Callsign - Karma.

Author: Ivan Nikolayevich Mikhailovsky

Book One: Callsign - Karma.

CHAPTER ONE: SO, SOMEONE WALKS INTO A BAR...

St. Petersburg. Bar "Iskra". September 2026. Friday evening.

The air in the bar hung like a thick, sour broth — a mixture of the fumes of heavy drinking, acrid apple vape, and unwashed bodies. It was sticky underfoot, as if the floor was paved with ancient molasses. "Kon'" by Lyube from the speakers was tearing at eardrums, merging with the guffawing of the working class, the clatter of mugs, and the eternal hiss of the tap behind the counter. The yellow light of incandescent bulbs cut into the eyes, casting dirty shadows under the tables; red reflections from the neon sign "ISKRA" outside crawled across the ceiling like ghosts.

Kristina behind the counter was finishing her "Winston Blue". The smell of frost and lavender emanating from her seemed alien. Her eyes, hunter-sharp, cut through the space, but were aimed at nothing.

In the corner, merging with the shadow as if he himself was one, sat Karma. A glass of cheap "Jim Beam" stood on the tabletop next to a scratched "judgement day is coming". The whiskey burned his throat, only dulling the persistent itch — the eternal bumblebee of the chip-inhibitor, buzzing in his skull.

BEEP! In the earpiece a strict female voice cut the silence:

- Zoya: Sokilinsky. I see by geo that you're having fun! Briefing — in less than an hour. Get out.

Karma took a sip, chuckling:

- Grouchy... I just got off the plane. Half a day in that winged tub, cut me some slack...

- Zoya (voice turned colder): Don't let the Premier down, Artyom. He vouched for you. And don't forget, it's service instead of a prison term.

Karma's fingers turned white on the glass. A vein twitched in his temple:

- Stalking — is a curator's disease, Zoya. Or did the Premier order you to jackal after me?

- Zoya (explosion of rage!): The Premier BELIEVES in you! And you're spitting on his trust! (Sharply drops her tone.) You — are his personal interest. I don't know what he found in you, and why so many allowances.. (Whisper-threat): Mikhalev! Inhibitor status!

- Mikhalev (stammering): Adrenaline — rose... Neural surge...

- Zoya (hisses): Hear that, Major? The chip — is your only shield from overheating. Five more minutes — and I'll cook soup in your head. COME. NOW.

Karma emptied the glass. In his eyes — a flash of pain and rage, but his voice sounded empty, like an echo in a mine shaft:

- I'll be there soon, Your Highness.

FINGER TO TEMPLE — CLICK! End of connection.

The glass slammed against the counter so hard a glass shelf behind the bartender cracked.

In Karma's eyes — a red tide, washing away the gray shadows for a moment, a breeze seemed to whisper in his ears. Pain? Anger? Something else.

"The chip in his temple responded with a dull, irritating pain, as if a drill was gnawing into the bone. One more adrenaline spike — and Zoya wouldn't stand on ceremony"

CHMS "Tishina" Headquarters.

Zoya stood before a huge screen. A furious face. Next to her — Mikhalev.

- Zoya: Mikhalev! Geolocation! Right now!

- Mikhalev (feverishly typing): Got it! "Iskra", Ligovsky Ave., 42.

- Zoya: Lock the indicators. If adrenaline starts spiking - dampen it. Power 5.

Bar "Iskra".

Kristina stubbed out her cigarette. Calm — like steel.

Sergei, sweaty face, tattoo "MIR" on a dirty forearm, was coming closer:

— Right now, brothers, watch how I put this princess in her place! (a nasty cackle from the laborers covered "Iskra") Hey, princess! Your ancestors weren't by any chance...

— And your dad wasn't a Miner, by any chance? — Kristina's sarcastic tone cut through the noise. — The one who caused the cave-in at "Novinka" because he was on a drunk? Or was that a different drunk? Damn!

The reaction was instantaneous:

The laborers were stunned. The cackling died down.

Sergei turned crimson.

The bartender froze, eyes popped out of their sockets.

Sergei (to Kristina, through his teeth): What the hell are you saying, you bitch? I came over nicely! And how do you know about my dad, you scum....

Semyon (a step forward, reaches for her): Come here, you bitch! (Grabs her arm.)

Action:

1. STOP! Kristina's heel slammed into Semyon's shin (crunch!). He howled, his hand unclenched.

2. JERK! She yanked the captured arm towards herself. Semyon crashed onto his knee.

3. Sergei and The Other One rushed at her from behind!

4. Karma launched from his spot. Sharply slipped between the tables.

At Sergei: A leg sweep under the feet! + A sharp pressure on the back of the neck! Sergei smacked face-first into the floor (a ringing crunch of his nose) as if a wardrobe had fallen.

At The Other One: with a finger (a strike from below) under the jaw! (into a pressure point) He collapsed unconscious.

Silence. Only Kristina's heavy breathing, Lyube's voice, and Semyon's moan.

Karma stood over the bodies. A smirk played on his lips, but his eyes... Cold, laughing, with a predatory golden sheen at the edge of the iris.

— What's this, heroes, piling on four against one girl? — mockingly.

Turned to Kristina. The smile wider, but in his gaze — respect, weariness, and something long forgotten.

— And you're still just as sharp, huh, Kris?

Kristina stepped forward.

From her pocket she took out a black MVD RF badge clicked it open in front of Semyon, and then her service ID. Her voice — a blade:

— Captain of Justice, MVD RF! Investigator Kristina Kudryavtseva! You are detained for hooliganism and resisting arrest! You have the right to remain silent, everything you say will be used against you in a court of law..

Semyon

— Uh, what court, we didn't do nothin'

Karma threw a hunter's glance at the lying wretches, after which they all lowered their heads in fear.

Her gaze to Karma. Gently touched her lips to his cheek:

— Well, hello, snow on the head. Anxiety overlaying calmness. She slipped him a scrap of a receipt with a number scribbled in lipstick:

— In a couple of minutes a squad car will be here. Call me. Don't disappear.

Karma looked at the scrap, then — into her eyes, her tired, perplexed face. Nodded:

— Okay, baby. We'll catch up sometime.

Tucked the paper into his boot top, turned around.

Thoughts flashed on their own: "Does she still think I'm the same guy from seventy-three? She's deeply mistaken."

Finger to temple — Click!

A PIERCING BEEP! Zoya's voice:

— Where are you?! The meeting is in half an hour, run to base!

Karma didn't slow his pace. Pushed the door open:

— I'll be there soon, dear. Don't boil over.

The door slammed shut. Left in the bar were:

Sergei's hoarse breathing (nose — a bloody mess),

Semyon's sobs,

The hiss of the speakers.

Kristina stood like a steel rod. But her gaze was fixed on the door. A storm raged in her eyes: relief, fury, pain, fear.

Outside — the ROAR OF A MOTORCYCLE. It howled like a wounded beast, and tore off into the night.

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

to be continued...

CHAPTER TWO: THE ROAD TO "TISHINA"

St. Petersburg. Evening. The highway from "Iskra" to the "Progress" plant.

The wind howled through the cracks in his helmet, tearing out from under the visor with icy claws. The wail of sirens at "Iskra" dissolved into the roar of the "IZH". Karma floored the gas. The motorcycle, like an obedient beast, weaved between cars, bursting onto Moskovsky Prospect.

- And she grew up...

(The thought gave a meager warmth)

- Became an investigator. Mouths off just like at 17, in the courtyards of Amundsen. She knew me BEFORE... the incident at Vtorchik..

Gray Peter floated by:

Left: Two students, laughing, jumping onto a bus.

Right: A homeless man, wrapped in rags, rummaged in a garbage bin.

Above it all: A giant billboard cut the night with light:

-- "THE PEOPLE NEED GLASNOST!

-- DOWN WITH SECRECY!

-- Pyotr Savelyev. New People – for Real Deals!"

- Savelyev... – Karma snorted.

.

- Shadows surfaced in his memory: "the face of Artur surfaced... as he was back then, pulling the wounded 'Valet' out from under fire." The girl-sniper with a bullet in her temple amidst encirclement...

- INGA (AI): Attention! Adrenaline is rising. Calm down immediately.

- In his eyes: A short scarlet flash, a wave of heat behind the chip – and again dissolution into cold gray-steel.

Karma took a deep breath, trying to squeeze out the rage. Zoya is already pissed enough...

Forest park near Oranienbaum. The abandoned "Progress" plant.

The "IZH" turned onto an overgrown track, sinking into mud and shadows. Ahead – a deaf, gray mass of a concrete wall. A sector facility. The base.

SHHH-BEEP! In his helmet – Zoya's voice, sharp as a razor:

- Zoya (V.O.): So where are you hanging out, Major? The Council is waiting. Just you missing for complete happiness.

Karma braked near the wall. An invisible voice scanner blinked with a dull red eye.

- Karma (took off his helmet. The wind lashed at the web of whitish scars): Can't you see by geo? Coming in.

- Zoya (sarcastically): It hasn't been an age. Glad you remember the way home.

CLICK. An inconspicuous microphone extended from the wall. Karma leaned in, his voice – flat, without emotion:

- Karma: Purity. Will. Silence.

The password hung in the air – a black, bitter mockery of its meaning.

SPEAKER (impassive):

- Callsign?

- Karma.

- Proceed, Comrade Major.

The wall with a heavy METALLIC SCREECH parted, revealing the maw of a dark tunnel. Dim lighting led deep inside. At the end – massive armored gates, studded with anti-ram spikes. "Tishina".

Karma sat down, gunning the engine viciously. The vibration ran through his bones, echoing in his clenched jaws. He pushed the gas to the floor, flew into the tunnel-womb

- – SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

- – with an angry, precise drift, spun 180° right in front of the gates. Mud from the tires sprayed in a fan onto the sterile-gray walls, leaving greasy, wild streaks.

- Hello, "Tishina". Missed me? – the thought hit with a wave of adrenaline

to be continued...