Frozen Assets

In the biting cold of a Winnipeg winter, two retired operatives engage in a clandestine game of cat and mouse, guided by a glitching interface from a bygone era.

"He’s late."

"He’s not late. You’re just cold."

"I can be both."

Eddie stomped his boots against the concrete, trying to force circulation back into his toes. The sound was a dull, flat thud, swallowed instantly by the wind howling around the corner of the Richardson Building. It was a brutal, physical force, that wind. It didn't just blow; it stripped the heat from your skin like a thief patting down a drunk.

"Check the feed," Martha said. She didn't look at him. She was watching the street, her eyes narrowed behind thick, tortoise-shell glasses that made her look more like a librarian than a field agent with forty years of clearance.

Eddie blinked, triggering the neural link. It was old tech, Soviet-era surplus patched with Canadian firmware from the nineties. It sputtered to life in his left eye, a pixelated green overlay that ghostly superimposed itself over the grey slush of the intersection.

[SYSTEM ONLINE]

[SERVER CONNECTION: UNSTABLE]

[LOCAL TEMP: -33°C (FEELS LIKE -45°C)]

[STAMINA: 62% - DEBUFF: ARTHRITIC KNEE]

"Server's lagging," Eddie muttered. He wiped a drip from his nose with a gloved hand. The wool was rough, scratching his chapped skin. "Says connection unstable. Typical."

"It’ll hold," Martha said. "Target approaching. Two minutes out. Northbound on Main."

Eddie focused on the street. A bus rumbled past, its exhaust pluming thick and white, smelling of burnt diesel and sulfur. The windows were frosted over, opaque shields hiding the miserable commuters inside. He adjusted his scarf, pulling it tighter. The HUD in his eye flickered.

[QUEST UPDATE: INTERCEPT COURIER]

[REWARD: 500 PENSION CREDITS + TIER 2 INTEL]

[FAILURE PENALTY: UNKNOWN]

"Pension credits," Eddie scoffed. "I'm seventy-two, Martha. What am I going to do with credits? Buy a golden walker?"

"Focus, Eddie. The Game doesn't care about your hips."

The Game. That's what they called it. The network kept running long after the Cold War thawed and froze over again. It kept them running. Without it, they were just two pensioners freezing on a corner in downtown Winnipeg, waiting for a bus that never came. With it, they were players. Operators. Alive.

A figure emerged from the white haze of the sidewalk. Heavy parka, hood up, walking with the hurried, hunched posture of someone who underestimated the weather. The HUD snapped a red box around him.

[TARGET IDENTIFIED: SUBJECT 9]

[LEVEL: 4 (JUNIOR ANALYST)]

[INVENTORY: SECURE SATCHEL]

"Got a visual," Eddie said. The adrenaline hit his system, warm and sharp, cutting through the ache in his joints. His stamina bar in the display ticked up a percentage point. "He's heading for the underground entrance."

"Cut him off at the TD Centre," Martha ordered. She pushed off the wall she’d been leaning on. She moved well for her age, efficient, conserving energy. "Don't run. You'll slip."

"I know how to walk on ice, Martha."

They split up. It was a pincer movement they had practiced a thousand times in Berlin, in Vienna, in Moose Jaw. Martha took the direct route, blending into a group of shivering office workers rushing for the revolving doors. Eddie took the flank, heading toward the side entrance near the bank.

The wind bit at his exposed cheeks. He kept his head down, watching his boots crunch on the sand and salt scattered over the ice. The city felt hostile today. The grey sky pressed down like a lead lid. The buildings were monolithic slabs of concrete and glass, indifferent to the tiny figures scurrying at their feet. But the green text scrolling in his vision gave the world texture, meaning.

[ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARD: BLACK ICE DETECTED]

He side-stepped a patch of smooth, dark pavement that looked wet but was solid ice. A younger man in a Canada Goose jacket wasn't so lucky; he slipped, arms windmilling, spilling a cup of coffee that steamed violently before hitting the ground.

Eddie didn't stop. He couldn't. The timer in his HUD was counting down.

[INTERCEPT WINDOW: 00:45]

He pushed through the heavy glass doors of the tower, the blast of heated air hitting him like a physical blow. The sudden warmth made his skin prickle. The smell of wet wool, floor wax, and Tim Hortons coffee was overwhelming. He unzipped his parka, the sound loud in the quiet lobby.

The underground walkway system. The tunnels. Miles of climate-controlled hamster tubes connecting the downtown towers. It was a maze, a separate city beneath the city. And it was the perfect kill zone.

He tapped the side of his glasses, switching the HUD to thermal.

[MODE: THERMAL OVERLAY]

The world turned into shades of blue and orange. He saw the heat signature of the security guard at the desk—bored, staring at a phone. He scanned the crowd moving toward the escalators.

There. Subject 9. A glowing orange beacon in the blue wash of the corridor. The target was shedding heat fast, his parka unzipped, face flushed.

"I have eyes on," Eddie subvocalized, the throat mic embedded in his scarf picking up the vibration.

"I'm in position," Martha’s voice crackled in his ear piece. "Food court. He has to pass me to get to the elevators."

"Don't engage yet. He’s spooked."

Subject 9 kept checking his watch. He wasn't a pro. He was a courier, probably some tech kid from the intelligence branch who thought spycraft was like the movies. He didn't know about the old wolves tracking him. He didn't know about the Game.

Eddie merged into the flow of pedestrian traffic. He adopted the 'Invisible Senior' persona—shoulders slumped slightly, shuffling step, mouth slightly open as if confused. It was the ultimate camouflage. No one looked at an old man in a shapeless coat. They looked through him.

The HUD flashed a warning.

[ALERT: PROXIMITY SCAN]

[UNKNOWN SIGNAL DETECTED]

Eddie stiffened. "Martha. We have a third party."

"I see him," she replied. Her voice was tight. "Suit. Earpiece. Not one of ours. Not one of theirs either. Private sector?"

"Merc," Eddie guessed. "Corporate espionage. They want the packet."

The new player was young, maybe thirty. sharp haircut, expensive overcoat, moving with the arrogant stride of someone who spent too much time in the gym and not enough time in the field. He was tailing Subject 9, closing the distance.

"He's going to grab him before the elevators," Eddie said. "We lose the bonus if he gets intercepted."

"We lose the hope," Martha corrected. "That packet contains the funding codes for the safe house network. If we lose it, twenty agents go into the cold without a coat."

Hope. That was the currency today. Not money, not secrets. Just the assurance that the safety net they had built forty years ago wouldn't snap.

Eddie felt a surge of anger. He hated mercenaries. No ideology, no loyalty, just a paycheck. He checked his stats.

[ADRENALINE SURGE ACTIVE]

[STRENGTH: +10% TEMPORARY BUFF]

"I'm taking the merc," Eddie said.

"Eddie, he's half your age and twice your weight."

"He's got bad situational awareness. He's looking at the target, not the environment."

Eddie sped up. It wasn't a run—his knees wouldn't allow that—but a determined power walk. He navigated the crowd, using a group of teenagers as a screen. The merc was focused on Subject 9's back.

They were entering the food court near the mall. It was crowded. Lunch rush. The noise was a cacophony of scraping chairs, sizzling fryers, and chatter. The smell of grease was thick.

Subject 9 stopped to throw a wrapper in a garbage bin. The merc made his move, reaching inside his coat.

Eddie didn't hesitate. He wasn't going to fight the man; he was going to cause a scene. The most powerful weapon in a senior citizen's arsenal: awkwardness.

Eddie lunged forward, feigning a trip. He collided hard with the merc’s side, dead weight hitting the man's hip. He let out a loud, pained yelp.

"Oh! My hip! Watch where you're going!"

The impact knocked the merc off balance. He stumbled, slamming into a table of businessmen eating salads. A tray clattered to the floor. Drinks spilled. Chaos.

"What the hell?" the merc shouted, trying to shove Eddie off. But Eddie clung to his lapels, playing the frail old man perfectly.

"You knocked me down! You young people, always rushing! Help! I think he broke my hip!"

[STEALTH ATTACK SUCCESSFUL]

[AGGRO GENERATED: HIGH]

The crowd turned. Dozens of eyes fixed on the merc. Phones came out. Someone started filming. The merc’s face went pale. He couldn't draw a weapon here. He couldn't fight an old man on camera. He was burned.

He shoved Eddie away, harder this time, and backed off, hands up. "Crazy old bat," he hissed, then turned and vanished into the crowd, aborting the mission.

Eddie lay on the linoleum for a second, catching his breath. His side actually hurt. The fall hadn't been entirely fake.

[DAMAGE TAKEN: MINOR BRUISING]

[XP GAINED: 150]

A woman in a nurse's uniform knelt beside him. "Sir? Are you okay? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"I'm... I'm fine," Eddie wheezed, accepting her hand to stand up. "Just... shaken. Thank you, dear."

He looked toward the elevators. Subject 9 was gone.

"Martha?"

"Got him," she said, her voice calm and satisfied. "Bump pass completed near the fountain. I swapped the satchel. He’s carrying a bag full of old newspapers now."

Eddie dusted off his coat. He felt a grin spreading across his face. "Packet secure?"

"Secure. And Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Nice acting. A bit melodramatic, but effective."

"I think I pulled a glute."

"Walk it off. Meet me at the library. We need to upload."

Eddie made his way to the exit. He stepped back out onto the street. The cold hit him again, instant and merciless, freezing the sweat on his back. But it felt different now. Less oppressive. Bracing.

He looked at the sky. It was still grey, still bleak. But in the corner of his eye, the HUD pulsed with a warm, steady gold light.

[QUEST COMPLETE]

[REWARD DISPENSED]

[NETWORK STATUS: STABLE]

He walked toward the library, his boots crunching rhythmically on the snow. He wasn't just an old man in a winter city anymore. He was a player. And the game wasn't over yet.

The interface chimed softly.

[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: EXTRACTION]

[DIFFICULTY: HARD]