NOVEMBER 24, 1995, 02:13 CET

  NORTHERN BOSNIA, UNKNOWN FOREST

  Night. The wind howled through the bare branches, as if trying to strip the last of their bark. The world through the narrow slit of the helmet was a cascade of flat grays and jagged blacks, where the only thing moving was the static in his HUD. Viktor walked. His steel legs crushed the undergrowth and frozen earth with a rhythmic, heavy sound: clank-hiss… clank-hiss… He moved with the unnatural smoothness of a machine; every step was calculated, yet bereft of living grace. A shadow woven of metal, alien to this forest.

  Inside the helmet, there was only his own ragged breathing. And the chuckle of his demon.

  Tired, partner? Legs getting sore? Oh, I forgot... You’re just cargo in this shell now.

  Viktor remained silent, gritting his teeth until the jaw-actuators of his suit whined in protest. He tried to summon Anya’s face, her smile from that last good memory. But the image blurred, drowning in the noise of the servomotors.

  Aaaah, thinking about her again, the Voice drawled, laced with caustic, poisonous notes. I wonder what she’s doing right now in her "Institute"? What do you think, Viktor... does she still remember you? Or is she just a blank-eyed meat puppet that won’t even remember the sound of your voice?

  Clank-clang! Viktor tripped over a root, nearly falling. The machine was not an extension of his body. It was a prison, and he was still learning how to move within it.

  They are erasing her, Viktor, the Voice continued, drilling into his brain. Every hour. Every minute. They are burning out everything that made her Anya. Soon there will be nothing left. She won't even recognize you when you arrive... if you arrive in time.

  "SHUT UP!" Viktor roared, but the scream stuck in the metal box of the helmet, turning into a dull, distorted bellow.

  The world turned crimson. He didn't remember raising his hand. He just struck. The steel fist slammed into the trunk of the nearest oak. There was a deafening crack, and the wood exploded into splinters, showering him with icy dust.

  The rage receded, leaving behind a void and a ringing in his ears. The smell of split timber hit his nose. Viktor looked at his hand—the steel fingers were covered in splinters. He stood in the middle of the forest, breathing heavily. The red veil lifted. The voice in his head spoke quietly, with the note of a satisfied mentor.

  There. That is the rage. You will need it. Forget about salvation. Think only of revenge.

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  His hand was already reaching for the helmet clamps to tear it off and gulp down the cold air, when he froze.

  A snap. Not his snap. Alien. Steps on branches.

  Viktor instantly froze in the shadow of a fallen tree, merging with it. A figure appeared from behind the trees. A man in winter camouflage with a blue UN insignia on his sleeve, rifle at the ready. The soldier approached the remains of the tree cautiously, touching the fresh fracture.

  Come on! He's right there! His back is to us! Let's rip his head off! the inner voice hissed.

  No, Viktor answered mentally, forcing himself to breathe evenly. That’s not the target. That’s a track.

  The soldier shook his head, muttered something into his radio, and walked back. Viktor moved after him. The machine fought him. He tried to step silently, but the metal creaked, and a hydraulic piston vented with a sharp hiss. The soldier stopped dead, spinning around, his rifle sweeping the darkness. Viktor held his breath, motionless, a two-meter statue of steel and fear. The soldier stared into the shadows for a long moment, then shrugged, dismissing it as the wind, and continued on. It was clumsy. Agonizing.

  He reached the edge of the forest. Below, in the valley, lay the camp. Prefabricated barracks, watchtowers, barbed wire. And the UN flag fluttering in the wind.

  UN... A screen? A cover? Search. Hangar. HQ.

  He circled the base, keeping to the shadows of the trees. His goal was the largest hangar. The ventilation grate he tore off yielded with a loud screech. He froze, listening. Silence. He slipped inside, landing on the rafters under the ceiling with a dull thud that made the metal ring. Below, someone coughed. Viktor froze, turning into a statue. He switched his optics to thermal. A single heat signature bloomed below, a man bent over a map.

  A minute later, he dropped down into the darkest corner. The officer didn't even look up.

  This was it. He found it. He was about to leave.

  "Don't move."

  The voice was calm, but steel rang within it. Viktor turned slowly. The officer stood ten paces away. An older man with graying temples and dead-tired eyes. In his hand was a revolver, and the barrel was looking straight at the center of Viktor’s chest.

  "I don't know what you are," the officer said. "But you're making noise like a tank in a china shop. And you're on my base. Slowly. Hands up."

  Viktor raised his hands, showing empty palms. His finger pointed to the board.

  "I... wanted... to know... where... the Institute is," he said. The voice, distorted by the helmet, sounded like metal scraping on glass.

  "What are you? Speak. And don't make any sudden movements. Why do you want the 'Institute'?"

  An audible click echoed in the hangar as the officer thumbed back the hammer on his revolver.

  Viktor looked silently at the officer, at the cocked revolver, and then his hands slowly, deliberately, moved to the clamps on his neck. Another click resonated. He removed the helmet.

  The officer looked not at the armor, but at the face. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but forgot the words. He didn't see a monster. He saw a boy, tired to death. Pale skin, circles under the eyes, gray strands in dark hair. And red, inflamed eyes that held neither rage nor threat. Only a desperate, cornered question.

  "Please," he said again, and his real, boyish voice was almost a whisper. "They took my girlfriend there. I have to get her back."

  The revolver barrel slowly lowered, the hammer easing down with a soft click, as if it had become too heavy.

  "Son," the officer exhaled. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"