A/N: Few things before we begin: the storyline for this six-part series is set in the Deus Ex: Human Revolution universe, and as such contains references to that game as well as a couple of potential spoilers.

The rights to Jack Frost, Pitch Black and E. Aster Bunnymund belong to Dreamworks and William Joyce. The rights to Elsa, Anna, Hans and Scar belong to Disney. The rights to Adam Jensen, Francis Pritchard, David Sarif and Eliza Cassan along with Deus Ex: Human Revolution specific terms, objects and concepts belong to Eidos Montreal. I own nothing but the plot.

Some terms to note:

"Augs": short for Augments, a disparaging nickname.

Biochip: Mechanical augmentations require a neuroprosthetic junction (biochip) so the artificial body part can communicate with the nervous system. If you want to punch someone in the face with your augmented arm, the biochip enables that.

LIMB Clinic: This is a place where people can undergo augmentation procedures and where they can take Neuropozyne (more on that shortly), as well as other products.

Neuropozyne: This is a drug that prevents Darrow Deficiency Syndrome i.e. the build up of glial tissue around biochip(s) attached to the brain, which then leads to rejection of the augmentation.

Purity First: An organisation that opposes augmentation in all its forms, often violently.

"Deus Ex: Revenant"

Part 1 of 6

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"Keres"

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(February 5th, 2027)

Elsa's foot pressed down on the accelerator pedal of her black sedan hard enough for the engine to whine and scream mechanical obscenities at her, while her heart thumped and thudded against her ribcage. As she blitzed by, the murky orange streetlights and white windows flew past like streaks of light, so fast that she barely noticed them in between swallowing a suffocating lump in her throat and wiping tears from her eyes. Dodging other cars that were being driven at a much more leisurely - law abiding - pace, she weaved her car to and fro between them at a speed that would surely get her arrested.

None of that mattered, though. Jackson was dying.

She received the call only fifteen minutes ago; as his only next of kin, Elsa had been called at work by the hospital's emergency department, informing her that her husband had been on his way home from his teaching job when he was caught in the crossfire between the well-augmented police and Purity First extremists, those who believed cybernetic augmentations were the work of the devil and the human body should not be tampered with. His injuries were extensive and life threatening, and she should be there for him.

The thing was - due to working in a LIMB clinic and having to deal with Neuropozyne prescriptions, organising augmentation operations and ensuring the procedures went smoothly, Elsa had easily read between the lines and understood what the nurse actually meant.

"Your husband's injuries are mortal, and he doesn't have long. You need to be quick if you want to say goodbye."

Hence her dangerous speed through the mercifully calm Seventh Street to Our Lady of Arendelle Hospital - she was running out of time.

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She nearly broke down as soon as she saw him in the intensive care ward. Cupping her mouth with her left hand as the tears fell freely and choking sobs escaped her lips, she came face to face just how damaged her husband was.

It was like a nightmare. The last time Elsa saw Jackson, he was giving her a goodbye kiss on the lips before hopping down the outside steps towards his car, his chocolate brown hair fluttering in the breeze. She had felt the burning feeling of love in her chest as she stared after him for those few seconds, happier than she could put into words, completely devoted to their love and marriage. He was her soul-mate, and she was his. Of course, she had been basking in the warmth for so long that she had become late for work, and inevitably had to rush out of the door too.

He looked a world away from the Jackson she kissed that very morning. Countless I.V. tubes protruded from his arms and hands. He had been intubated, so a plastic pipe had been shoved in his mouth and attached to a life-support system - even his lungs couldn't breathe for him. His skin was as pale as death, and he looked so...vulnerable. She felt her heart twist beneath her ribcage - how could this have happened? He didn't care about augmentations, nor Purity First's motives, just the children in his class. There was no rhyme or reason, no justification for him to be in that situation - mortally wounded with machines keeping him alive.

She slowly moved to his bedside, her eyes immovable, her gaze unable to be torn away from his beautiful, charming, medically taped face. Chatty, now silent. Energetic, now still. She swallowed down her grief while the monitors beeped with melodic regularity in her ears, a sign that though he was alive, he was not alive. He was broken, he was falling, he was dying - and she choked on a sob when she realised there was nothing she could do about it but be there when the life support was inevitably switched off.

"Jackson," she croaked. Reaching for his left hand, she squeezed it tighter than she ever thought possible - his skin was cold and clammy. Not like his usual cool temperature, but a sickly chill. "Jackson," she whispered again, her voice cracking on each syllable. The monitors continued to beep as she whispered his name one more time, fighting so hard to not break down and let her tears fall onto his face as she leaned down to press a loving, gentle, tender kiss onto his forehead.

"Come back to me," she whispered against his skin. "Don't give up. I love you too much to watch you die - please, please come back."

She stroked his hair, feeling the tufts tickle between her fingers. He always loved it when she did that, just as he loved the French braid she always wore. Maybe it would encourage him to fight harder. "You're so handsome," she smiled in spite of her pain, grief and sorrow, "I always feel like the luckiest woman in the world when I wake up next to you, and I want to keep feeling like that. I want to keep waking up next to you - so please fight. I don't want to be alone…"

It was at the world 'alone' that her voice cracked and the dam finally broke. Her lips pulled apart in a grimace, and her black skirt squeezed her thighs as she dropped to her knees, feeling the tears pour from her eyes onto his hand as she pressed her face to it.

It was inevitable, the pain in her heart told her. There was nothing more to be done, said the tightening sensation impairing every breath she took. Soon he was going to die, and she could only stand by and watch.

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- - | ~ o O o ~ | - -

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Hearing the circumstances of his mortal injuries like someone had reached in and ripped her heart, her life and her optimism.

Jackson had stopped at a florist on the way home, and had just stepped out of the door when a gang of Purity First followers opened fire with assault rifles on a small squad of police stood on the corner. In the wrong place at the wrong time, Jackson's body had been riddled with nearly two dozen bullets by the time the extremists had noticed, and it wasn't long before the police officers returned fire and killed them all. Jackson had been rushed to hospital within minutes, and emergency nurses fought to stem the bleeding and keep him alive...which they did - but the damage was too severe. Jackson's limbs had been too badly shredded by the hail of bullets, his organs were beginning to shut down one by one, and pretty soon he was going to give up.

The worst part was when the police officer that came by told her that he was holding a bunch of white lilies, purple crocuses and bluebells when he was shot. Elsa's favourite flowers. He had stopped at the florists for her.

And that only intensified the pain, the fear of loss - she found herself wishing that he wasn't so thoughtful and kind. If he hadn't stopped, he would be cuddling her on the sofa and exchanging stories with her about their respective days. No, he had to be the man she loved and married, and paid for it with metal and violence and hate.

Sat at his bedside, it was when she was telling him about her day at the LIMB clinic, all about how Rapunzel had brought her birthday cake into work - chocolate, naturally - and handed a slice to each member of staff as well as the visitors, hoping that her voice could encourage him to come back that a smartly-suited stranger opened the door to Jackson's room. Hearing the door click, Elsa looked up from her husband with bloodshot, aching eyes to see someone she never expected to see in her lifetime. He was a recluse, someone who valued privacy higher than gold, who was never seen in public without several bodyguards, whose auburn hair and long sideburns spoke of humanity while his sleek, shiny black cybernetic right arm did not.

Hans Westergard, CEO of Westergard Industries, the premier augmentation and biotechnology company in Arendelle City. Nearly all of the augmented humans populating the city utilised limbs, chips or implants created by Westergard Industries, with the exceptions sporting the wares of Sarif Industries and Tai Yong Medical. If there was a cybernetic prosthesis being installed in the LIMB clinic where she worked, it was a safe bet that the limb sported the logo of his company.

"Mrs Overland," Hans softly spoke in a voice just above a whisper, full of gentleness and sympathy, "you probably know who I am."

"Yes," she croaked, and swallowed through her astoundingly dry mouth before continuing, "I do."

Hans smiled, but it was a heartfelt, pained smile of useless comfort. "Please allow me to express my deepest sympathies and condolences for you, and your husband's situation. It is unthinkable for such a thing to happen, especially to someone who does not deserve this."

Elsa, whether consciously or not, studied his face before she spoke. His green eyes radiated compassion. Stood near the door, he crossed his left hand over his mechanical right, and regarded her with respect. "Thank you," she eventually found the strength to whisper.

"I understand the prognosis is not good," he said, less of a question, more of a statement of fact. Elsa knew he would have asked the nurses before entering their room, so he knew as much as she did about Jackson's injuries and chance of survival. Her gaze dropped, and slowly travelled across to rest upon her inert husband, unable to find the words to reply. To do so would be tantamount to accepting defeat and death, and if she learned anything from her marriage, it was that there was always hope.

"Why are you here?" she asked. Far blunter than she would normally have been in the clinic, but she wasn't in the clinic. She could be forgiven for her lack of tact.

I may…" he began, and it was his hesitation that caused Elsa to look up toward him once more, curious as to why the usually so confident Hans Westergard was having difficulty. His mouth opened and closed, so many times that Elsa almost snapped at him to get to the point, when he finally did.

"I may have a way to save your husband's life."

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- - | ~ o O o ~ | - -

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Elsa paced the well lit, translucent white-panelled waiting room of Westergard Industries' operating theatre. Her hands wrung each other with great anxiety while her lower lip remained entrenched between her teeth, and the only sound that graced her ears was the click-clack of her heels on the plastic. Jackson had been in there for nearly eight hours, eight agonisingly long hours with only tacky celebrity magazines, digital advertisements, two a.m. television and her own thudding heartbeat for company. Anna, bless her heart, was determined to stay with her for support and comfort, but when she ended up dozing off on one of the white leather sofas, Elsa had called Kristoff to come and pick her up. Naturally Anna didn't want to leave, but after some stern convincing from both her husband and her sister, she gave in under the proviso that Elsa was to call with any news, no matter what.

Whether or not Jackson would make it, that is.

Hans' offer was simple; in Detroit, Sarif Industries had recently celebrated the successful augmentation of their head of security Adam Jensen. Like Jackson, Jensen's injuries were mortal, so the sheer amount of augmentations needed to save his life was staggering. Indeed, Adam Jensen possessed the most augmentations of any known human being on the planet. Hans proposed much the same; he believed that Jackson's life could be saved through the same procedure, though it was likely that he would require a similar amount of augmentations in order for it to work.

"I am obliged to point out," he had cautioned, "that he may not look like the Jackson Overland you know. Visible augments...tend to have negative aesthetic effects for loved ones."

It was an offer that was too good to be true. There Jackson was, at Death's door, when Hans Westergard offered to save his life.

"Will he still be the same person underneath?" she had whispered while gazing lovingly at her husband's pale features. "Will he be the same man I fell in love with all those years ago?"

Hans' smile had been both comforting and expectant. "He will, Mrs Overland. What Purity First don't seem to grasp is that augmentations do not change who a person is inside. They simply become better. Your husband will be man the you married…"

He had hesitated once more, before continuing, "...but he may look vastly different. Can you accept that chance, Mrs Overland? Can you see past his surface, to the person within?"

It was clear what he had meant: Jackson's limbs would no longer be organic, but metal. Many of his organs would likely have implants incorporated into them - like the Clear-Air Oxygenation System she designed many years ago to help a person's lungs take in and better utilise oxygen - and his appearance could be drastically different. Even his eyes might no longer be a boyish shade of chocolate brown, but something else.

As she ceased her pacing and agitatedly fiddled with her braid with one hand, whilst clutching the lapels of her white LIMB clinic jacket together with the other, she remembered the determination she felt as she gazed longingly at her husband. She had tried to picture mechanical hands, feet, ocular implants, Westergard Industries logos on each cybernetic implant or prosthesis - and it didn't change a damn thing.

"I met him in college," she remembered speaking softly, her elegant cadence speaking of nostalgia and love, "in the middle of my freshman year. It...wasn't the whirlwind romance you read about, the ones where the lady is swept off her feet. No, I found him to be overly mischievous and annoying. He didn't seem to treat his education with the respect it deserved, and I never thought I could be attracted to him, let alone fall in love with him."

Hans seemed to humour her. "What changed?" he asked.

What followed had come from her heart, her soft words flowing so easily from her mouth it was like she was being led. "I saw under the mask, saw him for who he truly was. Someone who only acted like a clown to make his friends laugh. Who made damn sure that they smiled at least once a day. Someone who loved his friends and his family deeply, and would do anything for them. Someone who was loyal to a fault, who cared too much, who was kind, generous, playful and funny...and I remember one day, wondering if I could count myself among the people he loved. As it turned out, he had a huge crush on me too, which is why he was always goofing around in my presence...so when he asked me out on a date, I gladly accepted. The rest, as they say, is history."

She remembered making the decision, how it seemed to come so easily. How her heart told her that underneath it all, Jackson would still be there, just like in college. "Jackson is my soulmate, Mr Westergard. I have loved and I will love no other man like I love him, and I don't care what he will look like on the outside. Without him, my life would feel empty and cold...so please, Mr Westergard. Please."

Whether it had been for emphasis, or just to convey to him how much she loved her husband and wanted him to live, that she would do anything, she didn't know...but her gaze slowly traced over to his to speak the words that would change her life forever.

"Save my husband, Mr Westergard. Bring him back to me."

Eight hours of waiting, and Elsa's patience and agitation was at breaking point. She had read - or at least attempted to, it wasn't exactly like her attention could be focused on any one thing - every magazine in the room. She barely paid attention to the two a.m. television, and she was going to go mad if she didn't get any news. Her heart thudded against her rib cage like a vicious war drum, and she tried not to think about what they could be doing to him, only that her husband could be coming back to her. Yes, he would be different. Yes, he would have to work through some issues, come to terms with who he would become, but she would be there for him. To make sure he knew that what she did, she did out of love. Stood at a knife edge between his tenor, smooth and seductive voice, and crushing silence, she prayed that she could see him smile again. Hear him laugh. Hear him say "I love you, Elsa" and fill her heart with warmth.

She practically jumped out of her skin when a series of knocks echoed from the frosted glass door, and whirled around just as a man entered the room, wearing light green medical scrubs and a hair cap. "Mrs Overland?" he asked softly, his expression blank and emotionless.

"Yes...yes, that's me." she answered quickly and a little impatiently, "how..h-how is…"

"My name is Dr. Tadashi Hamada, I am the lead augmentation surgeon in Westergard Industries." He paused for a short time, which Elsa spent scanning his remarkably good poker face for any signs, body language that would give her the answer she craved.

But it was his eyes that told the story. His hazel brown eyes, one shade lighter than Jackson's, that gave her the answer before he even spoke. There was only one reason her heart was beginning to break, as well as the tears that fell from her eyes.

Of course, he had to speak the heartrending words anyway...it was his job. "I am sorry, Mrs Overland," he said with a voice of regret, "but your husband passed away during the operation. There was nothing we could do...his...his injuries were too severe. I am deeply sorry, Mrs Overland."

He left the room shortly after, and Elsa couldn't blame him. She wanted to be alone with her pain, with her grief, the sounds of strangled sobs and weeps her only company in the paradoxically bright room. She collapsed against the sofa and buried her head in her hands, unwilling to believe that she was never going to see her husband again, that in one day she had turned from a happily married woman into a widow.

That not even the advanced science of mechanical augmentation could save his life, and she would be lying next to an empty space in their bed that night.

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A/N:

Aaaand that's a wrap for the first chapter. I was supposed to have done, edited and proofread every single chapter before I uploaded, but as it has impacted upon OGaV's next chapter "A Ballad of Ice and Fire" as well as NH, I thought I'd upload precisely what I've been working on, and give you all at least something for being so patient.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution is a fantastic game (yes, plugging here), with a rich story, decent gameplay and a lot of thought-provoking choices. If you haven't already played it, I suggest you do so. If you don't have access, check out the game trailer on Youtube - but you don't have to have played the game to understand this.

For those that have - this fic is set during the six months between the attack on Sarif Industries at the beginning of the game, to Adam Jensen's return to duty post augmentation. I am hoping to sort of weave the two stories, or at least connect them in a small way.

I will be thanking people (you know who you are) but at the end of the fic.

Thank you all!