City-21 “Kyiv”, UNSA Protectorate, Avril Dominion
The Palace of Sports, underground parking lot nearby
Maksim Chernykh’s team, August 12, 2049, 6:18 PM
Everything was done quickly and in almost complete silence. Nikola ran to grab some items for the Spanish girl – she was left with a sleeping bag, a flashlight, and a day’s rations. Sharing was a stingy affair since they had brought exactly three sleeping bags. Redhead grumbled out of formality, but still handed everything over.
Max and Nikola escorted Alba down to the third sublevel. Dasha accompanied them, needing to ensure the Spaniard couldn’t access the network before detaching the smart-cables from her sub-brain.
As they descended, connectivity with the satellites faltered and vanished midway to the second sublevel, prompting Daria to sever the connections and sprint back to prepare the truck for their departure. Plus, they decided to activate a couple of drones brought from the university. The last thing anyone wanted was another surprise encounter with shaiszu or agents of the Protectorate. The flying scouts would help mitigate such risks – fortunately, everyone in Max’s team could handle these “gizmos” just well.
Their descent was silent, punctuated only by the heavy footfalls echoing through the empty stairwell. Alba seemed on the verge of speaking several times, but each time, the words seemed to retreat, leaving her quiet and contemplative.
Eventually, they reached a nondescript utility room Maksim had identified during reconnaissance. It seemed previously used as a security break room, equipped with simple amenities – a few chairs, a table, a modest bathroom, a bed, and some barren lockers. Despite the lack of lighting, the essentials were there: water, decent ventilation, and the provided flashlight.
The door, robust and metallic, featured a simple automated lock powered by a long-lasting battery – easy enough to reprogram in a couple of seconds.
The goodbye was grim.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this, Alba,” Max began, looking at the frowning girl. “I doubt our paths will cross again. So, good luck... and farewell.”
She looked up at him with shimmering eyes – she wanted to cry but held back. She knew Maksim didn't like tears:
“Why?..”
“Alba...” He sighed. “Just let go. Forget us. It’s all in the past, especially now. Apparently, we ended up on opposing sides, and there is no changing to that. You’ll stay here until morning, while we leave Kyiv within twenty minutes, and our lives diverge forever.”
“I don’t… want to,” she whispered, a single tear escaping her resolve. “Max, stay... I... care for you... I… lov…”
“The lock will release at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. You’ll be free then. Farewell.”
“Take care,” Nikola added curtly, and they turned, leaving her behind as the door shut with a final, cold clang.
Alone in the darkness, Alba made her way to the wall, collapsed into a small, tight ball on the cold floor, and finally allowed herself the tears she’d held at bay.
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Maksim ramped up the wheelchair to its maximum speed as he tackled the incline, while Nika kept pace alongside on foot.
“Look, I may not get everything, but why did you tell her we’re leaving the city? And how do you plan to pull that off in just thirty minutes before curfew?” she questioned.
“I’m not actually planning to,” Max confessed. “You know it’s impossible. Plus, we need medical help – and so do you. Remember, you’re a cyborg, not a machine.”
A media glyph blinked as it found and connected to a network.
[How’s it going, WonderKid? Drones ready?]
[Fully.] Dasha giggled with mischief, enabling the “first person” view.
The camera revealed her inside the truck, the platform pushed to the very edge, ready for loading. Seated on the floor, legs crossed, with both drones prepared for flight before her, she was surrounded by swirling dense vapor clouds.
[Vasilevskaya?!]
[Maksimka! I found myself a “zero mix”!] Dasha’s voice bubbled with excitement. [See? White steam!]
[Craziness,] Red commented sarcastically.
[No argument there,] Max sighed. [But she’s brilliant when it counts. We need that brainpower now.]
[Yep, that’s me…] Dashka contently purred. [Err… And… What’s up?]
[And what do you think yourself?] Max and Nikola had made their way to the first level and were hustling toward the unimog.
[I dunno…] Dasha pondered, her forehead wrinkling comically before she confidently declared, [Given the current situation, probably need to secure safe transport to the ‘clinic’ Nika arranged. And figure out how to shake the Protectorate off our tail. Or rather, how to prevent them from tailing us… Alba might spill about us.]
As she spoke, the wheelchair reached the truck and came to a stop beside the cargo area.
“That’s right. And we need to figure this out in the next thirty-eight minutes before curfew. So, let’s decide the safest method quickly and move! It’ll take us at least fifteen minutes to the site if we detour through pedestrian and bike paths. Dasha, get to the cab; Nika, start loading.”
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Within three minutes, the loading was complete. The bots, including Big One with all the bags, were situated near the roboplatform. Alisa’s body was also placed nearby. At the rear of the cargo space, there was just enough room left for a dolly and the backpacks Nika had hauled.
“Hmm… I’ve been to ‘the Factory’ more than once.” Redhead commented, tearing open a large packet of wet wipes in an attempt to scrub the blood from her hands and face. “There are no cameras in the vicinity – locals enforce that rigorously. As for orbital satellites, there are about a dozen covert approaches to the place, including one where you just drive past it.”
“Great. Can we manage that from our current track?” Maksim displayed a route map in their virtual conference, tracing their path from the parking area to the complex.
“Lemme see.” Nika pondered, zooming in on the destination. She marked several points on the map. “Right here, there’s a tunnel under the highway, about five hundred meters long. Directly above it, is a sizable bus bay, mirrored by a similar space inside the tunnel itself. There’s a door marked ‘Technical Areas, No Entry’ leading to a staircase and a cargo elevator. And, just by chance, a covered overpass stretches right across the highway above all this majesty.”
“Perfect,” Max grinned. “Got it. And it’s only mere luck that there’re no cameras in the tunnel, and the passageway comes out right under the canopy by the fence, or something similar, right?”
“Exactly. Any whim for your money, you see. There are official and public entries too, but why show our hand to the Protectorate unnecessarily?” Nikola shrugged.
“Absolutely unnecessary. So, Dasha, here’s a million-eurodollars question – did you take only the main units of Moira or everything we had on the racks?”
“We couldn’t fit everything by weight,” the girl hesitated momentarily as her hand moved towards her vape, then reconsidered under Max’s stern look and put it back. “But I took nine additional ‘ProjectBoxes’ because they aren’t heavy.”
“Nine’s pretty substantial. Can you power one from the unimog’s onboard network?”
“I can.” Dasha nodded. “There’s a small window in the cargo area I can run cables through. Want to set up an independent autopilot, yeah?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Yep. The unimog is smart, has enough sensors and cameras. We’ll send it far out of the city, maybe towards Cherkasy. Let’s also see how the Protectorate responds to vehicle movements during curfew. Can you handle that en route?”
“Definitely. But I’d rather not sit in the cab... since the windshield’s gone.”
“We might as well cover up the cab completely,” Maksim’s ingrained paranoia seemed to kick in. “You wrapped the modules on the platform with film, right?”
“Uh-huh, stole it from the neighbors. They’re renouncers too, took off... Yeah. I had to cover Moira with something, and packaging film seemed better than curtains. And we didn’t have any curtains in the club anyway.”
Redhead leapt into the cargo bay, scrutinizing the setup.
“Good, she’s wrapped plenty here. I’ll cut a wide strip to cover the windows. The film is thick, should hold up, but I’ll add some duct tape for good measure!”
“Let’s hurry up then. Nika, cut a chunk and cover those windows. Dasha, head to the cab, I’ll pass you the cables. Get connected and start prepping the software,” Max directed. “And hide that vape, you WiggedWonder.”
“It’s WonderKid,” she retorted, though she still stashed the device anyway.
Activity buzzed around them. In just two and a half minutes, the cab’s door slammed shut, and a satisfied Redhead’s face popped up, straight in front of Daria.
“All secure, fixed ‘em at my best! Wrapped up tightly, didn’t skimp on the tape. Good to go now.”
“Then let’s hit the road,” chuckled Maksim from the cargo area. “I’ve got both drones, set up a local network for them. Dasha’s finishing the autopilot, quickly at that. We’ll forcibly disconnect the vehicle from the network and block any reconnection possibility – just in case the service provider boots up. Nikola, you’re in charge of driving, ‘course you know where and how to go. Push it to the limit; we have to make it in time!”
“Understood,” Nika said, smirking, as both drones buzzed to life, their camera feeds displayed in the conference by Max. The truck swung around and sped out of the parking lot, quickly picking up speed.
“Everything’s under control, I’ll finish coding in five minutes,” WonderKid assured from the cabin, her unruly hair barely contained. “Hey, Max, any chance for a vape? Just a bit, a light one? Zero? Please-please, pwetty please?”
Maksim sighed deeply, waving dismissively.
“Oh, to hell, smoke away if you need to.”
“It’s vapor, actually, not smoke,” Vasilevskaya huffed, sounding a bit offended.
“Doesn’t matter. And yes, ladies, we’re going offline. Better safe than revealing to the Protes local base stations through which specifically we’re connecting to TACTA’s net. Dasha, set up a P2P local network, so our chat stays up. That’s it, we’re ready to fly now! Let Her Holy Brightness guide us!”
“Her Holy Brightness? The hell?” Nika mused to herself. “First there were Chtulhas, now there’s more other fantasy nonsense…”
“Just checking what other surprises await us at the site,” Maksim thought, booting up a preloaded darknet app with geotags scattered across “the Factory” area.
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Much like ancient civilizations that laid roads to consolidate control over newly conquered lands, the community of renouncers was now rapidly building a new network infrastructure based on the TACTA extranet.
“I wonder, who managed to set this up? And how did they secure access to the TACTA global extranet, which the Protectorate totally fails to spot? A complete fucking mystery, indeed,” Maksim pondered. “Yet, the possibilities it unveils are fascinating.”
Primary communication systems were the first to migrate to this “renovated darknet,” followed soon by other resources: blockchain and smart chain providers, private forums, file-sharing services, trading platforms, and maps with geotags – apparently, there were several places like “the Factory” in Kyiv. Payment systems were expected shortly, though operators were still cautious – the trade and conversion of “new money” were still uncertain.
And, inevitably, the ever-present advertisements adapted to the new algorithms, continuing their relentless task.
Considering it had been nearly a year since Max last visited “the Factory,” and knowing how drastically it had altered, he had preemptively downloaded a specific app from a darknet file-storage. Now disconnected from the TACTA network, he simply launched it, exploring a constellation of information points.
“It’s all quite bizarre! I thought most renouncers would do anything to flee the city at all costs. Yet here they are. Are they really aiming to sustain activities under the watchful eye of the Protectorate? But how? Today marks the chaos of invasion day, with resources potentially running low. Yet, the situation will only tighten, become far harsher than it was back home right before our flight. I doubt many can even grasp what’s coming.”
Momentarily distracted by the view from his drones, Maksim noted that Nika had to navigate around an obstruction of abandoned vehicles, which slowed them down. The view behind the truck hadn’t changed much, still dominated by plumes of smoke, which only increased in number now. There were also looming numerous “black swarms” of drones, now mostly concentrated around the city center and collection points where Dasha gave a lift to the folks from the uni.
After checking in on Dasha and noting he still had a few minutes, the guy returned to his exploration of the app...
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The former “Factory No.1 of the global corporation NES” was now simply known as “the Factory.” This place had long earned a notorious reputation far beyond Kyiv, and the acronym NES had become a byword for something generally negative.
Of course, it wasn’t on par with Chernobyl or Fukushima, but this name often surfaced in European discussions about unchecked and large-scale environmental radioactive contamination.
This reputation was the result of an unfortunate confluence of events when the period of redrawing boundaries, redistributing powers among polises and states, and the collapse of the old political-geographical structure coincided with an innovative technological revolution in the early 2030s. At that time, numerous crazy startups emerged daily in basements, led by former students or engineers and scientists who had failed to find other employment. Armed with newly accessible equipment, they churned out new products and solutions, racing to earn before their ideas were copied by competitors.
One such startup was the infamous NES, or New Energy Solutions. Starting as a network of battery and accumulator exchange and recycling stations, it grew into a corporation that took over the entire area of the former “Radar” factory branch №1 in Kyiv and its surroundings.
In an age when electric cars, androids, drones, and various cyber assistants became commonplace, and biomechanics was within reach of every middle-class citizen, the quest for power sources and autonomy surged to the forefront.
Adding fuel to the fire was the issue of power generation – renewable energy sources clearly couldn’t handle the global consumption peak, and fusion power had yet to be successfully commercialized.
Then, like a jack-in-the-box, isotope batteries and decay-based generators appeared. The meticulously inflated fear of the “malevolent atom” suspiciously fizzled out amidst cries for “more power!”
However, educated by past environmental disasters, civilization approached these “new old” energy sources with utmost caution. Spent batteries had to be disposed of at designated facilities, for a fee. Discarding them elsewhere meant hefty fines, and a violator would be undoubtedly tracked through unique identifiers.
NES seemed to revolutionize this sector by opening battery exchange and trade-in centers. You could hand in your spent battery, pay a little extra, and get a new one, slightly inferior but universally compatible and significantly cheaper than anything else on the market.
This proved an excellent way to flood Europe with their products and slash battery prices! After winning several lawsuits against energy corporations, NES rapidly expanded, attracting significant investment, with this factory becoming its production hub.
Not by accident, as the former “Radar” factory, along with its branches, was ceded to the state of Ukraine rather than the polis Kyiv following the territorial redistribution. The state bureaucrats found this inconvenient “gift” undesirable, but were reluctant to give it away.
Then a tenant appeared, ready to pay well to both parties. The deal was eagerly clinched, the corporation’s business boomed, and the bureaucrats... well, they preferred to keep out of “other people’s business.”
However, this situation didn’t last long. The mid-30s brought the long-awaited energy breakthrough: thermonuclear power!
Suddenly, the need for dirty radioisotope batteries vanished – accumulators, whose development had not stalled all the time along, triumphantly returned to the stage. NES’s business closed virtually overnight, and the owners vanished into thin air, additionally having made a fortune from the crash of their own cryptocurrency.
When new tenants began to populate the disputed facility, a horrific truth emerged. The “new energy solution” turned out to involve reprocessing all valuable battery materials – like lithium, yttrium, and beryllium – into new products, incredibly cheap to produce due to the nearly free raw materials. And the “dirty” waste in the form of capsules with radioactive material that couldn’t be reprocessed, was simply buried on-site, in specially dug shafts under the buildings. Though the capsules were small, billions of them buried together created a persistent and noticeable radioactive background even at the surface.
Authorities were in a panic, but since the land was still technically no one’s by law, the situation remained unresolved until several environmental funds allocated money for constructing a protective barrier. An underground concrete encasement was erected around the perimeter to prevent radiation from spreading through groundwater, but progress stalled there.
image [https://i.imgur.com/2hExVkG.jpg]
Five years passed, and various enthusiasts and “independent experts” with dosimeters began to claim it was no longer radioactive, and the area should be reclaimed and used. But no authority wanted to take responsibility, so everything was put on hold.
Eventually, a large international eco-organization with a vague program and faint hints of cultism bought the site and the surrounding areas. Finally, they conducted an inspection and, on their own responsibility, allowed the place to be used for industrial and storage needs by new tenants for a modest fee.
Thus began the renaissance of “the renewed Factory”! Exploiting the unclear legal status and consequently low level of oversight, new occupants swarmed it like insects. Each snagged their piece of cursed land for a song, concreted over the soil to keep radiation at bay, installed autonomous utilities, reinforced gates and locks, and did as they pleased. Some set up warehouses, some production facilities, others illegal services, even brothels. On the outskirts of a major technopolis, a vibrant eastern bazaar of the technological revolution era emerged.
“Well, never thought I’d come here again,” Max mused, staring at the dense cluster of geotags scattered across his map. “Gee, this fucking exotic!”