Aleksa was both exhausted and anxious from her interrogation. She left the building wringing her hands. Things were not looking well. She was used to failed missions, but there was something different about all of this. She felt like she stood on the precipice change within Bastion Chicago. But where would she stand? And how would she stand? She shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind as she made her way to her tank. She stowed it away in its sanctioned and guarded stockyard. Afterward, she made her way back home. Maybe she moved faster than usual. Her battle armor creaked with every hard step she made. It was made to handle to ballistics, not the power-walking of a concerned mother.
The Volkov shop sat on a corner. Its store front was neatly organized, but the CLOSED sign was very obvious over the reinforced door. Aleksa wrestled her key from her jacket and unlocked the door. She locked it behind her as she moved through the organized store. The cash register was missing its tray, and everything worth anything was locked up nice and tight. She passed all of that and took the stairs to their home. She barely got the door open when Priss wrapped her arms around her.
"Mama!" she exclaimed.
"You're fine." Priss took a step backward.
"Why didn't you tell you were fine? It's been hours since everyone came back. You didn't. No one knew where you were. Ithoughtyouweredeadohmygodyoucouldhavebeendead." Priss's words began to slur as her hyper Listener powers went into full throttle and blurred her speech.
Aleksa laid a hand on Priss's head.
"It's fine. I was called away to relay what happened."
Priss looked up. She didn't really look like Aleksa. Her skin tone was darker, her eyes were brown, and her hair was a curly mess that was pulled into a lazy ponytail. She looked a lot like Edwin.
"You usually don't do that."
"Well, things were different."
Priss jerked away.
"How different?"
Aleksa frowned. She wrestled with the thoughts in her head. Inevitably she exhaled and smiled.
"We were under the command of a different faction. They have different rules. That's all it was."
Those brown eyes bore into Aleksa's gray ones.
"Is that it?"
"Of course, sweetie," Aleksa lied.
Aleksa's mother appeared about that time. She old, with stark white hair, braided back, and enough scars and wrinkles it could form its own map. She still caught Aleksa's eyes and smiled. There was a life behind those eyes that was indomitable.
"Dinner is served. Priss, dear, set the table. Aleksa, could you join me in the kitchen?" The small apartment was cramped but it had a division of walls between the kitchen and the dining room. As Priss darted between the china cabinet and the table, Aleksa and her mother spoke in private. Aleksa gave a brief, and heavily edited, account of what happened. Her mother shook her head.
"More so," Aleksa said.
"I don't think I'm getting paid for this mission. It was a complete failure."
Her mother wrung her hands.
"We can't have that. You're the largest source of income here. The shop and Priss's courier routes are not enough to pay for this. You have to find a steady income and fast."
Aleksa sighed.
"I was offered something like that."
"Then take it."
"I don't know if I want to. It's all very embroiled in politics, мама." She slipped into Russian. While the word was very similar to English, she said it with an accent.
"If it puts food on the table for your mother and your daughter you must." Her mother then slipped into Russian, speaking quickly about how her father had done regrettable things supporting them when they grew up.
Aleksa sighed and gave a prostrated response in Russian. She couldn't hear Priss dart around anymore. Her daughter didn't know a lick of the language, and so they were safe speaking this way.
"Very well, мама." She paused.
"You know I always do what is best for the family."
"I know." Her mother patted her cheek.
"This is why you were always so much stronger than the other men around you."
"Do not speak ill of Edwin."
"I was not. But it would help—"
Aleksa shushed her and then received a glared from her mother.
"Do take this, though. It will help you." Her mother took off a necklace from the sheer amount she wore wound her neck and slipped it over Aleksa's. It was a small metal pendant with an engraving of a man carrying a child across a river. Her family was very religious. Aleksa may not have been, her mercenary jobs requiring her to be surly, but she knew Saint Christopher when she saw him. He was the patron saint of travel.
Priss burst through the door about that time and wrapped her arms around Aleksa's waist.
"Come on, Mama. Let's have dinner. I made the bread."
"You did? That is quite amazing, Priss. You kneaded it and everything?"
Her daughter pouted.
"Fine. I bought it and just cooked it."
"Well, I applaud you for not burning it."
"Well. I burnt it… a little."
Aleksa smiled and drew her daughter close, giving her a soft kiss on her head. Priss squirmed but inevitably let her mother do so. It was the small things.
- - -
The knot in Aleksa's stomach as she approached the soup kitchen was akin to the Gordian kind. She felt like joining a faction was not the brightest move, but at the same time, she had very few options. She needed a steady paying income, and she needed knowledge on the impending attack on Bastion Chicago. She'd left out all of that when talking to her mother. The woman had only heard about the failed mission and the lack of pay. Aleksa hadn't mentioned the consequences of the aftermath. Honestly, there were only so many burdens people could handle, and her mother had shared enough.
She'd spent the past week shining up Ole Scarlet. It always needed a good cleaning after battles. More so, she ran diagnostics to make sure the EMPs hadn't fried anything and done permanent damage. The diagnostics ran fine. Aleksa knew she had to find a workaround for the EMPs, especially if her adversaries would wield them so willingly. Yet, she didn't have the spare change for that. So, for now, she made sure that her automatic and manual modes worked just fine.
Aleksa clenched her fingers into her palm as she walked towards the long line of the soup kitchen. Eyes fell on her as she passed them. She wasn't in her battle attire, but nothing that she wore alluded to a similar class of people that were around her. She'd worn her best suit, it was dark, fitted, and had a flair of red running through it. She wore her hair back in the braids that Priss liked to knit, and she'd applied a few homemade cosmetics. They were mostly about making her eyes look brighter than they were. Edwin had always called them a stormy sea right before a hurricane. Aleksa always hated that.
The door that quite obviously declared Coalition work was the one that she entered. She didn't need lodging or food. What she needed was a familiar face and the assurance that when things went tits up, that someone had her back.
Aleksa smiled against the smoke.
"I like a few more aromatics in mine, but I still enjoy a good cigar." She slid her arms behind her back and let her smile rest.
"I'm here for work, Mister Ivanov. Those words you spoke to me a week ago. Well. I've been thinking about them. There's a lot of truth there." She brought a hand up to the Saint Christopher pendant around her neck and rubbed it.
"And I'm interested in fighting back."
As Aleksa enters the small room that Adrik was in, she would find a hand on her shoulder. She's pulled back by a rather angry guard, who winds up a swing to punch her down, before Ivanov growls lowly. The guard hesitates, and looks at Adrik. The slavic man speaks, in Russian.
"Away with you, fool. Don't let another slip through your post so easily." The guard lets go of Aleksa and takes a step back. Still, Adrik seemed more amused than annoyed, as he motioned to a chair opposite his own. He takes a puff from his cigar, and exhales slowly. He switches back to English.
"You are? Sit then, close the door behind you. We have much to discuss."
Aleksa was caught off guard by someone dragging her backward and then inevitable wind up. She'd been so in her world that she was just looking at signs and doors. Nothing in her mind spiked at the presence of guards. She thought they were to dissuade fights in the food line. Well. She had been wrong. She braced herself. She'd been hit before. The best thing was to go limp as not to give too much resistance.
Yet, the man that interrogated her earlier forced them to halt and berated them about Aleksa's sudden arrival. Embarrassment compounded onto of embarrassment. She tried not to turn red at the accusation of being some wandering tourist, but it was hard. Still, her mind anchored onto the fact he spoke Russian, and she understood it. The guards apparently understood it as well.
"Спасибо," she said.
Spah-see-bo or
thank you.
At the man's words, she closed the door, glad to put a barrier between her and those men. She straightened her clothing before sitting down.
"Apologies about that. I was more lost in thought than I should have been." She crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap. Her posture was straight but not stiff.
"I'm rarely on the punching end of guards." She smiled.
"I'm ready to help."
"Hm." The man grunts as he stares at her, coldly looking her over.
"You speak Russian? How well?" He asks, in Russian.
Aleksa didn't know what to make of the once over of her body. What? Did he think she was hiding notes about Russian? Ah. It was probably to make sure she didn't have any weapons on her. That was fair.
She started speaking, in clear and fluent Russian.
"All my life. My mother would smack me with a wooden spoon if I didn't speak in the native tongue. And I wouldn't know a damn thing about them if I hadn't." She brushed a piece of hair from her face.
"I honor the Volkov tradition of being a stout Russian native in a non-Russian world. I can also cook dishes from home when I have the right ingredients."
"Ha! Noble Russian woman, noble Russian wife. Strange to see you fighting on front lines, but these are strange times we live in. You should have more kids when you can, though. These wastelands could do with more Russian blood in them." He replies in Russian. He seems to change the subject quickly, however, as his tone turns more severe. His eyes grow colder as he starts to speak of other, more important things.
"I have a job for you. It is dangerous, but, important. Are you sure you wish to join our side? There is no turning back beyond this point."
Aleksa gave a soft laugh, and her entire conversation was held in Russian.
"Noble, yes, by my mother's standards. Though, I am no one's wife, unfortunately. Still, I'm very noble for upholding the family tradition." Her smile softened.
"I would enjoy not being on the frontlines, but we do what we do for family." Her cheeks tinted pink.
"Well, yes, I wouldn't turn away making more Russian children, but, ah, many men aren't interested in women my age and my occupation. They're not especially keen on keeping them Russian." She leaned in.
"What about yourself? I bet you've produced some lovely Russian children. If not, perchance I could help in that." A wink followed that. It probably wasn't in her best interest to flirt with her future employer, but he'd quite frankly started that.
Yet, his tone made her want to resend that wink. Things moved into a more business-like territory, as it should. Her smile faded as she slid into practical stoicism. She promised to save the city, and she would.
"I know what I am doing," she said.
"Danger aside, I know this is the only option and the best option. I want to help."
"Here is what we know. I will give you the short version." Adrik starts, as he takes another puff from his cigar, and speaks in a chilled manner, his eyes showed none of their earlier emotions. He does, however, continue speaking in Russian--their shared mother tongue.
"An entity left the fog. We started tracking it with satellites, and it was attacked by U-ARM. It fended them off, but ended up wounded. It somehow knew we were watching it, and went into hiding in a small apartment complex. It is in a part of the city ruins where the fog has yet to spread. Its allies have not come out to help it, we do not know why--perhaps they leave their weak to die."
Blowing smoke out toward the light bulb, he continues speaking.
"Regardless, we are going on this evening to capture it and interrogate it. We will likely encounter and fight U-ARM, and we will be working with The Old Guard's forces for this mission. Meet us by the bunker entrance at 1800 hours, take your tank. Personal advice? U-ARM likes big shock and awe weaponry. Heavy hitters. Expect more rockets, and high calibre weapons. Be sure to shine up the armour on your tank if you haven't already."
He puts out his cigar, and a small smile manages to grace his lips, though his eyes remain cold. He switches to English.
"I have not had any children. Men of my line of work rarely do... Not that I would object to changing that."
U-ARM, that was a name that she hadn't expected to hear about. They existed within Bunker Chicago, much like mold exists within ponds. They aren't the whole, but they did provide a large deterrent. Aleksa was religious in a sense that she knew her God, and she knew her saints. Yet, she kept that to herself, keeping it locked away with her personal thoughts. It was never thoughtful to someone their outlook on life was wrong and that you held all the answers. What if you didn't? U-ARM violated that solidarity. They were as aggressive as they were annoying. Aleksa had heard about them and avoided them like she avoided alleys that were a bit too dark.
She leaned in and listened to his words intently. There were a lot of unknowns here. This wasn't much better than the mission she left a week before. Still, whatever had burst from the fog threatened them all.
"U-ARM resitance?" she said more than asked.
"That makes sense. Things cannot go somewhat poorly, they must fully dive into the deep end." She actually had harsher words to say about that, but she kept it within the limit of polite conversation. If her father taught her anything about politics, it was to show her disdain like showing her cards in a poker game--only to her benefit.
"Their pride will be the death of them. I saw little of what was in the fog. It was enough to make me know that I needed to rely more on my faith to protect me."
"I repaired and updated my tank from the last mission. I'll see if I can apply any last minute armor mods. My tank is pretty armored as is. But, one can never be too self-assured." The edge of her lips drew upwards.
"Thank you for the warning, I'll make sure to divert power to protection."
Aleksa mentally keyed in everything Adrik said. She might lose a few small things along the way, but she had the things he emphasized in lockdown. Priss wasn't going to enjoy her leaving so swiftly, and her mother was probably going to groan about her sudden disappearance. But she was doing it for her family, and they would accept that--someday.
Adrik's next words caught her off guard. She was just being playful and coy. She had so few chances to be that when speaking
Smoke drifts from the end of his cigar still, as, at least momentarily, Adrik seems to consider the offer. His smile falters a little, as he stands up from his chair and nods politely.
"Another time, perhaps. It is best not to hope for things until after the dark over this colony passes, and that will not be for some time." He pauses a moment longer, his eyes remaining cold, yet there was a hint of warmth in his voice, as it turns to a hush.
"If any of your family has mutations, ask them if they can hear the whispers. If they can, send them to our laboratories immediately. There is something in the colony that is taking the more curiously minded mutants and making them disappear... Or... They come back, but they don't act right. None of their families know who they are anymore, it's like they aren't even living in the same world as us." He steps around the table, and grasps Aleksa's shoulder. He looks into her eyes, his grasp firm but not rough or coarse like one might expect.
"Trust nobody." He steps out past her, and speaks in Russian to one of the guards--telling him that he needed a few minutes of fresh air outside before taking the next recruit.
