Chapter Thirty One
Main accessway to the IG outpost, Staten Island
With all their attention on the continuing chemical-fueled blaze of the destroyed minivan on the front checkpoint entrance, the mercenaries completely missed a shadowy figure slipping-through the destroyed gate behind, then hugging the outskirts of the parking lot, using various parked vehicles as cover, and cloaking while in the open.
Scowling at the scene, Yelena was careful to avoid the blaze of the fire, even as a backdrop, making a wide circle around it. She didn't want the shifting flames to shine on her cloaking field and expose an outline. Remembering a few instances in the past where that happened, and made her vulnerable. Most prominently during her confrontation with Jensen in Montreal. The computer core room and it's shifting illumination was... annoying to deal with, and only compounded her disadvantages there.
That also applied to this base's automated EM searchlights, crisscrossing the parking lot in predictable patterns. Predictable, yet... rapid. Once again Yelena was grateful for her speed and agility, allowing her to switch cover of various cars, or dive under them, while dashing quickly across the open patches, before the lights could illuminate her. Tempting as it was to wipe out those gawking troopers around the flames, that wasn't what she was here for. At least not yet. Right now they didn't know what was going on. She planned to keep it that way as long as possible.
At least until Jamella was safe.
She saw that one merc take a shot at the roof, at a distant figure, and it didn't take much foresight to guess it was Jamella. The figure vanished before she had time to zoom-in and confirm, but it was a foregone conclusion. She had to get up there. As soon as possible.
Bypassing the entrance to the building itself, the aquiline woman eyed the facade. It was scalable, but certainly not as inviting as the Archives. A much more modern structure, there were fewer irregularities in the walls to use as hand and foot holds.
No. It would take too long.
She decided, approaching the main entrance. She could circle around and look for an alternate way in, a maintenance door or somesuch, but again – that would take time. Jamella didn't have it.
Hence the booby-trapped-chemical-van entrance, which was decidedly not her preferred MO. Too loud and flashy, she took a page from the late Lawrence Barrett's rulebook there. He certainly liked blowing things up. Normally, she would have spent an hour or two scouting the area, looking for a more inconspicuous ingress into the base grounds, without raising any kind of alerts. Making compromises to stealth, to save time, was not something Yelena liked to do. She didn't like being on the clock, performing infiltrations. This time, there was no choice.
She examined the entrance. Standard bioscanner-laden doorway, which would not penetrate her cloak, but also an EM sensor focused downward, which would. But it looked like it wasn't rigged to an alarm circuit – which meant she could simply disable it.
One of her two remaining electro-darts from her Buzzkill, sent the device into a cold-reboot, scrambled, allowing her to slip past, and into the building itself.
Staying silent and cloaked, Yelena didn't bother trying to find a floor plan. The roof was – up – so she took the first stairwell up, as far as it would go. Along the way, she remained alert for IG troops, but inexplicably, there seemed to be few remaining in the building.
But she was picking up something else. An active Infolink signature, nearby. She frowned.
This – clone – of me? What did Jam say- something about 'subject oh-one'? But there was never a subject oh-one. Not that I remember... there were three of us, when Jaron finally began putting us through group evaluations and practice assignments. No... no. Four. 02 - myself, 03, 04, and 05. I killed 04 early, when they made a mistake of leaving him alone with me in the decontamination room... that was a good fight! I gouged his eyes out, then slit his throat with his own knife. His handler too, when he and his aides came in to separate us! What was his name... Masse, I think. Yes... then 3 and 5 got killed a month later, during... what was it called... yes. Operation Taurus. Our first – real assignment, assisting Jaron in wiping out his old Mossad unit. Burning his bridges for good. That took time... and a lot of globe-trotting, from Germany, then Switzerland, to Arab Front occupation zones in former Israel, to Morrocco, then finally Sri Lanka. They did not make it easy for us. But in the end, we accounted for all of them.
The memories made her turn slightly – melancholy – for a brief moment.
In the end... In the end, I was the last one standing. The last one to survive the crucible. Only one of us was ever going to be a Tyrant.
But even as she recalled that, Yelena realised the obvious. Why would the lineup start with two? Why not with one? And if there was this oh-one – was it really her clone?! Why would they clone her? They already had – her. Herself. What was the point? And if they did – why was the clone never a part of the group evaluations?! Why did she never see – her?
She banished the memories. Rand was around, and he had the answers to those questions. He would tell her, before his end came. Full circle.
What's going on... ? Why does it say someone is already logged-into my database... ?
Volkard Rand thought, confused, as his password login was rejected. He tried it again, before he remembered he gave temporary access to the squad of mercenaries following Zelazny's demise, with orders to purge his database at home. The two computers, one here and one in his home, used the same access node, and shared a dedicated network. But that was an hour ago! They should've done that by now.
Shouldn't they?
Getting a bad feeling about this, the man decided to use a backdoor admin access, to find out who was already logged in, at his home. It was his emergency-access password, all right – the same one he gave those mercs. But...
His eyes widened, as the system showed files were being copied to an external device! His men wouldn't have done that... which meant someone else was in his mansion right now, copying his database!
Quickly, the man input his emergency-lockout code, preventing any further remote-access – but a good portion of his files were shown as 'duplicated and copied'.
I was way off-base, when I asked myself could this day get any more miserable... if those files go public, it will be a disaster, for the entire Council!
Rand gritted his teeth.
"Remote link, mansion: access SmartHome interface. Master authorisation Rand-two-two-omega. Display Hideout camera feed." – he growled.
The screen lit up with a view of an older man in a trench coat and a grim expression on his face, hastly pocketing what looked like a thumb-drive, a revolver in his other hand. Unmoving bodies of his two men off to the side. He seemed tense – no doubt after having been interrupted copying the files just now.
"Radford! Son of a bitch... but how did he get—" - the bald man hastily cut himself off.
"Identify individual on-screen!" – he barked, on a flash of instinct.
~"Missus Aria Rand."~ - came the pleasant AI reply. The man's expression turned murderous.
She gave him our SmartHome codes, and he passed himself in with a DNA switchover! I can't believe this... that BITCH!
"Master authorisation Rand-alpha-zero; purge all access privileges of Aria Rand, and restore default DNA records for mansion access! NOW!" – he yelled.
~"Confirmed. Warning – unauthorised individual detected in the mansion. Would you like to alert the police, Mister Rand?"~ - the AI complied.
"Yes- No! NO! No... seal the mansion! Emergency failsafe protocol. Full neurotoxin release!" – Rand snarled. He didn't want the police sniffing around, and he certainly wasn't going to allow Radford to leave that place alive with the files, if he could help it.
"Voiceprint confirmed for emergency failsafe protocol. State enable-code."~ - the AI replied, its pleasant tone not changing.
"Rand Omega-Zero-Phi—" - the man began, but the clone's atonal voice at the door suddenly interrupted him.
"EM signature! Me... see... her. Behind wall. Sentry protocol executing! She going up. Orders required!" – the tonality variating between her natural simplistic syntax, and the brainwashing protocol executing itself, taking over, as the cyborg twitched slightly in place, weapon aimed steadily down the hallway outside.
Volkard Rand went pale. A drop of cold sweat glistening on his temple. She was here. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat.
"K-keyword: Manticore. Pursue and terminate!" – he stuttered, trying to keep his voice clear, as he dug into his desk drawer, retrieving his own sidearm there with a shaking hand.
~"Failsafe confirmation code not recognised. Please repeat."~ - the AI's pleasant tone prompted again, but the man was no longer listening, as he watched Subject Oh-One sprint down the hallway, executing the protocol.
Trying hard to keep his fear in check.
Belatedly, he turned back to the computer screen – but Radford was no longer in view.
"R-Rand-O... *cough* Rand-Omega... Z-Zero-Phi-Epsilon!" – he hastily finished the code.
~"Confirmed. Failsafe protocol active."~
"Is th- is the intruder still inside?" – he breathed, mentally kicking himself for getting distracted.
~"Negative. Intruder has left the premises."~ - the AI's maddeningly pleasant tone rebutted. Outside at the end of the hallway, a burst of Sanction fire indicated that Oh-One had eyes-on Fedorova.
Closing his eyes in dismay, the man realised Radford slipped out. Nothing to be done about that anymore... all that mattered now, was escaping with his own skin. And hoping against hope, that Oh-One would deal with Fedorova, once and for all.
Opening the window, he stepped out onto the balcony of his office, intent on using the exterior fire-escape stairwells to get to the roof. He was not going to risk the interior. Not while Fedorova was inside. Hopefully, Oh-One will at least delay her long enough.
~"Sir! Helipad secure. We've captured Couture."~ - came the good news over his earpiece.
"Excellent! Prepare the vtol, I'm coming up. And watch the rooftop main access, Fedorova is inside the building! I'm using the exterior scaffolding." – Rand replied, trying hard to keep balance on the narrow exterior stairwell.
Trying not to look down. He never was comfortable with heights, especially now, with quite a bit of gin in his system.
"Dammit, let me GO!" – Jamella snarled, trying to kick her way out of the hold of one of the mercenaries, to no avail, as they cuffed her, and marched her over to the VTOL hangar.
"Feisty one. Why not just put a bullet in her?" – one of the men smirked, while another, the same one whom she choked out in front of the comms centre – having recovered in the meantime – gripped her by the hair, then backhanded her.
"Nah... Gonna be puttin' that mouth of hers to better use, while we wait for Rand! Little bitch, you fucked with the wrong guy..." – he shoved her roughly down onto her knees, then pulled out his trench knife, and placed it by the young woman's temple... making a shallow cut by her one human eye, which made the girl vince, suddenly being very still and tense, eyeing him with the kind of murder-glare that could melt steel. But she didn't dare move.
"If I feel ANY teeth, I'mma carve out your eyeball, hanzer! Got it?!" – the black man growled.
"Damn, Mick... you sure took that personally, huh?" – one of the others laughed.
"You try bein' choked out by some little bitch, then you tell me how you'd take it! Now shut the fuck up... I'm gonna enjoy this..." – the man retorted darkly, then began unzipping his uniform pants.
Jamella turned her head away at the sight of his penis, but he yanked her by the hair again, making her face it.
"Don't you dare!" – Aria Rand's disgusted, authoritative tone echoed from inside the hangar where she was still being held by the two that were with Rand before, but the men just laughed.
"Put a sock in it, missus High and Mighty! I'm still bettin' you're gonna join this little bitch out the hatch, once we're airborne! Rand's in a cleanup mode today... and you pissed him off big-time! You shoulda done what he said and kept away from here!"
Jamella spat on it, still trying to pull away. This made the man cut her across the cheek, deeply enough for the girl to scream out in pain, blood gushing down her face.
"NEXT TIME YOU DO THAT, YOU'RE DEAD! Open your fuckin' mouth and suck it!" – he yelled, shoving his dick into her face.
Shuddering, Jamella did as ordered. Silent tears streaming down from her one eye, as she began sucking his cock.
"See? Little bitch's got some use left in her!" – he bragged, beginning to actively throatfuck her. Jamella gagged, half-choking, but didn't dare to do anything, with that knife so close to her face.
"Yeah... I'm next." – one of the others smirked, beginning to unzip his own pants.
Just then, sounds of weapons fire coming from somewhere not too far below, made them all jump. Mick shoved Jamella away, to land on her bloody face, crying profusely, as he zipped his pants back up and picked up his rifle.
"Shit! Looks like Rand's right... somebody's comin' up the main stairwell. Get ready, folks... Set your helmets to EM vision!" – the sargeant barked, and the mercenaries began taking positions around the helipad, behind various pieces of cover, weapons aimed at the entrance.
More weapons fire echoed below... followed by a concussive blast. Then another.
"Must be Rand's pet... she's blastin' at someone, that's for sure." – one merc murmured.
"You really think it could be Fedorova?! Payback time for the commander..." – another growled viciously, adjusting his grip on his Sanction.
Nobody spoke, as all the weapons were aimed at the entrance... but nobody came up. Instead, a pair of grenades came flying out, to clatter on the helipad. They both detonated in a deafening blast and a pair of bright flashes, momentarily overloading all of their visors.
"Flash grenades! Begin suppressive fire!" – the sargeant barked, firing blindly while he waited for his helmet visor to reboot.
For the next five seconds, the sounds of automatic weapons fire drowned out everything else.
Yelena, half her face singed – almost seared by a nasty burn, her hair smoldering and half-burned off, her entire left side scorched, her left leg throwing-off sparks, and her left eye forcibly closed by a patch of burned skin, rushed onto the roof after her grenades, taking full advantage of the mercenaries' momentary blindness.
After a brief exchange with her – twisted mirror image – below, she decidedly came off worse. The clone was equipped with an integrated PEPS weapons array in one of her arms, but it was capable of firing focused microwave blasts as well. She managed to evade the first one, but the second one caught her in a glancing graze, while melting a section of wall it hit directly.
The fact that it was a graze, was the only reason she wasn't incinerated on the spot. The pain was indescribable, as her skin under the armour felt like it was on fire, bubbling and flaking off, but for Yelena, pain was simply a goad.
But the pain she was in now, almost surpassed even the one she was in, following her duel with Jensen. Her seared skin sticky, as it clammed onto her thermoptic armour in multiple places. It was agonising. Yet – Yelena being Yelena, she didn't let out a sound. It just fueled her.
No thoughts. No hesitation. Just pure focused rage, and killer instinct in action. Her one open eye took-in the scene in a microsecond, as her HUD, flickering and laced with static, but still functional, came alive with vectors, timing estimates, and attack pattern projections.
The nearest two mercenaries went down, as she emptied her Zenith's AP ammunition into them, before she threw the weapon at the head of the third one, as a distraction, then leaped at him, both blades drawn and powered, nearly bisecting him in two through the upper torso plate under the elbows, in a twin crosscut, his armour barely slowing the vibrating blades down.
Three down. Five to go.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamella, bloodied and battered, rushing the back of one of the other mercenaries with a scream of rage – a lean black man, tackling him face-down off his feet and going for his knife. The expression on her face was unlike anything Yelena had ever seen from her. Pure murder. If anything, it reminded her of herself.
In a flash, part of her was glad to see the unfettered aggression on display from the young woman. It bode well for her further combat training. Another part of her was – sad – to see it. It was readily apparent that whatever remained of Jamella's endearing innocence, was gone.
The moment passed, and she was onto another mercenary. This one was backpedalling, his TMP aimed. Ignoring the quartet of 9mm rounds to her stomach and torso plates, Yelena's reflex-booster automatically twitched her head out of the way of the fifth bullet, as she slashed one of her blades across the weapon, taking off it's shrouded barrel and trigger guard, along with the man's fingers. To his credit, he didn't scream or cradle his hand, he roared, reaching for a trench knife with the undamaged hand and trying a lunge for her neck. Not that it made any difference, with her weapons' reach advantage – but Yelena could appreciate the grit.
One of the others was turning his weapon on Jamella, currently savagely stabbing the one she tackled, into the back, while the last two were retreating into the hangar on the far side of the helipad, a battered looking crimson-haired woman between them.
In the back of her mind, Yelena identified her as Aria Rand, from the description Lexi gave her a few days ago, but she was already scooping up the fallen merc's knife, and throwing it at the one targeting Jamella. While the throw wasn't perfect, and glanced-off his armour suit, it was enough to distract the man, turning to aim at her.
He let out a sustained barrage from his Sanction, as Yelena rushed him in an unpredictable zigzag pattern, leaping at him halfway-there, blades coming down into an overhead chop. More flechettes were stopped by her chest and side armour, the rest going wide. But, her chestplate already being compromised from earlier hits, one managed to penetrate, and lodge itself between two of her subdermal aramid plates, damaging her right lung.
Her flickering HUD scrolled a red-lined injury message.
The aquiline woman gasped, some blood misting on her lips, but didn't falter, reaching her enemy and taking off both his arms, in a twin chop, then administering a coup-de-grace, as she beheaded him.
Eight seconds have elapsed since she began her assault. Six Inter-Guarda corpses littered the helipad, with the seventh one just dying, from Jamella's unfocused, but numerous stabs to his neck and shoulders. The doors to the hangar were closing, with the last two mercenaries and Aria Rand inside. Clearly they were under orders to protect her.
"J-Jamella! Get UP! We must find cov—" - Yelena pushed out, controlling the excrutiating pain she was in, but cut herself off, as another cybernetic figure emerged from the main access stairwell, where she just came from.
Her mirror image, the clone's left arm already charging-up for another microwave blast.
"RUN! FIND COVER!" – Yelena screamed at the girl. Jamella didn't need to be told twice, her one, bloodshot eye widening at the clone, as she scrambled off her victim. She made a dash back into the refueling shack... but she almost needn't have bothered. The clone's full attention was focused on Yelena, deep under control of the protocol Volkard Rand enacted.
~Pursue and terminate.~
Face blank beneath those twin sapphire occular impants, she fired. Anticipating, Yelena jumped straight up, counting on her powerful legs to carry her above the deadly microwave blast. The heat still briefly set her lower legs on fire, but it quickly burned-out, as the energy burst passed beneath her, to dissipate in the distance, with a starburst-like fiery flash.
The only good thing was, that the weapon wasn't instantaneous in recharge, so Yelena knew she had a few moments. She dashed for one of the fallen mercenaries' weapons, picking it up, and letting out short, controlled bursts, aiming for the clone's upper torso and head, while she rushed to take cover herself, behind the side of the closed hangar.
Subject Oh-One's head twitched out of the way, the few shots impacting her torso, bouncing off harmlessly. She was very heavily armoured, and Yelena realised that neither bullets or flechettes were of any use here. Not in the calibres available. Not even her Zenith's AP rounds would be effective. Laser or plasma weaponry might do it. Frag grenades... Or heavy-calibre ordnance like sniper rounds. But nothing like that was available. Unless she got lucky with a headshot, but given what she just saw her adversary do – the clone was equipped with a reflex-booster at least on the level of her own.
I have to get close. Very close. Engage her with my blades. It's my only chance! At the very least, I have to disable her weapon! If I take a direct hit – I'm dead.
She tried to cloak. To her dismay – the cloaking array just sent an electrical shock through her, as arcs of electricity danced across her body for a moment... but a red-lined status message across her HUD informed her that the cloak was malfunctioning. Gritting her teeth, Yelena briefly accessed a real-time status readout. It wasn't good.
Cloaking array and left gyrostabilisers were inoperative, while her frontal subdermal plating was compromised and unable to reconstitute, due to lack of bioenergy. Looking down at her perforated thermoptic chestplate, the cyborg woman realised she couldn't rely on it to stop anything else.
And yes – her bioenergy levels were flagging. Which meant that the biorestorative matrix didn't have the energy required to triage her lung damage, either. She acutely felt the flechette, digging itself deeper into her left lung... and with bioregeneration at a minimum, it was causing internal bleeding.
She wasn't too far off, from the state she was in, following her duel with Jensen. Only this time, she didn't have the luxury of long recovery in relative safety. She had her mirror image to deal with, and keep Jamella safe. Not to mention deal with Rand.
Oh, joy.
Panama City, Panama
Having hatched their plan of attack on the Inter-Guarda contingent at Hotel Etana; Irwine, Ben Saxon, and the three former Squalnomie Rangers were knee-deep into the preliminaries, before Anna Kelso barged in with news on what was happening in New York, and Jamella's surprising communique.
Unsurprisingly, Irwine was quick to react, as she filled them in.
"We'll have to postpone this thing... I'll be taking our VTOL to New York to get them out, before Quinn recalls the bird back to the Kiss!"
"Whoa, hold on there mate!" – Saxon quickly butted in, "Remember the Colonel's order? No matter what happens, we're not to compromise the upcoming Newark operation by launching an extraction attempt? Not to mention with all the chaos and tensions over there right now, you'll be picked up as soon as you cross into the US airspace! Fedorova got in because she had the element of surprise. You won't have it!"
Irwine glared.
"I can't just sit here and hope for the best, damn it! You guys can handle the Etana op, but she's in there all alone, in the middle of all that chaos! No idea what shape she's in, following that Archives attack, and whatever happened at that checkpoint – then the explosion in the Kitchen... orders or not, she's gonna need backup!"
"You two got a thing going on, or something?" – Harry inquired curiously. He knew his long-time commander well enough to see the passion behind Irwine's eyes.
"I care about her. And she saved my sorry ass twice, so far. I owe her!" – then he threw a glance at Saxon.
"Don't say it!" – warningly. However, the ex-SAS member lifted his hands placatingly.
"Wasn't going to. If it were Anna in there, I'd be feeling the same way..." – he glanced at Kelso, who squeezed his hand. Thinking hard, Saxon then continued:
"Listen, we can't get the VTOL back in. The airspace across the whole East Coast is monitored now. But we've still got that Jackhammer sitting in a cave on the coast where you guys wanted it stored. Its stealth-coating is better then that on the VTOL, it's got no thruster emissions to compromise it, and on the sea, it'll be harder to spot. They won't be expecting a sea-based incursion. And..." – the cyborg's eyes flashed, "...it still has the IG transponder signature to broadcast, even if you're spotted. Could be useful to bamboozle the Coast Guard!"
Irwine took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"It's also way slower. Half a day to get down to Caretto and get going, then two days or so to sail up to New York... that's almost half a week! The VTOL could be there in four hours! Less if we push it."
"Irw, you'll be shot down if you try! And you know it. I don't like wastin' time anymore then you do, but the Brit's got a point." – Saul pointed out, nodding at Saxon.
"And you'll be tippin' our hand, which pretty much guarantees Korbin's crowd won't wanna meet us." – Harry added.
Nodding in thanks for support, Saxon continued, clapping Irwine on the shoulder.
"Fedorova survived in there for a week now. She'll manage another three days, and she'll keep miss Couture alive. If I've learned anything, during my brief stint in the Tyrants, watching her in action – she's a survivor! Also, we can be in Caretto in half an hour, not half a day – we can use the VTOL to drop us, and a few crewers, off directly at the cove, and set sail within an hour."
"We?" – Irwine frowned.
"We. With your boys here to hold down the fort, I feel a bit more confident leaving Anna to manage things for a few days. And the Cartel can keep an eye on our PMC friends at Etana. With all the chaos in New York, you might need me and my bag of augmetic tricks around. We'll get her out, mate!" – then he paused, significantly.
"And... I may as well get there early. It will give me more time to conduct recon on the VersaLife Newark site." – he glanced at Kelso again.
"Are you positive on the timetable?" – to which the former Secret Service agent nodded.
"A week until initial arrival, about two weeks until the TYM sets up shop in earnest, barring any delays, which my contacts will keep me updated on. Any longer then three weeks, and their security will be too tightened-up to consider this operation, especially since the Act will be ratified by then." – she paused.
"Assuming you're still dead-set on this?" – a clear note of disapproval there.
"We've been over this Anna. Many times now." – Saxon reminded her, then did a quick math in his head, turning back to Irwine.
"So let's call it two weeks... we extract the two of them in three days, and we'll be set up on the boat, using it as base of operations to coordinate. You can meet Korbin's guys and plan the attack, and I can case the Newark site. Then we get back, deal with the IG detachment here, before dropping Fedorova off again at Newark, to do the actual infiltration. I may be joining her, if it's feasible." – he suggested.
Irwine looked dubious.
"That would mean going back-and-forth twice. Doubling the chance of exposure."
"Listen, how 'bout we hit Etana right now? We've scouted out the square, we've confirmed the IG presence on the top three floors, we can have the Cartel guys create a diversion while we hit 'em where it hurts! Half a day to a day, tops. That way you two won't have to do the whole back-and-forth. Yeah you'll be a day later arriving in New York, but..." – Saul trailed off with a shrug.
"But that means one more day of Yelena and Jamella being in New York alone... shit." – Irwine finished the unspoken thought. Warring with himself as he rubbed his chin vigourously.
"They'll be fine. Fedorova is too vicious to die! Promise." – Saxon tried again to reassure him, with a grin.
Despite himself, Irwine had to let out a hopeful chuckle.
"From your mouth to God's ears... alright! Alright... Etana first. Let's get moving! Sooner we're done the better."
The five headed first to the armoury, to equip themselves, then separated. Saxon and Irwine would be infiltrating the hotel from the ground, since Saxon was the one most familiar with the area, while Irwine would watch his back, and his three comrades would use the VTOL to make a rooftop landing once the initial assault began.
Staten Island, the rooftop helipad...
Playing cat-and-mouse around the hangar would only keep her alive for so long, Yelena decided. The moment the clone had a clear shot at her, she was dead. With her left gyrostabiliser offline, she doubted she could perform another evasive leap like she did earlier – at least not without landing on her face. Fighting a feeling of helplessness, combined with escalating pain, almost enough to challenge even her own iron willpower. And going close-quarters with her enemy... there was simply no way to get close. Her doppleganger clearly had Xray capable Smart Vision, given how unerringly she seemed to cut off any attempt Yelena might make to circle around behind her back. She could definitely see her, through the walls.
Fortunately, she does not seem too smart – just chasing me around the hangar, and not being silent about it. If it were me, I would remain quiet and not give – me – a chance to hear where I am. This is like fighting a bot. A very powerful bot, to be sure, but... she is predictable!
The burned woman thought. Good thing her enhanced hearing was still functioning perfectly, and that the clone seemed uninterested in being quiet, stomping around on the other side. This allowed Yelena to keep the hangar between them at all times.
And then, she heard something else. Sounds of footsteps on metal scaffolding, about two stories down... clearly someone climbing an exterior fire-escape stairwell.
Scowling, Yelena took a brief look over the edge, expecting to see more mercenaries... but to her shock – it was Rand! Volkard Rand himself, his expression pinched, gripping the guardrails tightly as he progressed at a snail's pace – clearly afraid of heights. That polished bald head above an impeccable brown suit, was unmistakeable. Obviously, he thought he was being clever, by not using the main access stairway, and hoping to reach the hangar unnoticed. And to be fair – it was clever... if her evasive path didn't just happen to take her directly to that side of the roof at the right moment.
Luck, or fate? No matter... He will save my life... only fair, after he destroyed it!
The woman thought with an ironic smirk, before she vaulted over the edge to intercept him. Even hurt, burned, with a damaged lung, and an inoperative stabiliser, she was much more mobile on the narrow scaffolding then he was, given how hard he was clutching at the rail.
He saw her, of course – and Yelena was amused to see his face turn pale with fear, as he staggered against the facade, scrabbling with one hand for a Zenith at his belt. Far too nervously, far too slowly. She quickly reached him, and with a casual snap-kick, sent the weapon flying from his suddenly-nerveless hand.
He groaned, clutching it, as he glared at her, pressing against the facade.
"Y-Yelena Fedorova. I must- I must say... you've certainly looked better." – through clenched teeth, taking in her burned countenance.
Yelena gave him a mirthless half-smirk, her one openeye full of stark hatred.
"Your pet is quite impressive, mister Rand. I take it you made her, to replace me? Too bad I have you now, to use as a shield. And she won't act against her master. Just like I couldn't, for all those years, until I was released."
With that, she drew one of her blades, and made a clinical, shallow, precise cut across the right side of the man's neck. With a sharp inhale, Rand palsied briefly, reaching up to clutch his neck, as his eyes narrowed. This tied up his right hand, and he needed his left one to hold onto the railing.
She wasn't interested in taking any chances. Not with how damaged she was.
"Your left carotid artery is nicked. You will survive, assuming you do not release the pressure. Now come on. Up we go, to meet your pet, and your minions." – the woman's tone turning viciously saccharine. Being very, very careful to keep any and ALL pain out of her voice. She would not give him the satisfaction. Or give him any ideas that she was in any way weakened.
"Why should I? I know how this ends for me, Fedorova. If you're after an apology, or a confession, you-" - the bald man countered grimly, one palm firmly pressed to his neck, but she cut him off, in a growl.
"Oh no. No, we are twelve years past apologies, Volkard Rand. Twelve years, and twelve hundred corpses. You will be simply one more. But not yet. And I am willing to bet you're afraid enough that you won't shorten your life if you can help it. In fact I don't have to bet. I can smell it on you, coward. You will do anything to stay alive a little longer!" – she shoved him forward. It wasn't a figure of speech – her pheromone analyser had no problem picking up Rand's suppressed terror.
The man bit his lip hard, climbing up the last stairwell, with her right behind him.
"I don't- I don't suppose a deal would be out of the question?! Instead of getting hung up on... pointless notions of retribution?" – he tried, keeping the tremor out of his voice.
Yelena didn't dignify that with a response, as they reached the roof.