Chapter Sixteen
Just before dawn, fourteen hours before the scheduled hearing...
Yelena had spent a mostly restless night, alternatively lying on the cot staring at the featureless ceiling, and pacing softly around the small cell. With the EMP restrainer cutting off her systems, she had no way of keeping in touch with Irwine via Infolink. And she was worried about him, not knowing how bad his wound was. True, he said he would be fine for the time being but... the woman couldn't help but get a feeling he said that just to keep up appearances.
Beregite yego, svyatoy Sarov. Pozhaluysta.
Absently, she reached for her neck, expecting to find the pendant there. Of course, it wasn't there, confiscated upon arrest, just like her Ouroboros bracelet, armour suit, and her weapons.
She scowled at her left leg. It was nearly non-responsive by now, only able to make short, basic, jerky movements that made her limp pronouncedly. Without access to the HUD overlay, she had no way of knowing how advanced was the hydraulics damage. But she knew she lost a lot of fluid from it, compounded by the inability of her systems to manage damage control, with the restrainer in place.
It felt... like a foreign object attached to her. Which – Yelena realised with some resignation – was exactly what it was. At times like these, she acutely felt disconnected from her machine-self. It threatened to send her into melancholic onset of self-pity, which she resolutely refused to give into. Instead, she kept pacing, seeing the leg's unresponsiveness as a personal challenge. Almost... an insult. Each time she stumbled and fell, she got back up and kept at it, even if it meant supporting herself on the wall.
~"You do not break. You calcify."~
Jaron Namir's comment from so long ago, echoed in her mind. It made her frown. Thinking more about it... she realised he could have worded that in so many different ways. Approvingly. Encouragingly. Frustratedly. Annoyedly. Evaluatingly... which is what it sounded like at the time.
But the more she thought about it... that moment strangely – clear – in the darkness of the cell, with the benefit of hindsight, and against the background of everything she had come to know about the man... replaying itself in her mind over and over again; that – resigned, almost vaguely disappointed - expression on his face as he said it – she realised that it wasn't the case. No...
No... that time was different, wasn't it, Jaron? Hence the puppy. No... no, no, no... you were... you were hoping I would break, and embrace the puppy. You were hoping... I would fail that little – test of ruthlessness, and give you an excuse to kill me. Because if I did – I would not have become like you. You were hoping to release me, in death. To... to spare me, from becoming a monster. To get off the hook, for what you did, in your mind. To not turn me into a weapon. To... atone.
With that thought, the aquiline woman's eyes filled with tears, conflicting emotions running through her. Even if a small part of her realised she was maybe speculating.
You bastard! Why?! Why did you... care for me... for that one split moment? Why?! Why not just skip the test, kill me – release me - and be done with it? Why not before, or since? Why not kill yourself before you even carried out the execution order on my family?! Why was that moment – that one look – the one and ONLY time you were actually strong? Strong enough to resist them? Strong enough to consider disobeying them?
With that, she realised that there was another dimension to his comment. He knew he wasn't strong enough to break the hold they had on him. The way he said it – the test that followed – it was his way of shifting responsibility. He was hoping she'd fail the test, and give him an alibi before his masters, as to why he had to dispose of her. Shift the blame for it, to her, while still easing his own conscience.
You coward! You cared, but not enough to risk your own neck and do the right thing and kill me! No... you wanted me to make it easy for you! Give you a reason. Make it more plausible for your masters, so they can pat you on the head like a dog, and give you a cookie for a job well done, instead of executing you for disobeying orders. Atonement without consequences, in your broken mind. I'm SO glad I did no make it easy. I'm so glad I didn't break.
In the end, she did indeed calcify. So did the rest of them. But he never did. He broke. He broke a long time ago, before she ever knew him. Hence the pretence. Hence his little world of coping, in the form of his facade of a committed family man. Just another method of shifting responsibility, so he can do unspeakable things on one side, while his other self remained 'pure'. Another way of getting pats on the head from them, and not getting in trouble, while cheating his own conscience through self-denial.
Fear. The one thing he always preached as being necessary to overcome and suppress. While he himself was full of it.
Yelena recalled her initial reaction, back in Detroit in the Uplink room, after her epiphany. She was dead on point, about him.
You were nothing, Jaron. Nobody. A broken husk of a man, pretending to be in charge of your own fate. And projecting your own weakness on others.
Three hours later, mid-morning, after a meager breakfast in her cell, she was escorted back to the interrogation chamber. Idly, she wondered why. On preliminary questioning, she didn't say a word. With her lawyer, she wasn't much more cooperative. Would they apply some more – enhanced – methods?
Doubtful. This place does not strike me as capable of it. It's almost – charming. They do try to play by the rules.
Briefly, she even felt slightly bad about her conduct yesterday. Especially with the lawyer. But the whole situation has had her on edge, and that asshole cop in the van didn't help. This morning after a meal... she felt less antagonistic.
As the two officers led her through the access hallway, she glimpsed unfamiliar uniforms in the lobby. Lacking access to her HUD overlay, she couldn't identify them. Then one of them passed by close enough that she could make out the symbol on the shoulder.
Interpol... ?
The woman frowned. Then bit her lip softly. They... worked faster then she anticipated. Within a day, she was already being extradited? She didn't know much about the bureocracy involved, but she seriously doubted the procedure was this fast normally.
Then all her thought processes came to a halt, as the doors to the interrogation chamber opened, and she glimpsed the two men inside. One of them was unfamiliar; a broad-shouldered, thickset average-height man in his mid fourties, by her estimate, without visible enhancements, dressed in an unfamiliar light-armoured uniform with 'TF29' emblazoned on the side. He had 'career soldier' written all over his demeanour, and scowling expression, as he measured the tall, graceful figure out with wary suspicion.
But the other man... Yelena's dark gaze widened ever-so-slightly, as the doors closed behind her, leaving the three alone in the room.
Adam Jensen.
For a long moment, she locked gazes with that shaded stone-face under a stylish beard. Unlike the other man, his expression was very much neutral. Closed.
It was funny, she thought. How that expression remained the same, each time she saw him. The first time, thirteen months ago, in the research labs of the Sarif Industries building, where he came within a hair's breadth of getting a shot at her in the hallway, before she leapt up into the vents.
The second time, just minutes later, as she watched Namir – seemingly – execute him. That round went directly through the left side of his chest, and to this day, the woman had no idea how he – a natural at the time – managed to survive that. Not to mention the chemical fires they set, that consumed that entire floor.
The third time, seven months ago, in Montreal. Just before her awakening, looking up at that closed face, before he walked away, leaving her for dead.
Ironic. We both saw the other die. We were both mistaken!
She thought. Out loud, she spoke:
"Thank you, for what you did that night in Montreal." - her tone neutral, but with just a trace of tightness in it, limping over to take the opposite seat. Sliding it back away from the table, she practically collapsed into it. Her left leg was barely responsive by now.
The momentary expression of surprise on Jensen's face was rewarding, before it vanished behind that closed facade. He tilted his head microscopically to the side.
"For... what, exactly?" - the man's deep, resonant tone sounded. She thought she detected a trace of vague self-recrimination in that voice. Almost as if he still remembered Cassan's question back then.
~"Will you save her?"~
~"I'll think about it."~
She bit her lip slightly.
"For waking me up." - quietly. Jensen said nothing for a long moment. She wished she could see past those automatic shades of his, into his eyes, and get an idea of what he was thinking. Was he as... conflicted... as her?
After everything I did to him and the people he was charged to protect... I do not want to be forgiven. Or let off the hook. Just like Jamella and her brother. I don't deserve it. I will never deserve it.
The other man grimaced.
"I'm going to assume you're not talking about our early arrival this morning, miss... Cristoff. Anyway, I'm sure the two of you can discuss that en-route. Let's focus on the matter at hand. I'm Captain Miller, head of Interpol's Task Force 29, and we're here to effect your extradition and transfer to an ICC detention facility in the Netherlands, given the international nature of your terrorist act." - officiously.
At the same time, the woman noticed Jensen nod to the side – upwards, and to the side. Discreetly. Her gaze flicked in that direction, to come to rest on a small surveillance camera in the corner – which she had to assume also had a microphone. Just as quickly, she nodded slightly in understanding.
They were being watched and listened to. So anything said here was just for show. She figured that much out already, that this was no normal transfer, just by Jensen being here, but... it was good to have confirmation.
"Understood." - she replied flatly, her gaze on Miller.
The Collective can move fast when it wants to. Reassuring!
She thought, as the two stood without anything further, motioning her to come along. Jensen peered at her pronounced limp on the left leg.
"You're damaged?" - he asked.
"Yes. Hydraulic leak. EMP restrainer is not helping." - the woman replied shortly, scowling at the device around her forearms.
Jensen's boss glanced questioningly at the male cyborg, who in turn nodded.
"The restraint will be removed once we're en-route. I take it you're not going to cause trouble?" - Miller pinned her with that same distrustful glare.
Yelena held that gaze for a long moment, then nodded, glancing briefly at Jensen.
"I will not." - meaning it, and still well aware of the sound-enabled camera in the corner. She would bring up the matter of Irwine once they were alone.
The man looked unconvinced, before Jensen spoke up, his shaded gaze still on the woman.
"She's on the level, Jim. Let's go." - leading the way out of the room. Miller looked less-then-convinced, but motioned her to follow, while he brought up the rear. Outside in the hallway, an entire squad of what she assumed were Task Force's troops, fell in step all around them.
~"Mantis to Hawk. Respond."~
Yelena's subvocalised tone had to repeat itself a half-dozen more times, before it roused the wounded man from his half-slumber.
For Irwine, the past night was considerably more eventful then for Yelena. Sometime well after midnight, the truck's driver returned, and set off, after the lockdown of the town was lifted. With him still inside the bed, and unable to get out. Without any way to look outside and have any idea where they were going – not without risking discovery – all he could do was sit tight. At the very least, from the laboured sound of the truck's engine, and the soft jostling, he assumed they were heading out of the city. Away from danger of exposure – assuming nobody checked the back of the truck.
The ex-Marine managed to make himself an impromptu little 'bunker', away from the back door, behind the first stack of cargo, so that if anyone opened it and took a cursory look inside, they wouldn't notice anything amiss. It wouldn't fool a proper search, and any sniffer dogs or drones would pick him up instantly, but it was better then nothing.
"Hawk here... was beginning to think you forgot about me. Trouble?" - he whispered into the handheld Infolink transmitter.
~"I did not have a chance to contact you until now. Sorry. Infolink was disabled. I was in EMP restraints, spending a night in a cell. Are you alright?"~ - the woman came back.
"As well as I can be. Haven't lost much more blood, at least. Tried to get a shuteye, but can't let myself go – the truck's on the move. No idea where, but we've been moving since about oh-three-hundred. Probably about two hundred kilometres or so away by now." - he replied.
As she relayed the news to her would-be rescuers, Miller shook his head.
"We're here to get you out – against my better judgement, I might add, given what you've done. Plenty of rules are being bent already. We're not here to make detours. Besides, our flight path out of Austrian airspace has already been logged. An Interpol VTOL landing in the middle of a road somewhere and grabbing a fugitive out of a truck, isn't gonna make the Task Force any friends with the higher ups. And draw unnecessary spotlight."
Yelena felt her fist clench. She was NOT going to leave, without him.
"And if he gets captured? And tells Austrian police that he was a part of the attack? How will that look on your task force's summary for this operation?" - glaring at the man.
"He doesn't know that you have been extracted. What he doesn't know, can't hurt us-" - he paused, at the aquiline woman's slight smirk.
"Doesn't he?" - Yelena asked rhetorically. With that, she turned her head slightly to the side, giving Miller a look at a recessed patch of skin behind her right ear, with an integrated circuit visible through the outer layer of skin.
The heavyset man's face turned sour.
"Infolink?" - he growled. She nodded. Jensen's expression twitched at that.
"Thank you for taking off the restrainer. I am transmitting this entire conversation to him right now. And saving it into my Datavault." - her tone turned saccharine.
The TF29's Captain's face darkened, as he yanked out his sidearm.
"Shut it off. Now."
"Or?" - the woman countered, her expression turning blank. At the same time she took a fluid half-step towards him, bringing him within striking distance. Then went perfectly still and relaxed. With her systems back online, she had the full use of her reflex-booster and real-time tactical HUD, once more. Not to mention the damage to her left leg was under control. This close up, Miller would get one shot. At best.
She was still out of her armour, so it was likely that even if she took Miller, the rest of the squad would turn her into swiss-cheese, not to mention Jensen and his arm-blades within strike range of herself, but that didn't deter her in the least.
"I am not leaving without him." - softly, even as several of the squad raised their weapons.
"I won't tell you again." - Miller growled. Wasted effort.
She remained silent, still as a statue. Dark gaze unblinking, as her expression turned, from blank... to empty. Gazing through him, as she made a microscopic shift in her stance.
Miller's expression twitched, ever-so-slightly. He was in this business for many years, and he knew what to watch out for, in a potential adversary. She wasn't angry, or bellicose, or stubborn.
She was detaching. Jensen must have picked up on it too. He had certainly seen it often enough in the mirror, when he needed to break the rules on assignments.
"We can pick up the receiver signature from the bird. It wouldn't take us more then half an hour to make a detour, Jim."
"We're not in the business of taking requests from terrorists, Jensen." - the man growled, the muzzle of his Zenith now pointed at her. A couple of others nodded.
"So why are you even here? If I am a terrorist, pull that trigger. You will die with me, Miller. If not, you will grant my request, because I am not leaving without him. End of discussion." - the woman made an ultimatum, in a hollow tone.
Miller's jaw worked behind his lips.
Remind me never to play poker with you, love!
Irwine smirked to himself, listening in to the subvocal exchange over his Infolink receiver. As far as this Miller guy went – the man got a feeling he was one of those 'rules above everything' types. A good little soldier believing he was fighting the 'good fight' against the 'bad guys'.
If only the world were that simple.
Three hours later, inside the TF29 VTOL, outside Austrian airspace...
"How is he?" - Yelena leaned with concern, over Irwine's unmoving, partially-anaesthetised form, as a pair of medics cleaned and bandaged his shoulder.
"The round shattered the collarbone. At least three weeks to a month of recovery, once we get him to a real hospital and they can regenerate the bone. Must have been one hell of a round... probably .338 or something, to do this kind of damage through Grayscale-grade combat armour." - one of them replied.
"Heh. Look on the bright... uhhh... side. Gives me... incentive... to consider getting a cyber limb! If they can't fix me up." - Irwine joked, half out of it.
Giving him a sweet smile, she leaned down to kiss him, whispering.
"If you do, I will have a few recommendations to make on the model you should get... But I expect you to recover. That is an order – Major!"
"You got it... Colonel!" - he teased, before the medic subtly interrupted.
"He needs rest."
With a nod, the woman moved off, to sit back down in the passenger compartment. She absently rubbed at the Ouroboros bracelet, back on her wrist. All of her personal effects were returned, aside from the armor suit, and weapons.
Then she reached up to grasp the pendant around her neck.
Thank you.
She thought. Losing Irwine... was something she refused to even contemplate. Knowing full well that it was a constant possibility. Knowing full well that her attachment was a weakness. The part of her that remained locked in the past, constantly reminded her of it. She knew – but she didn't care. What the two of them had, was worth it.
"He's more then an accomplice, I take it?" - Jensen's deep tone made her look up, at the cyborg sitting opposite the aisle.
"Yes."
The unasked question hung in the air.
"What happened in that hotel?" - the man asked.
"An assignment." - she replied, then looked around at the members of the unit, hesitant to reveal anything concrete.
"Are they- ?" - glancing back at Jensen questioningly.
"No." - he shook his head instantly. The woman nodded. They weren't familiar with the... secret world. They were just his contacts – his official employers.
So he now 'works' for Interpol, the same way I now 'work' for the Russian mafia.
"Why didn't you finish me off, in Montreal? Did you just... assume I was dead?" - she asked.
Jensen rubbed his chin.
"Pretty much. Plus I was on a schedule. Montreal itself was a detour. But I figured Zhao would've called ahead, playing a hunch. She knew I accessed her computer and found out the Cassan connection."
Yelena nodded. As far as traps went – it was a pretty obvious one. Yet he still did it, looking for the truth.
Looking for justice. Revenge. Punishment. Just like I am now. He fought the odds, for his people. I am fighting the odds, for my family. Neither of us have the option of giving up.
"What happened after Montreal?" - he asked.
She shrugged.
"I needed answers. So I went back to Detroit. Highland Park facility, our former staging area."
Jensen leaned forward.
"You mean, before FEMA reclaimed it? What for?" - curiously.
She looked at the TF members again, then grimaced slightly. Miller especially, was listening intently. Not that it mattered if they overheard – if anything, she didn't mind putting some spotlight on what happened there – it might make things more awkward for the cabal, if Interpol started digging deeper into potential black sites. Especially after Rifleman Bank events.
If nothing else, it will tie the cabal's hands while they reconfigure in the face of outside scrutiny. And who knows – maybe expose themselves enough in the process, that we can strike at the head!
"I was looking for an Uplink. Each of our staging areas had one, where we received instructions from the Killing Floor... it is – was, probably, by now – a cyberspace information database and encrypted comm channel. Completely impervious to SigInt of any kind. All of our Infolink transmissions were routed through it. I was interested in the database, and things that – were blocked from me, before." - hauntedly.
"You're talking about these – Tyrants, right? What exactly were they – you?" - Miller interrupted.
She looked at him, then back at Jensen, who gave a small shrug, as in 'I had to tell them something'. She sighed, considering her answer...
Why not tell them?! Why not take a chance to put even more official scrutiny on the-
She thought, before the expression on Jensen's face caught her attention. The expression, and a slight, but urgent headshake. She bit her lip, but gave a microscopic nod in return. Then she looked at Miller again.
"Tyrant Corps were an elite branch of Belltower special operations division." - which wasn't even a lie, technically, just a very – redacted – description of the unit.
Miller gave Jensen an 'I knew it' look, before speaking up.
"You got inside proof of that? Can you be a material witness maybe? If so, we can open a full probe into Tarvos Security and their connection with Be-" - before she interrupted.
"I do, but I cannot. Not with all the consequences that would lead to. Not just for me, but for the people I work for – and also you and your unit."
Miller's face soured, but Jensen stepped in.
"Remember that chat we had on our way in, Jim? Trust me, you don't wanna dig too deep down this rabbit hole. Not now. Not with our security... problems." - adamantly.
His boss glared briefly, then looked away, with a reluctant nod. But he wouldn't let this go. Not long-term.