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“There are no permanent enemies, and no permanent friends, only permanent interests.” — a reworded quote from Lord Palmerston, 19th century British prime minister.
1.
When Chariton notices the young man — younger than him at least, from the squad of soldiers out the window, he only raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And who is that?"
Dmitry follows his gaze, to the man who is snickering while the others around him laugh at the joke he just told. "Sergey Alekseyevich Nechayev. A new recruit to the team."
Even from here, Chariton can see the way the man holds himself. To some, they would call it carefree but to him, he knows it's careless arrogance. "He will be dead within a month."
"He's promising," Dmitry counters with a shrug. "Not in the top of the list, but he's good for morale. Furthermore, Comrade Muravyova likes him."
"Agent Blesna?" Chariton muses out loud, faintly surprised. Hm, yes. Now he can see the top operator eyeing Nechayev akin to a waiting wolf from the edge of the circle. He notes how she positioned herself effectively, not in the middle to be immediately seen by the newbie yet also not at the fringes where Chariton himself would prefer to stand so that Nechayev wouldn't notice. Excellent in stealth, close combat and experienced — her 98% success rate in missions will no doubt have the higher ups close an eye at whatever she plans for the newbie. "I take back what I said, he will be dead within a week."
"You're always so cynical, my friend," Dmitry remarks fondly. "Look."
The Argentum squad notices them on the second floor at some point, all quick to salute the general director Sechenov. Nechayev is one of them, then perking up when he meets Chariton's unwilling eye. Argentum are Dmitry's, so they only nod with respect to the Professor, but Nechayev doesn't.
No, he smiles and waves up at Chariton.
For a moment, Chariton considers waving back. It's polite, an expected social norm between civilised humans. He doesn't, choosing to coldly nod in acknowledgement. Why lower himself to such levels for a mere rank and file?
Yet oddly enough, Nechayev perks up and smiles brighter — hand waving quicker until someone elbows him.
What a foolish man, Chariton has to look away lest he blinds himself.
2.
A week later, a knock on the door comes and doesn't wait for Chariton's permission. Sergey Nechayev peeks in, grinning brightly like a miniature sun. "Hey, Prof!"
"Didn't your mother ever teach you to wait for someone's permission before you open their doors? And who let you into the complex?" Chariton jabs and frowns when the soldier only shrugs. Fluffy stands up, watching the door closely and he has to grab her before she runs out. Always a curious cat, escaping to explore the labs or sniff the containers when she can. "Close that door at once!"
Nechayev steps inside. The door slams shut, too loud and accidental judging from the soldier's wince. "Sorry, sorry. Dr. Sechenov wanted me to drop in."
That pips his curiosity enough not to immediately throw the intruder out. "And?"
"He says hi and that to check your calendar," Nechayev simply says and to Chariton's dismay, the agent moves closer. Points a dirty finger at Fluffy, who leans out from his grasp to sniff at the offending digit. "Hi, kitty. Who's a good kitty, huh? You are!"
Fluffy purrs when the agent coos and scratches her head, rubs her chin gently. Chariton sneers. "Get out before I call security."
"Hang on." A bottle is placed on his desk. Vodka, a common brand one can get from the pantry. Then a plastic container. Nechayev only shrugs at his accusatory look. "Ekaterina and I baked it for her mom, but we made too much. I'm not really into sugar and Dr. Sechenov mentioned you like cakes so I thought you might like some."
Chariton lifts the lid to observe it. Bird's milk cake. Hm. "Thank you. Now get out."
Nechayev does a little salute, both to him and Fluffy. "Roger. See ya around, Prof! I'll bring something for your kitty cat next time!"
When Chariton locks the door behind the madman, he checks his calendar and scowls. That damn Dmitry, always making nonsensical competition but he begrudgingly has to admit that he did say a week and Nechayev lives — likely due to a ruthless guardian angel known as Blesna. Still, Chariton makes a mental note of when the end of a month will be and puts in a request to leave the office in case Dmitry attempts to prove him wrong twice.
The vodka, he abandons in the laboratory's shared kitchen but he keeps the sweet-sour cake. The cake is dense and chocolate complimenting the sweet milky flavours, enough that Chariton begrudgingly allows himself to finish it.
When he comes back from his leave, Chariton frowns at the pack of dried cat treats left on his desk.
For your snowball kitty - signed, agent P.
P.S. can I pat her more next time?
Security needs to be reorganized if a single clown soldier can break into his office. He even changes the lock on his door to be sure.
3.
Meeting Nechayev again is an honest coincidence.
Chariton isn't one for public events, even those hosted by Pavlov but the Theater is fascinating enough and he does enjoy arts once in a while. He books a ticket for a late night show to avoid the crowd, thankfully nobody attempts to drag him into a worthless conversation. Chariton watches the show, gathers his things and leaves before the lights come on.
It is an unfortunate coincidence that he bumps into the now Agent Plutonium in the dimly lit hallways outside the hall. What's even more of a surprise is that Dmitry is there too. Standing unusually close to Nechayev who leans in bonelessly — all smiles and laughter, huddling together by the shadows of the curtains and advertisement posters.
Drunk, Chariton coldly notes the unnatural flush on the agent's face, ears and neck. While his fellow researcher is completely sober, smiling fondly at the younger man who clings to him like a leech.
Lips twisting into a frown, the Professor is about to turn and leave the other way when Nechayev suddenly looks up at him, lips in a surprised gasp before twisting into a cheery smile. Chariton cannot help but stare, nobody has ever looked at him in such a delighted manner. "Prof! Fancy seeing you here, all fancy like."
"Chariton," Dmitry greets politely. Chariton assumed the man would move away, putting a respectable distance between himself and the obviously drunk soldier as a gentleman should in the public eye…but he did not. In fact, Dmitry catches Nechayev's elbow without looking away from Chariton when the younger man begins to slump forward in his excitement to greet him — and pulls Nechayev closer to him. "It's always good to see you outside your office, my friend."
"Are you here to watch the ladies dance too?" Nechayev asks Chariton, still leaning towards him despite Dmitry's firm grip and the scientist is vaguely reminded of Fluffy when she wants something. The feline is relentless, always pressing at his office doors or meowing for attention — much like the agent. "Katya's dancing tonight! You should see her!"
Chariton frowns slightly. The performance he just watched only had two human ballerinas, and neither were agent Blesna. Yet before he can answer, Dmitry leans in to whisper something to Nechayev — and Chariton is unfortunately close enough to see how his lips brush the agent's ear or the resulting full body shiver from Nechayev.
Blinking in a daze, Nechayev only nods then smiles again at Chariton. "Sorry, Prof. Turns out Katya's dance is already over."
"If that's the case, why are you two still here?"
"To uh, escort the boss home? Yeah. Home."
Dmitry's answer is more coherent, meeting his searching gaze easily. "Comrade Zinaida isn't fond of Sergey, so he opted to stay back and accompany me."
Chariton only raises a skeptical brow. Of course, it is none of his business who Dmitry takes home, nor does he care for Argentum relationship policies even if the USSR isn't fond of such…partnerships. He is no Stockhousen who spies behind the scenes and reports to a boss of another's illicit behaviour. Chariton is a well respected scientist, so he only nods dismissively. "Well, I'm sure you two have plenty to discuss. If you'll excuse me."
When he turns heel and leaves, Nechayev calls out to him. "Was nice seeing you again, Prof Zakharov. Let's hang out next time, alright?"
Fool. As if he would waste his time with such activities.
4.
There is always research to be done, a new thesis to be peer reviewed and case studies to be approved. He is busy, so when an invitation to Agents Blesna and Plutonium's wedding comes, he has a robot generate a congratulations email and forgets about it. He only recalls their existence when Dmitry puts his status on urgent leave. An alarming decision, which leads to Chariton finding his fellow researcher trying to cheat death.
Ekaterina Muravyova — now Ekaterina Nechayev, lies in pieces on the table. Brain dead, blood loss from shrapnel and missing limbs. The blunt of an explosive, he muses.
Sergey Nechayev is only slightly better off, but barely. Dmitry's hovering blocks part of the body, but Chariton can still see the damage. Massive damage to the front of the skull, left leg crushed to the hip are the most he can accurately observe. The ECG beeps likes a bird fluttering its wings weakly, flatlines twice while Chariton obverse only to be forced back alive when Dmitry uses the defibrillator.
It's honestly disappointing to see his fellow researcher chase such a loss cause yet Dmitry still fights for Nechayev's life. Orders vats of neuroploymer, the latest inventions of the medical department, then for the volunteers to be wheeled in.
Chariton leaves. He has no desire to watch his friend play Picasso with living flesh and liveless metals but when he is back home, stroking Fluffy's curled form in his lap, part of him wonders if he should have at least helped with Agent Blesna. Dmitry might have benefited from the help of another neurosurgeon while he struggled fruitless.
No, Chariton decides after a moment. There is no point when there are more important things to be done.
That night, he dreams in broken pieces. Nechayev sitting on his office desk casually, hand feeding Fluffy the dried treats. He smiles as sweetly as the bird's milk cake tastes, all aimed at Chariton. Then Ekaterina dancing on the Theater stage, he is seated with Dmitry and Nechayev on either side of him but neither are watching the ballerina. Dmitry is staring dully at the agent, who cries quietly on Chariton's right. When he — for some unexplainable reason — reaches out tentatively to pat the other's shoulder in an awkward show of comfort, the dream shifts.
A bright sunny day. Green grass. Blue sky. The scent of apples crisp in the heat. A nonsensical reality. This, Chariton recognises as his research: Limbo. Fluffy is in front of him, chasing a speck of water that floats and glides around as though it's a living bird. If he listens, the waterdrop is crying as well.
5.
Agent Plutonium lives — albeit extremely unstable. P-2, Dmitry calls him. P-1 had woken up and immediately tried to kill himself by smashing his skull. A reasonable reaction with the neuroploymer implant module constantly fighting against the brain and causing incredible agony.
"I want you to reevaluate the module," Dmitry tells him as they watch the surviving Nechayev through the one-way window. Strapped to the bed with belts and sedated. "Adjust it accordingly so his body accepts it."
The request is simple: restrict all self-harming abilities, input a permanent emotional imprint towards one Dmitry Sergeevich Sechenov and stabilize the mood. So far, Chariton is only successful in the first two, but the third is annoyingly difficult with Nechayev's current condition.
"Why? Regardless of pain, it still works," Chariton tells him, faintly fascinated when Nechayev's glassy eyes drift from staring at the ceiling to their window. It's humanly impossible to detect them behind the tinted glass, but P-2 seems to gaze directly into their souls. Like a cat plush toy, false eyes glowing bright in certain lights. Chariton cannot look away, watching the progress of those dull gray eyes come to awareness.
The door to P-2's room opens. A nurse and armored security guard enter, brandishing a taser. Beside him, Dmitry clicks his tongue and presses the button for reinforcements. "I told them not to bring visible weapons."
"Tell the security head to start retraining their units," Chariton adds on, and watches that vivid liveliness of Agent Nechayev in action. The agent groggily tears his gaze from them and looks over at the approach, notices the taser and three things happen in quick succession.
Dislocates his own right hand, twists it out from the restraints and smashes it against the bedframe to fix it back — ah, the self-harming code needs to be redone, Chariton notes. The guard foolishly reacts by trying to stop him, firing the taser but Nechayev is relentless. He simply snags the prongs despite the voltage and uses it to pull the guard to him — not unexpected. PTA-4 alloy to replace flesh arms, resistance to electricity unless the current is internal.
Chariton hums thoughtfully, for he has never seen a man tear someone's throat out with only teeth until near decapitation. Nechayev even chews and swallows what's in his mouth like a hungry dog, feral and starved for blood. Wild eyes shifting to their next victim.
The nurse runs, of course. Then six heavily armored guards come in, P-2 howls and struggles despite his disadvantage. Managed to shatter a guard's arm for coming too close, digs his fingers into another's lower jaw and yanks. It takes an additional VOV-A6/CH to finally pin P-2 down.
"Why bother with this, Dmitry?" Chariton asks and realizes his coworker is no longer in the room. Instead, Nechayev stops fighting because Dmitry Sechenov enters the room. "I see. That's why."
At least the imprinting code is working perfectly.
The attack dog whimpers, desperately exposing his belly and throat at Dmitry's approach. Demure and soft, almost innocent looking if you ignore the blood coating his mouth and teeth, or the severed human jaw still in his tight grip. "Dr. S-Sechenov, I — "
"Hush, my boy."
It's unnecessary, Chariton concludes even as Dmitry guides P-2 back onto the bed. Reinserts the IV that slipped out, increases the sedatives and dismisses the guards. Unnecessary, time consuming and redundant to try and salvage something so broken when they can build better weapons but he can somewhat see the appeal when Dmitry soothes the beast with only words.
If he feels anything akin to envy at the sight of the two, Chariton refuses to acknowledge it.
+1
Chariton has to admit, he's grown somewhat attached to his host. Literally, as a glove and figuratively as a newly evolved human. Not quite as friends, but more of symbiotic relationship between an unwilling host to an unwelcomed guest. Chariton can safely say they were at least comrades until near the end, and maybe P-3 even saw him as a friend at some point.
Not that it matters now.
P-3 doesn't so much as twitch when Chariton approaches. He had struggled earlier, trying to drag himself to cover his master's fallen form but stopped when Chariton carelessly dropped Dmitry's corpse next to him. The horror of witnessing his beloved creator's demise, coupled with the Shok damage directly into his veins and Chariton's own activation of the Voskhod module sends the agent's consciousness in Limbo while he absorbs Dmitry — now there's only one thing left to do: leave.
"A mercy kill, much like how you'd do for a Mutant," Chariton explains as he reaches down to snap Nechayev's neck when Fluffy leans in. Little white cotton ball head low at the sleeping man, mimicking how she would sniff curiously. Her tail is held high and he can hear her purr, friendly. She recognises Nechayev. "Or not."
Perhaps it's because of his fellow researcher's memories and emotions now absorbed into the data bank, and his own lingering humanity that Chariton stays his hand. Perhaps there is still a use for this broken dog. The Professor could always use an extra set of eyes and willing body to protect them in their future tasks.
Instead of killing the agent, Chariton interacts with the Voskhod module. Activate, standby.
Admittedly, the module's codes are extremely limited. Only three main orders are absolute: standby, halt and the most useful, destroy.
As expected, P-3 instantly wakes — jumping up into a defensive stance and teeth bared with madness in his milky pale eyes. But there's nobody alive for him to register, his broken mind unable to comprehend Chariton's new form as a target. He stares blankly at where Dmitry once laid, snarls at the Ballerina remains of his wife and twitches when Fluffy rubs against him but ultimately does nothing.
"Good. I'll have to do some adjustment to the implant so you can do more than just slaughter, but I'm sure Dmitry won't mind," Chariton remarks, watching Fluffy attempt to pounce on the Major's leg. "P-3. Halt."
The killing machine hesitates, taking a deep slow breath before sinking down to a knee. Pale eyes empty and mellow, lowered to the floor. Body still, not slumped but awaiting orders. Tamed, waiting and eager — a perfect attack dog. Chartion can see why Dmitry held onto his hopes for this project even if Nechayev resembles nothing like the smiling fool Chariton once knew. Perhaps in a way, this is the agent’s own evolution from humanity. "Guard us. Only attack when I order you to."
P-3 gives no indication of hearing him but he does blinks slowly when Fluffy leaps at his boots, snowy paws batting at the laces. The Major only blinks in confusion, then to Chariton's surprise — slowly raises a hand and offers a finger to the cat's puffball head. Fluffy nuzzles the finger, and the hand moves to pat her. Gentle, like how he did in Chariton's old office upon their first proper meeting.
"Let's go, Fluffy, Major. We have plenty of work to do."
Fluffy is picked up and she curls into a warm ball in Chariton's arms, playfully swiping at the black goo. Major Nechayev follows closely, his dull gaze darting around the area constantly for potential enemies. Keeps to Chariton’s right side, lingers as though the professor is still his left hand.
Well, Chariton doesn’t mind. With a little training and new codes to the Voskhod, P-3 will make an excellent guard dog for them without Dmitry's sentimental heart in the way.