "All the small maintenance areas and crawl spaces. It's a shit ton of square footage. But my readings say the building is running on a minimal amount from the city power grid."

"Svoboda mentioned a separate generator," Dmitri said, "I imagine so they're not vulnerable during a city wide power outage. Which is probably why we didn't do it that way."

"I don't think we would've needed to wait for one," Annika replied, her tone doubtful. "Not that I can really tell, but the floor doesn't look finished. Hard to say if there's any of these so-called sensors embedded into the surface."

"That's weird," Oksana muttered.

"Just find the main server room," Sabina advised.

"You're almost there, Annika," Rada said. "Just keep going forward twenty meters, take a right, and then access the temperature controlled room. The door should have a keypad."

"If you say so…"

What Annika couldn't see was the black town car that suddenly appeared down the street, coming to a stop in front of the building. Dmitri and Sabina cursed at the same time.

"Who the fuck is that?" Oksana demanded.

"It's gotta be the CEO," Sabina said, peering through her binoculars. Dmitri didn't even need them to make out the fine suit and unkempt hair of a man in his mid-thirties, too rich for his own good, scrambling out of his car. "I told you he got up at four o'clock."

"He can't go in there," Dmitri replied, already reaching for his pistol. But there was no way he could make the shot from here. A hundred meters with a handgun? No way. "Annika hasn't gotten to the server room yet."

Oksana swore loudly. "I'll run interference. Rada, keep an eye on Annika."

Below, they heard the crack of the car door opening, and watched as Oksana booked it towards the Ark building. The CEO had just entered the lobby, followed closely by his security guard, maybe wondering why he couldn't view any of the camera footage from his phone, when Oksana ambushed him from behind.

At the same time, something crackled in their ears. The sound of a crash, Annika yelping.

"Annika, what's wrong?" Sabina called into her earpiece.

"Help! Not alone —!" Was all they could hear before Annika's voice was cut off by more crashing and banging. Looking up, Dmitri saw a flash of light from the thirty-second floor.

"Holy shit," Sabina cursed under her breath.

"Annika, are you okay?" Rada called. "Annika, respond!"

Time was of the essence. The mission was no longer going as planned. Dmitri could already feel the fear setting in, and he had to act now before he was frozen with indecision. "I'll go after her!"

"Be careful!" Sabina called as Dmitri leapt off the roof. The grappling hook slowed his fall and he hit the ground running.

With a long stride, going at a full sprint carrier Dmitri across that distance in under a minute. There was no time to waste with stairs or elevators — Oksana already having disabled the security guard and bringing the CEO down to his knees — so it was grappling back up to the thirty-second floor from the outside. It wouldn't take him up all the way, the wire not long enough, but he reached floor ten and could crawl up the rest of the way. Each widow's suit equipped with microscopic suction cups on hands and feet that activated on sheer, vertical surfaces. Dmitri didn't know how it worked exactly nor did he care — only that it did, which was the case now. Climbing up the side of the building on his fingertips and toes was an exhilarating feeling, heightened only by his worry for Annika, who had gone silent on their shared feed.

"I've contacted Goncharova for help," Rada told them, but her voice was pitched with fear. "But I haven't gotten a response. I don't know if my messages are going through."

"Don't worry about that for now, we can handle this," Dmitri told her, as he hauled himself up one floor at a time. Each took a few seconds to cross, each time feeling like he was wasting more and more time. "Just tell me where Annika is."

"Her GPS location says she's in the southwest corner," Rada said, her voice shaking. "S-She's not moving."

Dmitri sucked in a breath but put a stopper on whatever horrible thoughts threatened to boil over. He didn't know anything. When he reached the thirty-second floor windows, they were completely dark — he could barely see inside and he was looking directly in. From his belt, Dmitri pulled a small disc; this variation emitted small but powerful audio pulses, enough to shatter glass and so highly pitched the human ear couldn't detect it.

He placed it on one pane and quickly jumped to the next one over, waiting until the timer ticked down and —

Just as promised, the glass bomb didn't make a sound. All Dmitri could detect was a soft whistling noise, like someone blowing air through a broken flute — then crack!

The glass flashed opaque in one second, a thousand hairline fractures spanning the panel without completely shattering. Just as designed. No reason to have glass shards raining down on unsuspecting masses. Even if Dmitri didn't have to worry about that right now, it still made less of a mess.

With one good kick, he threw himself into the cracked glass and it gave away instantly.

Human body and broken glass rained down on the interior of the floor. Dmitri landed neatly on his feet. He didn't know what he was expecting — a server room full of computer towers, a maze of cubicles, an executive office — but no. It was as Annika described it. An empty floor filled with half finished hallways, hanging tarps, and construction equipment all around.

No one here. But he could already tell there had been a fight — disturbance in the dust that had settled across the floor, upturned sawhorses and broken material scattered about. A splash of blood here and there.

"Annika!" Dmitri called, but got no response. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was very wrong here.

He moved slowly, quietly; though if anyone else was here, they would've been alerted to his presence by now. But as Dmitri cleared one room after another, pistol drawn, he saw nothing. Spotted no sign of anyone.

"You're getting closer," Rada said. "She's still not moving."

Dmitri quieted the jump his heart made. It's fine. Everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

A shadow swung across the floor. Dmitri froze, jumped back, and peered around the corner. Heart pounding, he waited. Called out, "Annika?"

Nothing. Just a strange, rhythmic squeak. It seemed like doorsteps at first, but it was neither getting closer nor further away. It didn't make sense. What was she doing?

By Rada's estimations, Annika had to be directly in front of him, down the hallway. A sheet of white tarp blocked his view halfway down. An air current caused it to drift now and then. Beyond it came whatever movement he had detected earlier.

Mouth dry, Dmitri took one step forward, then another, keeping his back pressed to one wall as he slowly edged down the hallway.

Gun in one hand, he reached out with the other and pulled back the tarp.

And there was Annika, hanging from the ceiling. Her neck, tangled in electrical wires that hung from the exposed ceiling, her body drifting back and forth.

Her eyes wide open, mouth hanging in a silent cry for help.

Dead.

Dmitri gasped, stumbled back. What the hell—!

"Dmitri, what is it?" Sabina called through their commlink. "Is Annika there? Is she okay?"

For a long moment, Dmitri didn't know what to say. How to relay this information. How to explain what he found.

His voice sounded hollow, far away when he finally replied. "She's dead."

"What? How?!"

"What happened?"

"Who did it?"

All their voices were so loud in his ear, all asking questions at once, that Dmitri didn't notice the sound behind him. "I don't know, she's just — she's just hanging, she's —"

His words were cut off by one of the other girls' crying out. Dmitri didn't even know which one, because a large arm had suddenly wrapped itself around his neck.

Shouts and screaming in his ear. Dmitri called out, for help, for information, he didn't know what — he was suddenly lifted off his feet and the air choking from his lungs. All the while Annika's dead eyes staring into his.

Over his ear piece he heard a cacophony of noise. A sudden bang like metal upon metal, a car crash. The van door being yanked open and then Rada's cries, getting further and further away.

Sabina, sounding like she was in the middle of her own fight, and Oksana, breathing hard like she was running for her life.

And one by one, their voices snuffed out, until all Dmitri heard was silence.

It was all he could do to remember himself in their combined panic. He still had the Widow's Bite, and slammed one fist behind him. He hit somewhere against the man's ribcage and felt the satisfying jolt of an electric discharge.

The man grunted, stumbled back, and his grip loosened, not completely, but enough. Enough for Dmitri to wriggle free, dropping a smoke bomb. He didn't know why, it was just the only thing he could think of in order to get away.

He tried to make a break for the open window, but he'd never get that far.

Something struck him in the back halfway there. The window wide open; the blessed wind beckoning him forward. Only to feel that impact in his left side, and suddenly hitting the floor.

Dmitri's consciousness was already slipping away when a pair of boots entered his dimming vision.

And then he was gone.