Somewhere in Siberia, Jan. 10, 3:58 AM
There are few places less hospitable than the middle of Siberia, and most of those were off-
planet. However, in this frozen wasteland, there was something that could be considered even worse.
The small compound had six Quonset huts made of corrugated sheet metal, a concrete building that
looked like a giant brick standing on its side, and was surrounded by razor wire fences and guard
towers.
Less than half a kilometre away was a stand of trees, most of which were stunted and
withered due to the harsh weather this far north. Hidden in the trees were five forms, moving like
liquid shadows through the knee-high snow drifts that had accumulated against the trees over the last
three hours. Moving silently, all five forms started moving towards the small compound, quickly
accelerating to a shagging jog.
The shadow in the lead started jumping over fallen logs, soon leaping at an impressive range
and rate, and landing near the base of the closest guard tower in under a minute from the first
movement. Once there, the shadow-like figure straightened to an impressive height of almost seven
feet, and slowly jacked the action of the Pancor Jackhammer Automatic Shotgun in preparation for
the next phase.
Inside the Concrete Structure, 4:01 AM
Two guards stood at attention at either side of a heavily barred door, listening for anything
that they could use as an excuse to slack off. One muttered something under his breath as he looked
out of a nearby window, then swore loudly as he saw one of the guard towers slowly tip over,
smashing itself into splinters on the ice-covered ground inside the fence. The guard immediately
cocked his rifle while the second one slapped his hand down on the panic button near the door.
Seconds later, a flat flare of light and a dull pop preceded another tower's descent while the
alarm klaxons began their steady banshee wail. The second guard finished arming his AK-74 assault
rifle. The first guard had already raised his Dragunov sniper rifle to his shoulder, and he was
gleefully popping .50 caliber slugs at the shadows that were briefly limned by muzzle flares from
their guns.
Soon, the first guard was reloading his heavy gun, leaving the window wide open for a
counterattack. When it came, both guards were too slow, and were blasted into steaming chunks of
flesh and gore by the ancient 'pineapple' grenade that had somehow been lobbed into the fourth-
story window. Outside, one of the shadows clung to the window edge with inhuman strength as it
pulled away the few remaining metal bars that had guarded the window from such an attack.
The shadow climbed into the room, landing easily on the balls of its feet. When it took a step
towards the heavily barred door however, its left foot landed on a large lump of meat which skidded
away, sending the person's feet out from underneath her. The form landed heavily, revealing in the
glare of the lights that it was a woman wearing what appeared to be a bodysuit made of dark scale
mail. After the unexpected pratfall, the form got up into a crouch and moved towards the reinforced
door.
The person looked inside the small 'window' to the cell, and gasped in horror at what was
inside. The walls of the bare cell were decorated with liberal smears of blood, tinted with small glints
of silver. Huddled in a corner of the cell was a small bundle of rags. The armoured woman frowned
underneath her mask, then punched the door twice. Inside, the bundle did not move. The woman
pulled her fists back from the dented steel frame where she had hit the door, and dug her fingers into
several cracks in the steel frame.
The woman set herself, braced her right leg on the concrete wall beside the latch, and heaved.
The door, not designed to hold under intense stress, began to buckle outwards as the woman
increased the pressure needed to gain access to the small cell. In less than a minute, the door was
crushed into an unrecognisable mass of metal, and the woman had moved to the rags. She began to
probe the heap when something wrapped itself around her right wrist and jerked downwards.
The woman was pulled off-balance by the sudden action, and ended up staring at a metal
spike that looked like it had once been a nail from the collapsed cot nearby. She looked further, and
grimaced at the sight of another woman's face, puffy and bruised. "Damn, you look like something
a coyote shit off a cliff. C'mon, let's get you out of here."
The injured woman dropped the spike, and looked at her wanna-be rescuer. She nodded,
gazing at her benefactor with her left eye, then fainted into the woman's arms. The woman picked
up the injured person, walked out of the room, and, with her free hand, she pulled a small radio off
a utility belt. Pushing the button on the radio, the woman said, "Pawn takes Queen."
As a response, she heard, "Bishop forks King and Rook". With the confirmation, the woman
leapt out of the window with her unconscious charge, fading into the night along with the other four
members of the assault force.
Two Weeks Later, Undisclosed Location; 10:30 AM
"How is she?"
"Not too good, I'm afraid. Her body will heal, and we replaced her right eye with a cybernetic
augmentation." The surgeon scrubbed his hands slowly, carefully removing all traces of blood from
his hands and arms while speaking.
"To be honest, she'll be in intensive care for at least a week, and will require several months
of therapy to allow her to adjust to her new eye. However, it's not her physical that concerns me."
"Really? Hell, I'm surprised she survived for so long with minimal medical attention. So
what are you worried about?" The two men walked out of the post-op room, and walked over to the
glass partition separating the hallway from the ICU. Both men looked at the only occupant of the
room, whose face was swathed in bandages, her right arm immobilized in a heavy plaster cast, and
in-tubated so she could breathe through the hideous bruises covering her normally slim neck.
"Her body will heal slowly, even with her nano-repair systems. Sadly, her psyche was
horribly tested by her ordeal, and we both know that it was never that strong to begin with."
"True. I'm glad that her brother and father are stuck in Kingston Pen. Those incestuous little
bastards are learning exactly how much the general population hates people like them."
"Hmm. I never knew that. What's your connection with her?"
"We've known each other since grade nine. Let's hope she pulls through. After all, Selina
is the commander of our spec-ops and humanitarian missions."
"We won't know until she wakes up. We're keeping her in a medical coma until her body's
healed. She'll probably be awake in two weeks, maybe three."
"Thanks. Keep me posted." The young man clapped his hand on the doctor's shoulder, then
walked away. The doctor stared at the man's retreating form for a few more seconds, then turned and
walked to his office. As he walked away, the overhead lights reflected off his nametag, which had
only 'Sorbie' on it. Inside the ICU, Selina's exposed eyelid twitched and fluttered.
There are few places less hospitable than the middle of Siberia, and most of those were off-
planet. However, in this frozen wasteland, there was something that could be considered even worse.
The small compound had six Quonset huts made of corrugated sheet metal, a concrete building that
looked like a giant brick standing on its side, and was surrounded by razor wire fences and guard
towers.
Less than half a kilometre away was a stand of trees, most of which were stunted and
withered due to the harsh weather this far north. Hidden in the trees were five forms, moving like
liquid shadows through the knee-high snow drifts that had accumulated against the trees over the last
three hours. Moving silently, all five forms started moving towards the small compound, quickly
accelerating to a shagging jog.
The shadow in the lead started jumping over fallen logs, soon leaping at an impressive range
and rate, and landing near the base of the closest guard tower in under a minute from the first
movement. Once there, the shadow-like figure straightened to an impressive height of almost seven
feet, and slowly jacked the action of the Pancor Jackhammer Automatic Shotgun in preparation for
the next phase.
Inside the Concrete Structure, 4:01 AM
Two guards stood at attention at either side of a heavily barred door, listening for anything
that they could use as an excuse to slack off. One muttered something under his breath as he looked
out of a nearby window, then swore loudly as he saw one of the guard towers slowly tip over,
smashing itself into splinters on the ice-covered ground inside the fence. The guard immediately
cocked his rifle while the second one slapped his hand down on the panic button near the door.
Seconds later, a flat flare of light and a dull pop preceded another tower's descent while the
alarm klaxons began their steady banshee wail. The second guard finished arming his AK-74 assault
rifle. The first guard had already raised his Dragunov sniper rifle to his shoulder, and he was
gleefully popping .50 caliber slugs at the shadows that were briefly limned by muzzle flares from
their guns.
Soon, the first guard was reloading his heavy gun, leaving the window wide open for a
counterattack. When it came, both guards were too slow, and were blasted into steaming chunks of
flesh and gore by the ancient 'pineapple' grenade that had somehow been lobbed into the fourth-
story window. Outside, one of the shadows clung to the window edge with inhuman strength as it
pulled away the few remaining metal bars that had guarded the window from such an attack.
The shadow climbed into the room, landing easily on the balls of its feet. When it took a step
towards the heavily barred door however, its left foot landed on a large lump of meat which skidded
away, sending the person's feet out from underneath her. The form landed heavily, revealing in the
glare of the lights that it was a woman wearing what appeared to be a bodysuit made of dark scale
mail. After the unexpected pratfall, the form got up into a crouch and moved towards the reinforced
door.
The person looked inside the small 'window' to the cell, and gasped in horror at what was
inside. The walls of the bare cell were decorated with liberal smears of blood, tinted with small glints
of silver. Huddled in a corner of the cell was a small bundle of rags. The armoured woman frowned
underneath her mask, then punched the door twice. Inside, the bundle did not move. The woman
pulled her fists back from the dented steel frame where she had hit the door, and dug her fingers into
several cracks in the steel frame.
The woman set herself, braced her right leg on the concrete wall beside the latch, and heaved.
The door, not designed to hold under intense stress, began to buckle outwards as the woman
increased the pressure needed to gain access to the small cell. In less than a minute, the door was
crushed into an unrecognisable mass of metal, and the woman had moved to the rags. She began to
probe the heap when something wrapped itself around her right wrist and jerked downwards.
The woman was pulled off-balance by the sudden action, and ended up staring at a metal
spike that looked like it had once been a nail from the collapsed cot nearby. She looked further, and
grimaced at the sight of another woman's face, puffy and bruised. "Damn, you look like something
a coyote shit off a cliff. C'mon, let's get you out of here."
The injured woman dropped the spike, and looked at her wanna-be rescuer. She nodded,
gazing at her benefactor with her left eye, then fainted into the woman's arms. The woman picked
up the injured person, walked out of the room, and, with her free hand, she pulled a small radio off
a utility belt. Pushing the button on the radio, the woman said, "Pawn takes Queen."
As a response, she heard, "Bishop forks King and Rook". With the confirmation, the woman
leapt out of the window with her unconscious charge, fading into the night along with the other four
members of the assault force.
Two Weeks Later, Undisclosed Location; 10:30 AM
"How is she?"
"Not too good, I'm afraid. Her body will heal, and we replaced her right eye with a cybernetic
augmentation." The surgeon scrubbed his hands slowly, carefully removing all traces of blood from
his hands and arms while speaking.
"To be honest, she'll be in intensive care for at least a week, and will require several months
of therapy to allow her to adjust to her new eye. However, it's not her physical that concerns me."
"Really? Hell, I'm surprised she survived for so long with minimal medical attention. So
what are you worried about?" The two men walked out of the post-op room, and walked over to the
glass partition separating the hallway from the ICU. Both men looked at the only occupant of the
room, whose face was swathed in bandages, her right arm immobilized in a heavy plaster cast, and
in-tubated so she could breathe through the hideous bruises covering her normally slim neck.
"Her body will heal slowly, even with her nano-repair systems. Sadly, her psyche was
horribly tested by her ordeal, and we both know that it was never that strong to begin with."
"True. I'm glad that her brother and father are stuck in Kingston Pen. Those incestuous little
bastards are learning exactly how much the general population hates people like them."
"Hmm. I never knew that. What's your connection with her?"
"We've known each other since grade nine. Let's hope she pulls through. After all, Selina
is the commander of our spec-ops and humanitarian missions."
"We won't know until she wakes up. We're keeping her in a medical coma until her body's
healed. She'll probably be awake in two weeks, maybe three."
"Thanks. Keep me posted." The young man clapped his hand on the doctor's shoulder, then
walked away. The doctor stared at the man's retreating form for a few more seconds, then turned and
walked to his office. As he walked away, the overhead lights reflected off his nametag, which had
only 'Sorbie' on it. Inside the ICU, Selina's exposed eyelid twitched and fluttered.