Chapter Seventeen
Nine years ago... Triaxis facility, somewhere in Belgium
"What do you think?" - the chief researcher asked, observing the departure of the two heavily armed, armoured, and kitted-out figures, one normal, female one, the second one male, augmented, out in front of the compound, on their way to board a helicopter emblazoned with a Tai Yong Medical logo, waiting on a landing pad.
As the two watched, the non-augmented, female one, turned once, briefly, as in giving the compound a last, parting once-over. From this distance, it was difficult to make out the features on the young woman's face, but that empty, hollow gaze was hard to miss.
Yelena Fedorova. Or what was left of her, stripped of the last vestiges of humanity. The second researcher turned her gaze away.
"I think we've created a monster. And are about to empower it cybernetically. And I still think we should've gone with the 01. We made it for a reason. The template is too unstable. Temperamental. Too volatile. Almost... feral. Even with drugs, preconditioning and brainwashing patterns Namir has put her through... it's like trying to cage a rabid, bloodthirsty beast. She's proven that over and over again, especially with what she did to Masse and his aides, not to mention her methods during the training exercises and initial deployments! It's like she hates every living thing she sees..." - pausing with a deep, slightly shaky breath.
"Ever since then, I... I didn't dare to enter the same room with her, without armed escort. She... she's terrifiying. Even the guards were scared... Every time she looks at you, it's... it's like she doesn't see you. Like she sees a piece of meat to rip apart. Something to kill. I've had nightmares ever since Masse's death, seeing her carving him up and smearing herself up with his blood... I'm glad we will never see her again, but... what we did here... what we were instructed to do to her... what we turned her into... it's not right. We should've terminated her. Not unleashed her onto the world!" - the woman shook her head, nodding at the departing duo. But she still refused to look.
Another one, a portly-looking older man standing nearby, nodded silently in agreement.
The chief researcher sighed.
"We've been over that... And Doctor Rand's decision was final. The evaluations' results were hard to deny, not to mention her field performance as reported by Namir. The clone simply cannot compete, when it comes to raw effectiveness in combat scenarios. And it's mental deficiency simply compounds the issue. Not to mention it's dependency on DNA-recombinant medications to keep it's genome stable, makes it more maintenance-intensive. Consequence of pattern-errors in it's DNA. Rand wanted a weapon. He got one in Fedorova. The benefits and the flaws. Not like there was much of a choice, given all the other subjects' untimely demise during Operation Taurus." - he paused.
As for the clone... I wish I knew what he has in mind for it. But I got the impression when last I talked to him, that the final choice wasn't his decision alone. Almost like he made the choice under external influence. Or orders. Someone else wants Fedorova around."
"Who could possibly have the authority to order Doctor Rand around?!" - one of the others put in, incredulously.
"None of our business." - the lead emphasised, with a warning glance.
The group of researchers turned to walk away from the window, just as the helicopter began taking off.
"Maybe that's why he refuses to terminate the clone? Personal bias? I mean if it is, I concur... at least she-uh, I mean, it – doesn't make me nervous when I look at it." - the female one frowned, quickly correcting herself. They were instructed never to refer to Subject Oh-One as 'she'.
The group walked down the hallway to a viewport overlooking a sealed room below, where they clustered around it, to observe the room's occupant, a young, wired-looking, athletic raven-haired woman identical in appearance to Yelena, currently squatting cross-legged on a rug, dressed in a modified patient gown, colouring a children's colouring book in her lap. Her gaze was vacant, yet vaguely... happy. In place of Yelena's silent, feral rage, there was almost childlike wonderment, and a blank smile of an autistic individual.
"Not sure what he thinks can be done with it. It's mental capacity is that of a five-year-old, at best. It's obedient and cooperative, physically identical to the template, but... mentally impaired. At best, it can be trained like a dog. Go fetch! Go kick this! Go punch that! Go stab that! Go shoot that!" - the older researcher commented.
"Come to think of it, that's about the extent of it's use. A trained bodyguard. At least the template, as difficult as she was, had a defined personality that shaped her usefulness as a tactical asset. Fedorova is a warrior. Feral, savage, yet calculating and determined. And I can respect that. This – thing - is just a pretty doll with a mind of a retard. And given the DNA anomalies we have to continually manage, it might not even survive past it's first year." - he finished derisively. It was clear he didn't think much of the individual below.
"Very pretty doll, though. And... willing. If you know what I mean...! No risks, too, given it's sterility." - another one commented, with a knowing wink, feeling his pants getting tight. Several chuckled at that. The implications were painfully obvious. The lead's face twitched, but he resisted to join in.
"Disgusting!" - the female researcher couldn't help but snap... "We are talking about a... ah – potential, of course..." - nodding at the lead, in deference to protocol, "– person here. With adequate remedial tutoring and study, sh- uh... it, might be able to develop higher mental faculties and function as a well-adjusted individual—" - before the lead researcher cut her off.
"That will do! The subject below is NOT a person, regardless of your biased feelings about it, doctor. Potential or otherwise. It's a binary clone. A copy, objectively flawed I might add, of a person. A walking petri dish, nothing more. You'd do well to remember that, before your sentimentality gets you in trouble with Dr. Rand. Am I understood?" - the others nodding in agreement.
"Yes... doctor." - the woman bit off with a murder-glare, then walked away at a clipped pace, restraining herself. The older researcher frowned.
"It might be interesting to study Dr. Karla's irrational emotional attachment to the subject, as well." - under his breath.
The lead researcher shrugged, as the two walked off in the opposite direction, while the rest of the group dispersed about their business.
The present...
Agent Zaius was going over the latest bio-readouts of the captive. Over the past two days, and the repeated interrogation sessions, the girl's mental state had gradually deteriorated. Glancing over at the surveillance monitor of her cell, Jamella could be seen, squatting in a corner against the wall, hugging herself.
Her one human eye darted wildly around. Her face was streaked with dried tears, and every so often, she would strike at empty air ahead of her, clearly at something only she could see, obviously deep under the influence of the substances they injected her with for the past couple of days.
Zaius didn't understand the purpose of delaying her execution, now that they've extracted the subnet codes. The countermand had come just an hour ago, from Rand himself, who sounded uncharacteristically agitated by something. Almost – frantic, in the MiB's considered opinion, ordering them in no uncertain terms to keep the captive alive at all costs. But it was not his place to question orders, simply follow them.
The doors to the lab opened, prompting him to turn around, at the approaching tall, heavily augmented female figure.
"Me want see girl. Volky say so!" - the vacant-faced, raven haired cyborg woman spoke in a very thick, rough tone, animatedly pointing a finger down the hallway behind, leading to the holding cells. The simplified syntax was telling.
"Understood, Subject Oh-One." - the MiB's leaden monotone sounded slightly – annoyed, as he complied, stepping to the control panel and opening the doors.
A mentally-impaired field operative. Unorthodox.
He allowed himself a thought.
She looked, and was built, very much like Yelena Fedorova, and shared her wired, whipcord physique, as well as a similar augmentation architecture, complete with long, gazelle-like artificial legs. They were not the same make or model as Yelena's, though, ending up in proper articulated toes, instead of hooves. And a thermoptic-mesh armour suit that looked somewhat more bulky then Yelena's old one, but also more protective. Her eyes however, were missing, fully replaced with blue-glowing cybernetic implants, and she moved with less grace and fluidity then Yelena, her gait more stiff and robotic. Very clearly lacking the dancing and martial-artist background that Yelena had.
Her right arm below the elbow looked natural like Yelena's, aside from small, triangular openings lining the forearm's outer edge, from elbow down to the wrist, but her left one was fully replaced by a heavy-duty cybernetic limb, complete with an integrated PEPS weapon, capable of being assembled and disassembled on-command, similar to the late Barrett's chaingun.
The woman's flanks were fully lined with expulsion-tubes, indicating the presence of some form of Typhoon-like weapon. They were more numerous then Yelena's, and didn't share the same pattern, so whatever she was equipped with, was not a Claymore system.
Inside her cell, Jamella took to pacing. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, the battered young woman's face locked into a blank expression, moaning softly from the pain – and shame. She couldn't focus past it. And despite her best efforts, the nightmare face in her mind never went away. Taunting her. For the past two days, she was ravaged, mentally and sexually, on a regular basis, even after she knew they got what they wanted... the Neural Subnet codes. Despite her neuro-hub's custom internal safeguards, and her own attempts to block access... they forced their way through, with sheer repetition and torture, making her give up the codes. Just to get them to stop.
They didn't. She suspected by now, they were probably doing it for fun. Making her suffer as much as possible, before they finally decided to dispose of her. The last time was particularly brutal. The female agent had literally perforated her colon, while sodomising her. The pain, was indescribable, as she rived in agony, blood gushing from her rectum, before she was anaestethised and medicated, following the session. And that mocking expression on the pale woman's face...
...despite the girl's best efforts not to give the monster the satisfaction, she broke down, begging for mercy. And hated herself for it, even more. No matter what the male one put her through, the repeated rape and abuse, the woman was worse. The mockery, the psychological destruction, the shame... The last part of it, was the change in meals. She overheard the female agent instructing the galley staff, to begin oversalting her food. Making it almost inedible. Deliberately.
~"...it's a mental discipline. Comes from experience and exposure."~
A fragment of the conversation she had with Yelena, eight days ago, came flashing through her mind. Making her feel even more... broken. Since she knew she couldn't live up to it. She wasn't strong enough.
Eight days, and half an eternity ago. Back when she dared to hope they might actually begin making a life for themselves. When she dared to hope for any kind of future.
Stupid, soft little girl. See, that's why you got me killed. That's why you got Irw killed. That's why you're all alone now! Because you don't see the world for what it is, but for what you want it to be.
The nightmare-face in her mind berated her.
She had no tears left to cry. But it still hurt. It hurt so much. After four and a half days of this torture, she was spent. All she could do, was hurt.
"I'm... I'm not like you, Yelena... I can't. It hurts. Too much. I can't fight anymore... I'm sorry... I had to tell them..." - she moaned softly, half-delirious, finally collapsing back onto the cot, and curling up into a fetal posture, shuddering. She was starving, her mouth dry, a plate of oversalted food untouched nearby. She couldn't stand it anymore, wishing they'd just kill her and get it over with.
When the door behind her suddenly opened, she didn't even twitch. After four days of kicking, screaming and fighting, to no avail... she knew what would be coming. She simply tensed, determined not to make it easy for them to drag her back in there. More to her mind of course, then in reality.
What she didn't expect, was to hear... Yelena's voice. Or more accurately - a twisted, simplistic variation of one. The tonality was the same, but...
"You girl, Kotur? Jeml Kotur? Up! You must up! Now. Uhhhhummgumm..."
The voice had the girl scrambling to her feet within a fleeting moment, instantly focusing past all the pain and malaise in her mind, as her heart jumped.
In the time it took her to take in the sight of a tall cybernetic figure in the doorway, her expression turned from despair, to joy, to... confusion... all in a fleeting moment.
"Y-Yelena...?" - she croaked between her dry lips, as her hairs stood on end. The figure was Yelena's... but the woman's face, her blue-glowing cybernetic eyes, her stiff posture... it was like a twisted reflection, of someone she'd come to see as her big sister. Like a physical manifestation of the nightmare-face, in her mind. But not... not identical.
That's not Yelena...
She scrambled backwards up against the far wall, swatting her hands forward in blind panic, as if to ward off the inexplicable apparition in the doorway.
"No... NOOO! G-get away! AWAY! You're NOT her! Y-cough... you're n-not Yelena! You're n-not real! You're in my head... !"
The strange doppleganger stepped forward, her head tilting slightly to the side, in apparent confusion of her own.
"Who uggghhh - Yelen? I no Yelen. I am Me. You come. COME! Volky say you come." - stepping close and grabbing the young woman by her arm, pulling her up effortlessly, despite Jamella's weak attempts to break free.
"What you mean not real?! I real! Unhh. I real, real, real!" - the cyborg added, almost – petulantly, clearly offended, almost throwing a tantrum. The steely grip of her left, fully cybernetic arm, on Jamella's forearm tightened, provoking a moan.
"Aaahh! Let go! It hurts! I-I'm sorry!" - the captive girl stiffened even further, tears coming to her eyes once more, but didn't dare to shove the strange woman away. Trying to break out of that grip, just hurt her forearm more.
Even more strangely, the grip slackened off, as the not-Yelena gave her a once-over, clearly somewhat taken aback by how battered and bruised Jamella was.
"I no wanna hurt. Uhmm... but I real! You. Kotur Jeml. You come! You come now! Okay? Volky say that!" - almost... frantically, pulling her towards the exit.
What the- is she dim or something? But she... looks pretty much like Yelena. She sounds like – almost – like Yelena. What the fuck is going on?! Is she like – her sister or something?! But I thought all her family's dead...
Jamella thought, the left-angle turns coming so fast that they actually eclipsed the pain she was feeling. But her spirits did go up. Slightly. Honestly – wherever this strange doppleganger was dragging her to, it had to be better then another session with those pale-faced red-eyed monsters. Already by now, she was more considerate towards her, then all of them were so far.
She followed without resistance, trying to control the pain. As the two walked down the long corridor toward the interrogation chamber, she couldn't help but tense-up.
"No! NO... I don't wanna be hooked to that thing again! I don't want... that pale bitch near me again! Or her... her baton..." - the young hacker started crying, pulling away.
But the not-Yelena kept dragging her forward.
"No hooked. No thing. We going see Volky. He say that. Ugghuhh... um... im-por-tant." - simple decisiveness in that rough, simplistic tone. Then she stopped briefly, turning to the girl. She peered closely at her.
"No cry. No hurt come. Yes..?" - with a frown, as she noticed how Jamella was walking, not able to keep her legs closed. Noticing the cyborg's scrutiny, the girl turned away, with a shudder.
Subject Oh-One's artificial blue-glowing eyes were expressionless, but the tightening of expression was hard to miss.
"Who do that? Volky say no, to hurt you. Who hurt? You. Uggh... Who no do what Volky say?! WHO?!" - angrily, giving her a shake, that made Jamella's teeth rattle. The notion seemed to genuinely incense her. Clearly, she was conditioned to see this 'Volky' – probably Volkard Rand's - orders as gospel above reproach, and took a very dim view of anyone going against them in any way. Almost like a trained... dog.
And it wasn't lost on Jamella.
"T-the pale woman with red eyes. Adept... something. In black. She-she likes hurting me! And the big pale man... agent Zaius, too! They raped me... They... are not doing what Volky says!" - playing on it, as best as she could.
Zaius looked up in understated surprise, as the subject burst back into the chamber. Without preamble, she approached to shove him into the wall, then tried to grab him by the collar, which he parried, before shoving her away.
"Why you hurt?! Volky say no hurt Kotur! Why you hurt her?! Why you no do Volky say?!" - Subject 01 snarled, jabbing a finger at him.
"What are you talking about, subject? And mind the hostility. It oversteps your mandate here." - he countered calmly, in that atonal voice of his, but ready to respond to any further attack.
"Umggg! Volky say no hurt Kotur Jeml! You do what he say! Or DIE!" - the tall female cyborg growled, almost trembling with unnatural fury.
Zaius's hand dropped to the inside of his suit's coat, resting on the butt of a holstered Diamondback. His facial expression didn't change.
"Your orders are to convey the captive to Rand, imbecile. Not interfere in our interrogation policy. The subject is lucid and ambulatory, as mandated. That is enough." - he nodded briefly at Jamella, back in the hallway.
"I NO IMBECIL-!" - the cybernetic clone roared, charging him. But all she got for her trouble, was a bullet to the chest, stopped by her armour and subdermal plating. Incensed further, she smacked the gun out of Zaius's hand, hard enough for the weapon to clatter against the far wall, and the agent's hand to flare in pain, following-through with a cross – which he blocked, then responded with an uppercut – through empty air, as she leaned back out of wired reflex, then grabbed him, and brought her cybernetic knee up into Zaius's gut. Hard.
While she certainly lacked Yelena's finely honed martial expertise and fighting instincts, the clone was still a formidable hand-to-hand combatant, and physically quite a bit stronger then Yelena, due to more advanced cybernetics. Not to mention more heavily armoured.
However, the physiopharmaceutically-hardened MiB endured it without a sound, reciprocating with a crisp headbutt to the clone's face, drawing blood and creating distance, before he reached for a powered dagger in an ankle holster. It whined softly to life, it's ultrasonic vibrating edge blurry between them, as he adopted a stance.
"Desist. Now." - a trace of pain in his atonal voice, and the first hint of emotion.
"You do what Volky say! YOU DO!" - with almost fanatical fervour, not even paying attention to the blade, Oh-One charged him again, hands going for his neck. The blade buried itself halfway to the hilt, into her flank, as he stabbed with full power, then tried to slash it sideways to do more damage. But Oh-One's advanced subdermal armour layers resisted further tearing. Even against an ultrasonic-powered blade.
The wound barely slowing her down, she grabbed him, all 110kg of him, by the throat with both hands, lifting him off the floor and starting to slam his head backward into the wall, with enough force to chip and crack the plaster and mortar, leaving indentations, exposing the brick armature beneath.
"You do what he say!"
"YOU DO WHAT HE SAY!"
"YOU DO WHAT HE SAY!"
Slamming him harder with each repetition, voice turning frenzied, despite an open-palm uppercut from him, before she savagely chopped-down with her fully robotic left arm, at Zaius's knife-hand still trying to slash-open her side. The force of the chop dislocated his arm at the elbow, making it go limp, as he released the blade – still sticking out of Oh-One's side. She spat out one of her teeth, dislodged by the uppercut.
Staggering back with a moan squeaking past his lips, the MiB's face finally registered some actual pain, cradling his dislocated elbow, as the cyborg woman pulled the knife out of her, ignoring the seeping blood from the wound.
The wall behind was stained with Zaius's blood, as the agent felt light-headed with a concussion, seeing stars.
"Yes. I... I will do what – Volky – says." - he growled, wobbly on his feet, grimacing in pain, as he reset his elbow with a sharp crack. He could taste blood in his mouth, too, from that knee to his gut, as he let out a wet cough. Whatever Oh-One may have lacked in training and experience – she was brutally tough and strong. Very clearly designed with resilience in mind. And to be able to resist an ultrasonic blade... that was something else. Next-gen architecture, for sure.
Unorthodox, indeed. But there is more to it... Alteracine regimen. Possibly even Zinuvex-D! Must be. That pain-tolerance goes beyond mental conditioning and neural-reroute inhibitors. She is definitely physiopharmaceutically-enhanced, as well. Very impressive. And definitely non-sanctioned by the Council. Possibly built into the DNA, during the cloning process? Curious...
The MiB thought. The notion was unsettling.
"Good! Ummggg... Where is other?! She not do Volky say, too!" - the clone demanded, sharply, brandishing the blood-stained dagger to his face. Not a trace of pain in that tone, as the blood seepage from the wound in her flank, already started to trickle down, evidence of very rapid and efficient bioregenerative matrix at work.
"That is not – uh... necessary. I will sanction her approp-" - Zaius began hesitantly, but her robotic arm snatched him by the throat again, this time digging in, threatening to rip his asophagus out.
"WHERE?!"
He just pointed off to the side, gurgling, down another hallway. Without a word, the clone released him, and charged off down the hallway, dagger in hand.
Coughing wetly, Zaius managed to stagger over, and sit down at one of the consoles, massaging his sore elbow, and tender throat. Jamella's half-hysterical laughter, full of rage, echoed.
"You're lucky... s-she's not the real Yelena. Or you'd be castrated and flayed by now, BEGGING to die, you rapist motherfucker! I... I just hope I'm there to see it!" - the girl crowed in vicarious delight, her one pain-racked human eye wild with sadistic pleasure. She felt so giddy at what she just witnessed, that it completely eclipsed the pain and shame.
"You will not. The rogue is dead." - the MiB rebutted, trying to keep a cold tone. But the pain was evident in it.
"Keep telling yourself that..!" - Jamella snapped back, wishing she was as confident as she sounded, then rushed off after not-Yelena, determined to watch the show.
"Halt! You are not allowed down there." - Zaius snapped, making as if to get up after her, but Jamella laughed derisively, seeing him wobble on his feet.
"Stop me! Hurt me! COME ON, pig! Go against Rand's – Volky's - orders! She's not gonna like that, is she? Maybe she'll fuck up your other arm?! HUH? Or rip out your throat for good? FUCK YOU, pale-ass dickhead! Sit there and cry my a river, loser!" - as she spat at him, then carried on down the hall. She continued cackling maniacally, in pure glee.
The MiB's face remained impassive, as his red gaze followed her down the hall. Only then, did he allow himself a slightest grimace of anger, just as quickly gone, under another onset of concussion, as he fought to stay conscious.
"Medical assistance to... control room." - he scrabbled for the intercom button, with some difficulty.
Down the hall from the observation room, sounds of the WiB's atonal, distorted, pained screams could be heard, accompanied by dull thudding sounds, and Oh-One's shouts of her 'not doing what Volky says'. Clearly, the female agent was being subjected to the same treatment.
Jamella caught sight of the scene, just in time to see the hulking Yelena-lookalike let go of the WiB's limp, unconscious form, bleeding from a nasty gash on the side of her head, above a sizable lump at her temple. Her breathing was shallow and irregular, as she was literally smashed into unconsciousness.
Clearly, she didn't have the male agent's staying power. Approaching, Jamella brutally stomped on her bloody face. Again, and again. On the third stomp, she could feel the woman's jaw give way with a satisfying crack of torn tendons, a half-dozen teeth flying out.
"Fuckin' die, bitch! DIE! DIE!" - she screamed in pure, livid fury, before the not-Yelena dragged her off.
"No dying! No hurt! Uhhghh... Volky waiting. You come! Do what Volky say. You. Do what Volky say. They. Now COME!" - adamantly, as her grip dug painfully into Jamella's forearm.
Jamella didn't try to resist, keeping up. Clearly, she realised that who-whatever this woman was, it was in the girl's best interest not to make her angry at her. She pulled herself together.
"Okay, okay! I'm doing what Volky says. Promise! Y-you can ease off! Please? Uh... thanks, by the way!" - she couldn't help but add, shakily, throwing another gleeful glance, back at the unconscious woman in black.
Some kind of hardcore obedience-conditioning... better not make her think I'm not doing what Rand wants. Or I could end up like these two pale fucks. Point taken... but who IS she?! Some kind of clone...?! Does Yelena know about her...?
Questions kept mounting in the young hacker's mind, as she was marched into one of the elevators, leading topside to a helipad on the roof.
Outside, the battered, brutalised young woman couldn't help but breathe a ragged sigh of relief, despite the resurgent pain. Wherever she was about to be taken... whatever was about to happen to her... it couldn't be any worse then spending another minute in that cell, under the tender mercies of those two pale freaks.
New York, Hell's Kitchen...
"Here. Eat something." - a bag of jerky was thrown in Owen Rand's lap, before she stepped out of the control room where he was handcuffed to a chair, and onto the rotary walkway.
Not even glancing at him, Yelena moved over to the railing, looking down at the churning, crystal-clear water below in the treatment tank. A pair of ladders embedded in the side of the tank, led down all the way to the water level, and two tunnels led deeper into the facility, spaced equidistantly across, right below the walkway she was on.
From what she could figure out, the entire plant was fully automated, as she suspected. The maintenance bots on-duty were easy enough to bypass, before she disabled them via control panel, expending one of her multitools, then brought Owen in, through the sewer tunnels that connected to the maintenance shafts under Osgood And Sons.
Upwards, past the chamber's ceiling, her cochlear implants were picking up faint sounds of civilisation above.
Using his one free hand, the boy ripped-open the package, hungrily digging in – before he made a face.
"Nothing else on the menu? I can't stand pork! Any beef jerky...?" - he grumbled.
"No. But feel free to jump into this tank and wash it down, if you like. Water looks very clean." - the cyborg woman replied tersely, waving a languid hand below.
"Gonna pass." - the teen shook his head, with a slightly shaky sigh.
For a long dozen seconds, he bit his lip nervously, stealing glances at the statuesque figure outside. She didn't talk much, and when she did, it was short and to the point. But the way she acted - he didn't like the vibe he was getting.
"Uhm... level with me, lady. Are you gonna... kill me?" - he finally spoke.
For the longest time, Yelena didn't answer, her lips pursing, as she studied the water below. She couldn't simply lie to him and say 'no'. She despised liars. And it was a 'yes', regardless of whether or not a hostage trade could be arranged. She had no compunctions about deceiving Rand senior, however. He was her enemy. He deserved worse. And he would have it. But she could't lie to this kid. The boy's fate was sealed. So was his mothers', in due time. It was sealed, twelve years ago, simply by what his father did. What his father ordered to be done, to her family.
Her duty was clear. Blood, for blood. Family, for a family. And like she told Irwine – even if she weren't duty-bound to do it, she would still do it. Because it was necessary. Same as with Namir's wife and children.
Owen and his mother had no right, to live. Because of Volkard Rand. And she would make him see it, the same way she was made to see it, twelve years ago.
He killed them, not me. I am simply closing a circle. And Taking Jamella, is just an added debt. And I collect on my debts.
The aquiline woman thought, darkly. Finally, she turned to face the boy, walking back inside, looking him straight in the eye. He deserved the truth.
"Yes. I am. Because of your father, and what he took from me." - she said, simply.
"B-but.. but I didn't do anything to you! I d-don't... I don't deserve to die!" - he tensed, paling, tears welling in his eyes.
"Please don't..." - he pushed out, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the notion. He squeezed the bag of jerky, as if trying to extract comfort, from it.
Yelena sighed.
"Deserve, has nothing to do with it. You are his son. That is all the reason there is. He condemned you by what he did."
"Wh-what DID he do?! Why...!" - the boy cried.
"He ordered my family killed. My whole family. Because he wanted to turn me. Into what I am today." - she bit out.
Owen Rand glared, wiping his eyes.
"He wouldn't! He didn't! That's NOT the guy he is! Besides, dad- he tells me everything! I mean, ask mom if you don't believe me! No way in hell would he ever...- There's gotta be some mistake! I-I mean... dad can be a jerk to people sometimes, but he's no killer! Not like what YOU did, back there...!" - angrily.
For a very long moment, the cyborg woman studied him, her pheromone-analyser working overtime. She could detect no trace of deceit in his words. Clearly, Owen believed what he said. That made it tragic, but no less false.
"No he is not. People like him, get other people to do the killing for him. People like me. After molding and shaping them to fit his purpose." - Yelena growled, then continued, cutting off his rejoinder.
"Kidnapping, as well. Like he did with someone I care about, a few days ago. You will be the bargaining chip, Owen. You and your mother. And once you serve that purpose, you will both die." - she finished with merciless finality, turning to walk back out.
"So what the fuck makes you any better, you hanzer bitch?! HUH? You say my dad's a piece of shit? But so are you!" - the boy yelled through the tears.
She stopped in the doorway.
"I never said I'm better. Nor do I want to be. 'Better', in this world, means a victim. And I'm no-one's victim. Your father and his associates, started it. I'll finish it. End of story." - pressing the door-close button, leaving him inside to yell and cuss at her, before bursting in tears again.
It will also send a message to the rest of the Illuminati families. That none of them are safe. That in due time, they will ALL die.
She thought, viciously.
A single tear did slide down from the corner of Yelena's eye, as well. But her hollow expression didn't change, as she headed to one of the tunnels, sending a short-burst transmission to Lexi's phone, through her Infolink. A prearranged signal.
It was time for the second part of the plan, to be put into motion. Aria Rand.