Chapter Ten
Primary Objective Revised: Retain the captive at all costs. Retake your vessel if possible, eliminate the primary targets if possible, but retention of captive is mandatory. Tentative ID: Jamella Couture, high-profile cyber-security expert employed by the Juggernaut Collective. Probability of critical intel acquisition upon interrogation – very high. Government aerial units are en-route, ETA; 25 minutes. Your cover is intact, and will be applied upon contact with government assets. Transportation to be provided, as required.
"Sir. Look at this." - the British tech pointed at their field comm unit's screen, as the text scrolled across it.
Zelazny grimaced, but nodded to himself. Clearly, Rand was monitoring their Infolink activity in real-time. He glanced at the unconscious young cyborg, just being cuffed.
"Hot stuff, huh? Scoop on the inside workings of the Collective... yeah. Makes sense. Lucky for you, girl. You get to have your brain sifted through in some interrogation cell back at HQ, before you get lobotomised. But that's on you, for being a terrorist. Alright everyone, start pulling out to the rear helipad! Screen formation." - he motioned, as he himself leaned down to pick up Jamella's unmoving form, over his shoulder.
Vande looked at him in shock, the woman's mouth falling open.
"We're just gonna let Fedorova and Irwine escape with our ship?! We're letting them win?! We should storm our boat and retake it, we've got the numbers! And get some payback for our diversion team, AND Six!" - she demanded, hotly. A couple of the troops nodded in agreement, fingering their weapons.
Zelazny's eyes narrowed.
"We're here to fulfill our mission objectives, which have just changed. Payback will have to wait. And there's a little thing called taking a strategic win, over a tactical defeat, sargeant."
"The brief SAYS, we should take them out and retake our ship, if possible! Are you saying you're afraid of them?! We could still do both, and make a clean sweep of our objectives, verdomme!" - Vande persisted aggressively, subtly goading, as she momentarily forgot rank protocol and raised her voice, taking a step closer and glaring at him in clear challenge.
Zelazny's lower lip twitched, as he reached out to grab her by the collar of her armoured chestplate, and lift her a decimetre or so off the deck, one-handed, holding her in midair, as she stiffened. While not quite as powerful as Ogre-grade assets like Gunther or the late Barrett, Zelazny's augmentation setup made him very physically strong.
"Let's get two things clear, Vande." - he started, icily, "One. I didn't say you can speak freely, soldier. Two. I'm exercising a judgement-call. Our vessel is equipped with a half dozen different tracking systems on our grid, and Rand knows that. They may think they can get away, but our ship is like a giant homing beacon, as long as they're on it. And who knows where that'll lead us. Maybe even back to Collective's regional base, if they decide to resupply or something. Maybe a staging area. Maybe they'll meet up with more terrorists. With any luck, they'll give us a juicier target to hit, and get them along with it. Got it?!" - setting her down again.
"I mean... y-yes, sir. I didn't... uh... think of that." - the Dutch woman bit out through her teeth, looking slightly away, feeling a touch foolish, mixed with sulking indignation, and a touch of fear, as the rest of the troops looked between the two.
"If you plan to keep your spot on my team Vande, I suggest you start learning how to think more then one step ahead. You're a damn solid operator, but there's more to being an asset, then being good in a fight. Covert ops is a thinking game, too. We'll get them. When the time comes. Until then, keep your foot on the ball. Main objective always comes first, and that means getting the captive out of here." - the man intoned, then addressed everyone.
"Move out. If we get a shot at either of 'em, we'll take it. But no detours."
As Yelena observed, the squad began moving towards the top deck, and in the direction of the rear section. Being careful to stay out of radius of the enemy operative's Smart Vision, she followed.
~"Irw, they're moving towards the stern. Jamella is in their custody. Appears unconscious. No more communiques from Zelazny."~ - she contacted Irwine, over their private Infolink channel.
~"Any chance of ambushing them...? I can be back aboard with some serious hardware-"~ - the man replied promptly, but she quickly cut him off.
~"No! They're screening. Clearly expecting a rescue attempt."~ - observing the mercenary squad's formation, and outward awareness, while maintaining distance. There was no way they would even be able to get close. And if they did, Jamella would simply be used as a human shield. It was almost a one-to-one copy, of the Tyrants' own protocols, when extracting critical assets.
Like the incursion into Sarif Industries, three and a half years ago. She remembered clearly, the precision and singlemindedness of their exfiltration with the captive scientists. The cryo-pods were awaiting on the roof, ready to receive and suspend Reed's team, before being loaded onto the VTOL, and they were out and away in less then ten minutes, since the end of the operation.
This team... it lacked the brutal efficiency of the Tyrants, and it certainly lacked the ruthlessness. But the professionalism was there. Following that exchange between Zelazny and Irwine, the last thing she expected was for them to just up and leave.
Their instructions must have changed... but why? Why would Jamella be more valuable then neutralising us... ? Especially with us seizing their ship. Interrogation subject maybe? But Janus' protocols account for this... that is why each individual cell is so self-contained. She cannot tell them anything beyond our immediate assignment in Antigua, because she doesn't know anything more.
The cyborg woman thought in some relief. But it was also mixed with concern. Once they realise the limits of Jamella's usefulness to them alive... the cabal might simply dispose of her. And until they do... well. Yelena knew first-hand, of the methods typically applied on interrogation subjects. At the thought, she once again reminded herself of her favourite saying... while keeping her seething fury bottled up behind her mental walls.
~"We can't just let them take her, damn it! If she ends up in U.S. government custody, she'll be treated as a terrorist, and probably end up disappeared in some off-channel FEMA camp!"~ - Irwine's reply after a pause, snapped her out of it.
~"She will not! The cabal does not like to outsource the questioning of critical intel captives. And they will consider Jamella as one. That means this... Inter-Guarda team, will deliver her to their employers. Which are very likely Illuminati, or whichever proxy is the most convenient to act as a middleman. In this case VersaLife, given what you have told me, three days ago."~ - Yelena assured him firmly, remembering the protocols she was schooled in, so long ago.
The enemy team had reached the top deck, and was now making their way towards the rear helipad. She nodded to herself, keeping distance. They would be exfiltrating by air.
The storm had let off quite a bit, and only a moderate drizzle remained, while the thunder seemed considerably more distant then before.
~"You seriously don't think the U.S. government will have something to say about that?! Especially if the extraction is done by government assets? I don't care how entrenched the cabal is, you don't actually think they have enough power to do an end-run around Internal Affairs and the FBI like that?"~ - the man persisted dubiously.
Yelena had to stifle a grimace at his naivete, shaking her head slightly to herself. Even with all the time Irwine had spent in the secret world by now, even after all he had seen and experienced, he still believed in the inherent dominance of the visible system, over the invisible hand controlling it.
~"Ask miss Kelso, when you get a chance, Irw. Ask her how much difference her position within the federal agencies made, when it came to preventing the elimination of Caidin Global CEO. Ask her about her former agency boss's connection to the Tyrants, and how she was suspended when she began to dig deep enough. Ask her why she hates me so much... Point being... yes. I don't think the USA government will have anything to say about where Jamella will be taken. And I have a very good reason to think that way. The cabal does pull the strings. Especially in the West. And... remember our mole, at the Hole, back then. The tough guy who tried to kill me? Then tried to go back home, when the Collective let him off. And how he ended up?"~ - she replied with finality.
There was a noticable pause, before Irwine's subvocal tone came back, carrying with it an unmistakeable trace of disgust.
~"So we just leave her to be taken by Zelazny and his stooges to some brain-sifter to break her mentally? Because that's what they'll do to her, to get what she knows. You know it better then I do, right?! You've seen it done, you've gone through it, yourself? I can't believe you'd be so cold, after the connection you two made-"~ - but Yelena cut him off, finally letting some of the rage to the surface, as her face twisted into a silent snarl.
~"YOU DON'T THINK I KNOW THAT?! If I could, if I thought we had ANY chance to save her, I would take it. But there isn't one. Not here, not now. At best, we would get her killed. At worst, we'd get her AND ourselves killed! And if we stay around here much longer, we WILL be cornered by whoever comes next, to extract this squad. Probably an air unit, likely with escorts. I do not know about you, but I don't feel like being target practice for attack helicopters or VTOLs. We are too exposed!"~ - she thought back angrily, before she again buried it all behind her mental barriers.
~"Point. God damn it... So what do you wanna do?"~ - Irwine came back, with great reluctance, but also acceptance of their situation.
~"What's your position? I'm coming aboard. Then we leave. Immediately and at best possible speed."~ - she ordered, hating herself.
As Irwine provided it, Yelena cast one last glance at the departing squad, now taking cover sentry positions around the helipad, clearly ready and primed for trouble. The large enemy operative was in the middle, still carrying Jamella's unmoving form over his shoulder.
Hold together, Jamella. Hold it together... don't let them break you! This isn't over. I promise I'll find you! And make them pay for this!
With the promise she made, she turned, and hopped over the railing without hesitation, doing a flawless head-dive, landing into the churning sea with barely a splash, then started swimming with perfect form, towards a dark shape floating some distance away.
New York, United Nations Headquarters, mid-morning...
The preliminaries for the ratification of the Human Restoration Act were all but complete. Looking over the spacious courtyard, the myriad of national flags flapping on their long poles in orderly rows at the edges, at the sea of dignitaries and their aides, corporate CEOs and their associates, as well as a sizable delegation from TYM, which was the one giving the keynote speech this morning, it was all Volkard Rand could do, to keep a smile from dancing across his lips.
Despite Dowd's misgivings, regarding the amount of money the Templar banker had to put up, to grease the bureaucratic wheels to even put the motion on the table; and Everett's outright disapproval of his initiative to use VersaLife research into Orchid, to lend more credibility to the necessity of introducing TYM's patented dampening chips into the augmented population, as a more cost-effective, and less disruptive alternative to segregated ghettos – the UN had embraced the idea wholeheartedly. Especially the representatives from Czech Republic, Canada, UAE, and France. Small wonder, given the amount of schism those countries had experienced recently, from the Augmented Rights Coalition and other fringe groups. United States wouldn't be far behind, especially given Senator Mead's backing. That backing hadn't come without a steep cost in campaign money, as Dowd kept reminding him, but... it was worth it. And he was sure the Council would see it the same way. And for all his indignation on the costs incurred, Rand was confident he would have Stanton Dowd's backing in the Council, since both of them stood to gain from this gambit.
He was looking forward to reporting his unequivocal success to Lucius, once he returned to his office later in the evening. If anything, his vindication would send a message to both Everett and DuClare, that he was now the rising star in DeBeers's eyes... especially given DuClare's recent – slipups - in matters of security, and Everett's ambiguous handling of both the Rifleman Bank incident three years ago, and the recent incident in Mayrhofen.
They were making compromises. Less then favourable ones. While he was producing results. And that would not go unnoticed.
"Dr. Rand?" - his aide approached, nodding her head in a slight formal low.
"Yes?" - the early middle-aged man smiled at her.
"Your family has arrived at entrance 7. Would you like us to give them a tour of the building, or will you meet them right now?" - the young woman offered helpfully, returning the smile.
"That's alright, I'm sure Owen will cause a ruckus before too long, being stuck in a place full of stuffy grownup suits! I promised to take him to the amusement park today, and if I don't deliver, I'm in trouble! Say what you will about corporate politicking, but it's downright benign, compared to disappointing a fifteen-year-old with elephantine memory! I'd better get going... oh, do me a favour, and inform the TYM delegation that I'll meet them later today in my office, for our discussion regarding local chip distribution channels."
"My pleasure, sir." - the young mixed-race woman beamed, keeping her smile at the stately bald man a split-second longer then... strictly needed... then turned – sensually - on her heel to make a beeline for a group of Asian suits, on the far side of the yard.
His gaze lingered on his aide's shapely figure, pressed into a tight business top and skirt, before he shook his head to himself slightly, moving off towards the perimeter, his trio of augmented bodyguards unobtrusively forming a picket line around him, while also keeping a discreet distance.
Extramarital affairs were one of the hidden perks of his position... and he wasn't naive enough to believe his wife Aria didn't know about it. Just like he wasn't naive enough to believe his wife wasn't messing around on the side, as well. Their marriage had been... strained... for quite some time now, but both of them were determined not to allow their own slowly-growing rift, from impacting Owen's perception of family. So far, successfully.
At Entrance Seven...
"Hey dad, check out my new watch!" - Owen Rand, a blonde-haired, immaculately dressed teenage boy with bright green eyes and flawless, unblemished face indicating regular appointments with a dermatologist, or possibly even a touch of makeup, dressed in designer clothes from head to toe, pulled up the sleeve of his Balenciaga fleece jacket, to display a flashy Rolex Submariner watch. Despite his age, Owen was used to getting his way, being the only child, and an heir to the Rand Corporation's board of directors, which was ostensibly his father's inheritance, and a long-standing family business.
Volkard was very careful to keep his cabal affiliation secret from his family, or the massive role the Illuminati played in the foundation of the think tank itself, back in 1948. The Rand name's ties with the cabal ran deep, but unlike most on the Council of Five, Volkard was determined to keep his own family out of it, knowing the potential consequences down the line, if he became – compromised. Not that he planned on it, especially given his recent initiatives, but... fortune was fickle.
"Well I'll be damned... we'll make a proper sailor out of you yet!" - he clapped his son on the shoulder. The boy grinned, adopting a haughty posture.
"Yeah... all I need's a boat! Then I can take Andrea cruising, and show her a better time then those fraternity assholes, can fuckin' dream of!" - referring to his girlfriend, and some of the other boys at the private school he was attending, whom he didn't get along with.
"Language! And you should know better then to flash that around, on the street!" - his mother intoned sharply, in a very clipped British accent, giving her son a measured, yet relatively sharp slap on the back of his head. Unlike his father, who was entirely too permissive and loved to spoil his son, she was the opposite, being a caring, yet also rather strict, mother.
"Ow! Sorry, mom... Sometimes you make me think you want some church choir-boy around, not me!" - the boy growled sarcastically, making an exaggerated eyeroll.
He preferred spending time with his dad, or the servants back at the mansion, since his mom always made him feel like he was doing something wrong. He did love her, and his mom had a caring, tender side... but more often then not, she was treating him like a drill-sargeant would treat an unruly recruit.
A sharp-eyed, fair-skinned, elegant, crimson haired caucasian woman in her early forties, of average height and aristocratic bearing, her sporty, subtly-chiseled, statuesque figure fitting like a glove inside of a Rami Brook red-satin laced blouse and Loewe black jeans, Aria Solence-Rand was a picture of contained, focused femininity mixed with a well-realised sense of self worth. Diamond-stud earrings, subtly enhanced breasts under a decent, yet... subtly revealing cleavage, and Saint-Laurent zebra-pumps on her feet.
Her luxuriant reddish hair was tied in a tight ponytail, reaching just below her shoulder blades, with twin bangs framing her face, while the air around her was almost alive with Versace Crystal Noir perfume.
The woman was a looker, and carried herself with confidence, and her choice of outfit made it clear she wanted gazes, after her.
Favouring her son with a polished grin, her expression softened – but only fractionally.
"Perhaps I would, at that! At least then I'd know you are staying out of trouble, and not fishing for cheap girls with expensive tastes! And no, I'm not talking about Andrea..." - she hastened to add, noticing his hurt expression, "...she is a nice girl. You know who I'm talking about. Remind me sometime, to tell you where I first met your father... and how." - matching her son's sarcasm with some of her own, half-jokingly.
Volkard made a face at that, as she continued.
"Now then. Who's ready for some fun?" - she winked, opening her purse and pulling out the three tickets for Dreamworks Water Park.
"Oh wow – let's go! Hey, I'll get Andrea on the line, see if she wanna hang out!" - Owen whooped in delight, as he snatched his ticket, and rushed off towards their car, pulling out his phone to dial his girlfriend.
Her husband stepped close to whisper in her ear, making sure he isn't overheard.
"Make certain to keep him entertained, I'll need to get back in time to attend a meeting before fifteen-hundred." - to which the woman scowled, somehow doing that, while still keeping her polished smile, in Owen's direction.
"So what else is new... ? You shower him with lavish gifts and spoil him rotten with that RIDICULOUS monthly allowance, but are never around for him. Do you know I found Ecstasy pills in his rucksack, the other day? And one of the maids told me she saw him smoking cigaweeds?" - acidly.
"What..? How did he get his hands on-" - the man started in surprise, but she cut him off.
"Perhaps something to ask him, the next time you give him a hundred thousand credits to throw around on wild parties, and acting the 'coolest kid in school' fantasy? He is looking up to you, and you're never around, and I am tired of being the 'bad cop' in his head. It's always another meeting, another project you're working on, another unavoidable this and that, with you. Everything else takes precendence, over your son, doesn't it?!" - the woman's polished smile finally dropped, replaced by a thin, angry line, as Owen was no longer within sight, inside the car.
Rand scratched his head in confusion.
"Well... do you want me to enroll him into a boarding school instead? Perhaps a more structured environment would allow the boy to develop a sense of discipline and self-responsibility? I can pull some strings with-" - he suggested, in a mild, matter-of-fact tone that always seemed to have the opposite effect on his wife, as she cut him off again.
"No! I want you to be there for him, for once in his life! Is THAT too much to ask? Not your gifts. Not your money. No. YOU. As his father." - Aria's expression turned vaguely disgusted, as she bit off each word with even more clippedness, in her tone.
With an 'I'll see what I can do' shrug of his shoulders, Volkard nodded, still keeping that beneficent smile plastered on his face, as he motioned the two to join their son in the car. Aria Rand just rolled her eyes, looking like she wanted to strangle her husband, knowing full well what that expression meant. Exactly nothing, as usual. Nothing would change.
Sometimes I wonder why do we even keep up this pretence... ? Oh well... at least Arnaud will be waiting for me tonight at our usual place. No pretence with him. Just... mmm... raw passion!
The woman thought, biting her lower lip softly, at the thought of her 15 years younger, strapping lover.
The three bodyguards, as if on cue, took off at a brisk trot, towards another car parked nearby. As usual, they would be tailing the family at a discreet distance, ensuring security while not being obtrusive.
Caribbean Sea, at the same time... en-route to Panama
The captured assault craft was running in full radar-stealth mode, with both the nav transponder and satellite uplink turned off, blatantly violating maritime regulations. But regulations were the least of Yelena's concerns, at the moment.
She was no fool. She knew that the ship likely had additional tracking systems, and that finding and disabling them would be their top priority. But without Jamella and her cyber-security expertise, that was easier said then done.
Via her own encrypted Uplink implant, she got in contact with Saxon and Kelso in Panama, requesting them to meet up at the earliest opportunity. It was a risk, since her own real-time encryption software wasn't up to par with Jamella's custom protocols, but it was the best method available, since they agreed that using the ship's own comm array, and trying to encrypt a channel on the fly, would be like sending an open invitation to the cabal, to track them down.
And the crew was not much help, themselves being largely in the dark, about the ship's assignment. It was safe to assume they had no idea who they were really working for.
The response, in the form of a burst-transmission directly to Yelena's Infolink, wasn't long in coming, as everyone involved realised they were on the clock. Ben Saxon was adamant for them to meet at a secluded location on Panama's coast, far from Panama City and their own safehouse there.
"You really should get that looked at... one of the crewers is a medic, you know. He already did a good job with a gunshot wound on our Cartel friend." - Irwine spoke, nodding at the aquiline woman's scar across her abdomen, all that remained of the shrapnel gash, by now.
Other then the healed gash, there was nothing else of note, aside from a mild sniffling cold, probably caught during her long exposure to the elements, and wearing soaked clothing out in the storm, followed by a swim in the ocean. For the past two hours, she tried to get some sleep under a warm blanket, in one of the crew cabins. Cyborg or not, enough of her was human, to be susceptible to catching a sniffle.
"I'm fine. Regenerated. The scar is temporary." - Yelena assured him quietly, with a brief headshake, as she rubbed her nose. Her voice was flat and controlled, and he knew her well enough to recognise her patented mental-shields, in effect.
"Are you?" - the man asked, pointedly, looking her in the eyes.
She was silent for a long dozen seconds, her dark eyes a mirror of mixing emotions, washing over her mental partitioning. Now that all the eyeshade she habitually wore, was washed off her face, along with the rest of her preferred makeup Yelena looked noticably different from her usual sharpish, yet exotic visage of a sirine succubus. Her hawkish, tanned features, criscrossed with faded scars and a few blemishes, no longer concealed by the makeup, were more reminiscent then ever, of a predatory bird. She was still striking, but in a very different way. More... rugged. Blemished. Quite a bit visually older then her 29 years of age.
She remained silent long enough for Irwine to tense slightly, seeing a flash of that hollowness... just as quickly gone. Finally, she reached out a hand, to caress his face.
"Rape me." - in an unreadable tone.
The man had to blink, before the request registered.
"Excuse me... ?" - his mouth fell open.
In a blink of an eye, her hand at his face blurred into a slap, hard enough to leave an angry red mark on his cheek, as he recoiled in shock.
"NOW!" - Yelena snarled, slapping him on the other cheek, even harder, in a blur of motion. The man tried to block or dodge it, but she was too fast. So he pressed into her, preventing any more slaps as he tried to wrestle her hands in place. But he took another blow, this time a right hook, that painted the corner of his mouth red, as he felt one of his molars give way, and blood in his mouth.
"WHAT THE HELL... Y-Yelena! Stop it! STOP IT!" - he pleaded, trying to pin down her arms, and wrestle her down onto the bed, to restrain her.
Suddenly, he felt both his wrists in a double leverage-lock, as she casually broke out of his grip, then effortlessly twisted them almost to dislocate-point, forcing him to bend sideways into an unnatural sitting posture, with a pained groan, trying to relieve the pressure. She rose halfway from the bed, kicking out his legs from under him, and making him kneel onto the deck. He bent down halfway, as she instead pinned him with a knee at his back, criscrossing his twisted wrists at his back – painfully – making him lie face-down onto the deck, pain shooting up both arms.
The entire practiced sequence of body-locks was so fast, he had no chance even to register what was happening to him, before he was pinned on the deck, helpless.
"Now." - she intoned, icily. He didn't have to see her face, to recognise the hollow aspect, in that tone. The same one she had, five and a half months ago, in front of her granny's house near Kvariati. That time, he let go, as she requested.
"N-no..." - he groaned, deciding on defiance, this time. Whatever it was that triggered her, he was determined to get to the bottom of it, this time. Even if it meant getting his wrists dislocated.
Even if it meant dying at her hands.
He felt his wrists twist further, making him scream in pain, but he gritted his teeth.
"D...aaah...do it! I-if you h—aaaah-have to! I LOVE YOU!" - he pushed through, trembling slightly.
"WHY?! WHY?! YOU SOFT, STUPID IDIOT! WHY DO YOU LOVE ME?! ME! ME!? A MONSTER! A MONSTER?!" - she snarled, keeningly, in an unbelievable mixture of despair and regret. But she didn't twist further. She didn't break his wrists.
"BECAUSE I DO! I JUST DO! DO IT! DO IT, YOU CRAZY BITCH!" - he yelled, in a mixture of anger and pain, gnashing his teeth, as some saliva pooled on the deck. It hurt, more then he could imagine. That near-tearing threshold on his ligaments, somehow hurt more, then actually having his wrists broken or dislocated. He had his right wrist broken once, long ago, during a biking accident. He knew how it felt. This... was worse. It was as if she knew exactly how to cause the most pain, in a human body. Deliberately tormenting him.
All of a sudden, she let go of his arms, pacing over to the wall, and beginning to bang her head against it. Violently, leaving bloody red splotches on the bulkhead, each sickeningly-wet headbutt accompanied with a growl of pure anguish.
Trying to ignore the THROBBING pain through his arms, his wrists feeling like melted butter, he stumbled to his feet, literally throwing himself at her, and grabbing her in a chokehold, to prevent her from caving her skull in from the repeated, savage bashes.
"STOP IT! STOP! STOP IT! NOW! NOW!" - he roared in her ear, forcibly dragging her back, even as he fully expected to be thrown, twisted, or simply murdered, in whatever insane martial arts technique she decided to apply, amplified by her cybernetic musculature and reflex-boosting. Even after all their months of practice sparring and training sessions, it seemed he still had no real idea how far her martial expertise went.
But she simply thrashed in his hold, letting him drag her back from the bulkhead wall, blood dripping down her forehead.
Then she started riding in tears.
"I left her... I LEFT HER! I LEFT HER! I ABANDONED HER! To them... I left her! TO THE MONSTERS THAT MADE ME! I left her... I left her to them! To be broken inside-out, until they have what they want from her! I KNOW WHAT THEY DO! I KNOW THE TECHNIQUES THEY USE TO BREAK PEOPLE! And I left her anyway...!
"YELENA! You had no choice! LISTEN TO ME! Listen! We'll get her back! LISTEN TO ME!" - Irwine shook her hard, trying to reach her, but she kept on...
"They will do to her, what they did to me! Over, and over, and over again! They won't just rape her! They will destroy her, all that she is, from the inside out, until they have what they want. There won't be ANYTHING of her left... just a shell! A broken shell. I KNOW! I KNOW WHAT THEY DO! Do you understand?! I KNOW! And I still LEFT HER!" - in utter despair.
"Kill me! KILL ME! Please... rape me! Break me! Beat me up! Kill me! They'll do WORSE TO HER, because I LEFT HER TO THEM! I'M A COWARD! A coward! KILL ME! Please...!" - she snarled through the tears.
Then she started ranting in Russian, mostly variations of what she said, but the words gradually became slurred. Concussion was setting in, from the amount of blunt trauma, blood still pouring freely from her forhead, to the pillow.
Irwine remained quiet, holding her for dear life, as she let it out, even as his arms continued to throb, from latent pain. He couldn't even feel his wrists, his hands felt like dead weight attached to his arms.
Despite his best efforts, a part of him was scared. Having a clear view of the bloody stain on the bulkhead, a trail of blood sliding slowly towards the floor. She literally tried to cave her own head in. This was easily the worst episode yet.
Jesus fucking Christ... !
The cabin doors slid open, and the mohawked thug's confused, wary face appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened, as he noticed the blood on the bulkhead. Irwine just shook his head slightly at him, in 'everything's under control' gesture. The doors slid closed again.
Gradually, Yelena's rage, despair and sorrow quieted, and she just sobbed softly, as he held her. In a few minutes, feeling began returning to his hands.
He kissed her.
"Yelena. Yelena?" - he whispered softly in her ear.
"I promise you, we'll get Jamella back. Before they break her. I swear it. I swear it on my life, we will get her back. And make those sons of bitches pay. Zelazny and the rest of his fuckin' stooges, Rand and VersaLife, and whoever else is involved. All of them. All. Of. Them. Will. Die. For her, for you, for everyone else they fucked up. For the world. Do you understand me? We won't stop. We'll never stop. Until we tear down everything they stand for."
Yelena, half-unconscious from the moderate concussion she managed to inflict on herself, stirred softly.
"I.. ddwont... desssrve yyy..." - before she fully lost consciousness.
"Yes. You do." - he kissed her again, then rose to step out.
"Medic! Get over here with a blunt force trauma-kit!" - he yelled in the direction of the ship's infirmary.
"Wh-what the fuck happened, cabron? What the fuck's wrong with that chica?! Did she go berserk or somethin'?" - the thug demanded, pale-faced.
"Don't worry about it. Just... uh... go to the bridge and keep an eye on things. Make sure they don't try to contact anyone over the comms. We're not out of this mess yet." - Irwine told him, keeping his own tone under control.
"Right... hope you know what you're doing, man." - the thug shrugged, rubbing his bandaged arm briefly, before he sauntered off, passing a medic in the hallway, who was rushing towards the room.
Yeah. Me too.
"In here! I think she's concussed. See what you can do, will you? And – don't ask. Just... just don't." - Irwine instructed the medic, shaking his head as he noticed the man's quizzical look at the bloody wall.