. (spacecowboys) wrote in repose, @ 2018-08-12 14:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, cat dubrovna |
[Narrative]
Who: Cat
What: Narrative
Where: The Ukraine, mostly
When: Recently-ish
Of note on the news: Thefts in Jersey, the destruction of a medical facility outside of Kiev, and assassinations in London, New York, and Hong Kong.
For weeks, the Jersey headlines were littered with stories of stolen treasures. A necklace here, a bracelet there, a car over that way, a painting over this way. Nightly, and then daily, and then the thefts stopped. Nothing was sold, none of the treasures turned up in any of the usual places. No underworld markets, no deepweb sales, no alleys or smokey bars. No sign of anything that was stolen, and the police could never find a hint of the thief. There were no theatrics. No smoke and mirrors. Not so much as a hint of who was stealing things. The only true hint, for those in the know, was the perfect perfection of the heists. Big, small, nothing was overlooked, and the papers called the thief a ghost. And then the ghost vanished. Cat vanished. He traveled. Every time someone asked for his ID, he cringed. Every time someone asked where his parents were, he hissed. By the time he got to where he was going? He was hiding inside a hoodie, not wanting to be asked again if he was on a school trip. The Ukraine was familiar. It was familiar in the way of memories nearly forgotten and then kindled back into existence by a familiar scent or voice. It had been decades, but Cat remembered this place. The accents, the people, the scenery. It was funny, wasn't it? That it was here that the clues had led him. It could've been the dacha, which would've been even more ironic, but this was close enough. The warehouse was outside the city of Kiev. Warehouse, because that was what the documents said, but it wasn't a warehouse. It was a facility, and an elaborate one. Getting inside? Was a piece of cake. The scientists, white jackets and vast laboratories, weren't expecting the boy with the dark curls and haunted eyes. Anyone who'd known Cat when she was the physical age of the boy she seemed to be? Would've known to expect her. But no one here expected anything, and it was disgustingly easy to take them down. He left one alive. One man, covered in piss and smelling of fear, and that was a temporary affair. He needed that scientist, because Cat was done allowing other people to make his choices for him. He'd had a lifetime of that, and he was done. In a room filled with bodies, all primed and empty and ready to have consciousnesses downloaded into them, Cat found choice. He walked the room for days, with that scientist trembling and bound in the corner. Days, because it was an important decision. Days, because this was it. There was no turning back now, and Cat had never been particularly introspective. Who to be, that was something he'd never been given the chance to determine. He'd spent his life at the whims of others, being what was expected, and this time? This time he was choosing. Days. By the time he left, the scientist was dead, and the building was in flames, with vast quantities of hydrofluoric acid eating away at metal and rock until there was nothing but ash and smolder in that vast nothingness outside Kiev. All those bodies, gone, and the body of the boy with the dark curls and haunted eyes? That was gone too. But Cat wasn't done. There were three things left to be taken care of. Three targets, and the hunt took Cat to London, New York, and Hong Kong. Simple, and she'd always been a good assassin. He was a good assassin now, and he didn't bother torturing the masterminds behind the project. After all, why? It wasn't as if they were the first to attempt it, and they wouldn't be the last. But this group of scientists and intrepid businessmen? They wouldn't achieve the glory they sought. They achieved shallow graves and nothing more. The research was destroyed, and Cat walked away and didn't look back. And, now? Now was a time for new beginnings, and Cat considered. He could avoid Repose altogether, starting a quiet and unspectacular life somewhere no one would comment on how he wrote or spoke. True anonymity, but Cat was much too sentimental for that. No, Cat knew - even at the offset - that he'd return to Repose. Watching, which was risky, but Cat was still Cat at the core, and Cat loved risks. Risks and luxury and living big, and why not? He'd paid all his dues, hadn't he? Like Eddie, who had left in order to live, and found that only in returning could he life at all, Cat opted to return. But, this time? It was on his terms. |