[ 21 ] 

THE SLUGGISH JOLT of the vehicle was the only thing keeping her awake at this point. Every few moments there was a slight screech of the tyres, followed by the desperate purr of the engine as mud rose up, sprinkling the sides of the black Sedan. The driver, some higher-up Crux agent that Director Singh had trusted enough to drive her, cursed as he tried to push the car out from the crater it had lodged itself into, to no immediate avail. That was until the car bolted forward, causing Narcissa to follow this motion and almost give herself a black eye as her seatbelt whirred and stretched, the stick shift mere inches from her face.

Releasing a string of swears, she fumbled trying to sit back up, her cuffed hands clumsily grabbing at the storage compartment between the two front seats. She could only imagine what was inside -- weapons, some fancy technology that Crux hadn't yet unveiled to the board of National Security -- things Narcissa's engineering mind could only dream of. She missed the small room she'd had back in the Nakamura Manor as a kid, the pretty-much-closet in the last apartment she'd rented, places where she could connect fizzing wires and hissing machinery together with only her uneasy mind to keep her company.

Unable to resist the urge to look over her shoulder, she turned around in her seat, half-expecting to see a hand poking out from the trunk and seizing her by the neck; but only the sight of a dismal grey blanket, threadbare and cheap, greeted her, a dingy wave from an uninvited crowd. Swallowing, she forced herself to pivot back and face the front, where an open country road stared glumly back at her, riddled with potholes that looked bottomless in the bleary evening light.

Rural Pennsylvania wasn't the prettiest sight, especially not in the dump that barely enveloped Semper City. Where other places might've had lush greenery and laughing children, farm boys playing by the river, here there were fields. So many goddamn fields -- they were everywhere. Sometimes their dull beige would be replaced by an even duller grey as the Hartsicke River slowly prodded past, its waters musty and dense from the pollution wafting over from Semper, but that wasn't enough to entertain Narcissa as she twisted and turned in the backseat.

Director Singh had insisted on them going to Wolverhampton, a small town on the city's outskirts, with intelligence that there was something going down in their pub -- which slowly came into view, a few old-fashioned cars parked outside as well as some dirty trucks. A sign dangled from above the doorway, creaking as the driver opened the door for Narcissa and took off her handcuffs with a beep emitting the metal. With a frown down at the small gadget, she rolled out the kink that had settled in her neck, the fierce wind making her eyes water as she gingerly took a step toward, bones creaking.

"I don't appreciate you staring," was the first thing that left her lips with Finn's arrival, the bronze burn of his gaze leaving a scorching trail on her skin. A warm shiver ran down her spine, but Narcissa stifled it as she pressed her body against the door of the dive bar, a deafening creak making her wince.

"Wasn't," Finn answered under his breath, keeping his eyes trained on the face of his watch as shadows crept over his face and sharpened every edge. Shooting him an exasperated look, her stomach clenched and Narcissa made her way to a pool table in the centre of the dimly lit room, the green felt of it almost black in the waning orange-yellow light. The lack of a bouncer half-surprised her, but given the bar's remote location, she knew that she should've expected it.

This was the place for bad things, nothing else -- it was too far away from the highway to be a pit stop, nor close enough to Wolverhampton's main neighbourhoods to be of any use to its citizens. Narcissa was well-acquainted with bad things in bad places, and she knew very well that this was the place where drug deals, weapon trades and turf wars took place, not to mention a breeding ground for espionage.

With a shallow breath of smoky air, she placed her palms on the pool table, scratchy green felt burning into her skin as she dragged her hands forward. Her fingertip stroked the curve of one of the smooth ceramic balls, chipped red paint peeling off and leaving little dried pieces of it on the surface of the table.

Hot, sticky breath against the back of her neck caused her to arch her spine instinctively, teeth digging into her bottom lip. For a moment, she just froze in that position, before straightening abruptly, a snarl twitching over her face.

"Momma not teach you to keep your distance?" she hissed at the man behind her, a ruddy-faced man with dark hair.

His pale eyes were too small for his face, and he squinted in the way that someone who needed glasses desperately might've. With a bare of his teeth, which were surprisingly straight and white for someone as unshaven as he was, the man shrugged.

"My mother die long time ago, little girl," he grunted, his voice cloaked with a thick accent that Narcissa faintly recognised.

"Makes sense why you don't have manners, then," she responded matter-of-factly, the screech of a violin ebbing from the speakers drowning out her words.

God, country people and their goddamn music.

In the corner of her eye, Narcissa registered a burst of gold -- exactly in the same place that Finn had been last. Tilting her head back for a second to growl in agitation, she turned around to see the golden boy slam his body into the bar, which soon began changing colour as little metallic veins began to course through it, quickly widening till the entire counter became solid gold. At his feet, a terrified-looking man cowered on the floorboards, all the colour drained out of his face, eyes bulging with horror.

The crowd around them was still calm, men with crushed hats and long overcoats.

"Don't blow the cover," she muttered disapprovingly under her breath, beginning to make her way towards Finn, but a sudden sharp burst of pain at her temple forced her around once again.

"Gde ona?" the man from the pool table demanded, a vein throbbing in his neck as he balled his hands into fists.

Furrowing her eyebrows, Narcissa studied his words as he clenched his hand around her neck, pressing her against the wall. She was still thinking when his nails dig into the sides of her neck, and the grim determination on his features telling her that he was all of the strength in his body to restrain her.

Gde ona echoed in her head.

With a jolt of realisation, she let out a small gasp for air, a cough rising in her throat as she did.

It was Usnayan.

Racking her brain for a possible translation, Narcissa went limp to his powerful grip. As he briefly celebrated his victory, she raised her leg and kicked as hard as she could, pushing him away with a squelch of blood churning inside of him and a weighted groan.

The purpose of their mission wasn't to be subtle, but from the country men's undisturbed faces, it was clear that bar fights were common enough for no one to care. Usually, Narcissa would've welcomed that view, especially as it benefitted her tendency to get into fights in locations such as these, but she guessed that if Neleesha Singh had the same mindset as the Grandmaster, Crux wouldn't be as accommodating of that belief.

Going by Narcissa's brief knowledge of Russian, a long moment of thought was all it took to finally retrieve the meaning of the Usnayan's words.

Gde ona?

Where is she?

And there was only one important Usnayan that Narcissa knew.

"What do you want with her?" she addressed the man, who had now stood up and was muttering words she didn't understand under his breath.

Once again, he bared his teeth in that wild smile of his. "We have - how you say? Unfinished business."

A shiver running down her spine, Narcissa shook her wrist, causing an electronic beep to sound into her ear, quickly replaced by Director Singh's voice.

"Narcissa - listen to him. Do what he says. Just trust me on this one, ok?"

Though she really, really didn't want to follow the Director's instructions, Narcissa grudgingly found herself obliging, drawing a chair at the table the man had now sat down in.

"What do you want?" she repeated, and the man gave her that strange, bloodthirsty smile of his once again.

"We all want same thing, little snake. Truth, eh?" he leaned forward, and Narcissa recoiled at the sight of several guns around his belt, covered by his heavy dark overcoat, not unlike what all the other countrymen were wearing.

"What kinda truth are you talking 'bout?" she looked lazily down at her nails, the skin around them bleeding. 

At night, when she lay alone, she picked at it sometimes. It helped distract her mind, pretend everything was okay.

Narcissa's insides ached with anxiety, sharp pain stabbing at her stomach. Taking a shallow breath, she turned back to face the Usnayan, who had returned to an overflowing glass of beer.

"I asked you a question. I expect answers."

"Americans are so demanding. In my country you let man finish his drink before asking questions."

She snarled a response, "In my country, you answer questions before you get your head ripped off by someone with superhuman strength. Funny clash of cultures, then." 

"Ask me again, maybe I answer your question. I am in good mood today, you know." The man looked around the parlour of the bar, where another scuffle had broken out -- this time, a bartender was being punched in the head by a huge, looming man. Narcissa's eyes trailed the fight for a moment, but she wasn't being distracted; her attention was still pinned on the Usnayan, watching his every movement in the corner of her eyes, waiting for him to lash out.

"What the hell do you want in Semper?" she stood up, her chair screeching against the floorboards. The smell of smoke stung at her nostrils as a man lit a cigarette at the table next to them, the lighter causing strange shadows to cross over his face. Swallowing, she placed her palms on the tabletop, bare, chipped wood scraping against her calloused palms.

"Pax Killdow sends men to Usnaya -- Kistrozya, exactly. Our capital. Beautiful city, no? He knocks on door, asks for weapons. I say no. We do not like Americans in Usnaya; they leave us behind in war, no matter World War Two or civil war. We are not like you people, begging at their feet for mercy, grovel like pig." The last word was one he spat out with disgust, seeping into his ruddy face like poison.

Narcissa sat back and listened.

"My name is Dramisky. They call me Drakkon. Killdow come to me, come to beg at door one more time. We make deal. And so I come to Semper."

Draminsky gripped his chin with his index finger and thumb, losing himself in thought for a moment before giving Narcissa's a sad half-smile.

"I get everything I want."

He opened his jacket.

Dozens of knives lined the hems, gun all pressing against his chest. The weight made it heave as he broke into a stride, the weapons hitting his bones with a clunk. 

"I need my Sasha."

Narcissa readied herself for a strike but none came.

Then, in perfect, unaccented English, Draminsky added, "I hope you understand."

[ end ]