Recent content by Lizaveta Isakova

Gig Name: Back in the USSR Type of Gig: Infiltration, Hacking Client: Connected Russian(s) Details: "The gig is straightforward, and successful completion of it (with utmost discretion) is a pathway to additional work. Need you to get into the Soviet consulate in Night City and get to their data...

A throbbing pang in her knee made Lizaveta flinch, and she extended her leg on the chaise where she had perched. She set aside her datapad for a moment to gently massage at her knee; the scars from her surgery were small and almost imperceptible by eye, but Lizaveta's fingers traced their...

"Returning to Russia would be suicide," she sniffed. "Even if no one knows what really happened to Grigori, they will assume I know enough to be dangerous." She didn't add: and they'd be right. Some things could still be managed with finesse, after all. "There is his business to attend to. The...

Lizaveta shut her eyes, squeezing her eyelids tightly. "It is annoying that your type -- not you, since I don't know you, but your type -- cares more about Grigori's crimes now that he is dead than they ever did when he was alive. If I had come to a police officer on the street and said my...

There was a ghost of a smirk on Lizaveta's face at his description of Stravinsky. "The very same," she acknowledged his answer. "He was widely regarded as a musical genius -- one of the greatest composers of the twentieth century. When I was with the Bolshoi we had to study the greats and no...

Lizaveta stood like a statute for a few moments, listening carefully to @Dmitri Antonov. Always on the hunt for a deeper meaning was Lizka, but she thought in this case that there wasn't much room for subtext. Tomorrow didn't leave a lot of time for her to prepare, little room for maneuver...

Lizaveta glared at Kowalski for several long moments in still silence. On the one hand, it was an insane proposition. She hadn't thrown a fit when he accused her, so she must be guilty? And yet, she was guilty, so it was not a strong position. She still thought it was ridiculous, but...

He's lying, a voice in the back of Lizaveta's mind whispered. Her gaze was inscrutable as she studied him. He had to be lying, didn't he? Why would he be here if the case was closed? Occam's razor -- the idea that the simplest explanation was probably the right one -- had quickly raced through...

As she studied him, Lizaveta's grey-blue eyes were impassive. She clocked his veiled threat, but it didn't frighten her. Ambitious men in Night City were the Eurodollar equivalent of a dime a dozen. Being ambitious and smart -- that was a little rarer. It wasn't until the older mobsters...

Lizaveta half-turned, facing the fridge tucked into its alcove. She was certain by now that the badge was trying to put her off guard. He did think she murdered Grigori. She was certain of that now, and equally certain that it was some intuition. There was nothing he could produce -- no...

She felt his eyes on her, but he said nothing. An interrogation tactic, perhaps? Hoping that the silent treatment would break her? She carried the French press to the sink and rinsed it carefully, either aware or imagining the shrewd badge's gaze following her. She swirled the hot water around...

Lizaveta observed the approach of the sharply-dressed gentleman, whose manners and Russian were both impeccable. She offered a shallow bob of her head in graceful acceptance of the man paying his respects to Grigori. "<Mr. Antonov. Thank you for coming.>" She regarded him carefully. A claimed...

It was a minute reaction; Lizaveta's lips pressed together, the pink of her mouth going white. "<Have you ever buried a partner, Officer Kowalski?>" asked Lizaveta as she steepled her fingers in front of her, index fingers pressing together in a vertical line. Her knuckles went white. She went...

The unsteady drizzle of dingey rain on nylon punctuated the traffic noise of the city as, under the watchful eye of Lizaveta Isakova, all that remained of the body of Grigori Abramov was lifted out of the hearse that idled in the street out front of Night City's Orthodox Cathedral. Though...

Lizaveta gestured him in and then shut the door and locked it behind him, then turned and led the way into the kitchen, a left-hand turn from the living room, where the dark wood flooring continued without a rug. If the officer cared to look, he would see that though the jagged broken panel had...