His consciousness returned in waves, slow, heavy, and uneven. First came the throbbing pain spreading through his head, like a jackhammer at work inside his skull. Then came the dry mouth, along with a metallic, sickly-sweet taste. Finally, the gradual return of sensation, each one more uncomfortable than the last.
There was a cold metal surface beneath his forearms. Firm, uncompromising pressure around his wrists. He tried to move his hands, but they did not give an inch. Electronic restraints. There was another pair around his ankles as well, leaving him completely immobilized.
'This poison... it was stronger than I thought.' He took a deep breath, or rather, he tried to. The air came in harsh and dense, as if his lungs were being forced to work again after hours shut down, triggering a series of dry, painful coughs. "Cough! Cough! Cough!"
"Well then, it seems our guest is awake."
The unfamiliar voice forced Jon to open his eyes. He was seated in a metal chair at the center of a small, empty room with concrete walls, the only light coming from a yellowish panel embedded in the ceiling.
Right in front of him, seated on an identical chair, was a man. Tall, with a precisely trimmed beard, dark glossy hair slicked back, and a white suit that seemed to defy the grime of the room. He watched Jon with a curious, clinical, patient gaze, as calm as someone who already had all the answers but still enjoyed the process.
Beside him, standing, were three figures.
Aurore Cassel was the first. Arms crossed, bored expression, the same outfit she had worn on the rooftop, now stripped of its fake charm. Her eyes were fixed on him, revealing neither feeling nor emotion. To her right stood two other men. One tall, with hair the same color as Aurore's, his face marked by profound disinterest. The other, short and stocky, looked exhausted, as if he had gone several days without sleep.
The man in the suit smiled without parting his lips and spoke again, drawing Jon's focus back to himself. "You have probably already noticed that all the implants in your body are inactive. Total disconnection." He gestured toward the three standing figures. "Credit where credit is due. My three netrunners here are… exceptionally competent."
Jon said nothing, only narrowing his eyes.
Aurore, who had been watching in silence, stepped forward, a hint of impatience in her voice. "The job is done, Monsieur Ocho. The delivery was successful, the target is harmless, and all evidence of our operation has been wiped from the Net. We may go now, yes?"
The man nodded. "Absolutely. Payment is already being transferred to your accounts. You three outdid yourselves this time. Excellent work."
Aurore cast Jon one last look before leaving with the other two, leaving him alone with the man called Ocho.
Nothing was said for several seconds, the two staring at each other in the heavy silence of the room, until Jon broke it, his voice hoarse. "Who are you?"
"I think the correct question would be… who are you?" Ocho replied, standing up and beginning to pace slowly around the room. "A man of many faces. Many names. Many personalities. I was genuinely impressed when your dossier landed in my hands. I mean, how could dozens of the most wanted men on the planet all turn out to be a single individual?" He clasped his hands behind his back. "Arasaka, Biotechnica, IEC, Orbital Air, EuroBank, SovOil, Kang Tao, NetWatch, among others. You made many powerful enemies along the way. I confess I would not like to be in your place."
"So… I was betrayed," Jon murmured, lowering his gaze to the restraints.
"Yes, one could say that." Ocho stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I will be direct. I am going to sell you to the highest bidder. This is the end of the line for you. But before that, there is one missing piece in my puzzle. Who do you work for? That information was not in the material I received. And since you were betrayed like this… I doubt you still have reason to protect secrets."
Jon said nothing, keeping his head down.
Ocho did not give up. "This is merely a personal curiosity. I promise I will keep it to myself. I would simply like to know who, in the end, was commanding the boogeyman himself."
Jon slowly raised his head. "FIA. I work for the FIA."
Ocho froze in place. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a genuine flash of surprise. "Oh… I did not think you would actually… tell me."
"It does not really matter now, does it?" Jon said with a bitter smile.
Ocho regained his composure, the faint smile returning to his lips. "Indeed. My initial theory leaned toward some dirty arm of the Soviet Union. But the FIA… that makes much more sense. They are the only ones with the resources and the arrogance to use you as a scalpel across the globe." He paused, considering. "It also explains why Militech is not hunting one of your personas. At least, not to my knowledge."
"No, they are not." Jon shifted slightly in the chair, testing the movement of his shoulders against the backrest. The numbing effect of the poison had worn off.
"Hm. I believe that is everything," Ocho said, visibly satisfied, heading for the door. His curiosity had been sated. "I should return in a few hours with your buyer. Use this time to—"
K̵̰͚̰͍̈̔̔͋̌̍͝Я̶̛͙̲̜̩͍̳͖͗̆̅̈́͒̏͒̕ͅR̴̟͂̍̓͒̌̓̀̾̓̏͘͘͝Ƨ̸̨̡̧̱̯̗̬͕̹̤̰̫͋̾̒̒̀̉̈́̕͝͝H̷̙̖̞̥̯̺̟̱͙̱̠͒̀̊͋̊̔͘͝͝ͅ–̴̢̧͉̼̹͖̘̲̯̱̲̦̯̈̎̈͛͗͗̌̀̇̒͂̈́͜Ƶ̸̡͖͉́̌́̽Z̷̜̟̩͚̹̠̀͛͐̒Ƶ̴̘̤̗̩̗̄̊́̑́̕Ƶ̸̨̥̲̦̉̿̈͆̄̀̄͊̅͊͝Ṯ̴̱͙̭̟͖̮̗̹͎͔͕͑̽̒̈́̃̊͑̚̕͜͜
He never finished the sentence.
In the span of a second, Ocho collapsed to the floor, his cybernetic implants and neural systems failing simultaneously, spewing sparks in every direction. He died without even having the chance to wonder what was happening.
Click! Click!
The restraints on Jon's wrists opened and fell to the floor with a dull thud. A moment later, the same sound came from his ankles. He stood up, rubbing the red marks the metal had left on his wrists. 'Finally, the poison has worn off. I could not stand listening to that guy talk anymore…' Stepping over Ocho's body without sparing it a single glance, he left the room.
Outside, three burly men with thick cybernetic arms blocked a long, narrow corridor. Their expressions froze the instant they saw him and realized that, somehow, the prisoner was free.
They did not get the chance to do anything before collapsing to the floor simultaneously, like marionettes with their strings cut, sparks bursting in every direction.
K̵̰͚̰͍̈̔̔͋̌̍͝Я̶̛͙̲̜̩͍̳͖͗̆̅̈́͒̏͒̕ͅR̴̟͂̍̓͒̌̓̀̾̓̏͘͘͝Ƨ̸̨̡̧̱̯̗̬͕̹̤̰̫͋̾̒̒̀̉̈́̕͝͝H̷̙̖̞̥̯̺̟̱͙̱̠͒̀̊͋̊̔͘͝͝ͅ–̴̢̧͉̼̹͖̘̲̯̱̲̦̯̈̎̈͛͗͗̌̀̇̒͂̈́͜Ƶ̸̡͖͉́̌́̽Z̷̜̟̩͚̹̠̀͛͐̒Ƶ̴̘̤̗̩̗̄̊́̑́̕Ƶ̸̨̥̲̦̉̿̈͆̄̀̄͊̅͊͝Ṯ̴̱͙̭̟͖̮̗̹͎͔͕͑̽̒̈́̃̊͑̚̕͜͜
K̵̰͚̰͍̈̔̔͋̌̍͝Я̶̛͙̲̜̩͍̳͖͗̆̅̈́͒̏͒̕ͅR̴̟͂̍̓͒̌̓̀̾̓̏͘͘͝Ƨ̸̨̡̧̱̯̗̬͕̹̤̰̫͋̾̒̒̀̉̈́̕͝͝H̷̙̖̞̥̯̺̟̱͙̱̠͒̀̊͋̊̔͘͝͝ͅ–̴̢̧͉̼̹͖̘̲̯̱̲̦̯̈̎̈͛͗͗̌̀̇̒͂̈́͜Ƶ̸̡͖͉́̌́̽Z̷̜̟̩͚̹̠̀͛͐̒Ƶ̴̘̤̗̩̗̄̊́̑́̕Ƶ̸̨̥̲̦̉̿̈͆̄̀̄͊̅͊͝Ṯ̴̱͙̭̟͖̮̗̹͎͔͕͑̽̒̈́̃̊͑̚̕͜͜
K̵̰͚̰͍̈̔̔͋̌̍͝Я̶̛͙̲̜̩͍̳͖͗̆̅̈́͒̏͒̕ͅR̴̟͂̍̓͒̌̓̀̾̓̏͘͘͝Ƨ̸̨̡̧̱̯̗̬͕̹̤̰̫͋̾̒̒̀̉̈́̕͝͝H̷̙̖̞̥̯̺̟̱͙̱̠͒̀̊͋̊̔͘͝͝ͅ–̴̢̧͉̼̹͖̘̲̯̱̲̦̯̈̎̈͛͗͗̌̀̇̒͂̈́͜Ƶ̸̡͖͉́̌́̽Z̷̜̟̩͚̹̠̀͛͐̒Ƶ̴̘̤̗̩̗̄̊́̑́̕Ƶ̸̨̥̲̦̉̿̈͆̄̀̄͊̅͊͝Ṯ̴̱͙̭̟͖̮̗̹͎͔͕͑̽̒̈́̃̊͑̚̕͜͜
*******
[Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.