RED DOLL: Serious Developments. [Original Story]

An apology to all readers for being late with this latest chapter, my internet went down and I had to travel to a friends to get the story up. I'm making up for it with two chapters being posted over the day!
“Don't bother coming; we're all dead.”
-Unknown, the last transmission from Ramstein Air Force Base, 17 March 1985​

8

The dream had changed.

Gone was the still green countryside. Gone was the grey sky. Gone was Galina's happy chatter. Gone was Valentina's soft snoring.

All that was left was the sound of tracks.

It was not from her tank; her tank was not here, only darkness. It emanated from beyond her sight, growing louder.

“Zlata Mikhaylov.”

That Voice! She knew it too well; her heart began to race, its beat loud in her ears. She could feel him coming closer.

“Zlata Mikhaylov, what have they done to you?”

The rumble of treads was almost deafening; from the darkness, aa strange creature emerging.

“No matter; we can fix you”

Her breath came short and sharp. Something about the motion, they way she breathed, seemed wrong. She tried to move, tried to struggle, tried to look away, but her body refused to respond.

“We can make you better”

It was almost upon her now, a treaded monstrosity glowing in some unearthly light.

“The model of the new Soviet citizen!”

The thing was a jumble of shapes, jagged edges, and rounded protrusions. Strange, sickly manipulators and tools of unknown purpose folded haphazardly on its sides, a jumble of metallic limbs. Electronic eyes and sensors of all description peered in seemingly random directions, tracking lazily across the scene.

And at the centre of this metallic tumble, flesh, something living, a speck of humanity among the cold metal, made more horrible by the implants and tubes that covered it, cut into it, merged with it.

A head. A face.

A smile.

“Zlata Mikhaylov, you will be my model, my greatest creation.”

Two immense metal claws reached out for her.

“Zlata Mikhaylov, you will be my muse!”

In her mind, Zlata's eyes shot open with a start; the dolls eyes, lidless, simply powered up.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, the doll lung pumps straining to keep up with the demands of her frightened mind.

I'm trying to hyperventilate.

She felt like she should have been sweating, that her body should have been drenched. But the dolls sensors told her she was dry, her body unable to perspire. The disconnect between what she felt and the reality made her queasy in the stomach she no longer had.

Zlata rose from her bed, unsure what to do.

How can you calm the phantom of your old body?

She remembered her first days; the months of rehabilitation, learning to walk again, to talk, to breathe.

Slow your breathing; control your mind. That past you is gone now; this is you now!

Slowly, the whine of the pumps faded to an undetectable hum. The feeling of sweat vanished from her mind. Her phantom heart stopped pounding in her ears.

He's gone; He's dead.

She concentrated, making her self-believe it.

Klepin is gone; and more likely than not your the one that did him in!

She remembered the young boy, the young man. That hideous smile of metal.

Klepin....

Before she realised what was happening, water splashed down on her in a stream, the dolls sensors telling her it was cold.

She was taking a cold shower. In her mind, Zlata smirked at herself.

She stood there for a moment, letting the water run over her. She had to admit, the sensation was quite calming, a feeling of relief running up what was left of her spine.

She turned the water off and dried herself; no point wasting water. She checked her internal clock: 2240. she'd only been asleep fro a few hours.

In her mind, Zlata shook her head. Little chance of getting back to sleep. Klepin was clearly on her mind, and would likely haunt her dreams further.

She settled on an IV nutrient/stimulant mix and watching the T.V. A fresh bag affixed to her I.V. Port, the caffeine began to seep into her bloodstream, bringing a sharpness to her thoughts. She'd had a big day, and had been looking forward to sleep, but this would have to do.

“I'm waiting for your call, right now!” the image of a scantily clad woman appeared on the screen.

Zlata flipped the channel, looking for the late night news.

“....gtions towards the next phase of the European refugee resettlement scheme. Under current proposals, They would form a semi-autonomous region on the west Australian coast, with surveyors identifying locations for at least ten new dome cities. DFAR minister John Howard stated the new resettlement would bring thousands of jobs and billions of dollars to the Australian economy, but the plan has come under fire from Westralian separatists.”

So the Australians are willing to give the Europeans practically their own country, Zlata thought, but my people get to live as refugees, the threat of expulsion always lingering. She wasn’t surprised; While the Europeans were in many ways just as responsible for the war as the superpowers, they had played the innocent victim card well. But then again, while only most of Zlata's homeland had been rendered a radioactive wasteland, Europe was almost entirely gone; even Cyborgs dared not walk her dead plains.

“In overseas news, the situation on the Korean Peninsular has stabilised after New Pact forces were routed near the city of Haeju. Korean forces contributed the victory to the intervention of the ADF's Southern Cross.”

Southern Cross, saving the world yet again. It was hard to imagine something with such firepower as to turn a battle like that; even harder to imagine Australia, once a minor nation, having it. But that was the world today; Nuclear weapons were no longer the be all and end all.

An ad break promoted her to flick the channel again. The scene of some kind of church congregation appeared.

“...and he will lead us back to the light,” said the heavily rebuilt man in the preachers gowns, “and we will not feel the heat, nor the cold; and we will break stone for him, toil for him, work until out hands bleed and our bones break, work till our salvation!”

Some kind of evangelical broadcast, American by the accent. The channel was one transmitted out of NewPee, and a quick check of the T.V. Guide revealed it was the “American Rebuild Ministries.”

God fearing cyborgs; something about that seemed funny to Zlata. She changed the channel again, hoping for something interesting. The stimulants were in full effect now and the last thing she wanted was to be bored.

She settled on an old movie being run on the government channel. “On The Beach,” about Australia after an atomic war. Seemed kind of ironic now.

She watched, for a while, then found her thoughts drifting. It was hard to believe it had only been one day. The world of the D.A.C. Seemed both familiar and bizarre to her.

She turned her thoughts to the case. It was early days, literally day one still, and yet, many questions had been raised. Why was the killer stealing organs? Why did he leave body parts behind? What was he? Cyborg? And what about those organs; who was using them? Why did they appear so sickly, used up? What were those growths?

Zlata paused for a moment. Something seemed wrong, something in the evidence, but she couldn't pick it. She pondered for a moment when there was a soft knock on the door.

Zlata checked the clock. 2330. Who would be visiting at this hour?

She momentarily considered the screaming eagles. She wasn’t their favourite person in the worlds, and they were known for revenge attacks.

But knocking seemed a little subtle for them, bombs and RPG's, flashy things, being more their style. Still, it paid to be prepared, and she retrieved her pistol from the nightstand.

The visitor knocked again. “Coming,” she said, loading the gun. Carefully she peeked through the peephole, then stepped back in surprise.

Wyatt stood in the hallway, a large grin on his face.

“Umm, little much, dontcha think?” Wyatt said, eyeing Zlata's pistol.

Zlata regarded her gun; in her mind, she looked annoyed at the question.

“I don't get a lot of late night visitors,” she said. “And I have recently annoyed a terrorist group.

“Understandable,” Wyatt replied. He fidgeted at the threshold, obviously trying to get a look at the apartment beyond.

In her mind, Zlata sighed. 'Why are you here, Wyatt?”

Wyatt looked innocent. “Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood, and I thought I might, you know, pop in and say hi to my latest teammate!”

Zlata looked at him. She sensed he was lying,poorly, and even he realised it. He smiled nervously.

I never told him my address, she thought. He would have had to look it up. He was clearly here for a reason.

In her mind, Zlata sighed again. “Come in,” she said, moving aside. She wasn’t doing anything anyway.

Wyatt almost jumped through the door, as if he was worried she might change his mind. He spun around, taking in as much of her one room apartment as he could.

“Very prakticheskiy,” he said. “As I expected of you.”

In her mind, Zlata raised an eyebrow. “Expected?”

“You know, ordered, efficient, practical,” he said, rambling on. “Very Russian.”

“I thought to order and practicality were German stereotypes,” she said, her voice monotone. “Besides, it's hardly representative. My old comrade Galina couldn't keep her room clean to save herself.”

She remembered Galina, a pleasant face under short brown hair, cowering as the Sergeant screamed at her about keeping her room clean. Sweet little Galina, the army was no place for you...

Where are you now, Galina? At peace, I can only hope.

Zlata snapped out of her melancholic moment to find Wyatt going through her cupboards. “Is this a search?”

Wyatt snapped round to look at her, a guilty look on his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn't help myself.” he tapped his forehead for a moment. “Say, would you have anything to eat or drink?”

“As you should be aware, I’m incapable of either,” She replied. “I only have IV packs.”

“Oh that would be fine,' he said, tapping the base of his neck. “I have an IV connection.”

In her mind, Zlata sighed with frustration and annoyance. “There in the fridge; help yourself.” she turned, and returned to her sofa.

Wyatt pulled out a nutrient bag and attached it to his IV. “Any good?” Wyatt asked, motioning at the movie still playing on TV.

Zlata's frustration and annoyance were reaching critical levels. “What are you here, Wyatt?” she asked him. “I know you weren’t just “in the neighbourhood!”

Wyatt looked guilty again. “Yeah, you got me.” he came over and sat in a chair. “I came to see you.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, well, I really wanted to speak to you,” Wyatt explained. “But I never got a chance and we were all busy and then you went to Novvy Dom and by the time I got back you'd already got clocked off and then Eun needed me to do some stuff and...”he was starting to ramble again.

Zlata wondered if he had planned to wake her. “It couldn't wait until tomorrow?”

“No!” Wyatt stopped, thought. “Argh, yes, yeah, I guess it could have. But I’ve had a burning question to ask you and , well, I guess I’m kind of impatient.” He chuckled. “Eun would kill me if she knew I was here. She thinks I’m too nosy as it is.”

Even in her mind, Zlata's expression was blank. The annoyance was building again.

“Soooo,” Wyatt began again, sounding unsure. “What, eh, how, um....so how do you like the D.A.C?”

That was what he wanted to ask? Ok, now she was annoyed.

“It's different, I guess,” she said, trying to be civil. “The case, I mean. The work, I’m used to, although I wasn’t expecting to be briefing a general on my first day.”

“That's the really cool thing about the D.A.C; it takes you to all sorts of odd places, and you see a lot of strannyye veshchi”

Like vampires, apparently, Zlata suddenly remembered. She went to ask Wyatt about that when he cut her off with another question.

“So, what do you think of the people?”

“I, um, they seem alright,” She spluttered, caught flat-footed. She didn't really feel comfortable sharing her deepest thoughts with someone who had been a stranger till that morning. “I feel a little sorry for Constable Thomas.”

“Oh, I wouldn't really feel bad about him,” Wyatt replied cheerfully. “He's a lot stronger than he looks, and he always tries to treat rebuilds nice as much as possible. Calls it desensitisation, trying to get used to being around cyborgs.” Wyatt gave her a sly smile. “Plus, I think he likes you.”

In her mind, Zlata raised an eyebrow. Time to change the topic. “Did you really intend to wake me to talk about office politics?”

Wyatt looked confused. “What? No!” He shook his head. “Arg! Damn it, I'm not usually this bashful, but...” he smiled again. “I was serious when I said I was a huge fan of yours, so I guess that could explain why...”

“Wyatt.”

“Yes?”

“What did you want to ask me?”

Wyatt went red. “Right, sorry, I'm usually more direct but....” he shook his head again. “Argh, dawdling again! Ok, detective Mikhaylov...”

“Zlata.”

“Zlata,” he smiled. “Heh, cool. Anyway, Zlata, this might be a little personal, but...”

Zlata waited, the face in her mind curious. Whatever he wanted to ask was obviously hard for him.

“...but...what....what was it like, to lose your body?”

Zlata sat back, the face in her mindset in thought. She remembered those first few weeks, the pain, the panic. The sorrow....

“It was... hard,” she said. “your mind doesn’t really forget your real body. In a way, it can tell your cybernetics are fake!

“When I woke after the operation, I felt a...disconnect, I guess you could call it. It was like everything I did was delayed, everything I say an after image, everything I heard an echo. When I moved, I was like, moving puppet with its strings.

“In my mind, I still hungered, still thirsted, I still felt myself sweat, myself breath. And that was the worst part. For those first few months, I could still feel the phantom of my own body, my old one. It was as if I was occupying two bodies at once; it took time, rehabilitation, to differentiate between the two, to utilise the body I had, and forget the one I had lost.”

She lapsed into silence, sad. In truth, she missed the old Zlata: expressive, warm, not her current shell, not the...

Wait, Wyatt is a rebuild; wouldn't he have gone through this himself?

She looked at him. In her mind, her eyes narrowed. “Wyatt, why do you want to know this? Didn't you have the same experience when you were rebuilt?”

Wyatt looked panicked. “well, um, I.... no, no I haven’t. I've never experienced phantom limbs, phantom hunger, any of that!”

Zlata regarded him. How was that possible? Was he suffering amnesia? How could he have not gone through that, to learn to use his new body? It was impossible for him to have not lived in a normal body; Children’s cybernetics had only appeared in the past few years, and Wyatt was at least in his twenties.

“Wyatt, how old are you?”

Wyatt cocked his head. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Because what you said is impossible; even if you have amnesia, your body still remembers. Phantom limbs, Phantom pain. The only conceivable why you haven't experienced this is if you never had a normal body and were rebuilt when you were a child and you're too old for that!”

Wyatt smiled. “Oh really? How old do you think I am?”

Zlata guessed. “21?”

Wyatt laughed. “Wrong”

“25”

“Getting colder.”

“19?”

“Not even close.”

In her mind, Zlata looked confused. “Ok Wyatt, how old are you?”

Wyatt's grin got bigger. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Wyatt leaned in closer. “Five”

Zlata was confused. “five?”

“My birth date is March 25th, 1990 AD,i” he said matter of factly.

The annoyance had returned again. “If you aren't going to be serious, you can leave.”

Wyatt looked aghast. “I'm serious! I’m five years old! Ask Eun, ask McNally!”

In her mind, Zlata rolled her eyes. “Yes, ok, sure.” she rose and walked to the door. “It's ben a long day Wyatt, and I’m sure tomorrow is going to be the same. So if its all well and good,I'd like to get some...”

Zlata was cut off by the sudden ringing of her phone. A call this late at night could only mean trouble.

Now what.

She picked up the phone. “Mikhaylov speaking.”

“detective?” McNally's voice came over the line. “It's David. Sorry to wake you but we have a situation.”

“No, it's ok I was up.” Zlata looked over to Wyatt; he was looking at his beeper. “What’s the situation?”

“We've had another killing,” McNally replied. “Fresh too, only a few hours old. Our guy took a heart this time.”

Wyatt was checking his arms, inspecting the various compartments. Equipment check.

“I can be ready in five minutes,” She said, beginning her mental check-list.

“Good. Prep yourself for a possible fight.”

In her mind, Zlata frowned. “A fight? Why?”

“Because the killing​ was in New Pittsburgh,” McNally replied. “We were right; our guy is operating in the camps. And he might still be in there.”