Hello, everyone, and welcome to the first chapter of Ashes to Ashes, a story about Deus Ex from a different angle. Ashes takes place at the same time as Deus Ex, except here there are a number of mutations. You'll have to wait till the next chapter to see them, though. I rely on feedback to find out what you, the reader, wants. You can send it here. And now, sit back, sit up, squint if you have to, but get ready for -

Murphy sat on his bed, thinking. He had joined UNATCO, the United Nations Anti-Terrorist Coalition, seven years previously, and he’d never had a problem with it - until now. What he did had to be done, and he knew it. The Coalition was the lead player in keeping down the tides of multi-national hatred and revolution that lapped at the shores of peace like waves of blood. Blood with murderous intent and heavy weaponry. Jonathan Murphy was a high-class agent with the authority and clearance, no, the very right to kill those who didn’t comply with the rules. The definition seemed to be getting wider since Joseph Manderley took over the Coalition. Joseph Manderley. He was the head of UNATCO, in the Liberty Island HQ. Murphy himself was stationed in Washington DC but still took orders from him.

Murphy’s thoughts kept coming back to him.

Two months ago, before he’d known about it, a routine order had gone out to silence Eleanora Murphy. She was John Murphy’s only child, a young woman of twenty who had been accused of helping the terrorist army called NSF. Murphy knew about her involvement, had known for months. 
But he couldn’t have turned in his own daughter. Thankfully, the Coalition’s intelligence seemed to have overlooked the relation. Murphy closed his eyes, thought some more. He hadn’t seen Eleanora since the divorce, six years ago. He’d talked to her regularly until a year ago when she vanished.

Two months ago the order for her death had become public knowledge, and one day later he knew Elly was dead.

Though his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, the halogens reflected their harsh light off the tears welling slowly out and running in thin streams down his face. He turned on to his side, now crying softly.

The squalid apartment’s ancient TV seemed to mock him with its muted, bluish flicker.

*      *      *

The large televisions in the room blared their repetitive words.

"…the NSF, the National Secessionist Forces, have been causing unrest and political strife for the last… hijacking Ambrosia shipments sent to… UNATCO’s purpose is to stop the NSF at all costs…"

They never tell you the truth, thought Steve Hawke as he carried his bowl of hot soup from the cafeteria counter. They never talk about Bob Page, the Plague, or any of that. They just spout this garbage and expect us to swallow it all whole. Most people in UNATCO did, he knew. That’s because they didn’t know what he knew. Nobody knew better than Steve that the official story was never the real one. Oh, yes, he knew. He knew the legends, the stories, and the truth.

He knew that the truth was the United Nations, the most powerful organization in the world, was nothing more than a puppet, played expertly by a handful of charismatic old men.

"Steve!"

He looked around. He spied John Murphy elbowing his way out of the crowd, securing a table, and beckoning to him. He eagerly pushed and shoved his way through the cafeteria to Murphy’s table.

"So what’s up? You look like hell," he said as he sat down.

"Steve, I’m worried."

"Why?"

The agent looked around and leaned closer. "There’s something not right with this organization… I don’t know what it is, but there’s something twisted going on here. Have you been in the cells recently?" he asked blandly.

"No, but-"

"They torture people in there. I was walking by and I heard screams before the door was shut."

Steve looked at Murphy pensively. "I’m sure it was a misunders-"

"This whole place is… sick. It’s as if we’re not even working for our supposed goals anymore, we’re working for someone’s private interest."

"Are you sure you’re okay? I think you should have the doctor look at you. You might be-"

"Dammit, Steve!" Murphy’s sudden rage was as unexpected as a blizzard in July. "This place, these people, killed my daughter and I want to find out why," he hissed.

Steve sat, blinking foolishly. "I – I’m sorry."

Murphy stood up to leave, turned back. "So am I, Steve. So am I." He left.

Steve sat for a few minutes, thinking about his friend’s words. How much does he know? he wondered. How much is he allowed to know?