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12 years later
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The moonlight filtered through the dusty air, penetrating into even the darkest corners of the night. The only sound came from churning gears, alerting any trespassers of Sentinels in the area—not that anyone sane was wandering the streets at this godforsaken hour.

The curfew was still doing just as fine a job as it had been when it was implemented decades ago.

One person, though, had chosen to ignore the warnings, and slunk between packed houses and shops like a thief in the night. Or, maybe like an assassin. A slim figure, draped in a skin-tight jumpsuit, hugged a brick wall as the sounds of the Sentinels approached and then faded again. Sliding silently across the road, the individual almost jumped when a sharp beep sounded deep within their left ear. Get it together, Elsa.

It gave away to a fizzle of static, too low for anyone but the recipient to hear, followed by a breathy, "Fuck, Kris."

Tapping lightly behind her left ear, the assassin repeated her words. This time, the reply was a light chuckle sounding deep in her ear.

"Sorry, Snow," Kris—Kristoff—responded. "I'll do a systems upgrade when you get back, okay?"

"That's Snow Queen to you, Reindeer Boy."

Her only response was another laugh, and she was a moment away from muting the comms when he began speaking again.

"Whatever, Frosty. If you'd actually tell me your name, we wouldn't have these issues," he said. She could imagine him poking his tongue out with a grin, and rolled her eyes. Sorry, Kris. My name is my name. "Lemme know when you get to the rendezvous and I'll guide you through, okay?"

There was a single beep, and he was gone. The ensuing silence was just as unnerving, and Elsa took a few seconds to get used to having her own head to herself. Tapping once more behind her left ear, she felt the case of the Impulse chip embedded there. Her frown morphed into a pained grimace as a small shock travelled from the device and down her left arm.

"Come on," she murmured to herself, shaking her head. "Finish this and go home."

Moving away from the wall, she glanced up at the moon, scowling as though sheer intimidation would make it hide away. Of all the nights for such a mission, her employers had to chose the most dangerous. The payout wouldn't be worth it if she didn't live to collect. Heaving a thick sigh, she shook her head again to rid it of such thoughts. She had a mission, and it, like all the others, wasn't about the money.

Reaching another hiding place—an alcove in the side of a chemist's—she reached into one of the numerous pockets of her outfit. Thanks to Kris, she'd been able to completely revolutionise how the items she needed on missions were stored. When she withdrew her hand, it was clasped around a slip of silver material. Tying it in front of her eyes like a blindfold, she waited a few seconds for the Impulse to connect.

The silken threads became taut, stretching and moving until it sat in front of her eyes,the screen flickering to life. The trick was the individual nanothreads that were weaved together, building one bandana-like computer. It was Kristoff's most brilliant design yet, and meant that she could do away with the cumbersome visor she'd been using in the years before she met him.

In the distance, the sounds of the Sentinels marching reached her ears, and she sprung from her hiding spot. The bandana immediately began planning a route to the rendezvous, and she followed it almost blindly. She wasn't able to see the physical world but it manifested itself well enough on the screen. Usually.

With a muffled cry, she fell forward, tripping over a small pothole and landing heavily on the ground.

This is really not my day, she thought. The strides of the Sentinels drew closer, and beneath the clunks of gears, Elsa could hear a low whining noise, broken up by intermittent beeps.

Fuck, not Locators. With a grimace on her face, she stayed as still as possible while they passed. Why are there so many out tonight?

They knew. They must have. Fucking-

'Kristoff!' she thought loudly, hand coming to press against the Impulse. 'Kristoff!'

He logged back on within a few seconds. He didn't have an Impulse, instead having to rely on an older-model comms unit and a router to actually use it. It tended to make the connection a little fuzzy, and there was some more horrid crackling as the signal battled through the messy wavelengths bouncing through the streets of Corona.

'Snow?'

'Gimme a count of the Sentinels and Locators in the area.'

'Can-do, Cap'n.'

It was always a strange experience, using the Impulse to communicate silently. It took almost three years for her to use it to perfection, and even then, it was touchy. She'd always talk if given the option, but sometimes it just wasn't. Now, it hardly made her feel sick (but the feeling of someone else's voice in her head was never a particularly comfortable one). There was a reason that Impulses were uncommon and generally unpopular, and the feeling of having people in your head was not the most common reason.

She'd been the one to make the change from the old devices to the Impulse. Kristoff had been absolutely aghast when she'd told him her plan of installing one, but refused to let any other engineer do the operation. He only trusted his own tech.

A beep told her he was attempting to reconnect, and she opened the line, this time setting it to remain that way until she manually closed it again.

'There's two packs ahead and one behind. Three Sentinels and a Locator in each at the very least. They know something is up.'

Elsa breathed out a thick (but silent) huff of air. The night's mission suddenly became a whole lot harder. Before she had a chance to speak, Kristoff's voice was flowing through her Impulse.

'Look, Snow, I know this is important but I really think you should call it off tonight and try again tomorrow.'

'He's not going to be here tomorrow, Kris,' was the annoyed response. She could practically feel him flinch at the anger that was running through her veins, thick and hot. 'I need to finish this tonight. Who knows when I'll have another chance?'

She could imagine the disgruntled look on his face, but she didn't care. 'Kris, they specified tonight. We verified that the only time would be tonight. I can't back out of a job.'

'Fine, Snow, but if you r–'

Suddenly, Kristoff's voice was drowned out by a high-pitched squeal. Slowly building higher, louder, it ripped through Elsa's head, shredding at the inside of her skull; clawing like a feral kitten, desperate to escape. Curling forward, hands coming up to clutch her forehead, it was all she could do to remain silent and not scream her pain into the night. Her body shook desperately with the force of holding back the cries, burying them as deep as she could, mouth glued shut and teeth clenched.

The inside of her head felt raw, as though someone had gouged into it, pulling it to pieces. She couldn't move—could barely breathe—until long after the sound faded and the night became still again.

'Kris?' she thought. Even her inner voice sounded raspy. When no reply was forthcoming, she ripped off the now-useless bandana and closed her eyes slowly. The Locators. They were really going all out—a general sweep was usually only enough to fizzle her tech for a few seconds. Either they were doing a repeated pulse over the entire area, or several Locators had conducted a concentrated burst at the same time.

The reason didn't matter. All that mattered was that Elsa was stuck in the broken streets of Corona, several blocks south of her target's home, with the knowledge that there were at least three teams in the area.

Without any way of knowing where they were, the danger levels of the mission just skyrocketed.

Come on, Elsa. You can do this. With the mental cheer-squad hard at work, she stood up. The night was still, lending her some small semblance of peace. Only a few of the Sentinels ran silently—they were too expensive to manufacture. Plus, intimidation was far more effective when they weren't streamlined like the ones used at Castle Arendelle.

Elsa wondered for a moment if people remembered that they were the same robot. Built and created of the same mold, by the same company, with the same parts. The operating system hadn't changed in over forty years! But did they remember? Of course not. The masses still believed in what the Queen was preaching.

Shaking her head free of the bothersome thoughts, she began moving north. The looming silhouette of Mountain Nordfjellet covered her back while the smell of the fjord led her forward. The moon disappeared behind a haze of dust and smog, giving her the confidence she needed to move forward.

Rushing forward, forsaking silence for speed, she pressed on through the streets. With a growl, Elsa realised her Nav system had been compromised.

One left down this alley, on toward the fjord. Backtrack away from the dock, moving east toward Castle Arendelle. Backtrack after missing the target by more than 100 yards (only having realised because she finally noticed a property number on a fence and figured she'd gone too far). She made sure to count on her way back. Finally, Elsa arrived at property with the griffin crest, guarded by Sentinels as old as they come and all but useless against her. Sliding out of their sight, she peeked out from behind a nearby doorway, analysing the guards and the home.

During the day, the property must have looked grand. Elsa made a mental note to come and visit after whatever investigation followed her trip this night, but now, she had no time to appreciate the architecture, with its sleek curves at the roof, descending into jagged corners and spirals.

Elsa made another mental note to destroy at least one spire on her way out. She couldn't stand the symbolism. Her job didn't leave a lot of room for subtlety when it can to conveying messages, and sometimes petty destruction was fun.

Silently, she moved forward, clenching her left hand several times before taking off the pale blue glove that covered it. Closing her hand once again, she focussed on her fingers, the thrumming energy hovering in her veins just below the surface of her skin. Flicking her hands out, she gave a self-satisfied smirk as the energy in her hand shot forth, bonding together the atoms inside the hulking frames of the Sentinels before exploding in a horrific display of jagged ice, ripping the sensitive insides of the machine apart.

Stepping over their mangled bodies, Elsa was distinctly aware of the quiet that permeated through the empty streets. No Locators had caught sight of her, and she was somewhat surprised they hadn't triangulated her energy signal. Despite Kristoff's attempts, her suit wasn't a completely invisible energy source, and if they tried hard enough, Elsa knew the Locators could find her within a matter of minutes. Perhaps she had been lucky that they knocked out her suit after all.

Regardless, she didn't have time to dilly-dally. Get in, complete the mission, get out.

Entering the property was far too easy. The target hadn't bothered to lock it, stupidly putting his trust in the outdated, human-shaped machines. Of course, he probably hadn't expected this to occur anyway, but it was still silly.

He was aware of her, of her modus operandi,but he was a moron—not deserving the title of 'Scientist' if he failed this badly to account for her actions.

Elsa was almost disappointed.

Standing in the kitchen, she glanced around, ignoring the sentient green haze surrounding her. It was useless now that she had dismantled the Sentinels outside—it had nothing to signal to alert of an intruder. Unless he had other Sentinels connected to it, but that was a long shot. She would have heard it, at any rate. Though... if it was able to work, perhaps her Impulse had reloaded. The Locators didn't tend to knock out the systems of important people (like, say for instance, Scientists).

Shaking her head, she decided not to risk connecting back to Kristoff. Even if it worked, and the signal went through, she had no need for it anyway. She was here. He didn't need to guide her anymore.

Moving from the kitchen into the main living area, footsteps muffled by the carpet and experience, Elsa moved towards the stairs. It would lead her to the personal living area—the one not shared with others. Every house was designed the same; either grand and segregated, or small and functional. There was no need for one man to have so much space, and yet—here it was.

She had just placed her hand (the glove back in place, of course) on the banister, foot moving towards the first step, when there was a noise behind her.

Whipping around, Elsa managed to move just in time for a small dagger to cut, not through her back, but through her left arm. She let out a grunt of surprise, her powers already numbing the pain, before jumping back further.

"Fucking Hybrid," came the low snarl, and Elsa almost swore herself, recognising her attacker instantly (and wasn't it ironic that he landed the first blow?).

That aside, he wasn't supposed to be here. He, the Scientist, her target, was supposed to be deep asleep, ready to be deprived of any and all breaths. He was not supposed to be wielding several small throwing knives, and wielding another sharp hunting dagger at her, aware of both her presence and intentions.

And how dare he call her a Hybrid! Just because he was, for lack of a better word, untainted, didn't mean that he had a right to mock her abilities. He definitely didn't have the righto scoff and look down on just what she could do with her powers.

Bristling, she swung forward, hand moving to form a fist. Punching him square in the jaw, he fell back with a short cry. It was soft and pained, and he sprung back into action as soon as he could, a small trickle of blood dripping onto the beige floor from a split lip.

"I've been waiting for you," he said. "You're not taking me. I know all about you, Hybrid."

Elsa scowled at him, hissing, "You know nothing." He couldn't mean that—no one knew anything about her. He couldn't. Mean. That.

But what if he did? He was a Scientist—who knew exactly what resources he had access to. It would be stupid to believe that there wasn't an infobox out there with her name on it. But how would he even tie it back to her? There was nothing!

It didn't matter if he did or didn't, though; he had taken advantage of her momentary lapse in concentration, worrying about the potential truth of his statement, to leap backwards, distancing himself from his still lethal attacker, before hurling another dagger at her. Despite the years of practice, factoring in the residual pain in her arm, she still wasn't fast enough to completely avoid him.

There was a slight pain in her side as she moved to dodge the dagger and it sliced through the material of her suit, digging into her soft flesh. The wound wasn't deep, but as it began to seep bright red, she knew it would linger. The smell of iron came, thick in the air, and every breath pushed more blood from the sharp slice. It didn't hurt unless she moved—a fact discovered when he threw another knife at her and she had to twist out of the way. She wasn't quite able to dodge it as the original knife wound screamed in protest, effectively halting her movement halfway through. She didn't even manage to get away with only a scratch. He had been aiming for her chest, however her original motion had put her shoulder directly in the knife's path.

This time, she couldn't bite back the cry that burst from her mouth as the blade sunk into her left shoulder, quivering from impact. Her skills lay with being undetected—her actual fighting ability was all but non-existent. Ripping the knife from her shoulder with a sharp cry, she threw it to the side. She couldn't throw it at him to do damage—she sucked and it would just give him another weapon.

Of course, she could use her powers, but what if he was right? If he knew who she was, he would have told someone. He was expecting her tonight.

Shaking her head, she forced herself back into the game. Get his dagger, kill him. Her powers, and his knowledge of them, wouldn't matter if she managed to complete the mission. Nothing mattered but "complete the mission".Easier said than done—especially injured. He was confident and strong, and the only injury she'd given him was a split lip.

And the longer this went on, the more likely she would fail. The Sentinels would find her, or the Scientist would finish her off.

This night needed to end before she managed to get herself killed, one way or another.

Moving her hand behind her back, she pulled her glove off and conjured a thick blade of ice. If anyone had looked closely at it, they would have seen the irregular shapes marring it, ice fractals that should have been perfect but weren't. Elsa had no intention of ever letting anyone close enough to her ice to survive it, let alone see it up close.

The fight was over in a matter of seconds. Moving forward, she barely felt the dagger as he swiped at her, running shallowly over her chest. It ripped a hole open, but the actual pain was easily compartmentalised and pushed to the side to be dealt with later. The floor was a mess of light bloodstains, mostly from Elsa. None of the wounds were very deep, but they would still be painful until they healed—the one on her side was frustrating, but she refused to actually feel it. She had a job to do, before anything else.

Face set in a dark glare, she refused to care about anything but the mission. He had caught her in the wrong headspace—now rectified, she could get on with the mission without fear.

She was faster than he was, adrenaline and pain and partial desperation forcing her to be better. Without any preamble—without so much as a flinch, or a glint of hesitation—she shoved her sharpened ice deep into his throat. It began melting immediately, the hot blood leaking around it and staining the floor.

The Scientist gurgled for a moment before dropping unceremoniously to the floor while Elsa pushed down the emotion building in her chest. She refused to acknowledge it, let alone name it.

"I am sorry, Doctor. This isn't personal at all. Not for me. I hope you understand."

Elsa turned away before he finished struggling. He only had a few moments left in the world, and she told herself that he didn't want to be looking into the eyes of his murderer when he did leave. She had followed the same routine since her fourth kill, and she wasn't about to change it now, hundreds later.

Her own breath caught in her throat as she found herself looking deep into the wide eyes of a child, caught like a deer.

Oh shit.

"Papa? I heard a noise..."

Elsa stumbled back, the hoarse whisper pushing her. Behind her, the Scientist let out a gurgle that could have been anything. A scream or a cry...

A plea for his son to get away.

Swallowing, Elsa took a breath. The sputtering softened, continuing for a few seconds before it stopped and the room was enshrouded in silence. Not her mind, though.

She could hear her own breath in her ears; there was a clicking noise broadcast from Kristoff. He was talking to her, asking why she wasn't moving, but she couldn't comprehend the words spoken. Every thought had fled her mind, save for a flicker to turn off her Impulse. The boy was frozen in place, staring at her with wide green eyes. The sprout of brown hair atop his head was mussed, likely from sleep, and she noticed a snowman plushie grasped tightly in his hands. He wasn't looking at Elsa.

His gaze was trapped on the body of his father, and Elsa recognised the open mouth, quivering lip; the tenseness in his shoulders that no child should hold. She half expected him to collapse, the shock shutting down his body, one function at a time.

"...Papa…?" he whispered, voice hoarse. No reply came. "Papa!"

Darting forward, he moved past Elsa before she had a time to do anything. There was another cry, and a second later, a thump from the second floor.

Within a second, Elsa had grabbed the boy and pulled him into a nearby closet, trapping his mouth shut with her hand. He fought against her, his small, twiggy arms putting up a greater fight than Elsa was expecting—or able to handle. Her left arm was completely numb, though the knife wound wasn't bleeding anymore. The boy's hand caught on her injured shoulder and she almost collapsed from the pain. Though weak, his fierce punches still cut through her heart, and she could feel her hand becoming wet from his tears. And why shouldn't he cry?

Elsa didn't move from her hiding spot, even as silence enveloped the air once again. Activating the Impulse with a thought, it warned her that the sun would be rising in half an hour—she had spent far too long on this one mission, and more than twenty minutes hiding in a closet. Whatever had made the noise seemed to have fallen back into its prior stasis, but just as she was about to move, the boy beat her to it.

His little fists had fallen still for only a second before they were moving again. Elsa wasn't worried—he couldn't do any damage—but he didn't have any intention of striking her again. At least, not physically.

Instead, his arms came to wrap around her middle, and she found herself on the receiving end of a very tight hug. Oh God why?

There was only one thing she could possibly do, and she was wasting time, putting it off. She was an assassin. She was trained to kill people. There was no reason that could possibly excuse her allowing this child to live this long, the threat of him revealing her was too great to justify.

Taking a steadying breath, she began stroking his head with her left arm, bringing her right to circle his back and pull him tight against her. Inhaling deeply, she slowly began counting down, in time with the soft brushes. The energy began to fizzle in that hand, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't need to see what she was about to do.

Three…

Two…

One…

...

…. now…

The energy released in a quick burst; the moment he tensed, she felt something warm and wet trickle down her face. With her strong hand on his back, Elsa held him up for a moment until he completely relaxed before picking him up and stepping from the closet.

Her eyes caught on the small soft toy he had been holding so tight, lying on the floor, and the short cry she let out was not one of pain—not physical at least. Scooping it up with her free hand, she wiped it over the boy's forehead, moving the hair from his face.

One last kiss from his friend before she put him carefully on the ground, snuggled into the side of his father. But for the blood, they could be sleeping. Elsa hoped they found peace.

And the boy looked so peaceful, lying next to his father. More peaceful than he would have been had he gone through life with such a memory—such an experience was never meant for a child to have.

She knew.

Turning from the sight, she wiped her face into her elbow, the snowman still clutched in her hand. The sight of blood on the back of its head, hers and the boy's, made her ill. Her hand was still wet from his tears and blood, and her mind was filled with sudden thoughts of her home, neither cozy nor comforting, but safe, with a shower and a bed that she could lose herself in for one more night.

I'm sorry.

Finally making her way towards the door, she snuck out into the chilly morning air. The first few pale streaks of light were already peering over the fjord. Turning her back to it, she could see the snow at the peak of Mountain Nordfjellet, ethereal and pure. She couldn't stand it.

Elsa ran all the way home. Her Impulse was obstinately ignored, even as Kristoff finally managed to connect to her signal and pinged her every few seconds to answer. She hadn't the energy to do anything about it.

By the time she let herself into her little home, far away from the acts she had just committed, the rest of the world had faded into almost non-existence. She paused for a moment on the bank of the fjord, water shimmering cheerfully in the light of the rising sun, before turning her back on the sight and stumbling into her home.

She was too tired to shower before she fell into a heap on her futon, allowing the bliss of sleep to take her once again and cradle her into happiness. Her wounds would wait until the morning.

For now, she deserved that pain. Curling on her side, ignoring the gentle throb of the cut there (and the more insistent reminder of the hole in her shoulder), she slowly sunk into unconsciousness.

Cradling the little snowman, the last image she had before slipping away was of the little boy, holding her tight.

Yes. She deserved this pain.

A/N: A big thank you to Elsa The Ice Biotic (tumblr & here) for his help. I suck at action scenes. I am also a monster. I am not sorry.
If anything confuses you, don't hesitate to ask :)

I'm also doing an AMA on reddit on the 23rd of this month if anyone wants to ask any questions about my other fics. You can also send them to my tumblr (link is on my profile).

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.