Chapter Eleven
New York, unknown location...
"Ughh..." - Jamella stirred, reflexively feeling around her, as she waited for her bionic eye to do it's normal startup sequence and activate in response to her brain input, even as she opened her human one.
Darkness. Aside from a small amount of spillage from a self-powered LED panel on the wall... she assumed a screen indicator of some kind... the room she was in was in complete darkness.
The left side of her face felt... heavy... and faintly pounding with dull, trace amount of pain. As she rolled over to the side, and felt up her face, her fingers came in contact with the fine surface of a bandage, covering her left cheekbone and temple.
Slowly, she sat up.
So it wasn't just a bad dream. Shit...
Willing her eyes to focus. Her human eye was slowly adjusting to the dark, and she could begin making up shapes in the room. But her bionic one remained strangely... unresponsive.
And not just her eye. She was semi-deaf... rising slowly to her feet, and feeling around, she made her way to a window, looking out through shaded glass. She was about three stories up, overlooking a busy street. Yet she could barely hear anything outside.
She tried to Uplink to a local public network. Nothing. And with her hairs standing on-end, she realised that all of her cybernetic systems were unresponsive. She was affected by some kind of full-spectrum dampening EM field.
Down on the street, she could see people milling around, and cars passing by. She started banging on the glass, hoping to break it.
"Help! HELP ME! Help! Somebody help me! HELP!" - at the top of her lungs. Her voice sounded strange... tinny... to her own ears. Like coming from a long tunnel. It was disconcerting.
The glass simply made a repeated 'twunk' sound, barely even registering her blows. Down below on the street, nobody even paused or looked up.
In her semi-deaf state, Jamella completely missed the doors opening behind her, and a shadowy individual entering the room.
"Don't bother! That is a reinforced safety-glass, and this chamber is isolated with a sound-dampening field!" - an elevated, slightly artificial-sounding male tone sounded behind her, loud enough to easily let her hear it, even in her semi-deaf state.
The young woman turned with a start, her one natural eye widening.
"Who...who the hell are you?! Where am I?! You've got NO right to kidnap-" - she started angrily, trying to project a tough front, but the individual smoothly cut her off.
"Rights are irrelevant, Miss Couture. And given who you are, you don't have any to begin with." - the cold tone somehow projecting through the room with a strange reverb, likely a trick of the individual's augmented vocal cords.
Suddenly, the lights came on, making her recoil slightly, as she found herself staring at a tall, very pale-faced, lanky brown-haired man, dressed in a leathery-looking suit and a tie. His eyes were covered by a pair of shades, but through them, she could just make out a pair of reddish retinae. He didn't seem to be visibly augmented in any way, but those eyes and that voice were a dead giveaway.
"Cute vocoder unit. What is that, Echo11? Echo11S? Am I supposed to be impressed... ?! Scared? Well I ain't! You can't hold me here!" - the girl bit off, thrusting a finger aggressively forward, but her shrill, half-hysterical tone betrayed her nervousness.
Not a single facial muscle on the MiB twitched, as he produced a pocket secretary from his suit-coat's inner pocket.
"Couture, Jamella. Born in Halifax Municipality, Nova Scotia, Canada. Seventeen years and three months of age. Biological parent names; Erika and Rowan Couture. Both deceased. One sibling, Couture, Patrick, deceased. Attended-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! LET ME OUTTA HERE!" - Jamella screamed, suddenly bolting forward, and slapping the device out of the agent's hand.
"NOW!" - she barked, desperately trying to cover-up her fear with bellicosity, as she danced on her tiptoes, her hands halfway-up, in a fighting stance.
"HUH!? What you gonna do now? HUH?! You piece of-" - the agent's hand went towards the girl's face in a backhand, but she ducked it out of reflex, her self-defence lessons kicking-in, as she rushed into him and threw him off-balance.
She shoved-past, bolting for the doors.
~Whatever your fear tells you to do, do the opposite. Always.~
One of Yelena's many admonitions during their training, flashed through her mind.
Finding herself in a long, dimly-lit hallway with doors lining either side. Jamella looked around. On her left, a blank wall stood, indicating her room was at the very end of it. So she ran down the hallway, but she barely made it four steps, before the MiB's heavy footsteps behind her caught up, and a strong hand grabbed her by her hair.
"AAHH!" - she screamed in pain, but Yelena's lessons continued to be at the forefront of her mind. She didn't try to break free, she went with the pull and stepped backwards, trying for a heel-stomp on the ridge of his foot, as hard as she could. But the man simply shrugged it off without a sound, picking her bodily off the floor, by her hair, and dragging her back into the room, to dump her unceremoniously down again.
"Nice try." - the MiB's unsettling-sounding artificial monotone was vaguely condescending.
~Rage gives you power. It also conquers pain. If you feel like crying, scream. If you feel like screaming, snarl. If you feel like snarling, strike. Channel it outward, not inward!~
"Fuck YOU...!" - the girl snarled, even more bellicose, her scalp flaring with pain, but picked herself up off the floor, and lashed out with a decently crisp side-kick at his sternum.
Casually, the emotionless, pale-faced man caught her foot, then pulled her in closer, this time indeed landing a – measured - backhand that sent her stumbling to the wall, with a pained groan.
She slid-down to the floor, holding the side of her head, clearly dizzy, moaning softly in pain, as the corner of her mouth seeped some blood, and she felt blood in her mouth. Coupled with her still-sore temple from the riflebutt... she tried to stand back up, but could only lean on the wall, unsteadily. Her head was killing her.
Her one human eye glared daggers at the shaded man. But she didn't try to attack again, as she eyed him warily. Self-defence was all well and good... but Yelena never hit her this hard, during their sessions. Yet. And by his demeanour, the girl could tell he was being very restrained.
Calmly, the agent stepped to the pocked secretary lying on the floor, picked it up, and continued...
"Attended-" - he paused, glancing at her, "Well, no matter. Whatever you might have become, is irrelevant. Current occupation; a cyber-security retainer for the Juggernaut Collective and their associates. Freelance anarchist. In short - a terrorist."
"Freedom fighter... actually." - the girl growled, trying to clear her head, as she stumbled over to the lone chair in the room, next to the cot she was lying on, earlier. She plopped down into it, all the energy seemingly leaving her. Adrenaline could only sustain her for so long.
"And you better hope I don't get access to my hackware any time soon... or I'll be out of this cage before you or whatever handlers you've got, can blink twice." - she added, breathing hard.
The agent's lips twitched into a microscopic smirk, at that.
"Nothing a full-spectrum EM dampening field cannot remedy. As you may be aware by now, of course." - turning briefly, to input something into the control panel next to the screen on the wall. As he did, Jamella thought she noticed a strange tattoo on the back of his neck – that of an eye in a triangle.
How the hell is that screen working, when my implants are completely frozen?! For that matter, how are this guy's implants working, too? If there is an EM field in place? Just how shielded is he?
She wondered.
"You may begin when ready." - the MiB turned back, clasping his large hands behind his back. The screen lit up, displaying a mirror-image of her, as if she were looking at herself from the side.
"Begin... what, exactly?" - Jamella asked, frowning. She didn't understand the purpose of it, but she assumed it displayed the feed from some hidden camera in the wall to her left side. Why would he want her to be able to see herself, didn't make sense, though.
"Reciting everything you know, about the Juggernaut Collective's operations locally, and globally. We're particularily interested in the current Neural Subnet codes." - he replied, matter-of-factly.
The girl had to giggle at that.
"Oh, sure! I can't wait! You know, for a big bad creepy interrogator, you suck at your job. Why should I tell you anything?!" - she couldn't help but mock him.
Even as she did, her headache seemed to... amplify, slightly. A small violet LED light on the upper corner of the screen, began to blink, in an irregular pattern, accompanied by a very soft beep. The man didn't say anything, simply standing there, blank expression on his pale face, hands clasped behind his back, watching her carefully, yet impassively.
"What is this, a glaring contest? Ok... let's see how far that gets you!" - Jamella added after half a minute or so, of mutual silence. He remained still as a statue, staring at her past those shades of his.
But she sounded more confident then she felt. Something about this man's demeanour, was... unnerving. And her headache amplified another small, almost impreceptible, notch.
Aboard the assault craft...
Yelena was lying on one of the infirmary cots, a large dry-ice pack bandaged to her forehead, along with an IV drip containing a mixture of enzymes and bioelectrical fluid. The drip itself wasn't strictly necessary, given the sizable supply of both cyberboost packs and the newer bioelectric battery-cells – presumably for use by the Inter-Guard squad's augmented operatives – but as long as she was being treated for concussion, the medic suggested a full biomedical workup, as well – and she agreed, once she regained consciousness.
Irwine's wrists didn't need any actual treatment, although he was given an analgesic cream to take down the slight swelling around them. To her credit, Yelena didn't do any real damage – but that didn't make her expression any less... guilty... as she glanced at him, entering the room.
"How're you feeling?" - he asked.
"As well as can be expected. I have a hard head. Fortunately." - the woman sighed, grimacing to herself.
"It is a sad state of affairs, when I do more damage to myself, then the enemy did. But that is just how... fucked up... I am." - the very rare use of the cuss word, being indicative of how disgusted with herself she felt. As a rule, Yelena rarely, if ever, cussed. She considered it a sign of weakness. In English... practically unheard-of.
And it wasn't lost on Irwine, as he had to suppress a chuckle.
"Well... first time for everything, I guess...!" - trying a lighter tone, but her expression remained stony. Seeing it, he nodded.
"Wanna talk about it?" - seriously. She pursed her lips, considering what to say. Then closed her eyes briefly.
"What is there to say? I could say I'm sorry for hurting you, and I would mean it. But what difference does that make, after the fact?" - she began, "Or I could say that I meant what I said, when I wanted you to rape me. Which I did." - she emphasised, darkly, opening her eyes again to meet his.
"Why, exactly? It's a pretty messed-up thing to ask. Especially from someone who cares about you." - Irwine asked after a pause, deciding to take the admission at face value, even if it sounded no less shocking now, then before.
"Because I traded her torment, for a tactical retreat. Because you were right. I was cold. I left her. And I should be punished for it! The way I despise, the most." - angrily.
"Bullshit!" - Irwine exploded, stomping a foot on the floor, equally angrily, prompting a surprised expression from Yelena, "And I know you too well to believe that for a hot second! I was WRONG, when I said that you're cold, back there. NO, no-" - he pushed on, raising a hand, seeing she was about to say something, "...don't say it! I was wrong. I care about Jamella too, and I was beating myself up for being stuck here, while you had to watch Zelazny and his buttboys take her away! I can't imagine what that must've been like. I mean... you're cold in other ways, but not... not when it comes to people you care about!"
The woman sighed with an eyeroll, turning her attention to the ceiling.
"Kakoy khoroshiy sposob nazvat' menya sukoy-sotsiopatom. Mne eto nravitsya." - under her breath, before she continued, cutting off any comment he might have made...
" And no. You can't imagine." - she turned her gaze back down at him, "I... I started seeing Jamella as a little sister. A little sister... that I never had a chance to know. Or see her grow, before I saw her murdered."
"Your baby sister? The youngest? Did you... uh... remember more about her?" - Irwine asked gently, glad for a change of subject.
Yelena nodded.
"Her name was Tamara. She was... about to start going to school, when it happened. Mother said once, that she never remembered me or my brother, looking forward to the first day at school. I can believe that... But little Tamara was! What kind of child, wants to go to school?! She was so... so bright. So eager!" - she almost giggled, before tears came to her eyes.
"She never had a chance to. She never had a chance, period. Just another child, dead before beginning to live."
"Yelena, I'm sor-" - he began, but she continued, expression turning haunted.
"But what makes her any different from the ones I killed? Dozens. Collaterals. In the way. Part of the assignments. Or even out of the way, like little Eldir and Yasna. Ones I needed, to kill."
"Umm... who?"
"Jaron Namir's children. Part of the price he had to pay, for what he did to me and my family." - she clarified.
Irwine began looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"I suppose that's what the blood vengeance demanded of you?"
"Yes. But even if if didn't, I would have still done it. Because it was necessary. What gave them the right to live, when that same right was taken from my little sister, by their father? From my brother?! Why should they get a free pass?" - she glared. But there was a lot of latent guilt, behind the glare.
"Look... I, uh... I don't think these are questions anyone can answer. You believe in God. Maybe it really is up to God, to decide these things?" - the man suggested.
"Then he should've decided sooner! But I've come to realise God is lazy. Or just doesn't care sometimes. If he did, the world would be a much better place then it is. Or maybe what granny sometimes used to say, is true; 'help yourself first, then God will help you too'. So that's what I did." - Yelena retorted.
He took her hand.
"You know, you can't keep hating forever, love. That's gonna eat you up to the point you snap. This time... listen. This can't happen again. I mean it." - his tone determined. She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his other hand,
"I know – I know you said you need to close the circle. And that's fine. It needs closing. Those people need killing. They're scum of the Earth. But in the meantime, it's eating you up inside, and making you lose it. I love you too much to see that happen!" - Irwine glanced at her wrist.
"Jamella told me about the bracelet you gave her. The Ouroboros one. I wish you... you kept it. Because while you had it, you had a – I don't know – a reminder to try and keep some perspective. The same with your holy pendant. It helped centre you. Didn't it?"
Before Yelena spoke, the medic came from his office, off to the side.
"Excuse me... scans show a slight imbalance in your biolythic enzyme levels. I need to adjust the drip..." - he stepped close to Yelena's side, but she waved him away, sitting up on the infirmary bed.
"Don't worry. I think I've had enough anyway. I am fully charged, and I do not want to overcharge. Plus I think this mixture is not quite optimised for my systems anyway. I feel a bit... tingly. Like ants crawling up my spine." - she grimaced.
"Well, the mixture is optimised for 3rd generation bioelectric power grid. Yours is a 2nd. The only setup we have, I'm afraid." - the medic replied, with a trace of professional indignation, his eyes a bit wary, on the whipcord-framed woman.
She smirked.
"Yes, yes. I'm a relic. All the more reason to do my own fine-tune maintenance. Thanks anyway." - she pulled the needle out of her arm, and stood.
"Let's go to the bridge, Irw. I'm sure our Cartel friend will appreciate the company." - leading the way out of the infirmary.
"So... did it centre me? Yes, it did." - she finally replied, once the two were out.
"The problem with perspective is, that it changes. And my perspective changed, Irw. A lot. Both the bracelet, and the pendant, represent my need to reinvent myself. But if I do – I'm afraid I'll lose the very thing that makes me so determined to get revenge. I'm afraid I'll go too soft. Become a victim. Accept it and move on." - she admitted quietly.
"And that idea disgusts me."
Irwine nodded, more to himself, then her, as they went up the stairwell.
"Makes sense. You don't wanna lose your edge. And given what we do, we both need our edge. We're at war. But you need something to let off steam, before shit like this happens. You need better releases, honey! Because I happen to like my wrists intact, got it?" - he wisecracked, before suddenly frowning.
"How did you deal with it, back in the Tyrants? Given how strongly you feel things, I have to believe you wanted to rip everyone's throat out 24/7, given the fact you didn't wanna be there to begin with."
"Training. Obsessively. Sometimes up to eight, nine hours a day. Meditation. Sparring. Violent, hateful sex, as often as possible with as many of my subordinates as possible. Or sometimes Jaron. Sometimes Barrett. Sometimes Hardesty. Sometimes Ben, before he made the right decision and got out. Killing for fun. Torture. Making people think I will torture and/or kill them. How long a list would you like, Irw?" - Yelena sighed, as they were about to enter the bridge.
"I wouldn't mind hearin' more, chica! You gotta be a riot in the sack..." - the thug's nervous voice came from the bridge, as they crossed the doorway.
"I think I get the idea..." - Irwine shook his head to himself. He'd known some adrenaline-junkies back in the Corps, and there were quite a few in his old Squalnomie outfit, but... Yelena was intense on a whole another level.
Then again, if I'd been through that kind of shit, lived with that kind of pain, would I be any different? It's either that, or go insane... or break down into a wreck. PTSD is a helluva thing.
"Hey I mean... um, if you need somethin' to take the edge off life's crap, a good cigaweed'll do the job! And I ain't talkin' about that spiked-up shit you can get from two-bit dealers on the street – I got a line on the good stuff! Purple Kush, Northern Lights, White Widow... Well, not me, but I know the guys who can get it... when we get to Panama, I can make a few calls, you know." - the thug suggested.
Yelena scowled, biting her lip. While she promised herself not to take drugs voluntarily, having been forced to take enough drugs during her early time in the Tyrants, especially the psychoactive kind, which played a large part in turning her into what she became... good weed might not be a bad idea. Especially after what happened.
"I thought you guys didn't really deal in the soft stuff. Just the shit that gets people addicted. Meth. Coke. Synthetic hybrids. That kind of crap." - Irwine put in, suspiciously, giving the man a hard glare.
"Yeah, but that's business. I mean, I don't touch that shit, I don't know any guys who do, but the stupid morons who get hooked on it, make us creds, so... y'know. Supply and demand. I mean hell, we moved Nu-Poz and Ria, too, and I never heard anyone giving us shit about THAT...!" - the man retorted, a bit defensively.
"And gouged needy people blind for it, of course. Always blame the user, right? You know, it's that kind of-" - Irwine growled, taking a step towards the man, before Yelena interrupted.
"What's your name?" - looking at the thug.
"Uh... Marco. Why?"
"I may be interested, Marco. When we make shore, get in touch with your contacts. We won't be staying longer then a day or two, at most, so have them ship it to Antigua. We have unfinished business there."
"Got it." - the man nodded.
"Cleanup and containment?" - Irwine whispered darkly in her ear.
"Yes. I want that fat swine's head, before he vanishes off the grid. Plus we need to inform the Collective of his treachery. I want to do that via Neural Subnet station in the club's basement. Nothing else is secure enough. And who knows. He may break and tell us who he was in contact with, before he dies. Even if not – we may find a trail to follow, if he didn't clear out his communications history." - Yelena murmured softly, a flash in her eyes.
"What about our assignment? The runaway Ural Pharma board members?" - the man asked, even more softly.
"Now that we have been compromised? By the cabal?" - Yelena shook her head, "One does not need to be especially intuitive to guess they've been informed of the trap. They won't be coming."
The two walked to the front viewport, gazing out at the wave-splashes across the catamaran's bow.
"Madalyuk won't be happy. But I guess that's for Quinn to worry about, and smooth things over. We always knew it was a longshot, anyway." - Irwine commented.
Carreto, Panama, a small fishing village near the Colombian border
A nondescreipt-looking dirty-white minivan with two people inside, was making it's way down a badly-maintained country road, heading towards the coastline. Gazing out at the palm-trees and tall pampas grass growing by the roadside, as they drove, Anna Kelso looked unnerved.
"I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing those two again, Ben." - she noticed his patient look, and added quickly, "Yes, I know... Fedorova's been on the level with the organisation so far. But I just don't... trust her. From my experience, people can only change so much."
"She's been more then on the level, Anna. She's been an asset. The research materials, Chow's capture, the hit in Mayrhofen, the rapport with Ural Pharma... say what you will, but we may actually start mass-producing the anti-NuPoz catalyst by the end of this year, thanks in part, to her. Give a big middle finger to the WHO and those fuckin' leeches. Get people off from under the UN's thumb."
Kelso looked unconvinced.
"I'm not sure it's going to make much of a difference, not with the Act about to be passed. We may all end up with those dampener-chips before too long, so we'll be double-fucked. I used to believe in the rule of law, Ben... but it seems all the law wants to do with our kind lately, is screw us over. Ever since the Incident. It's all our fault, apparently. Blame the augmented people. And it's only a matter of time before it spreads down here into the Third World. I'm so sick of it."
Saxon nodded, a flash in his eyes.
"Yeah well... I've got some ideas about that, luv. Especially with what you dug up, on the likely location of the main distribution facility for the chips, in the States. And now that we'll have a little tete-a-tete with our fellow rebel friends, maybe we can trade a favour for a favour. Pool resources. Organise a proper op.
"Ben... ! We can't just take the facility out... It'll make us no better then-" - she started dubiously, but he cut her off.
"Then who? The WHO and their agenda? The ghetto-masters who want our kind to live in hanzer-zoos like that shithole in Prague? You've read Jensen's report, same as I did. That place isn't fit for animals. Those TYM leeches, making money off our misery?" - harshly.
"But the Santeau Group and Rabi'ah could be the break we're looking for. If what they say is true..." - Kelso trailed off. She felt drained.
"You don't believe that anymore then I do, Anna. It's just a more benign form of segregation. Nah. Like it or not, the powers that be have declared war on us. And the ratification of the Restoration Act will be the official declaration. It's time we started fighting back. Bad enough that we've been used as a scapegoat by that lunatic Darrow, and been persecuted ever since, NOW they want to neuter us and herd us into concentration camps?! To restore humanity? Fuck that. The line has to be drawn." - Saxon shook his head.
"So we become terrorists, in act as well as in name, Ben? Great." - Kelso growled.
"Freedom fighters, Anna. One man's terrorist, is another man's freedom fighter. When the rules don't work, we break 'em. Simple as that." - the big cyborg asserted.
Soon enough, the minivan came to a stop, next to an abandoned fishing marina, a pair of trawlers still in dock, covered in rust and barnacles. The compound consisted of a few warehouses, the admin building, and a loading dock.
A perfect place for a shadowy meeting.
"Alright. Let's set up the EW array, and prep for our guests. We want it up and running, by the time their ship gets here. We've got about six hours, given Fedorova's ETA." - Saxon directed, parking the van.