Chapter Two
"Dlya etogo yest' prichina?" - Yelena asked dubiously as she stepped out of the SUV, eyeing the run-down warehouse with some distaste. From within, a myriad of cheers and roars could be heard, as well as subdued sounds of bone-on-bone strikes. A match seemed to be ongoing.
A bareknuckle fight venue. One of several such places in the city, sponsored by Bratva, serving as both a lucrative source of revenue, from the bookies, and a recruiting ground for local muscle.
"My dolzhny podderzhivat' vidimost'" - Igor replied laconically, as the two thugs with him, chuckled. She grimaced at that, but nodded. She suspected something like this would be coming, for a while now. While she had been made, into the organisation, the sidelong glances she was getting, were telling. Not to mention the looks they were giving Irwine.
It seemed the rank-and-file were less then enthusiastic about having a woman placed so highly in the organisation, and needed some additional – convincing. Not to mention a foreigner, alongside her. As for Igor... she observed enough of him to get a pretty good idea what was beneath that diffident, urbane, sophisticated facade of a thoughtful man, that she first saw, months ago during her initial briefing. She observed his wife once, getting out of their mansion, and the large shades she was wearing, covering bruises around her eyes. The way she seemed to - shrink - from him, every time he got close. She saw his hungry, sadistic expression during several of the matches they attended, in past. He liked to watch people bleed, and in pain. And the ruleset involved, insured he had plenty of opportunity to indulge.
No referee in the ring. No time-limit on the rounds. No weight-classes. No gender-separation. No separation between natches and hanzers. Headbutts. Eyegouges. Stomps. Below-the-belt shots. Faceslams. Kidney-shots. From what she observed, the only rule that was followed, was no outright attempts to go for the spine. But anything else was fair game. And the fights lasted until one of the participants stopped moving, on the hard concrete ground. Whether unconscious or dead. Still, at least the medical response teams were always on-point.
She could respect the efficiency involved. It was reminiscent of her early training with the Tyrants. Only more dirty and gratuitously savage, and less clinically-focused on improving one's CQC performance. The referees, outside the ring, only stepped in well after one of the combatants was out. Sometimes - deliberately well after, allowing for quite a bit of unrestrained pounding of the helpless loser, by the victor.
Irwine, stepping out of the SUV a moment later, scowled.
"Wait a minute - you're not gonna put her in there?! To get smashed into a pulp by some-" - before Igor interrupted.
"No, bratan. We are going to put both of you, in there, one at a time. A woman... and an American. You did not really believe your acceptance would come so easily?" - with a cold smile.
"Oh for fucks' sake, didn't we prove ourselves during the assignment?! What kind of shit is this...?!" - the man countered angrily, taking a step towards Igor, causing one of the two thugs to produce a wicked-looking knife, before Yelena put a light hand on him, restraining him. Nor did Igor have to use more then a glance at his own man, to do the same.
"It's alright. If they want a bloodbath, they will get one. That is how respect is earned." - she whispered, lips spreading into an eager smirk, as she licked her upper lip.
"Yelena, you can't be serious...! Did you see some of the fuckin' beefcake animals they got in there?! Not to mention those auged-up ones?! We-" - as she interrupted, smirk vanishing behind an expressionless mask.
"There is no choice." - flatly, her gaze going... remote... yet steady on Igor.
Segmenting.
"Yesli on umret, ya ub'yu tebya." - icily. The two thugs chuckled at that, but Igor's face was carved from stone, eyeing her. There was no threat in the statement. No anger. Just a simple point of fact she made. And for some reason, the hollow stare and expression that accompanied it made him bite his lip in understated nervousness.
"Let us go in." - he replied, tone neutral, to both of them, leading the way inside. The way another two thugs stepped in behind them, made it clear it wasn't a request.
She glanced back briefly at the two. One of them was the augmented one with a cybernetic clawed-arm, that she met and humbled, back in the factory-yard, during the briefing. He eyed her with undisguised hostility.
Let me guess. You did not learn your lesson back then?
She thought, hollow expression not changing, as she turned back around. Taking an educated guess on who would be her opponent.
As it turned out, things would not be as straightforward, in the ring. Standing there as she examined her taped-up hands, facing the clawed-arm goon, as the two awaited the bell to ring, Yelena had to make an effort not to let some of her anxiety show.
She glanced up a the ceiling above, and a softly humming device, emanating a faintly-shimmering field, covering the ring. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
EM-dampener was not part of the plan...
She thought. All of her active-matrix augmentations were inoperative, while within the dampening field. Unlike the EMP restraints that she was subjected to before, this thing didn't actively shut down all of her systems. It merely prevented her from activating any of the systems requiring an active bioenergy circuit to work, by locking down the power-transfer grid within her. That meant no HUD overlay and real-time tactical analysis, no cloaking, no harmonic-dampeners that were so helpful managing recoil in firearms, no gyroscopic stabilisation to aid in her balance, and perhaps most critically...
...no reflex-boosting. The reflex-booster implant and it's finely tuned enhancement of her nerve clusters, was something the woman relied on, quite heavily, when it came to hand-to-hand combat, and combat in general, augmenting her reaction times. Her entire fighting style was predicated on improved reactions and counter-strikes, provided by the reflex boosting, and aided by gyroscopic stabilisation.
She could fight without it... she did fight, without it, on several occassions... her natural reflexes were well-trained, over the years of experience, but it was a severe handicap. On the bright side, her polyfibral musculature was not on an active circuit, so it was unaffected by the dampening field. She was not... completely... at the mercy of her human limitations.
But she was still a 76kg woman, cybernetics and all, facing a well-conditioned, strong man who outweighed her by at least 20 kilos. And even with her years of training and polyfibral musculature, she figured it was just enough to level the playing field, in terms of brute strength. Her cybernetic framework was very much not designed for brute force. It was meant to operate in conjunction with reflex-boosting.
Glancing at her opponent, and his cybernetic claw-arm, which snapped eagerly at her face, in anticipation, she could guess it was also not on an active circuit. He seemed to be able to make use of it, just fine.
Oh, joy.
She thought in a flash, as the bell rang. Keeping that industrial-grade limb of his from ripping out her throat, or snapping one of her arms like a twig, would be a full-time job.
Sure enough, he rushed at her immediately with a snarl, opening up with a cross with his human hand, aimed at her jaw. Normally, she would be able to counter such a rush easily, relying on the speed to get inside it, but now... she backpedalled, maintaining distance, while she kept an eye on that cyber-arm.
Don't tunnel vision!
Landing a quick front kick to his sternum, to keep him at bay, she tried to set up a high-kick, but it felt like... moving in mollasses. Every movement she made was perhaps 1/3rd of a second too slow, compared to what she was used to. He blocked it with his cyber-arm, with a sharp clink of metal-on-metal, then stepped in, hammering her with a brutal elbow to the nose.
The crowd roared in approval, as Irwine bit his lip, watching.
Her head snapped back, blood painting her nose, as she was bullrushed into the ring's - which was essentially a dry pool - hard concrete wall. The pain agreed with Yelena, but the position certainly didn't.
The man's knee shot up at her pelvis - to no obvious effect – while his cybernetic hand distended, attempting to grip her right forearm. Desperately, knowing what would happen, Yelena slipped the grip, feeling those metal clawed fingers cutting her skin deeply, in a glancing swipe as they closed like a shear. Her wrist was wet with blood. With her free hand, she impaled the thumb of it into the man's left eye, digging-in. Being taller then her opponent, meant she couldn't headbutt effectively.
He jerked back, stumbling, clutching at his eyes with a roar of pain, blood streaming from his left eyesocket. Not wasting a moment, the woman followed it up with a crisp uppercut, creating more room between them, before spinning low in a sweep kick, taking him off his feet. She stepped forward, aiming the stomp with her left hoove-like metal foot, like a spear, at his throat, intend on crushing his windpipe. At the last moment he batted it aside, again with his metallic cyber-arm, glaring malevolently up at her with his one blood-free eye. The other one was half-closed, and filled with blood.
The crowd's pitch neared pandemonium-level. He rolled aside, trying to get back on his feet. Yelena followed, landing a brutal football-kick to his right side ribs, sending him back down. It provoked a howl of agony, coupled with a faint cracking sound, from one of them. Her kicks were her greatest weapon, and even without reflex-boosting, the power generated by those advanced cybernetic legs was no joke. Even more so now, then before, since her new set of legs was practically brand new. The fact it didn't smash right through his ribs, spoke volumes of the man's own toughness.
Then she tried another stomp, this time at his solar plexus. Bigger target, and lower, would be more difficult to parry. It connected, making him double-over slightly, grunting through his teeth. He was tough, though. He caught her foot by the leafspring, gripping it with the cyber-arm. Then he twisted. The titanium-alloy construction of it was strong enough to resist the twist, but, with her gyro-stabilisers offline, it threw Yelena off balance, making her land hard on her face, right next to him.
"Watch out...!" - she thought she heard Irwine's voice somewhere above, the only English one in the sea of Russian.
With a snarl of her own, she rolled partway around... only to catch an elbow to her temple, as she did, seeing a couple of stars. He attempted to mount her, that cyber-arm of his reaching for her throat. She deflected it, but that left her open for a headbutt, as he leaned down to deliver one. Then another. Both connecting; one with the bridge of her nose, the other with her right eyesocket. She felt her nose give way, with a crack, as blood spurted more liberally from it. But the pain only spurred her on.
On a third attempt, she wedged her left forearm at his throat, preventing it, and creating some room as she pushed him back. Her right hand, slick with blood from her wrist, was still desperately trying to keep his cyber-arm tied up, but it was a losing battle. If he managed to grip it... or if he slipped free, and brought it up to her throat again...
Desperately, she tried hooking him around the neck with her flexible legs, and throw him off, but he was too low for that, as he tucked-in lower, slowly overpowering her forearm that was keeping separation.
"YA zastavlyu tebya krichat', prezhde chem ty umresh', suka..." - he snarled, his breath like a waterfall of doom on her face.
Looking at his bloody left eyesocket, Yelena was vaguely... disappointed... that the eyeball itself was still there. Criscrossed in red bloodvessels, some fluid leaking... but still there.
She was trapped. She couldn't get him off of her, and as soon as her forearm was overpowered, he'd have his way with her in a potentially-lethal ground and pound. Or just grip her by the throat with that cyber-arm, and rip it out. Counting on Igor to stop it, given how valuable she was to his organisation, was a gamble.
Not to mention... it would be admitting defeat. Being this filthy, stinking thug's plaything, made her blood boil in a flash, before the rage vanished behind that same counterpoint of - detached, cold fury, that was the woman's hallmark state of mind, when killing.
So she let go... letting her left forearm go slack. The sudden lack of resistance made him lean fully-down on her... as she slipped it around his neck, in a hug, keeping him pressed-in. Then she craned her head sideways, sinking into the side of his neck in a feral, savage bite, her teeth looking for his carotid artery.
The taste of his sweaty flesh and blood in her mouth, coupled with his sudden scream of agony, only spurred her on, as she began worrying like a wild animal, her face slowly covered in his gushing blood. She could feel the metallic fingers of his cyber-hand scrabbling at her neck, drawing blood... so she dug-in harder, now hugging him with both arms, putting every iota of power into the bite, continuing to savage his neck. If she was about to have her own neck crushed, she would make sure, he bled out right beside her. One thought echoed in her mind.
To the death.
The crowd's roar turned to stunned silence. Igor's mouth fell open slightly. The idea was to test her, and perhaps break her into more obedient frame of mind, as well as give his underling a chance to satisfy his wounded pride - but this, he didn't expect. She was clearly ready to die, before submitting.
"You gonna let this go on?! Or you seen enough, god damn it? They'll kill each-other!" - Irwine snapped, standing next to the Bratva boss.
Down below, the thug's cyber-arm finally found purchase on the woman's neck.
"You lose your enforcer, and I lose... her! If that happens - what she said goes both ways - she dies, and I'll blow your brains out, motherfucker. You and a couple of your buttboys, before I go down!" - he snarled, as Igor suddenly felt the muzzle of a snub-nosed Diamondback revolver, under his chin, Irwine's other arm holding him in a half-choke.
The ex-Marine had five guns aimed at him, in the next one and a half seconds. But the man's gaze didn't even twitch, the muzzle of the gun digging deeper into Igor's chin.
"Ostanovi ikh!" - Igor shouted at the pair of referees standing by the dry pool.
The two burly men jumped down, quickly converging on, and dragging the two combatants apart. The cyber-armed goon was clutching his neck for all he was worth, blood still gushing liberally past his hands, as a pair of medics rushed in to apply compression and stop the bleeding. His gaze was glazed over, and from the paleness and his clammy skin, it was clear the artery was indeed damaged.
Yelena was gasping for breath, coughing wetly, as she slowly crawled to the side of the pool, her eyes full of feral fury. She was shaking in reaction, rubbing her neck insistently, the claw-marks clearly visible where he gripped her, her wild, yet hollow, empty gaze flicking around the crowd above, like a cornered animal.
The silence remained, so thick with tension, one could cut it with a knife.
"Tell those guys to lower the guns. I'm not playing this fucked-up game anymore. You got a problem with us, get it over with and shoot us. You die with us. And as many of your fuckboys as I can get. If not, we're outta here. Soon as she gets medical attention." - Irwine growled adamantly in his ear.
"You would die as well." - Igor pointed out.
"Not before you do." - the man countered, coldly.
This made the Bratva boss chuckle, belying the imminent threat of a weapon at his chin.
"Good. Maybe you are not as soft as some have tried to convince me. Yelena will be seen to. She holds pain and death in contempt, and that is what I am looking for. Rare in a woman. Even one like her." - as one of the nearby thugs nodded.
Irwine grimaced to himself, glancing down at the pool, where a medic had approached Yelena, as well. The woman paused, giving her a questioning gaze, clearly waiting for permission, then approached, to apply ointment to her neck, and some gauze to her nose.
This hardman mentality was pervasive, ever since he arrived in Russia. A completely different mindset. He could see how Yelena's own nihilism and stubborness played into it, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't hold grudges, following this.
Hell, she'll probably make friends with that guy, knowing her... still fucked-up though.
He thought.
"Now, it is your turn. Or you can pull that trigger. What is it to be, bratan?" - Igor added, laying a casual hand on the gun at his throat. Not a trace of fear in the tone.
"I said I'm not playing this fuckin' game anymore! We're leaving, soon as she feels ok to go." - the ex-Marine emphasised, tightly.
He did notice that none of the men around, lowered their weapons, as he requested.
"No you are not. You will shoot me, and die. Or you will refuse to be tested, and die. Or you will step into the ring, and live. Perhaps. But you are not leaving, until I say you can leave, American." - Igor replied evenly. His grip on Irwine's gun getting more substantial. Almost daring the man, to kill him.
Irwine glanced around, at the hard, blank faces measuring him. Hands steady on the weapons. Then he glanced again down at Yelena, who was just being helped up, by the medic. She seemed fine for the moment, as she caught his eye. Clearly, she noticed the standoff, as well.
Not saying anything, her gaze still hollow, the woman only gave him one slow shake of her head.
The man's grimace threatened to crumple into a disgusted frown. But with an inward sigh, Irwine realised that there was only one way out.
"Fuck this... who do I have to beat up?" - he lowered the gun, craning his neck.
His lips twitching into a smirk, Igor nodded. His men lowered their weapons.
"Privedi yego syuda." - he ordered.
The crowd separated, admitting another pair of goons in, dragging a cuffed, half-naked man, dressed only in dirty slacks, and upper coat of a police uniform. His upper body was strongly muscled though, and his bald head was adorned with a pair of tattoos.
Irwine scowled.
"A cop...? What the hell?" - he glanced at Igor.
"Eta svin'ya took money from us, and then refused to look the other way when he was told to. As a result, one of my informants was arrested and questioned. An augmented boy. He is still in a hospital, following their... questioning. Concussion and three broken ribs. An example will be made." - the mob boss replied coldly.
At his nod, the thugs uncuffed the policeman, then shoved him roughly into the dry pool, to land with a thud, and a subdued moan.
"You don't expect me to kill a police officer... ?!" - the ex-Marine growled, as he watched one of the goons toss a knife in, clearly intended to be used as a weapon. Another thug approached, pulling out a knife, and offering it to Irwine.
Igor grimaced.
"Yes, I do. I am well aware you Americans have an... unhealthy... veneration towards your police. No doubt one of the main reasons why they get away with so much, in your pathetic shithole of a country. Over here, things are different. Pigs learn very quickly, not to touch those they are not meant to touch. Those under our protection. This latest... witch hunt... against augmented people, notwithstanding. And if they do not..." - he nodded at the knife in the goon's hand. A couple among the crowd, smirked, nodding in approval.
Irwine glared, gritting his teeth. And not just at the insult. Igor's tone...
"Kill him and prove yourself. Or let him kill you. Up to you, bratan."
"Don't ever call me that again. I'm not your bro." - Irwine growled, snatching the offered knife.
His jaw working overtime, he hopped down into the dry pool. At least they would be using knives... truth be told, Irwine was much more comfortable with a blade, then barehanded – especially if the fight was to be to the death. And given his opponent's size advantage over him, knives would certainly level the playing field a bit. Pride or not - he didn't want to end up resorting to desperation, like Yelena had to. Not to mention - if this had to be done, he wanted to get it over with as fast as possible.
He glanced briefly at Yelena, now being helped out of the pool, by the medics.
It did rattle him. Her fight was clearly never meant to be to the death... just a show of force, meant to intimidate her... yet she was prepared to die, before yielding. And take her opponent with her. But he knew it wasn't pride, with her. It was something else. Something feral. The same thing that kept her from letting go. The same thing that locked her mind into that... inexorable... vengeful mindset, regarding her family. The same thing that made her such a singularly efficient killer, when she had to be. He knew what she went through. She told him, back on the deck of that freighter, back in Panama. Told him, in all the horrifying, excrutiating detail. But even with all that, with all the conditioning that was forced upon her, the man suspected that her... nihilism... went deeper then that. Something that she simply could not, move past. Something that made her so attractive, to her former masters to begin with, to make a weapon out of.
She fought, without fear. She killed, without mercy. She loved, without reservation. She was brutally honest, and she expected the same, in return. And deep down, despite everything, she was also a compassionate soul. She had a savage... purity... about her, that defied explanation.
I don't think I'll ever understand you, Yelena. But I love you. I love you like I've never loved a woman, in my life.
Looking away, back to his opponent, he brought his mind back to the here and now. He would have his work cut out for him. And getting out of here alive, was by no means guaranteed.
Dropping down to a half-crouch, knife-hand forward, in a backhand grip, other hand ready to check or deflect as needed, he began circling his opponent, waiting for the bell to ring. The cop held a more upright stance, his knife held in a more conventional grip, an unreadable expression on his face. By the way he shifted his feet, it was clear he would rush him, as soon as the bell rang.
Naiad's Kiss, a converted early-2000's passenger liner, somewhere in the Black Sea...
Transferring their regional base of operations to a mobile vessel, was a logical choice to make, for the Juggernaut Collective, following the exposure and destruction of their underground facility near the Finland's border. Even if compromised, the ship's speed and retrofitted radar-dispersive EW systems, would make it virtually impossible to locate, barring a focused, coordinated search using naval forces. And their enemy did not like to operate that way, drawing that much overt attention.
The ship was, in part, a research facility, a staging area, troop barracks, and a mobile comms centre, coordinating Collective operations across all the cells in Europe and Eurasia.
Leaning over a high-grade electron microscope in one of the base's research labs, Tiffany Savage was busy adjusting the gain on the device, before she lifted her gaze to a high-resolution video wall, that displayed, side-by-side, her husband's face, and the magnified image of thousands of nanites, crawling inside an electrodynamic fluid, a sample of the crystalline-blue liquid that was in the canisters, captured four months ago.
Even after a quarter of a year, the properties of the substance, and the way it energised the nanites within, were a mystery yet to be solved, by the Collective's dedicated science team, led by the Savage couple.
"Gary, I think we're dealing with a self-replicating matrix here. Look at the pattern... each time a single nanite turns inert, it is immediately re-energised by the neighbouring units. That suggests some form of artificial consciousness and inherent programming."
~"A functional nanoscale computer array? I'm loath to give credence to fanciful science... but the implications would be staggering, if that's the case."~ - the man replied, clearly observing the same pattern, on his side.
~"But look at the dispersal..."~ - he picked something up, off to his side, off-screen, before Tiffany Savage's videoscreen was superimposed with a stylised image of a pointer, which circled a clump of nanites on one side, ~"... over here. It's different from the pattern everywhere else. And I think I can see a couple of inert ones, lining the boundary... if it is a computer system, it seems to be suffering from bugs in the software. Maybe... an experimental batch?"~ - he suggested.
The woman rubbed her chin.
"Possibly. That would explain why they haven't gone public with this... and why they were trying to move the research off-site. Probably wanted to reduce the risk of data leaks, even to their own personnel not in on it. Oh... I would love to get a look at what else they have hiding in that facility... but one thing at a time. What do you think this... nanoscale computer array, if it is one, would be used for?" - she asked her husband.
He frowned, turning slightly away on the monitor, clearly looking at something on his end... before he resumed looking at the screen.
~"The Orchid sample Jensen retrieved, bears some resemblance, in molecular structure, to the electrodynamic fluid these nanites are suspended in. Assuming the two could be... mixed up... and assuming this is a functional nanoscale computer array... you could make a fully self-sustaining liquid delivery system for Orchid. Adaptable to any host that consumes it. Orally, I would assume."~ - he theorised.
"So even non-augmented people could drink it like a cup of tea? That's... disturbing." - Tiffany muttered.
~"More then disturbing, assuming some other substance is used, in place of Orchid. Even something that could conceivably program the nanites to actively change the host's DNA. A cure... or a disease. Or even a fully self-modulating alteration framework. Depending on the substance applied."~ - the man replied gravely.
"Nano-modification of the human body." - Tiffany voiced the unspoken assumption.
~"With enough refinement - probably. But given the... chaotic structure... of this sample, I would say that the possibility is exceedingly remote. For now, I'd be more concerned with the aforementioned two utilities. Again, that's assuming, this experimental nanoscale computer array works, at all. Right now, we don't know that."~ - he nodded.
"Do you think we should try introducing Orchid, to it? In controlled environment, of course?" - the woman suggested hesitantly.
Her husband thought about it.
~"I will have to discuss it with Janus. And voice my own concerns. I'll be in touch. Stay safe, Tiffany." - with a smile, he signed off.
Leaving the woman alone in the lab, staring at the sample. With a sigh, she removed the sample from the microscope, reaching for a PDA, to document her research. But she paused for a moment, staring at the bulkhead...
What are they up to, at Versalife? What is the real purpose of Orchid? Eliminating Neuropozyne dependency seems too... obvious. And they would not need to make it compatible with such a revolutionary nanite-based computer matrix! Maybe we need to infiltrate the Roccasecca Beach facility itself, and get a closer look at the Orchid's development, at the source. Or at least... ask someone involved...
With that thought, the portly woman left the PDA aside, and got on the line with Quinn.
"Can you get me in touch with Adam Jensen, in Prague? I need to ask him about Megan Reed. If anyone would know how to reach her, he would."
The man's voice came back, dubious.
~"Very unlikely. They haven't spoken, in close to a year now. From what I gathered, their parting was less then cordial, following the demise of Sarif Industries. But I will make inquiries."~
The woman nodded to herself, as the link went dead. Picking up the PDA again, she began making a log entry.