Chapter Fifteen
She lay motionlessly on the hospital bed, naked, as a surgeon and a pair of nurses were hard at work, extracting the bullet from her upper chest. A limber, wiry, yet beautiful figure, despite the long-faded scars and cybernetics interspersed with her flesh. Her tanned skin taut over lean, functional musculature permeated with polyfiber mesh, and dotted with bionetic contact points. Her legs protruded well past the bed's lower edge, twin metallic hooves catching the light glare of the brightly illuminated surgery room.
Yelena was offered local anaesthesis, as her wounds were tended to... but she refused. She knew all too well that keeping a clear head was very much needed in this situation – and frankly, the pain simply served to focus her.
Not to mention the looks of stunned... disbelief... on the faces of the attending surgeon and nurses, at the way she simply disconnected pain. Disbelief mixed with awe and almost unwilling admiration, and just a trace of – fear.
Useful, if I need it.
The aquiline woman thought, enduring it all without a sound, as she listened to the soft swooshing sound of a Neuropozyne off to the side, feeding a steady stream of the dilluted enzyme into an IV drip next to the bed, leading to her carotid artery. It was welcome... and from her steadily-rising bioenergy levels, she suspected the cocktail also included a protein-based electrolytic solution. It was welcome – she was quite drained.
Keeping the HUD overlay on, allowed her real-time insight into what exactly was being done to her. Her bioregenerative matrix had already done the majority of actual work, controlling and stopping the internal bleeding and blood poisoning, and mending any localised tissue damage. All that was left was to seal the actual holes, after the rounds were removed. Her armour layers did a good job robbing them of most of their energy, while her subdermal plating did the rest. The thoracic one was the deepest, and even that one failed to reach her lungs.
She'd had a lot worse, as her mind raced to the state she was in, following her – awakening – in Montreal. Half-dead, in a pool of cooling liquid. For everything they did to her, everything they took from her – they did build her well.
Turning her head slightly to the side, she caught sight of the heavily-kitted police security squad right outside the chamber. Despite the doctor's protests, they insisted on the doors staying open at all times, weapons ready in their hands. Clearly her handiwork against the Tarvos mercs at the hotel had left an impression. The officers' body language under those shaded full-face helmets, shifting feet, fingers rubbing the trigger guards, spoke volumes. They were nervous.
In a way, Yelena couldn't help but feel slightly bad about that. They weren't her enemy. Not like Tarvos thugs. They were people doing their jobs, cleaning up the mess her assignment left in the heart of their peaceful resort town.
Feeding even more into the... fear and hatred... of augmented individuals.
She couldn't help but realise, scowling slightly. It was incidents like these. The Prague bombing. The Sankt Peterburg events at the airport. Now... a terrorist attack in the middle of a quiet town in the Alps. Right side or wrong, good or evil... false-flag or no... they left an impression. Spread fear. And fear was their stock in trade.
Even when we try to fight the Illuminati... we're playing into their hands! Damn it! But – what else is there to do?! If we do not fight them, they win by default, shaping the world behind the scenes, through intermediaries like Tai Yong, Versalife, and probably a half-dozen other entities, corporate and political, that I don't know about, even after all my time in the game. If we do – the public opinion turns against us. We become the 'bad guys', the 'terrorists', giving them a propaganda victory. Either way – we lose. We lose the narrative war. And the cabal's grip on the world tightens, because the people see only the damage we do. What they do – is hidden behind so many masks and proxies that a regular person could never fathom it in a lifetime!
Yelena thought, staring up at the ceiling, as she let out a soft sigh. The MJ12 agent's words three days ago, echoed. How the Collective was too reactive in nature. Too focused on short-term disruptions against the cabal, technological sabotage and subversion, cyber-attacks... instead of being proactive, and going for the people in charge, and the media outlets they controlled. Instead of thinking long-term.
Then she remembered Quinn's statement, that all she had to do was ask, to be included into the Collective's strategy sessions. In that moment, the woman decided she would do just that, first chance that presents itself.
~"Hawk... to Mantis, respond! You there?!"~ - a subvocal Infolink transmission from Irwine, snapped her out of it – literally almost making her jump slightly on the bed, and probably cause the doctors to impale her with a scalpel.
Making a heroic effort to keep her face – mostly – impassive... knowing the effort was incomplete, Yelena's heart jumped.
~"Mantis here! I'm so gl- report."~ - her subvocalised tone in his handheld receiver literally made him work hard to suppress an exclamation of joy... belatedly remembering where he was.
He managed to ride the top of the elevator down to the ground floor, taking cover in a maintenance shaft down there, before all the police forces seemed to disappear, over the next half an hour. Whether called off, or rerouted to another location, the man couldn't guess. But it allowed him to leave the tower pretty much unnoticed – only to find out that the entire street was locked down. All he could do was find a parked truck in a nearby commercial parking lot, with the rear cargo doors unlocked.
For the past twenty-five minutes, he was there, lying low.
"I'm hanging in there... took one through the shoulder." - he replied softly in the Infolink device.
"I'm guessing you're not in the Nest, about to pick me up?" - glibly.
There was a pause, before the woman's self-disgusted subvocalised tone came back...
~"No. Mission is a failure. Arrested, now getting the bullets pulled out of me in the local hospital. No idea which one."~
This made the man raise an eyebrow.
"Didn't think Tarvos would go for an arrest. Not after the mess we made."
~"Nor did I. Benefit of an op inside a high-profile urban area like this. They had to play by the rules, and cooperate with local authorities. I am assuming I will be charged with terrorist acts, assault on civilians and murder of government-affiliated operatives... if I recall the Tyrant brief correctly on how official procedures would apply if we were ever captured. It's been years."~
Irwine chuckled despite the pain from his shoulder.
"Join the club... now you're an official terrorist, just like me! We should throw a party to celebrate, if we get out of this mess alive. With the Infolink back up, I imagine Quinn's already been informed about what happened. Getting us out probably won't be easy. Anyway, how are you feeling? Any serious injuries?" - concern in his voice.
~"Don't worry about me... I took a few, no worse then most times I have been injured. Armour and my subdermal plating took it, mostly, and the biomatrix is doing it's job. All the doctors are doing, is pulling lead out! I'm not easy to kill. My left leg will need some maintenance though. How is your shoulder?"~
Grimacing, the man glanced at the bloodsoaked makeshift bandage around it.
"Got a nice big hole through it. Armour and all. Never been on the receiving end of a sniper's barrel. Couple inches to the left and... we wouldn't be talking. From the complete penetration, I imagine the guy was using AP rounds, so... at least it didn't stay inside. Arm's useless, but I'm not losing blood too much anymore. Wouldn't mind being arrested though, if it means a stint in the hospital."
~"Where are you?"~
"That broadcast tower we observed on our way in... in a parking lot next to it, taking cover in the back of a truck. Whole street's locked down though. Can't budge."
~"Do not risk moving! From what I overheard, they are searching for 'a second assailant'. And Tarvos troops are still on the streets with the police. I survived because they assumed I was holding hostages, you will not have that going for you. They will shoot on sight!"~ - Yelena's subvocal tone was adamant.
"Yeah... figured as much. Well it's pretty cosy in here, all I'm missing is reading material! And some god damn painkillers..." - Irwine chuckled softly, then turned serious.
"Plus I think this truck's bed is thermal-retardant and air-conned. Probably meant for perishable cargo. Should keep me from showing up on any thermal-imaging sweeps. And I'm still in my armour – what's left of it. Should help too. I'll be fine for the time being."
As he signed out, Yelena debated using the Infolink to try and contact the Collective... but decided against it. Short-range two way encrypted link with Irwine was one thing, but to broadcast to the Kiss, a thousand and a half kilometers away... that ran too much risk of SigInt interdiction along the way. Encrypted or not.
She glanced down at her bandaged torso, as the two nurses motioned her to sit up. Over their shoulder, she could see the doctor examining something on a computer screen. The reflection in a transparent cover behind him looked like an ultrasound readout of her body... and his expression spoke volumes. He approached.
"Ich war mehrere Jahre lang LIMB-Praktikant und habe noch nie eine solche Architektur gesehen. Wer... wo wurdest du gebaut?" - he asked in German.
The woman's command of the language was minimal, but adequate to parse what he asked, with some help from her Datavault lingua-code archives. She gave a brittle, self-deprecating smile and a shrug.
"You know, lately I have been wondering the same." - in English. Her spoken German was atrocious, and she had no wish to inflict that on a native speaker. But she meant it.
At that, the leader of the police squad out in the hallway, came in and spoke something terse to the doctor, accompanied by a chopping motion of his hand, as the two nurses jumped slightly and pulled back. The doctor replied, in a gesture of 'ok I get it' placation. The rapid-fire barrage of German went back and forth for a dozen seconds, before the cop stomped back out.
As best as she could understand, the squad leader was warning the doctor not to ask questions to the prisoner, but to finish the job quickly, so that she could be restrained and taken to detention, where professionals would conduct an interrogation. She nodded to herself.
Sensible.
Being marched out of the hospital under heavy guard, dressed in simple slacks and a t-shirt found somewhere on the premises, that didnt' really fit over her cybernetic legs, Yelena focused on breathing exercises, and counting the exact number of police and Tarvos people out there. She reached forty-one, with about three to two ratio in favour of police, by the time they shoved her into the back of a police van. Beyond the police line, a myriad of reporters and local news-outlet vans were trying to get into the perimeter, eager for a good snapshot on the 'terrorist captive'. And beyond that, a crowd of random people was gathering, as well.
What a circus... Janus will not be happy with this level of exposure. I just hope they have good security at the local jail. This level of publicity will definitely draw... their... attention. Still. Good thing in bad – they will not risk a direct move to silence me. Too much publicity, even for the cabal. They cannot bury it under a rug. No... no they will try to do it thru legal channels. Transfer me away. And that will take at least some time.
The woman tried to look on the bright side of this failure. And she was under no illusion – it was a failure. She had FAILED, her assignment. Not completely... she did eliminate the Tai Yong delegates and the foreign investors, she did put a good amount of fear into dissident UralPharma leadership – so Madalyuk should be at least partially satisfied. But the dissident board members were back out there. Probably getting debriefed by local police before they go to ground. And continue plotting the takeover, with renewed motivation.
But it did annoy her. Failure was... not what she was used to.
Looking down to her left side, at the small, but spreading puddle of hydraulic fluid next to her left hoove, she grimaced. The left leg was getting less and less responsive by the minute, as the onboard failsafes continued trying to isolate the leak and prevent complete system failure. Now with her being in EMP restraints, most of the self-regulation efforts were halted.
"Pisst du auf den Boden, Hanzer-Schlampe?" - one of the cops smirked in disgust, reaching out to shove her in the chest with a baton, as the van began moving. The pain flared slightly, from the bandaged wound there.
She didn't so much as twitch, looking up at him. Unremarkable face under a slightly receeding hairline, with his helmet off.
"No. But I'll be pissing on your face if you touch me with that again, pig." - she growled in English, spitting on the baton. She was in no mood for their shit.
EMP-restrained, Yelena was deprived of all of her cybernetic abilities. But that did little to mollify her attitude or contempt. Not just for them, but for this whole situation she was in. In fact, it amplified it. The way her outlook worked – the more vulnerable she felt, the more – exposed – she was, the more antagonistic she got.
The police officer's face twisted, as he slammed the baton across her face. She tasted blood in her mouth, her upper lip split, as well as another tooth dislodged, but responded instantly, kicking out with her good leg, catching him in the crotchplate of his armour suit. Even through the plating, his face turned into a mirror of agony, as he moaned and sunk to his knees on the van's floor, both hands at his crotch. Several others scrambled to their feet.
She spat again, spittle mixed with blood, this time in his face, now below her own's level.
"I loved that, bitchboy! Try again?" - before anyone else could react, she hooked her good leg around the back of his neck, pulling him in close into an unbreakable lock, with her damaged thigh coming into a crosswise stance, his head literally squeezed in between.
"Or maybe you would like to taste my... piss?" - squeezing harder. If her systems were online, the pressure would've already caved in his skull like an eggshell. But even without, he was trapped there, his face turning red, gasping for breath as his hands scrabbled at her thighs. Some of her spittle dripped down his cheek.
"Lass ihn gehen! JETZT!" - another cop roared, as he and two others dogpiled her, pinning her down, before a fourth one discharged a stun-gun into her torso. One shot. Two. Three. On the fourth one, she was finally paralysed, as they dragged her up and away.
"Too... bad. You interrupted... the foreplay!" - she grinned through the pain at them.
"Halt deine Fresse!" - the one that tased her, a female, snapped, kicking her in the face. Weakly. In the background, the first cop glared at her with murder in his eyes. Yelena winked at him, goading further, before she focused on the woman.
"Don't be jealous, honey. One at a time. You will get your... splotch... turn." - spitting at her, as she began thrashing against those holding her down. It landed on the policewoman's chin, dribbling off of it.
Losers... playing tough. Scared. They REEK of fear! They do not understand – pain – the way I do. They do not appreciate it. Inferior, degenerate cattle!
For that, she was tased again, and this time, the Buzzkill stun pistol finally did it's job, sending her into unconsciousness. The smirk on her bloody lips remained.
Two hours later, local precinct
"Miss... Tanya Cristoff. I have just had a chance to read the police report." - the thin-faced, suited man addressed her in German-accented English, setting a pocket secretary on the table between them.
"In addition to pending murder and terrorism charges, you resisted arrest, and assaulted a pair of attending officers." - he studied the, tall, limber, bruised cyborg woman's expression.
"Unfortunate, is it not? I should have killed them. But I am pacing myself for tomorrow. Today, a dozen Tarvos rent-a-pigs and a few corporate suits, was sufficient. The rest... it kept me entertained." - the Russian woman replied evenly, then leaned forward with a smile.
"Tell me. Are you my assigned council? Or just here to keep me company? I do appreciate the thought." - those dark, shaded eyes swallowing him.
The lawyer stirred, clearly unnerved. The sight of an EMP restrainer armature around her forearms was reassuring, however. He glared at her.
"I am... and frankly, I think you should appreciate the fact you are entitled to one, by Austrian law. I certainly did not request to be assigned this case. And if you'll take some friendly advice?" - he waited expectantly.
"Is there any other kind?" - the aquiline woman asked rhetorically, but nodded.
"Drop the attitude. As a han- augmented individual, and given the magnitude of the charges, you are likely to be remanded to one of the aug-dete-"
"—concentration camps-" - the woman interrupted smoothly, then motioned with her bound hands for him to go on.
"Aug-detention facilities, for processing." - the man finished, adamantly.
"In other news, rain is wet. Any other amazing revelations you wish to share with me, natch? If not, do me a favour, and stop stinking up this room. And close the door behind you." - the woman leaned back irreverently, on her chair's hind legs, propping up her long legs on the table.
In the process, she kicked the pocket secretary off the table, as the lawyer made a half-hearted attempt to catch it. He grimaced, biting back a nasty swear, but shook his head, as he stood up, collecting the document.
"No. The hearing is scheduled for this evening." - turning and heading out, almost in a rush.
Interpol Task Force Twenty-Nine VTOL, en-route to Mayrhofen from Prague
"What do you know about her?" - Captain Jim Miller asked, going over the personal profile provided to them by an unknown contact. It was sketchy, and much of it was redacted. Former mercenary, affiliated with Belltower's covert ops division. Now seemingly working for whoever this 'Janus' was.
He could tell Jensen knew more then he let on, about who exactly was this 'Quinn' person who provided them this intel, but so far, the man was as tight-lipped as a clam about it.
Nor did he like the fact they were operating on intel provided to them by a cyber-criminal faction, for all intents and purposes. The Juggernaut Collective and it's shadowy membership, figured very prominently on Interpol's watchlist. But he trusted Jensen, and if the man claimed his contacts were reliable, that was good enough for him.
Adam leaned back into his seat, setting the pocket secretary next to him. His expression was partially obscured by his integrated shades, and the stylish beard did a good job obfuscating the rest.
"I know she died, in Montreal. Seven months ago. After trying her damnedest to kill me." - recalling their encounter.
The squad members looked at each other, as Miller smirked.
"Well... I guess that 'coming back from the dead' trick isn't just your own specialty anymore!" - before he turned serious.
"So again – who is she? This personal file stinks of a 'coverup', a mile away." - gesturing with the device.
Adam Jensen was silent for a long couple of moments.
"I'll tell you who she's not." - the man finally started, rubbing his beard briefly.
"She's not Tanya Cristoff. And she was never a Belltower spook. She was way higher up the food chain then that. Ever heard of the Tyrant Corps?"
The squad members looked at each-other blankly, while Miller frowned.
"Sounds like your typical PMC, with a flashy name to make people shit their pants." - somewhat dismissively.
Jensen shook his head.
"Not exactly. They're... were... a covert strike group. The ones who were behind the first attack on Sarif. The kidnapping of our top research team. The one that – changed me. And they weren't mercenaries. They were a carefully groomed private hit squad on loan to TYM." - vaguely.
Miller studied him. That sentence felt... unfinished.
"On loan from who?"
The cyborg's mouth twitched.
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me." - slightly sullenly, as he looked out the window. Miller scowled.
"That's the same thing you said about those mercs who hit our train near Detroit, and got my XO killed, with you being the only one who made it. At this point, I'm kinda tired of this third-degree bullshit." - tersely.
Jensen looked at him. His shades retracted, as he gave his captain an apologetic look.
"Jim, I'm not sidelining you. I wish I could tell you the whole picture, but you and I both know that we still got an intel leak within the Force. Until we find the real mole, and that leak is plugged, I've got to protect my own contacts. I've told you all I can, but we've worked together long enough that you should know I'm on the level."
Miller sighed.
"Fine. Just tell me one thing, then. How much trouble is this chick gonna be? And how's she worth bending extradition laws for? She shot up a hotel, for fucks' sake, and gave Tarvos more then a bloody nose. Not to mention gunned down civilians, and took others hostage. Sounds like a bona fide terrorist to me." - harshly.
Jensen stiffened.
"Yeah well, we thought the same about Talos Rucker, remember? And half the poor augmented bastards in that Czech government shithole that passes for a prison camp? Until I dug up the facts. And let's not even mention the whole false-flag bombing of Ruzicka. Jim, I think the differences between a terrorist and a freedom fighter these days, are more blurred then ever. Plus, we only know one side of the story. I don't know about you, but I'm kind of curious about the other."
The man scowled, but remained silent. He had no good answer to that, since... Adam had a point. Like it or not, the notion of 'good guys' and 'bad guys' that he believed in most of his professional career, was being strained to the limit, these days.