Danil Averin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mountainbones) wrote2015-06-04 10:50 pm
mountainbones) wrote2015-06-04 10:50 pm
Sample One for Underground
Pasted from Gdocs (my writing is in orange)
When Danil awoke, as he had for the last two weeks, it was to the now-familiar sound of electronic monitoring machines, the rasp that was his own shallow breaths, and the pale dance of lights that the same machines cast into the gloom.
And another figure, slumped into a doubtlessly uncomfortable hospital chair which had dragged over beside the closed door, like a sentinel or guard… though, as Danil's eyes adjusted, it became obvious that this self-imposed guardian had likewise been sleeping.
The commander's head had lolled to the side, cheek nearly against his own shoulder, and both eyes were closed beneath a brow furrowed by troubled dreams. One hand lay on a book placed in his lap just so that his place in it would be kept.
He snored, quietly.
Danil licked his dry, cracked lips, cold blue eyes flicking to the side, taking in his commander. The corner of his lips quirked up in a smile softer than he ever allowed around people who could actually see him. He shifted, and was rewarded with a stab of pain that radiated outwards. Painful, but manageable, unlike just a week ago, when just moving had stolen his very breath away.
The doctors told him that he had taken at least four rounds to the chest cavity, that one had tore through his liver, and that the other two had shredded through his ribcage and lungs. Or in layman's terms, 'insides turned into hamburger'. He had heard the choice phrase from one of the doctors in the hall when they thought he was sleeping.
The new liver and spleen that were growing in his body were cloned from his own tissue, but the lungs were 100% artificial. He had after all, signed that release with the ministry. It all felt like his own lungs…well, without the coughing fits perhaps. Speaking of…
"Commander," He croaked out, licked his lips again, and attempted, "Commander. Tell me you have a pack on you. They took away mine…."
The other man jerked at the noise, one hand clenching the book while the other dashed to reach beneath his uniform jacket-- and only then seemed to realize his surroundings. He blinked, several times, his clouded eye a bright point in the darkness.
"I brought one for you. Already on the side table," he croaked, voice low, throat dry. "How do you feel?"
Danil twisted carefully, eyes lighting up at the pack lying on the sidetable, next to this lighter. He reached for both, fingers stroking once over the dented, dull metal, smoothing over the curling cyrillic script stamped into the side of it. His fingers trembled slightly at the simple task as he ripped open the pack, and tapped out a cig, lighting it, and exhaling in a silver cloud.
"Don't know why the doctors bitch; I've got bionic lungs now." Danil said, inhaling from the lit cigarette, the cherry glowing bright, highlighting his sharp features, made even more gaunt by his stay in the hospital, and horrific injuries.
"I feel as good as can be expected. He replied, "Every breath doesn't hurt now." His mouth twisted, darkly amused, "Just every other."
Versio smiled, though far more bitterly. "I hold myself responsible for all this," he admitted, with a small shake to his head. His lips pressed together thinly, and his fingertips plucked fitfully at the edges of the book in his lap.
"Hopefully, you'll be back on your feet before long," he sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Is there anything I, or the Ministry, can do for you in the meantime?"
Danil shrugged, "It happens, Tal." His eyes were sharp in the darkness, like the edge of a knife "Now is not the time to play martyr. I'm fine, Daeron's fine, we all move on." His mouth twisted a little. "Nothing springs to mind, but can I save this as a favor?" He asked, only half-joking.
"You can, if you like," answered Tal, his own demeanor going grim, "But I promise that you'll be using it before I leave here today." He folded his hands together, leaned forward a little. "Tell me, Danil-- have you come up with any conclusions, after studying the shooter's programming?"
"Yes." Danil sat up slightly, carefully scratching at one of the many leads piercing the back of his hand. "I was trained in Vorland, I think at least," A shadow darkened his face but it passed in a moment, "It...feels like the style that's taught in top military academies. It has the same small idiosyncrasies and logic structure." He leaned over with a wince, and handed Tal a datastick, "I've highlighted the android's code and a sample of Vorland encoded intelligence. You can see the similarities between the two. But the hardware of that..thing, is definitely Kashayaran. So Kashaya gave Vorland a blank bot….or Vorland stole it. Or least that's what Kashaya will say if confronted." Danil shifted a little, leaning back before continuing "I can dig a little deeper and try and see there was original code that was wiped from the bot, but that will take a while."
"No, don't worry about it. We weren't able to find any serial codes from Vorland manufacturers, but some of the bot still has the serials native to Kashaya. Especially after what you've told me... I intend to send the team to Kashaya, to get me the original manufacturer's records which correspond to the unit used in the shooting. If that information implicates a more detailed target in Vorland… you're to travel there, discreetly extract the evidence, and leave a message a level of magnitude more serious than the one that sent you here."
He hesitated, and then went on. "I'd suspected what you might find, so I'd already contacted agents in Vorland, which I'd instructed to find any other confirmation. And one agent, well-placed, was able to deliver something substantial."
He reached onto the table beside him, hefting up a thickly-filled folder stuffed with papers. The front was imprinted in dark red, blocky cyrillic.
"Six years ago, Vorland had begun hand-selecting top graduates from its military academies for a top-tier program, the Azdaja Project. At the time, Vorland was a low-level consideration, still broken-backed after the war, and within a few years, the project faded off of monitored channels." He flipped open the folder, looking to it, now, rather than Danil, thumbed through the pages.
"According to my source, the project is back-- or re-activated, it's very unclear-- in a big way, and that its members, or its leaders, may be responsible not just for the two shootings, but other events we haven't yet even put a finger on."
He picked up one smaller piece of paper- a photo- and offered it to Danil. It was black-and-white, as were all of Vorland's official photos, and seemed to picture the graduating class of one of the nation's prestigious military schools: Khabarovsk. Danil, younger, sharper- stood on the first row, solemn.
"You realize that-" But Danil' protests faded when he took the photo. He was always pale,but turned absolutely bloodless when he saw the photo, the thick paper crinkling slightly in his grip. His cigarette, utterly forgotten between his fingers, let out a acrid stench as it burned down to the filter.
Tremors wracked Danil's bony frame, and he whispered, "Do you have records, anything about...me?" His breaths came faster and faster until they were nearly pants, and a sheen of sweat slicked his skin from the pain of it.
"A name," answered Tal, very quietly. "A call sign. More photos. An application form to the project, a redacted biography. Very little else." He paused, there, watching Danil, and offered the other man the rest of the file. "As well as those of more than two-dozen other men. I would like you to digitize this information. The hard copies are yours."
"I.. know how much this means to you, Danil. And know that I stand by my word to you. If the team can identify concrete evidence which can place blame- on Vorland or any other enemy- I will make getting the rest of your files the highest priority for the team, and my other agents."
Danil nodded, looking wild, his pupils wide and dilated. With a start he realized the burning cigarette in his hand, and stubbed it out in the makeshift ashtray by his bed.
"Yes." He whispered, voice harsh, intense. He stare fixed, his gaze hungry. "Is there any information there about family?"
One of the few memories that Danil had was of a woman, blonde, smiling, laughing. She wore a simple cotton dress, cornflower blue to match her eyes. And he had no reason for it, but he knew that she was his sister.
And that was all he had. He was like a slate wiped clean; he still had learned skills, but what made him, what made him truly Danil was lost. No memories, nothing to tell him what he was, expect for her, this one woman.
And when she looked at him, she had smiled.
His eyes squeezed shut, as if he could hide the sudden wetness from Tal.
"I poured over it. Nothing," sighed the commander, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead, the bridge of his nose. He looked far older than he was, in the dim light, the weight of his cares etched deeply into the lines of his face.
"Not even an address. But," he leaned back, considering the other man. "I… haven't told anyone else about this part. Not even the team. I know how you prefer to play all your cards close to the chest."
"Thank you." Danil whispered hoarsely. "I," He rubbed his hands over his face, violently enough that he came close to dislodging some of the IVs. "I need-fuck." He stared at the file in Tal's hand, but now the hunger was tinged with fear.
"What will I find there?" He asked, softly. "I've..I've wanted to find out who I was. But Tal," He looked up, and his blue eyes had lost their characteristic hardness, leaving a vulnerability and a yawning pit of grief. "I have the feeling that I won't like what I find.
Tal did not shy from that look, and met it with a grim, even grieved understanding. "I know that feeling," he murmured, "At least a little." He sighed, quietly, and lifted the folder. "This, Danil. This is just a thread, frayed from the tapestry of your life. But there's enough here for you to follow back to the fabric. The team found you in a prison, tortured almost to madness. If you were one of them to begin with… I think you're right, to be cautious. To worry."
He leaned forward, set the file in Danil's lap. "You've put your life and your work in my hands, and I've been fucking grateful for it. Whoever you were, before you came to me, whatever kind of man you were… I want you to know that nothing you find will overshadow the sacrifices you've made for me, and that if you choose, I will follow this line of inquiry to whatever bitter end it might yield."
Danil's fingers twitched above the file, but he didn’t pull his gaze away from the other man. “The past doesn’t shape what we are.” He said softly, but there was a questioning lilt to his voice. “We can forge our own paths, diverge from what has already been laid behind us….can’t we?”
Tal smiled, at that; and his lone green eye reflected that smile. He leaned, neatly pulling one of the cigarettes from the carton and proffering it as if requesting a light.
"You already have."
The harsh planes of Danil’s face softened, just for a moment, into a fleeting smile and he leaned in, flicking open his lighter, and gently touching the flame to the end of Tal’s cigarette. He tapped out another for himself, lighting it. He took a long, slow drag from it, as his other hand, slowly, drifted down, pausing for only a moment more before flipping the file open.
After a moment, silently breathing in on the freshly-lit cigarette, eyes closed, the commander gathered up his book again, flicked the hanging ash into the tray, and moved to stand.
"I'll let you look over it in peace," he said around the cigarette, clamped easily between his lips. The bright ember barely wavered as he spoke. "And be back to see you tomorrow. Anything besides cigarettes you would like me to bring?"
Danil looked up, cig dangling from between his fingers. “You brought my cigarettes, my best port, and a bit of my past. I think I’ll be doing just fine.” A ghost of a smile shivered across his face before his gaze dropped, eyes rapidly scanning the dense text.
When Danil awoke, as he had for the last two weeks, it was to the now-familiar sound of electronic monitoring machines, the rasp that was his own shallow breaths, and the pale dance of lights that the same machines cast into the gloom.
And another figure, slumped into a doubtlessly uncomfortable hospital chair which had dragged over beside the closed door, like a sentinel or guard… though, as Danil's eyes adjusted, it became obvious that this self-imposed guardian had likewise been sleeping.
The commander's head had lolled to the side, cheek nearly against his own shoulder, and both eyes were closed beneath a brow furrowed by troubled dreams. One hand lay on a book placed in his lap just so that his place in it would be kept.
He snored, quietly.
Danil licked his dry, cracked lips, cold blue eyes flicking to the side, taking in his commander. The corner of his lips quirked up in a smile softer than he ever allowed around people who could actually see him. He shifted, and was rewarded with a stab of pain that radiated outwards. Painful, but manageable, unlike just a week ago, when just moving had stolen his very breath away.
The doctors told him that he had taken at least four rounds to the chest cavity, that one had tore through his liver, and that the other two had shredded through his ribcage and lungs. Or in layman's terms, 'insides turned into hamburger'. He had heard the choice phrase from one of the doctors in the hall when they thought he was sleeping.
The new liver and spleen that were growing in his body were cloned from his own tissue, but the lungs were 100% artificial. He had after all, signed that release with the ministry. It all felt like his own lungs…well, without the coughing fits perhaps. Speaking of…
"Commander," He croaked out, licked his lips again, and attempted, "Commander. Tell me you have a pack on you. They took away mine…."
The other man jerked at the noise, one hand clenching the book while the other dashed to reach beneath his uniform jacket-- and only then seemed to realize his surroundings. He blinked, several times, his clouded eye a bright point in the darkness.
"I brought one for you. Already on the side table," he croaked, voice low, throat dry. "How do you feel?"
Danil twisted carefully, eyes lighting up at the pack lying on the sidetable, next to this lighter. He reached for both, fingers stroking once over the dented, dull metal, smoothing over the curling cyrillic script stamped into the side of it. His fingers trembled slightly at the simple task as he ripped open the pack, and tapped out a cig, lighting it, and exhaling in a silver cloud.
"Don't know why the doctors bitch; I've got bionic lungs now." Danil said, inhaling from the lit cigarette, the cherry glowing bright, highlighting his sharp features, made even more gaunt by his stay in the hospital, and horrific injuries.
"I feel as good as can be expected. He replied, "Every breath doesn't hurt now." His mouth twisted, darkly amused, "Just every other."
Versio smiled, though far more bitterly. "I hold myself responsible for all this," he admitted, with a small shake to his head. His lips pressed together thinly, and his fingertips plucked fitfully at the edges of the book in his lap.
"Hopefully, you'll be back on your feet before long," he sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Is there anything I, or the Ministry, can do for you in the meantime?"
Danil shrugged, "It happens, Tal." His eyes were sharp in the darkness, like the edge of a knife "Now is not the time to play martyr. I'm fine, Daeron's fine, we all move on." His mouth twisted a little. "Nothing springs to mind, but can I save this as a favor?" He asked, only half-joking.
"You can, if you like," answered Tal, his own demeanor going grim, "But I promise that you'll be using it before I leave here today." He folded his hands together, leaned forward a little. "Tell me, Danil-- have you come up with any conclusions, after studying the shooter's programming?"
"Yes." Danil sat up slightly, carefully scratching at one of the many leads piercing the back of his hand. "I was trained in Vorland, I think at least," A shadow darkened his face but it passed in a moment, "It...feels like the style that's taught in top military academies. It has the same small idiosyncrasies and logic structure." He leaned over with a wince, and handed Tal a datastick, "I've highlighted the android's code and a sample of Vorland encoded intelligence. You can see the similarities between the two. But the hardware of that..thing, is definitely Kashayaran. So Kashaya gave Vorland a blank bot….or Vorland stole it. Or least that's what Kashaya will say if confronted." Danil shifted a little, leaning back before continuing "I can dig a little deeper and try and see there was original code that was wiped from the bot, but that will take a while."
"No, don't worry about it. We weren't able to find any serial codes from Vorland manufacturers, but some of the bot still has the serials native to Kashaya. Especially after what you've told me... I intend to send the team to Kashaya, to get me the original manufacturer's records which correspond to the unit used in the shooting. If that information implicates a more detailed target in Vorland… you're to travel there, discreetly extract the evidence, and leave a message a level of magnitude more serious than the one that sent you here."
He hesitated, and then went on. "I'd suspected what you might find, so I'd already contacted agents in Vorland, which I'd instructed to find any other confirmation. And one agent, well-placed, was able to deliver something substantial."
He reached onto the table beside him, hefting up a thickly-filled folder stuffed with papers. The front was imprinted in dark red, blocky cyrillic.
"Six years ago, Vorland had begun hand-selecting top graduates from its military academies for a top-tier program, the Azdaja Project. At the time, Vorland was a low-level consideration, still broken-backed after the war, and within a few years, the project faded off of monitored channels." He flipped open the folder, looking to it, now, rather than Danil, thumbed through the pages.
"According to my source, the project is back-- or re-activated, it's very unclear-- in a big way, and that its members, or its leaders, may be responsible not just for the two shootings, but other events we haven't yet even put a finger on."
He picked up one smaller piece of paper- a photo- and offered it to Danil. It was black-and-white, as were all of Vorland's official photos, and seemed to picture the graduating class of one of the nation's prestigious military schools: Khabarovsk. Danil, younger, sharper- stood on the first row, solemn.
"You realize that-" But Danil' protests faded when he took the photo. He was always pale,but turned absolutely bloodless when he saw the photo, the thick paper crinkling slightly in his grip. His cigarette, utterly forgotten between his fingers, let out a acrid stench as it burned down to the filter.
Tremors wracked Danil's bony frame, and he whispered, "Do you have records, anything about...me?" His breaths came faster and faster until they were nearly pants, and a sheen of sweat slicked his skin from the pain of it.
"A name," answered Tal, very quietly. "A call sign. More photos. An application form to the project, a redacted biography. Very little else." He paused, there, watching Danil, and offered the other man the rest of the file. "As well as those of more than two-dozen other men. I would like you to digitize this information. The hard copies are yours."
"I.. know how much this means to you, Danil. And know that I stand by my word to you. If the team can identify concrete evidence which can place blame- on Vorland or any other enemy- I will make getting the rest of your files the highest priority for the team, and my other agents."
Danil nodded, looking wild, his pupils wide and dilated. With a start he realized the burning cigarette in his hand, and stubbed it out in the makeshift ashtray by his bed.
"Yes." He whispered, voice harsh, intense. He stare fixed, his gaze hungry. "Is there any information there about family?"
One of the few memories that Danil had was of a woman, blonde, smiling, laughing. She wore a simple cotton dress, cornflower blue to match her eyes. And he had no reason for it, but he knew that she was his sister.
And that was all he had. He was like a slate wiped clean; he still had learned skills, but what made him, what made him truly Danil was lost. No memories, nothing to tell him what he was, expect for her, this one woman.
And when she looked at him, she had smiled.
His eyes squeezed shut, as if he could hide the sudden wetness from Tal.
"I poured over it. Nothing," sighed the commander, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead, the bridge of his nose. He looked far older than he was, in the dim light, the weight of his cares etched deeply into the lines of his face.
"Not even an address. But," he leaned back, considering the other man. "I… haven't told anyone else about this part. Not even the team. I know how you prefer to play all your cards close to the chest."
"Thank you." Danil whispered hoarsely. "I," He rubbed his hands over his face, violently enough that he came close to dislodging some of the IVs. "I need-fuck." He stared at the file in Tal's hand, but now the hunger was tinged with fear.
"What will I find there?" He asked, softly. "I've..I've wanted to find out who I was. But Tal," He looked up, and his blue eyes had lost their characteristic hardness, leaving a vulnerability and a yawning pit of grief. "I have the feeling that I won't like what I find.
Tal did not shy from that look, and met it with a grim, even grieved understanding. "I know that feeling," he murmured, "At least a little." He sighed, quietly, and lifted the folder. "This, Danil. This is just a thread, frayed from the tapestry of your life. But there's enough here for you to follow back to the fabric. The team found you in a prison, tortured almost to madness. If you were one of them to begin with… I think you're right, to be cautious. To worry."
He leaned forward, set the file in Danil's lap. "You've put your life and your work in my hands, and I've been fucking grateful for it. Whoever you were, before you came to me, whatever kind of man you were… I want you to know that nothing you find will overshadow the sacrifices you've made for me, and that if you choose, I will follow this line of inquiry to whatever bitter end it might yield."
Danil's fingers twitched above the file, but he didn’t pull his gaze away from the other man. “The past doesn’t shape what we are.” He said softly, but there was a questioning lilt to his voice. “We can forge our own paths, diverge from what has already been laid behind us….can’t we?”
Tal smiled, at that; and his lone green eye reflected that smile. He leaned, neatly pulling one of the cigarettes from the carton and proffering it as if requesting a light.
"You already have."
The harsh planes of Danil’s face softened, just for a moment, into a fleeting smile and he leaned in, flicking open his lighter, and gently touching the flame to the end of Tal’s cigarette. He tapped out another for himself, lighting it. He took a long, slow drag from it, as his other hand, slowly, drifted down, pausing for only a moment more before flipping the file open.
After a moment, silently breathing in on the freshly-lit cigarette, eyes closed, the commander gathered up his book again, flicked the hanging ash into the tray, and moved to stand.
"I'll let you look over it in peace," he said around the cigarette, clamped easily between his lips. The bright ember barely wavered as he spoke. "And be back to see you tomorrow. Anything besides cigarettes you would like me to bring?"
Danil looked up, cig dangling from between his fingers. “You brought my cigarettes, my best port, and a bit of my past. I think I’ll be doing just fine.” A ghost of a smile shivered across his face before his gaze dropped, eyes rapidly scanning the dense text.