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General Art Greater Good, Greater Game

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
Awww, I feel sorry for Elisa... And Damien of all people. That dad seriously needed to chill. Like, a lot. But it's too late now, I guess... And whee, villians having the upper hand agaaaain, whoopdeedo what fun... But I'm not worried. ...Not too worried, that is. Things'll end up OK, they have to...
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
Aplogies for the lack of updates, I've been working on this chapter for a while now. Don't worry, some members of Prophet will be getting their just desserts soon. Their karma just keeps getting bigger and bigger. This chapter and the one directly after it are probably the most important in the entire story, by the way...

Chapter 24

Malcolm stepped into his new Headquarters, eyes taking in everything. He took a deep breath, and walked through the room, some of his new employees walking around the lobby, and his eyes found a tall, thin man waiting for him, who after seeing Malcolm walked over to him.

"Hello, sir, it truly is an honor to have you here," Kyle Gordon said, admiration evident in his voice, and a total lack of condescension. Malcolm smiled at him.

"Of course, mate, of course. I wouldn't worry too much about losing your control. I trust you. You're still high-ranked, maybe a little under Astrid."

"What about Sanford?" the scarecrow replied, a scheming look on his face. "Will he be above me?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No. I know you're not exactly the...nicest individual, but you're loyal and dedicated, and that's what counts, mate."

The two men walked into the elevator, still talking. Gordon laughed at his leader's comment, and then replied. "I can't say the same for your...favored team. They let their emotions get in their way, and they're going to die for it eventually," the scarecrow stated, face emotionless as the elevator traveled upwards.

"That's because they still have someone left to fight for, mate," the leader of the resistance replied softly and tenderly, and Gordon's professional and smarmy face fell at the words.

"I sometimes wonder why I bother. Everyone I've ever cared about is dead," the schemer spat bitterly, as the elevator door opened and they continued walking.

Malcolm patted his friend on the shoulder. "Revenge, mate. I'm pretty sure that if you didn't have revenge driving you, you'd have shut down. Justice will come their way. I've lost a lot too. They drove my sister insane, you know..." Malcolm put a hand to his head as it throbbed slightly. Lately the bags under his eyes had begun to refuse to fade away, a permanent fixture upon his face. His arms and legs felt weaker somehow, almost ready to collapse. The pressure was getting to him, he knew it, Astrid knew it. But he had to keep up the impression that everything was going fine for him, in order to raise the mens' morale. Astrid and Elijah were taking care of most of the work, while Malcolm was taking a break. Any more time, any more pressure on him and he felt as though he might burst.

Kyle Gordon nodded back. "See you around, chief," he half-saluted his superior officer before turning to his right, having seen Randall Quinn and Adam Goodwin waiting by the lab for him. Quinn for some reason had the hair on half of his head gelled, and wore a purple blazer. The two men approached Malcolm cautiously.

"What's up, mates?" Malcolm smiled cheerfully, although it was a thin veil of what he was truly feeling, hopelessness and despair.

"Something interesting has been going on," Quinn said suspiciously in his Southern drawl. Adam nodded his head furiously in agreement.

"Something superbly creepily weird," Adam agreed quickly, sounding excited and nervous at the same time. Malcolm raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

"Is that so? Well, lay it on me then," their leader clapped his hands together, looking curious but also feeling a slight bit of dread in the back of his mind.

"Follow us," the two agents of Malcolm said simultaneously. They led Malcolm into a room full of people examining strange technology including, but not limited to bullets that set its targets on fire, the melting device used in the jailbreak of Damien Byrne, and a broken Shade Device. A singular computer sat by the wall, and Quinn and Adam directed their leader's attention to it.

"What's the deal here?" Malcolm asked, kneeling and gazing at the screen.

"This thing was stolen from Prophet about five years ago," Adam explained, looking ready to burst from excitement. "We never figured out what it was or how to turn it on, but three hours ago it just turned on! It's been...a little weird."

"Glitchy," the government agent elaborated. "See for yourself."

Malcolm watched the screen as the olden monitor whirred to life, streaks of blue across the screen. Words flashed on the screen in strange font.

PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

Below, a vertical line flickered in and out, as the screen fizzled and fluttered blue and green randomly. "We tried everything," Adam said, "but nothing happened. We tried Marcus Trueman, Bartholomew Trueman, Joseph Slater..."

"Wait, wait," Malcolm mused, sitting in the chair. "Let me just try something, okay?" He started typing on the keyboard.

MALCOLM WATERS.

The log-in screen disappeared, and a green flickering vertical line appeared on the screen.

HELLO MALCOLM.

The three men glanced warily at one another. "Should I...respond?" Malcolm asked uncertainly. Randall shrugged.

"Might as well."

HELLO? WHO IS THIS?

Malcolm raised his hands from the keys, waiting anxiously for a response. Words began appearing on the screen.

THAT IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN. ALL THAT MATTERS TO YOU IS THAT THERE IS SOMETHING WAITING FOR YOU AT THE LIBERTY BELL.

-JS


Malcolm raised his hands from the keyboard. "Is this Prophet's?" he asked warily. The two men shrugged.

"The tall, thin dude who ran this place brought it in like three years ago, apparently, but it never worked," Adam explained quickly.

"No idea why it's working now," Randall Quinn added, rolling his eyes to heaven.

"The Liberty Bell..." Malcolm mused, stroking his mustache. "If this really is Prophet...that means they know we're in Philadelphia."

Quinn shrugged. "So? This place is heavily guarded and above-ground. Even if they knew where we were, they'd have trouble getting in without the police on their tail."

Malcolm nodded. "I know, mate, I know...it just makes me feel uneasy."

"JS...." Adam contemplated. "Joseph Slater?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I suppose. All right! Here's the deal. Quinn, come with me. I can't go into this blind. Adam, stay here. You're not trained to go in the field."

"What if I wanted to?" Adam retorted with surprising fierceness. "What if I want to go out there and make a difference?"

Malcolm smiled kindly at his young friend. "If you want to do that...you should talk to Elijah. I'm sure he'd help you there. But not now."

Adam hung his head. "Okay then." Malcolm patted him on the back before exiting with Randall Quinn.

"Kid needs new numb knuckles," Quinn popped the words out of his mouth, fingers twitching ever-so-slightly.

"What?"

"It wasn't supposed to make sense, dear leader."

"Oh, right," Malcolm rolled his eyes to heaven. Quinn did have a habit of saying bizarre things that weren't supposed to make sense in the slightest. The two men readied their guns and exited the building, the crimson twilight in their faces, causing them to squint as they searched the parking lot for their car. They entered and drove, and the conversations they made and the details of the drive are not important in the slightest. The Liberty Bell Center was closed for the night, but the two men stood up and walked towards it, eyeing the closed security gates.

"Planning on trespassing, oh great, wise,, cautious, righteous-" Quinn was cut off by Malcolm's pointer finger, which was extended towards the wall in front of them. A dead body, deposited at the doorstep, with a note taped to her chest. The body's identity was not discernible from that distance and in the dark. The two men cautiously walked towards it. They could not recognize the form. Malcolm lifted the note from the corpse and read it in the last rays of the setting sun.

2022 Grant Avenue.

Enjoy!

-JS



***

I step into the interrogation room. There's still more to be done with Isabelle West, I'm sure of it. She knows more. And I'm going to weed it out of her. She barely looks up when I open the door, and she slowly chews a glob of meat, a tray in front of her. I sit down, and we make eye contact as she takes another long, distasteful bite. She swallows, and then speaks. "Why are you here?" she asks bluntly and indifferently. "To interrogate me? Good luck."

She takes another bite and nearly chokes. I chuckle. "Not used to poor food?"

"I suppose you could say that," she monotones, eyes staring at a spot on the wall behind me. "I don't really want to talk to you."

"I'm not giving you an option," I reply coldly. "You really messed up my friend."

She scoffs. "It was just a breakup. It's not like someone died or anything."

I frown. "That's besides the point." She stares, glassy-eyed, at a spot on the floor, not replying or responding. "Not going to talk?" Still nothing. I slam my hands on the table before leaving. "Fine." I open the door and run directly into Madeline. "Oops, sorry! Madi, what's up?"

"W-We have a mission," she explains. "Slater left a-a note f-for Malcolm o-on the body of a former a-agent of his. We're g-going to th-the office b-building he s-supplied."

I smile. "Obviously a trap?"

She smirks, an expression I've rarely seen on her face. "Duh."

I clap my hands together, smiling. "All right, then, let's go!"

We walk down the hall and into the briefing room. Astrid, Adamaris, and Daren wait for us, and our leader acknowledges our presence with a curt nod. "You've all been briefed on the mission objective. This is obviously a trap, but it's too obvious. They have a bigger trap planned, so we're not going to go in blind."

"We aren't?" Daren mock gasps, causing a snicker from Adamaris. Astrid glares at the pair of them.

"No. I will be leading this operation. Malcolm, Quinn, Elijah, Gordon...they're all occupied. This will be a large-scale operation, and we are not taking any chances. No foolish behaviors in the field this time. We can't afford to lose many men here. Something's happening. We don't know what, but...something is. Dismissed. You will be storming the facility." She exits and the four of us nod at one another, our mindset fully focused on the task at hand. We ready our weapons, we ready ourselves. I feel dizzy. Disoriented. Sometimes I feel as though seconds can take hours and hours can take seconds. My head hurts...I've vomited once with barely any warning in the middle of the night. I take a deep breath as we stand outside the low-built, plain office building.

"You all ready for this?" I ask my teammates, and Madeline smiles brightly while readying her gun. Adamaris nods calmly, and Daren rolls his eyes. One big happy family. Around thirty soldiers mill around outside of the building, which has been roped off from civilians, thanks to Quinn and his connections. Astrid is at the helm, barking orders. There has been no movement from inside the building. We even have a bomb squad here, just in case. Can't hurt to be prepared, right? The four of us cautiously lead our troops into the gray building. I step forward calmly, in the lead, but suddenly I'm tackled to the ground, yelling out.

"Shh!" Adamaris shushes me, pointing at the tile on the floor in front of him. It's slightly different than the rest. "Stay low."

I hear voices resonating down the hall. I raise my gun and move around the trap tile, only to feel a slight weight shifting down on my foot. An escalating beeping sound fills my ears as I duck for cover as the floor explodes, barely missing me. I quickly raise my gun, even though I'm currently on my knees from the small blast, and shoot the two guards in the forehead. I smile. My aim has improved. Gunfire fills my ears and I hear Daren and Madeline fighting it out with their men. Adamaris and I continue fighting, as two men with automatic weaponry fire at us from the corridor across the way. Adamaris raises his firearms and guns them down. Our group moves onward and we barge through a door leading into a room with a computer inside.

I quickly open up the computer, and place a small, square device on it that within a minute unlocks the password. I comb through the files, and unfortunately a lot of the files are classified information. Close by, gunshots ring, and I know that they're probably right outside. I click on a tab labeled "addresses," and scroll down to see the words Joseph Slater labeled as being under 1225 Hartman. I smile. Jackpot. The door bursts open and several of my men inside are gunned down. Adamaris and I return fire, and quickly all of them fall to the floor, dead. It...still is odd to me that I can even think that so...callously. Compared to my not-so lucid states of mind lately, I mean.

"What'd you find?" Adamaris asks casually, reloading his clip.

"Address for Joseph Slater. They were expecting us but I don't think they were expecting this many of us."

"That's...strange. Generally, they're smarter than that."

I shrug. "Maybe they're getting sloppy. Or overconfident. Say...everyone else here seems to be getting along fine. Why don't we pay Mr. Slater a visit?"

A grin manifests on his face. "It would be my pleasure."

We quickly weave in and out of the battle, and run towards an emergency exit. "What are you doing?" Astrid yells through the headset.

"We've found out Joseph Slater's location. If he finds out we've successfully taken control of the facility where he sent us to die, we'll lose our window," Adamaris explains. Astrid is quiet for a few seconds before responding.

"All right. Just be careful, Adamaris." Adamaris looks shocked, slightly, but only for a second. We quickly dive into the car and Adamaris floors the pedal. We speed through the streets of Philadelphia, and I tap my finger on my knee in anticipation.

"What happens if he's not home?" I muse, looking forward to once again meeting the man who dragged me into this world of highly advanced technology and clandestine organizations...

My friend shrugs, all evidence of his breakdown thanks to the emergence of Isabelle gone. "We'll surprise him. Obviously, there'll be security measures. We'll just have to take them out before they take us out."

I nod in agreement as we pull into Joseph Slater's long and luxurious driveway. His house is elegant and is comprised of a lot of glass. I hear the sound of waves from the sea. His house sits on a cliff, and Adamaris and I raise our pistols, slowly closing in on him. Adamaris places the square device on the combination lock on Slater's front door, and easily disables it. The door silently swings open, and we move into the entrance. We keep our guns held up, moving through the sleek, streamlined house. Everything is neat and tidy, and I glance into one of the rooms to see two entire walls of bookshelves. We move into his living room to see a wide-screen television set, a recliner, and a crimson couch. The wall overlooking the ocean lapping away at the bottom of the cliff is made almost entirely of glass.

I examine a cabinet, opening a drawer to see at least twenty records. My eyes find the record player on the mantle, and I'm about to examine some of the titles when suddenly one of the white, wooden doors opens, and Adamaris and I immediately point our guns at the source. Standing there, looking perfectly groomed, immaculate, and terrified. He lets out a small yell, pulling out his own gun at us.

"Don't! Move!" I command after he moves closer to the window wall. Clouds have covered the sun and thunder rumbles in the distance. Now Adamaris and I stand facing the cliff, while Slater has his back to it.

"How the hell did you find me?" he asks hurriedly, sounding genuinely frightened. "You were supposed to die!"

"You were sloppy," Adamaris says, deadpan, and Slater groans.

"No, no, no. I knew this wasn't going to work! Why couldn't Marcus see?" A strand of hair falls into his face, and he periodically switches between pointing the gun at me and at Adamaris.

"What do you mean?" I demand. "What do you mean by that?"

Slater shakes his head, mouth open ever-so slightly. "Marcus brought a pain on himself by not telling the truth to Malcolm. He caused a major distraction from our goals, namely, your group."

"Put the gun down!" Adamaris yells.

Slater chuckles manically. "If you shoot me, I'll shoot Daniel. Then where would you be?"

"Stop talking in riddles!" I growl at him. "So you think that telling Malcolm...whatever you'd need to tell him would instantly make everything better? You've ruined innocent lives!"

"Pignore damnum," he replies exasperatedly, swinging his gun arm to point at Adamaris.

"Another thing," Adamaris takes a step closer to him. "What the hell is with the Latin? Why? Why are you doing this, what are you trying to accomplish? What is your purpose? Why are you such...*******S?!"

It's quiet for a moment, and Slater takes a deep breath. The rain beats down upon the glass, and Slater turns his head briefly to face it before quickly snapping his head around to face us. "...I hate the rain...I really do. We're not so different. I have my own sob story, same as you...born with it all, lost it all. I was found by Prophet...they raised me. Prophet is my family, and we're helping the world, whether it seems that way to you or not. And I completely understand why you fight us. We're...kind of a-holes."

"Oh really?" I reply sarcastically. Slater laughs without any humor, swinging his gun back to pointing at me.

"In my library...there is a manuscript," he says breathlessly. "Detailed in there is everything. Everything about Prophet, what we're trying to do. I hope that once you read that...you will understand why we've done what we've done."

"Does that mean you'll come quietly?" Adamaris asks warily, gun still armed and at the ready. A clap of thunder rings out, a bolt of lightning clearly visible through the window.

Slater closes his eyes, shaking violently, gun still pointed at my head. "...I hate the rain...I am a dog. I am a cold-blooded attack dog. That is all I am, that is all I was, and that is all I will ever be. Nothing more. Nothing less. Marcus will put me down if he finds out I let you know everything."

"What are you saying?" I nearly whimper, as his behavior steadily becomes more erratic and his hands tremble violently. A gale picks up outside, and he smiles, and the strangest thing is that it's...genuine.

"Remember, Daniel. A storm is coming. Bellum internecinum. And I am only a small part of the effort. But this pawn is proud to have played his part." He nods towards me, and turns his gun's aim slightly towards the left before firing a single shot. Hurriedly, out of instinct and training, I pull the trigger. Slater's eyes bulge as he falls to his knees and crumples to the floor. Adamaris and I make eye contact before I turn to see the hole in the wall slightly to the left of my head. I turn back and see the dead body of a former businessman, bleeding from the chest and fading out of existence. I lower my gun. He lies in a halo of blood.

Outside, thunder rumbles.

Joseph Slater is no more.

***

The storm was picking up, and William Byrne hummed quietly to himself, sizzling taco meat on the oven. "Grandpa, when are the tacos gonna be ready? I'm hungry!" he could hear Elisa calling from the dining room.

"Just a moment!" he called back, smiling, and scraped taco meat onto a flour tortilla before rolling it up and entering the dining room. He set the plate in front of her, imitating the manner in which a butler would do so.

"Your taco, madam," he said mock-seriously, causing his granddaughter to giggle. As she started to dig in, he hummed to himself as he made his own taco. Thunder rumbled, and he good-naturedly sat down across from Elisa, entertaining her with goofy stories and illusions.

The doorbell rang.

Elisa and her grandfather froze. They could clearly remember Daniel's words, that someone ringing the doorbell was a warning sign that they should get out of there. Of course, a couple of days ago, they'd gotten into a panic that had turned out to just be one of Elisa's friends calling her out to play. "Stay here," the grandfather told Elisa, and glanced through the peephole. On the other side was a soaking wet man wearing a coat and jeans, hair wet. He looked exactly like Daniel Byrne, but he wasn't. A fractured, steely light shone in his eyes, and William turned, horrified to Elisa.

"Grandpa, what's going on?" the child whimpered, and William rushed over to her.

"You need to run. One of their agents are here, and we'll never be able to outrun them. I'll stall for time, but you need to escape, you hear me? I won't let you die."

"But...what about you?" Elisa looked to be on the verge of tears. William Byrne smiled comfortingly at her.

"Elisa Gabrielle Byrne, you are the strongest, most determined, and most favorite grandchild I've ever had," he smiled sadly, eyes looking watery himself. "You were named after an extraordinary woman who I had the privilege of calling my wife, and I'm sure you will grow up to be just as beautiful, just as successful as she is."

"But Grandpa-" Elisa interjected, only to be interrupted by a rough knocking on the door. William looked at her steadily and in total seriousness.

"Run. Now." Elisa looked back worriedly as she opened the back door. "Go!" her grandfather repeated desperately, and the girl disappeared into the storm. Clearing his mind, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hello, Damien," he said calmly towards the man standing before him.

"Hello, Father," Damien mockingly replied in kind, stepping inside and hanging his coat up.

"Tacos?" his father asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You know I hate those," the prodigal son replied in disgust. "Brings back bad memories." He sat down at the kitchen table, lounging. The father sat across from him, and there was silence for a couple of seconds.

"Where's the rat?" Damien asked dismissively.

"Far away from here," his father replied coolly. Silence for a couple more seconds, before finally the father leaned forward. "Damien...I just want you to know that...I'm sorry. For everything. I was selfish, demanding, jerkish, and I don't deserve to hear your forgiveness. After seeing...what I did to you..." Damien's face did not change.

"Actually, I came here in part to thank you, Father," his son replied, cherishing the look of surprise on his father's face as he uttered the words. "You taught me a valuable lesson. No one is a saint. We all can damage people, just like you damaged me. And you know what? I'm completely aware that as time went on, you got better, nicer." He grinned sadistically as he saw his father's face begin to fall, mouth gaping wide. "I know that I interpreted incorrectly everything you did, everything as an attack against me. And you know what? I don't care. You shaped me into that impressionable, insecure, child who just wanted to please his father, even if he had all the attention in the world."

Tears slid down the old man's cheeks. "I have...always...felt guilty about what I've done. Have you done all this...to please me?"

Damien laughed crazily, leaning forward across the table, and for the first time his father could see plainly the fractured light in his son's eyes that so many others had seen before him. "Are you really that bigoted to assume I did all this for you? Well, you're actually right in part."

"Please elaborate," his father said weakly, holding a trembling hand to his forehead as his watered eyes glanced his psychopath son over.

"I suppose in part, I wanted to please you. I wanted to prove my worth. And I'm doing that! I'm making a difference in the world!"

"Then prove it!" his father yelled suddenly, slamming his hands on the table. "Prove to me that you're a hero and not a lunatic! You've killed people just because it's fun! So tell me, son, WHY ARE YOU A HERO IN YOUR EYES?"

"Your tear ducts appear to have flooded, Father," the son drawled, an amused expression on his face.

"That's not the point and you know it!" he sobbed, shoulders heaving.

It was quiet for a couple of moments apart from William Byrne's heavy breathing and fighting back tears. Finally, Damien responded.

"It's for the greater good, Father. I'm working for the greater good. But I'm only a pawn. A pawn in a much greater game...but I'm content with that." Damien stood, dusting himself off, even though he had done nothing to get himself dirty.

"You can say it's for the greater good, Damien. You can say that killing people is just collateral damage. But you came here...to kill me. Your own father. How can you call yourself a hero?" His father stood, placing a comforting hand on his son's shaking shoulder.

Damien closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm not a hero. And you are not my father."

"What?" his father asked as his own son raised the gun towards his forehead. He backed up hurriedly.

"I'm sorry."

Damien fired.
 

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOES! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOES! WHY DID THE GRANDPA HAVE TO DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE?! NOT. FAIR. NOT FAIR AT ALL!!! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?! AND SLATER'S DEAD, AND THAT RANDOM PERSON AT THE LIBERTY BELL, AND WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
Well, good to know that that got the intended reaction. I was worrying that I hadn't developed William Byrne's character enough for his death to have had impact...glad that it shook ya up. Something you'll be seeing, especially after this chapter, is that some of these Prophet agents are well-intentioned people, and can be sympathized with...except for Malik. That guy's just an a**hole.

An ode to Joseph Slater using the lyrics which inspired his character, Pink Floyd's "Dogs." I recommend you listen to it, even though it's 17 minutes long. It's cool.


Dogs (Waters, Gilmour) 17:06

You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

And after a while, you can work on points for style.
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
So that when they turn their backs on you,
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.

You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you
get older.
And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand,
Just another sad old man,
All alone and dying of cancer.

And when you lose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw
around.
So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone,
Dragged down by the stone.

I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this
maze?

Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everything's done under the sun,
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.

Who was born in a house full of pain.
Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
Who was told what to do by the man.
Who was broken by trained personnel.
Who was fitted with collar and chain.
Who was given a pat on the back.
Who was breaking away from the pack.
Who was only a stranger at home.
Who was ground down in the end.
Who was found dead on the phone.
Who was dragged down by the stone.


Happy stuff.

This is kind of an important chapter. Kind of.

Chapter 25

Sunlight flowed in through the window, dust particles clearly visible in the air, and belied the clean nature of Trueman's office. His slender hands gripped the cane tightly as the door opened behind him. Indistinguishable words in an indistinguishable argument flowed from the mouths of Grant Aamor and Theo Malik. Trueman turned to face them, resisting the urge not to just blow their heads off and be done with it. His supposed friendship with the two of them was reaching its limits.

"Marcus, the man's insane," Aamor whined/sneered, crossing his arms. "I went into my room to find a kidney on the floor. And he denies everything!"

"Nothing can be proven," Malik replied, casually flipping a blade up into the air.

"Reducto ad absurdum," his nemesis replied scathingly.

"Calm down, boys," Trueman addressed them mildly, but behind his back he was readying his weapon for the electrical setting, just in case.

"Calm down, that's all you can say? Tell him to stop trying to...make me lose my lunch!"

Malik snarled in an almost feral manner, but the argument was graciously stopped by the flick of a switch, and the lighting up of Trueman's cane. "Stop," the leader demanded, placing as much power into the word as possible. Aamor and Malik reluctantly eased their expressions and postures, turning to face the boss. "What the hell is it?" Malik asked impatiently, crossing his arms.

"You've heard about the failure at the Liberty Bell, correct?"

"Of course," Malik stated flippantly. "Slater failed, right? Why should we care?"

"Yeah," Aamor agreed, "why should we care?"

Trueman sighed, shaking his head. "Slater is dead."

"What? No way!" Aamor cried out. "But...but...how?"

"Several of Malcolm's men found his location and caught him off guard...I mourn his loss deeply." Especially now that I'm stuck with you two, was his unspoken implication.

Malik scoffed. "People die. Friends die, we all die in the end."

"And you play with their remains," Aamor droned, only for their budding argument to be stopped in its tracks with Trueman holding up his hand.

"Of course, that does leave a power vacuum for the Red Herring initiative, considering Slater was in charge of such...and of course Slater was one of my closest lieutenants?"

"He was?" Malik asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Is one of us being promoted?" Aamor inquired eagerly and greedily.

"No," the voice came from behind them and Damien Byrne stepped out, gun in his hands. "I am."

Trueman nodded. "Damien here now reports directly to me. His most recent mission has proven to me that he is capable of the task."

"But what about us?" Aamor whined, and was silenced by Damien pulling his gun out at the man.

"You'll do as we say. You still have your precious high rankings in Prophet," Damien sneered menacingly, "You'll just be reporting to me."

"Dismissed, both of you," Trueman waved his hand casually, and Malik and Aamor exited the room.

"Out of curiosity," Damien began slowly, a note of hesitation in his voice. "Why was I selected, as opposed to either of them?"

"Aamor is a whiny brat," Trueman said, as if the answer should have been obvious. "And Malik has his own agenda. I'm sure of it."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "How would you know?"

"The defenses were supposed to be primed to eliminate their forces immediately, and Slater's location should have been marked as classified, and therefore inaccessible for Malcolm's men," Trueman explained. "There's no concrete evidence, but Malik left the complex thirty minutes before Malcolm's forces arrived. It stands to reason he could have set it up to get rid of Slater."

"In that case..." Damien mused, "why?"

Trueman turned to his friend. "Why did you massacre thirteen people? Why do you take pleasure in killing lives, Damien? It's because there's something wrong with you, and I'm well aware of it, but remember: the fact that you killed your own father and are still here has cemented your position as my lieutenant. Keep an eye on Malik. Tell Aamor too. I'm sure he'd be thrilled at the possibility of Malik being a traitor..."

Damien nodded. "Of course sir," he said mechanically, a little too indifferent for Trueman's tastes. His boss stepped forward, observing his new dragon.

"You're usually a lot more...excited," Trueman mused. "Excited to bring the fight to them, that is. But now...Cold. Clinical. Indifferent." Damien's face did not change. "Are you holding something in? Are you caging your emotions so you don't overflow?" Trueman demanded, and his keen eyes saw Damien's hands tighten their grip ever so subtly.

"No sir," the lunatic replied, half his mouth turning upwards. "I feel nothing."

Trueman slapped him across the face. "You'd better not," he hissed. "No regret, no compassion. Who are you? Who are you?"

"Damien Byrne, pawn to your queen," Damien replied without missing a beat.

"Enough with the chess metaphors," Trueman waved his hand irritably. "You're not only a pawn. You have committed homicide and patricide, and most likely fratricide soon enough. And I can't have you showing any emotion towards it."

"Unfortunately, I am," the evil twin replied flippantly. "Contempt," he spat. "My father groveled as he tried to spare his own life," he said, twisting the own truth unconsciously. "Weak, pathetic...he deserved to die."

"Good. Can you say the same of Daniel?"

Damien nodded. "When the time comes, his blood will stain the floor, and I-we'll be free to concentrate on the Game," he grinned cruelly, eyes so broken it seemed as though they were kaleidoscopes.

Trueman smiled to himself, so that Damien couldn't see. "Good. Dismissed."

Damien exited the room, and the boss's face softened as he pulled out a locket with a picture inside of two boys, not unlike Daniel and Damien, playing and laughing in the sandbox. Sighing, he closed his eyes and pocketed it.

***

Paradox.

That is all I can think about, the paradox of emotions I feel right now, as the casket lowers into the ground, as I stand here in my suit and tie, as the tears shrivel up before they can travel down my cheeks, as my friends can only hopelessly watch in sympathy and empathy, having probably experienced this themselves. And to think that I'd viewed Slater's death as a turning point, a beacon of hope...then the call comes...my father, found bleeding from the head...no...no. Mush. Slushing around. Inside my brain. No way out. Like when Malik tortured me, but slightly more subdued.

Is this how Damien felt when he was losing his mind?

The tears are all dried up now, I have none left to give, only blank stare, clenched fists, and a comforted anguish. What helps isn't that they say that they're sorry for my loss. They know. Madeline lost her best friend, Daren, his lover, Malcolm, his sister. They accept it, they comfort me with the knowledge that there will be justice. Damien. Damien did this...I couldn't believe it myself. Now a grim certainty grasps me. Damien Byrne is gone. There is nothing left to save. The casket lowers into the ground, and the breeze of a cloudy day tugs at my sleeves as the eulogy concludes.

Summer day, the feeling surrounds me. Smile on my father's face as he flips pancakes. Damien laughs as he watches them flip into the air. Chocolate chips in his, syrup and butter on mine. Mom picks him up.

How? How, and why? Brain is squeezed until juice comes out, am I turning into him? I kill without a second thought now, I watched Slater bleed out without a second thought. The manuscript he was talking about exists. We haven't opened it. We're making sure it's safe before attempting. What he said...about everything becoming clear...I don't know.

"Hey."

The funeral is over and a rubber band snaps me back into reality. Adamaris smiles comfortingly at me. "I can't...claim to know what it's like to lose a loved one. But know that they're going to pay for it...no matter how self-righteous Prophet is."

I nod almost imperceptibly. "That means...a lot to me. Thanks."

Daren and Madeline join us, standing together in the cool afternoon air, as I clutch my sleeves even though it's barely cold. They don't have to say anything. I know their feelings.

A laugh as my father hands us our respective pancakes and Damien wolfs his down contentedly, while I cut mine before eating.

Then, a different memory.

Damien at the gun range, aged sixteen. There is no problem telling the difference between him and me anymore, as he's now given up getting our father's attention. His hair is long, while mine is short, his is messy, while mine is neat. His clothes are sloppy, while mine are even. He scowls as he fires the gun.


I'm snapped out of the memory by a hand on my shoulder. Malcolm nods to me. "I understand that you retrieved a manuscript from Joseph Slater's house."

I nod. "That's right."

"Well, Adam and Quinn have finished analyzing it. It's clean, although it was originally written in Latin. None of us have looked at it yet. As you were the one to kill Slater, I feel like you and your team should be the first to know."

Life slowly drips back into me as he says this. "I suppose," I say slowly. "What do you guys say?"

"Their goals had better be worth the collateral damage," Daren growls.

"I-I'm ready," Madeline says as confidently as she can.

Adamaris nods, blinking back tears in his eyes, a rock in his throat.

Malcolm nods. "The manuscript will be distributed after we've finished...I'll read it aloud. Come on. Back to Headquarters."

Somber drive back. This would be the part where discordant, melancholy music plays. I feel...disconnected. I don't know what is real anymore, what is not. A mortifying thought comes to mind: what if I'm still inside of Malik's chamber? What if none of this is real, and is just still focused on breaking me...

"Is this real?" I ask softly, in the car.

"Hmn?" Malcolm asks from the front.

"What do y-you mean?" Madeline asks nervously.

"Is this real?" I respond, with a little more power behind it. "Am I not just in Malik's hallucinogen right now, is that why I'm feeling so...so numb, so jumbled as to my thoughts? Is this the proper way to feel when a loved one has died? Is any of this real?"

"Daniel-" Malcolm and Adamaris begin at the same time.

"I'm not too sure! Malik, is he in control, is he in control?" My voice breaks, but there are no tears. "If I were to throw myself out of this car right now, would I die?"

"Daniel, stop!" Daren shouts.

"No! My father just died! I...I don't want to...accept it...I think..." I tremble into silence, murmuring again is this real is this real is this real is this real is this real...

My brother turns to me and sneers, a cigarette in his mouth and a stoned look in his eyes. He flips the bird, but I try to explain that for once last night was all him, that our father had done absolutely nothing, and that Damien would be resuming his counseling.

He protests, shouts, screams, spits, and I flee.


"I'm sorry..." I whimper. "I'm sorry I said that...I'm just...off, okay? I was close to...Dad..." Tears finally come. As has happened so many times before, the rest of the car ride is spent in silence. We arrive at Headquarters and exit, and we enter the building. Kyle Gordon gives me a slight, unsympathetic jerk of his head. Seriously? Not even an "I'm sorry"? The five of us meet up with Astrid Lark outside of Adam Goodwin's workplace.

"Daniel," she says, but her usual cold tone is strained somehow, as if she's...trying to be cold, as opposed to most of the time when she just is. "I...wish you well."

I almost crack a smile. "I think that might be the first compliment you've ever given me."

She nods absentmindedly and we enter the room. The manuscript seems to loom over the proceedings as we sit around the table, Malcolm at the head. He pulls it towards him.

"Story time with Uncle Malcolm?" he asks quizzically. "I suppose. Well...here goes nothing. Let's find out exactly what's going on here."

Our eyes meet, and we nod. Malcolm clears his throat and begins.

"One of the most widely-recognized traits of mankind is its need to believe in a higher power, something greater than themselves. The Greeks. Hinduism. Christianity. All different sects at different points of time. Of course, there are those who deny the existence of a god entirely. But this is not a philosophical or religious debate, far from it, actually. And I will be quite frank in stating that most who read this will not believe the truth, and I will be the first to state that if this manuscript were given to me, after reading throug hthe first several paragraphs I would have thrown it away, dismissing it as conspiracy nonsense.

Two of the greatest flaws of mankind are its tendency to apply meaning to things that have no meaning, and its arrogant belief that it is always right and that anyone who disagrees is wrong. As it is, there are mysteries of the universe that mankind could never hope to unlock, and indeed would best be kept secret. But secrets are meant to be revealed, doors to be unlocked, whether or not our governments will be willing to open them.

Sound like a conspiracy theory yet?

If you're still reading this, than you at least have some curiosity as to where this all is headed. Throughout the course of this manuscript, you will be forced to come to terms with a wide variety of truths about our universe, secrets that were being kept from us until the time came in which we would be given it, and we would turn a deaf ear towards it. And it is perfectly understandable why. And how do I speak in such a presumptuous and conceited tone, you ask? Because I have been enlightened by a man I once called the Note Taker before I learned his name. Prometheus.

War is on the horizon. Not a war between nations, no, not at all. The fact of the matter is that a god did not place us on this Earth. Something else did. A master race of architects. We are nothing more than an experiment. A curiosity, to see how life would develop on its own, with only the barest hint of guidance from the architects. They make their observations and report to their superiors, and they let our history run its course, only conducting it when it is absolutely necessary to further their design. Everything we have accomplished, everything we have wished we could take back as a race, all of it has been recorded.

Still here?

Good. The conflict lies not in the Creators. No, the conflict lies in the fact that every experiment must be replicated to compare results.

We are not the only human race.

Another Earth-like planet light years away from us, with its own society, system, and culture. I digress a moment to note that these are not aliens. They have evolved similar to ourselves, but still not entirely the same. They differ, and unlike us have been preparing for war for some time now, already having been alerted by the Creators as to our existence. Their first offensive has been unmanned, sent in the form of "pods," unmanned bombs that will explode on impact. Why? Why are they doing this?

Because the greatest stage of the experiment is to come into play soon. Mankind is splintered, weak, and yet in their mad callousness they call science they will force our hands, and both worlds will bleed out until there is only one still standing. Survival of the fittest. If you're still reading this, than you must surely be thinking, this is a load of bull****, and you might have already thrown this to the ground in flippant dismissal. This is no conspiracy theory. This is fact, whether you believe or not, and war is coming, the details of which will be explained in full in this manifesto. But be warned. If you continue reading this, then there will be no going back.

Ever.

Bartholomew Trueman


Malcolm looks up from the manuscript, and our eyes find each other. Shocked silence is the only form of noise, each of our eyes finding each others. Finally, the silence is broken.

"Well..." Daren says, scratching the back of his head anxiously, "that escalated quickly..."

***

*laughs evilly* I hope that wasn't too completely out of nowhere. It wasn't, I've had all this mapped out since the beginning.

:right:

*SMUG MODE ON*
 

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
...So Daren became Will Ferrel for a moment there.

Gah, I really wish I could have found this as awesome and mind-blowing as I should have, but I am Christian and just got back from an early Easter service, so I did regard the message as bull**** even though it was in a fictional world. Don't get me wrong, it caught me by surprise and it was epic, and will be epic, but I couldn't get into it as much as I usually do, through no fault of your own.

But the funeral part was really sad, and made me want to hug Daniel. And Damian better still have emotion because there needs to be that conflict and yeah. Good chapter, very reveal, much experiment, wow.
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
Thanks. As a Christian myself, I can confirm that I am not denying the existence of God...in fact, I, as the author can confirm that there are some uncanny parallels between the religions of the different worlds...food for thought, there. In fact, in my mind, God exists in this story, this is just a species's attempt at playing God. Not sure if that particular detail will have impact in the story itself, but yeah, the timing of the update wasn't intentional. Thanks for continuing to read this, Tatl, I know I don't really have much of an audience, but your support and obvious investment is very encouraging, and probably the only reason I'm still bothering to update. So I thought I should just show my appreciation. :)
 
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TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
Aww, thank you Myriad! I'm always glad to read your stories, you're a really good writer. I'm glad we can share in our beliefs and enjoy a good story anyway. ^^
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
If you go back to Chapter 6, which was the first chapter involving Natalie Hunt and the pods, take a look at the conversation between the two cops, lol. ;)

Chapter 26

"Bull****. Total, complete bull****."

Daren's angrier than I've ever seen him. Constantly pacing, always angry...and I understand why. This changes everything...

"Daren, calm down," Adamaris commands calmly. So far he's taken the news the lightest.

"Why do I need to calm down? You need to be less calm? It's all horse****, that's what it is!"

"You've used at least ten different variations of that word in the last five minutes," I sigh, placing a book down. The numb dissonance I've been feeling has surprisingly been suppressed in my mind. Ironically, because of the revelations from the Prophet manuscript, I've become more sure in my reality.

"They're insane! It's a ****ing conspiracy theory! They took the word of a single individual's typed, Latin manuscript. It's all just ****, okay?"

"I-In that case..." Madeline begins as forcefully as she is able before gulping. "Our l-loved ones h-have died f-for n-nothing, Daren."

Daren opens his mouth, probably some snappy retort in mind, but it does not escape his mouth. It just hangs there, dejected, miserable, and he closes it, arms shaking at his sides. Madeline has seemed strange, tenser than normal, like she's been holding something in. Something comes over to me, a dark certainty. I stand. "We have a Prophet agent," I point out coldly. "Let's ask her."

Adamaris nods and stands. "I'm ready. She means nothing to me anymore...she could be an ant on the ground for all I care anymore." His expression darkens slightly, but he seems to catch himself, trying to brighten his features for us. He does not succeed, fully, at least.

"I'll c-come with y-you guys," Madeline stands as well. "I-I was too h-h-helpless b-before...I-I won't l-let a-any of y-you die."

Daren huffs, crossing his arms haughtily, not meeting our eyes. Madeline, Adamaris, and I leave the room, and we move through the facility. I catch a glimpse of Kyle Gordon leaning with his arms folded against a balcony, glaring with narrowed eyes at me while chewing on a hot dog. Warily, I turn my back to him as we head into the elevator and head to the prison floor. The elevator door opens and Elijah Sanford steps inside, nodding curtly to us as we get off.

"Going to see West? She's a tough one, not easy to crack. Of course, naturally that means that she's the only one who knows anything," he rolls his eyes. "She didn't even react when we told her we knew..."

The elevator door closes and the three of us stride with confident purpose down the corridor that we most likely don't feel. For the third time, the door to Isabelle West's cell opens, and the three of us walk in. Just like the last time I was in here, she looks decidedly unimpressed with her situation.

"One of your men just left," she states blankly, her finger drawing circles on the metal table. "Now they send three more, my ex-boyfriend at that...how are you holding up, Adamaris? Still a broken mess of a man?"

"No," he snaps. "I'm not giving you the satisfaction."

She smiles and nods, seemingly sincere. "I'm glad to hear that. We don't have to be enemies, you know. You now know what we're fighting for. Would you deny us the protection of this world?"

"Your...outlandish claims aside," I stress, stepping towards her, "it's more the methods your people use that we disagree with."

She shrugs indifferently. "There are always casualties in war. Collateral damage. Deficit omne quod nasciture. There is nothing we can do about that."

My knuckles whiten as my fists clench, and I move towards her lividly. "Collateral damage, huh?" I seethe. "My father is dead...killed by my own brother. My daughter is in this building, mourning the loss of a grandfather she'd only known for eight years. You lie, cheat, and steal-not for the protection of our world, but for your own. Selfish. Benefit."

Her face looks oddly distant, her eyes staring at a spot behind me as I speak. When I finish, her lip curls upward slightly. "Are you finished with your sob story?" she sneers condescendingly. "Because I'm getting rather bored here-"

Moving like a blur, Madeline steps forward and slams West's head into the table, and Adamaris and I take an involuntary step backward as the Hispanic woman yells out in pain and surprise. Madeline yanks West by the hair upward, a look of total fury on her usually docile features. Her hair hangs in her eyes, but her limbs tremble not from fear, but from pure rage.

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT US, DO YOU?" she bellows, and then stops in her tracks, face relaxing and shaking tumultuously. Adamaris puts a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away. She turns on West again, who for the first time looks nervous, frightened even. She grimaces as blood trickles down her face, a groan escaping her mouth.

"Y-you've never lost anyone in y-your life, have y-you," she growls. "Y-You've never had t-to say goodbye to someone y-you've loved! Y-you're heartless, cold, s-selfish, and what's worst is y-you think y-you're doing what's right!" With the last word, she slams her head into the table again, before yanking her up again. West sputters blood, and coughs violently, and Adamaris draws her away.

Then, West starts to laugh. A gargled, condescending, hacking laugh that shakes her shoulders and drips crimson on the table. "That's more like it," she grins, hair matted and eyes wild. "Much better. Your kind used to condemn such methods, no? Now look at yourselves."

Adamaris's expression is only of disdain. "You're nothing," he says coldly, shaking his head. "Madi is right. You don't know what it means to be broken."

Her face falls slightly, and her eyes cast downward. "Actually...I do. Mother died at age ten, just old enough to understand the loss. Father never treated me like I was his child. More like...a chore, of sorts. I fell in with the wrong crowd. I was...disillusioned. Insignificant. Somehow I found the Prophet manuscript, and thus found them. They gave me...purpose," she says, looking up with obvious reverence. "My life has meaning now." She smiles, and in her I see a similar look in her eye that Damien had when he'd first started on the path to madness. As well as an uncanny similarity to some of the stories of some of the people in Malcolm's group.

"Do you have anything to offer on the subject of the other world, or Prometheus?" Adamaris asks, sounding detached and aloof, almost like a lawyer.

"They are preparing for war, just as us," she replies casually, as if she were discussing tomorrow's weather.

"How do you plan to combat a world...how far away, again?"

"Light-years," she yawns, despite her beaten-up appearance from Madi's assault.

"So...how do you plan to...fight them?"

She tilts her head in a reptilian manner. "I don't know. I'm not on that level. Joseph Slater, Theo Malik, Grant Aamor-they all know. Trueman, of course. I fail to see how you couldn't get anything out of him."

"What do you know?" I ask impatiently.

There is silence on her end. I sigh. "Never mind, let's go. We have better things we could be doing." Madeline and Adamaris follow me, but right before we exit the room Isabelle pipes up again.

"I'm not staying in here for long, you know."

We turn. "Oh, really," Adamaris crosses his arms. "Do tell."

She smiles proudly. "Trueman said he wouldn't be in prison forever. And look at what happened. Ipsa historia repetit."

I raise an eyebrow. "That means?"

"History will repeat itself."

***

Piercing headache tightening around his temple. The man groaned, a hangover bouncing around inside his brain as he sat up in his bed. Wearily, he checked his watch, and his dulled eyes widened as he was reminded that there was a concert he was supposed to be attending in thirty minutes. Scrambling out of bed, he hurriedly and sloppily dressed himself, suit jacket slipping on over his calloused arms and hands. Quickly, he sprinted into the car, ears ringing, and started the car, trying to fight off the headache.

What was weird was that he didn't remember having anything to drink at all. Plus, his chest was hurting...was that a symptom of a hangover? He couldn't remember...no point, really. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on surviving on the highway. As he pulled into the parking lot, he sighed with relief as he pulled the ticket out of his pocket. The milling around of high class citizens filled his ears as he handed the ticket to the guard. The guard was...an interesting character. Arabic, thin, with a hooked nose. Odd...

He could hear the strings warming up. He sunk into his seat, crossing his legs peacefully. The lights began to dim, and the guard slowly closed the door, and he thought he could hear a click of a lock, but he decided it was nothing.

His chest was really starting to irritate him now.

The conductor called for silence, and the music began to play. Periodically, somewhere in his subconscious he could hear a strange click, but his conscious mind paid it no attention. No reason to, after all. What could happen, anyway? He chuckled, and closed his eyes as the strings beautifully arpeggiated, helping him to lose himself in it.

Click.

The beat pulsed, the strings meshed and clashed, the trumpets sounded, and the volume slowly rose, escalating and traveling on forward momentum.

Click.

The concerto reached a merciless climax, melancholy and discordant strings, trumpets, and other assorted instruments merging together in a soundscape, yet his enjoyment of the piece was dampened by that irritating pain in his chest. If only it would just go away, then everything would be perfect! He grit his teeth, agitated, and unbuttoned his coat to see what the matter was.

Click.

Then, it happened.

Beep. Beep. Beep. A red dot was blinking in his chest, and the man next to him screamed as the poor man’s eyes widened in horror as he saw sealed over burn marks on his chest, as the strings and piano mercilessly pounded out a minor chord progression. A scream erupted from the man as he hurriedly got to his feet.

“Bomb! There’s a bomb! Get out, get out!”

Click.

Screams filled the air as the man selflessly attempted to locate the place that would kill the least people, to no avail. The mass of people could now hear the escalating beeping, and the music stopped as masses madly clambered, climbed, and stepped over people towards the exits.

The man with the bomb clasped his trembling fingers in a prayer.

The screams became louder as shapeless, faceless people banged desperately at the locked doors, begging for someone to let them out, struggling, spitting, kicking, and the man with the bomb could only watch in horror as the burning in his chest intensified…

“The door’s unlocked!”

The cry came from the other side of the theater, and immediately the crowd shifted its massive deformity towards the east side, where a visible prick of light protruded. One man ran out the door and was instantly shot, and wriggling, twisting arms attempted to push open the door, but someone else pushed the door shut.

Click.

Inside, the man let out a terrified, feral scream.

Boom.

Theo Malik strutted away from the theater, wiping his hands free of imaginary dust as he stepped into his car, casually checking his watch, and humming.
 

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
...Well hot dang. Madi was a bad*** and Theo killed more people. BUT HOLY CRUD MAN THESE PEOPLE ARE GETTING SERIOUS. LIKE, DUDE, THINGS ARE GETTING BAD. REALLY BAD.
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
Chapter 27

"What the hell, Malik? What the hell?"

Malik was hunched over one of his usual corpses, and he glanced up to look at the speaker. Natalie Hunt stood before him, arms crossed and a furious look on her face. He shrugged at her, smiling irritatingly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said smoothly in his usual superior tone, mock-bowing to her with a scalpel in one hand and chopsticks in the other.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You abducted a man and planted a bomb underneath his skin. Don't play innocent."

He groaned, rolling his eyes and placing his chopsticks and scalpel down. "So what if I did?"

"Well, for starters, you've just attracted their attention right after they found our manuscript!"

"We're supposed to distract them, right?" Malik continued, placing his hands behind his head and crossing his legs. "That's what I'm doing. What's the problem?"

"Those were innocent people, Malik."

"Then why are you here?"

Silence for a moment, and Hunt seemed to be resisting the urge to reach across and strangle the scientist by the throat. Suddenly, her body relaxed. "I'm here because I was chasing Steven Gardner and my car went off a bridge, and Prophet fished me out. I stayed because I believed I could make a difference."

Malik narrowed his bloodshot, twitching eyes. "Would you betray us if you could?"

"Would you?" she retorted, disdain and contempt clear in her voice. There was silence on his end for a second.

"Of course not," he replied smoothly-too smoothly for the psychopath. "I'm loyal to Prophet."

"Because they let you kill."

He snorted. "Tomato tom-ah-to, why are you so concerned, Miss Cheerleader? The machine needs to be completed and I'm distracting them long enough for it to be done. Why should it matter to you when a couple of hundred people die when there are billions in the balance?"

"You'd kill them all if you could."

"...Touche. But I can't. So, Prophet is with me, and I am with Prophet. Now excuse me, I think I'm going to remove this man's organs, so you should probably leave."

Placidly, Hunt turned around and walked out of the room. Outside were Adrian Key and Steven Gardner. The three walked down the dim halls of Control, talking.

"So, he give you anything?" Gardner asked, stepping inside her personal bubble sleazily, but she abruptly pushed him away, hatred on her face. "Okay, fine, sorry..."

"He said he'd kill everyone on the planet if he could, but that's not news. He went off on his own agenda to 'help' with the plan. Do I believe him? Not one bit."

"So what's the deal here, is he traitorous?" Adrian yawned, looking bored out of his mind.

"Probably just a lunatic," Hunt said, which was met with nods from Gardner and Adrian.

"Aamor said that he and Slater were talking one day and Malik came in drunk, saying that he had a contact inside of their organization," Gardner recalled, adjusting his glasses.

"Were he and Slater friends?" Adrian asked.

"No, although they didn't hate each other like he does Grant. Really, Malik isn't friends with anyone here. We mainly keep him at arm's length," Gardner said.

Adrian started humming the Grinch's theme, and then started singing from the seasick crocodile line, prompting Hunt and Gardner to laugh. "It's true, though," he shrugged.

"I'm not saying it wasn't," Hunt chuckled as they reached the dining hall. It never was quiet nowadays, not with the pods and the incoming war and everything. People ran around to and fro, calling to each other, and weapons practice had amped up ever since Slater's death. As they passed one of the many training rooms, they could see Damien Byrne overseeing the training, looking remote and professional. The news that he had killed his own father had spread quickly around Control, and that combined with his new position as Trueman's lieutenant struck fear into the hearts of many of Control's inhabitants.

"Gardner, leave us, we can discuss Malik later," Hunt said.

"You sure, sweetheart?" he grinned creepily, and received a gun pressed into his forehead. The sad thing was, a gun to a person's forehead was a really common threat in control. Adrian watched in quiet amusement as the creep slipped away, scowling. Hunt placed her gun in her holster, entering a lounge room with Key. Sighing in relief, she sank into a chair, placing a tired hand to her forehead. Adrian did the same in the chair across from her.

"Never thought my life would get this complicated this fast," Adrian sighed. "I mean, I get kicked out of high school, then this dude hands me the Prophet manuscript...then I joined mainly to laugh at you guys...but...we're the real deal, man...we're the real deal."

Hunt nodded. "I was CIA before Prophet found me close to dead. I thought we were for a noble cause. But I see Gardner, Malik, Damien...and I wonder whether or not it's worth it."

"Human nature always gets the better of things," Adrian explained in wisdom beyond his twenty-two years of age. "I wasn't here when Bartholomew was in charge, so I wouldn't know what this place was like then."

"Nor I," Hunt agreed.

"Does anyone know what happened to him?" Adrian asked curiously.

Hunt shook her head. "I don't know...no one's told me. I'm moving up in Prophet's ranks, though. Apparently I'm more stable and trustworthy than...some..."

Adrian let out a laugh. "Yeah. I know. Man, it makes you wonder why we're even still here..."

"Because even if we leave, the war will come to us," Hunt realized quietly.

Adrian nodded. "There's no escaping it. Katherine told me she'd like to leave too...but she knows she can't. Not when we're making a difference, despite our...psychopathy."

"Psychopathy..." Hunt mused, thinking it over. "Psychopathy...indeed. Adrian, just curious, have you seen the machine yet?"

"That would be a no."

"Would you like to?"

"...Well, sure...do I have clearance?"

"I do."

Adrian stood. "Let's do this, then."

The two saner Prophet agents strode purposefully through the halls, Adrian following Hunt cautiously. After about five minutes of maneuvering, Hunt placed her hand on a scanner. It glowed green. The door opened, and the humming of the air conditioner unit filled their ears as they stepped inside the large, open room. People in lab coats shuffled around, relaying instructions to one another, and sparks flew as people in worker's outfits put another piece into place on the machine.

The machine that consisted of a metal, circular platform with steps leading down, and two gargantuan spires on either side of it. The humming was different than that of the air conditioning, it was more whirring, and a blue light coursed through the entire structure.

"Holy..." Adrian stood there in awe. "I...I don't even know what this does..."

"It's how we're going to bring the fight to them," Hunt said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms.

"But...how..."

"Sorry, can't tell you that. You'll know soon, though. I promise." She glanced quickly around. "You should probably go now."

Adrian nodded, and, still in shock, exit the room, awe evident in his expression and walking pattern. Hunt turned back to the machine. It was far from complete, but was still an impressive feat. Or, it would have been had Prometheus not deposited the blueprints in Marcus Trueman's lap.

"Natalie Hunt?"

Grant Aamor stood behind her, arms folded across his chest. Hunt turned and smiled at her former handler.

"Grant. Pleasure as always."

His trademark sniff entered Hunt's ears. "I don't have time to tell if that was sarcasm or not. What are you doing here?"

"I have the clearance, don't I?"

"Yes...well..." Aamor appeared a little flustered. "I...I don't...never mind. What's the news on Malik?"

"Suspicious. We're keeping an eye on him."

He grinned widely at the news. "If he ends up being a traitor....heh heh heh...well, I'll be rid of him. Finally."

Hunt shrugged. "I don't think it matters right now, sir, what your personal opinions of Malik are. If I may..."

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a vibration from Aamor's pocket. "Hold on, I'll get that," he said, opening his phone and holding it to his ear. "Yes? Wait...WHAT happened? Yes, yes...I'll be right there..."

Hunt looked at him in interest as he hung up. "What is it?"

Aamor scratched his arms nervously. "Something big...you'll see..."

***

It's my first mission since...Dad died. And in all honesty I'm excited. Maybe, with this case, this hole in my stomach can finally be healed. Or, at the very least, it'll distract me...the last thing I want to think about is the pain. If I'm busy...I'm happy. But in the lonely nights, when I lie in bed, unable to sleep, thoughts of my father's corpse and the hallucinogen fill my mind to the brim and overflow onto my pillow...I'm broken, aren't I?

The four of us enter the theater to a grisly site. Blood is spread all across the walls and dead bodies lie littered around like stuffed animals on the floor. Adamaris kneels over the remains of what was once a man, and now is a bloodied mess on the floor. It seems to be the epicenter of the blast.

"Well, this is definitely Theo Malik..." he says nervously. I hear sobbing in the distance. Strange to think that these were once people, living lives, ruined by Prophet in their mad bid to "protect" our world. Their goals still confound me...it's difficult to believe there's another world out there and that we were placed here by another race, and not God...of course, anything Prophet says must be taken with a grain of salt, especially considering this grotesque display. But then again, if that's the case, my father would be dead for no reason...either way, hate still fills me. I don't care if they think they're saviors or something, they're wrong. Anyone who could do this is wrong.

"You don't say?" Daren retorts, half-jokingly. It still does surprise me how much we can take all this in stride. Are we desensitized to this? Are we losing that sense of horror that someone actually did this to these people? Do we recognize these were actually people?

"I...don't know what to say," I stand there in queasy shock. This is...possibly the most nauseating display Prophet has ever put on. We spend another half hour looking for clues, but end up finding no leads on anything...we end up heading back to Headquarters. Dizzy dizzy dizzy...why? I thought I'd gotten over this, but the blood splatters and the entrails scattered have made me want to crawl out of my skin and curl up on the floor, dead...what? What? What am I doing? No...just...breathe...calm down. Breathe. Okay. I'm feeling better now...all better. Everything is fine. There's nothing wrong. Revenge will surely come. One day.

"So. What's the deal here?"

Kyle Gordon stands there, tapping his foot and looking irritably at the four of us. "A-are you okay?" Madeline asks him.

"Pft. Come on, already. Malcolm, Elijah, Quinn, Astrid, and I are going to be meeting. Since you...fine people investigated Malik's latest art project, you guys are comin' along. We just keep getting busier and busier, don't we."

The four of us glance worriedly at each other, and then back at him. He moves quickly, and it's hard to keep up with him as he moves through the halls. We eventually enter the meeting room, and just like Gordon said, many of the top members of Malcolm's group are there, including, but not limited to Quinn, Elijah, and Astrid.

"Good to see you guys could make it," Malcolm nods as he speaks, acknowledging our presence.

"What he said," Elijah says, smiling peacefully.

"Thanks," Adamaris says, sitting down. "Okay, so, victim's name was Eric Pratt, aged 26. From what we can tell, he was abducted and returned with a bomb implanted in him...which they then detonated while he was at a concert. The question we're asking is 'why.'"

"That is one of the many questions we have asked ourselves over the past few days," Quinn says nonchalantly, placing his feet on the table to a disapproving stare from Astrid.

"It's obviously Malik. He was probably bored," Elijah scoffs, sitting stiffly in his chair.

"True," I say. "But I thought they kept a leash on him or something..."

"Daniel, you were placed under a hallucinogen that tortured you for seventy-two hours straight, and your father's dead. Are you sure you should be here right now?" Gordon asks condescendingly, while another person might have sounded concerned.

"No. I'm fine. I need something to do to keep my mind off it," I monotone, and a sneer forms on his face.

"Kyle, stop," Malcolm warns. "Okay, so if Malik did that, why? What is the purpose?"

"Well, it seems as though they're preparing for something to do with the 'other world,'" Elijah makes air quotes as he says the words, "But blowing up a concert hall? It doesn't fit."

"They've done plenty of that kind of thing before we knew about their goals," Quinn yawns, stretching.

"How the hell are you part of the government again?" Astrid asks incredulously, much to Quinn's amusement.

"Not the point, Astrid," Malcolm says. I look at my teammates. Madeline has her eyes closed and doesn't seem to want to contribute to the conversation. Daren's jaw is set and he looks impatient and bored. Adamaris is calm and professional. As for me? I don't honestly know.

"Elijah. Do you remember anything about your time while you were abducted by Malik?" Gordon asks.

"Um..." Elijah hesitates. "No. I remember...knives...I think. Pain."

"You were found with burn wounds on your chest, right?"

"That's right."

"Do you remember what caused that?"

"Um, why are you grilling me?" Elijah asks confusedly, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Because you're the only one who's had a similar experience to Mr. Pratt. He had burn wounds on his chest, as far as we can...tell..." Gordon's voice dies out.

Elijah looks around at us strangely. "What?"

"Elijah..." Malcolm begins hesitantly..."Do you mind showing us your scars?"

"Why is it relevant?"

My team examines the back and forth between the two nervously, uncertain as to what is going on.

"Because...if the burn scars are the same as the ones on Mr. Pratt...you could have a bomb inside you."

The atmosphere in the room seems to tense, and it's all eyes on Elijah as his hands tremble and his eyes widen. He unbuttons the top of his shirt, hands shaking...and suddenly, his other arm whips up and fires several shots, and I hear a yell, and Kyle Gordon crumples to the floor, bleeding from the shoulder. Elijah sprints out of the room.

"Get him, get him!" Malcolm almost screams, and the rest of us recover, sprinting out of the room while Malcolm tends to Gordon's wounds. I catch a glimpse of the balding, older man entering the elevator, and I'm about to fire a shot when Daren stops me.

"No! He has a bomb inside him, he might blow!"

"What the hell is going on?" Adamaris runs up to us as the elevator door closes. "Is Elijah..."

"He shot Gordon in the shoulder," I remind him, "something's obviously up."

"Is he Prophet?"

"Possibly."

I hear Madeline shout from upstairs. "I c-can't find him! H-he must be on th-the prison floor!"

Daren curses, and presses the up button on the elevator over and over again, tapping his foot. I decide not to tell him that doing that does absolutely nothing. After what seems to be an eternity, the elevator door opens and we run in, and Daren immediately presses the "nine" button over and over again. Once again, I don't say anything. Finally, the door closes, and it's silence until "Staying Alive" starts playing through the speakers, drawing out a few weirded-out looks between our team. Such great timing. Really.

Finally, the elevator door opens and the three of us sprint out, and at the end of the corridor I see Elijah standing next to an open cell. A beaten and haggard Isabelle West saunters out, hand on her hip, and the other hand extended towards Elijah. He hands her a gun and she promptly fires at us. We scatter, and return fire, as Elijah stands there awkwardly. I hear the shattering of a window and I look up to see that West has jumped out the window. I curse quietly.

"Stop right there!" Sanford's voice is deep, throaty, but also distinctly terrified. His shaking arm holds a pistol in our direction. "If...if you move, I'll shoot!"

"What's going on, Sanford?" I demand. "Are you with Prophet?"

"I'm sorry, all of you! When Malik knocked me out, he took me to a facility and planted a bomb inside me!" he grits his teeth as he speaks, tears rolling down the side of his face. "I had. No. Choice. If I didn't do what he asked, he'd blow everyone up!"

"Why didn't he just blow Malcolm up when he had the chance?" Daren hollers.

"I don't know, okay? Just get away from me!" Of course, Daren moves closer to him, gun raised. Adamaris and I remain behind, crouched, guns pointed at our former friend. "No no no no, get away, get away!"

"I'm not scared," Daren growls, and fires at Elijah's leg. He lets out a yell and crumples, and Daren moves toward him, and looks behind to give us a smirk. I notice with a growing horror the escalating beeping sound and the red dot flashing on Elijah's chest.

"DAREN, GET AWAY-" Elijah lets out a final scream as the explosion rocks the corridor, slamming me into the ground and coating me with blood. I begin to fade out...fade out...fade out...

My eyes flicker open, and I raise my bloodied hands, helping me up. I see Adamaris unconscious. The hallway is ruined. It seems to have been a smaller bomb than the one used in the concert hall. That being said, it looks like there's been damage to the support...I turn to see Adamaris, and I lurch over to him, and check his pulse. Thump thump. Thump thump. He's alive. Blood and other bodily fluids stain the walls. Elijah...is no more. But where's Daren. I stumble around, coughing and hacking, looking for any sign of Daren.

"Daren? Daren?" I move over to what little remains of Sanford. There is no corpse for Daren. He's not here. And he's not dead. Which means he can only be...no...no no no no no...

"Daren?"

"Daren?"

"DAREN?"

***

...AND I just realized I killed the black guy first. :dry:

Ciao.
 

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
HOLY CRUD. BLEEP. NO. NONONO. NO. DAREN. DAREN WHY?! Okay, Elijah's death was sad too, but he was kind of a supporting character and I didn't feel for him as much. BUT DAREN IS A MAIN CHARACTER! AND NOW HE'S PROBABLY GONNA BE A ZOMBIE! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
RIP Elijah...we hardly knew ye.

Chapter 28

Aamor grit his teeth as he stormed into the abandoned building. He could see the figure in a stained lab coat standing with his hands tucked behind his back, observing a body floating inside a stasis tube. He opened the door to the small room, taking note of the bulletproof glass and the terminal outside, of the cold, damp floor and walls, and of the gun lying on the table. Strange, very strange...

"What the hell are you doing here?" Aamor demanded, stamping his foot on the ground. Letting out an audible sigh, Malik turned towards him and stepped up close, dark-rimmed eyes cast downward in condescending superiority.

"I'm pushing forward the initiative, pudgy. I'm helping."

"How did you get him?" he yelled in that not-good way of yelling he did, jabbing his thick finger at the stasis tube containing Daren Gallows.

Malik shrugged. "My contact had to be terminated. I got him to free Enforcer West and then I killed him."

"Was he INSIDE THEIR HEADQUARTERS?"

"...maybe."

"Then WHY DIDN'T YOU GET HIM TO TELL US WHERE HE WAS?"

Malik shook his head, tsk tsk. "Grant, Grant, Grant...I'm not omnipotent. Nor was my contact. He had to be terminated, and through their contact in the government they'll be sure to track me down. Right to here."

"Then why are you here?" Aamor hissed, standing up on tiptoes, only to have Malik flick him on the forehead contemptuously.

"You nearly killed me once, no?" he grinned, his usual insane smugness dripping from his tone in spades. "It's not going to happen. When they come here they'll be walking right into a trap. They never learn."

"Last I checked, they actually managed to retrieve Daniel Byrne from your clutches," Aamor pursed his lips in a mock-polite manner, hatred brimming beneath the surface.

"Irrelevant," Malik simpered, tucking his hands in front of him, and leaning down to sneer at Aamor. "They'll get what's coming to them, don't you worry."

"You have dark circles under your eyes, you're trying to keep up the impression that you're wide awake, and yet it looks like you could use a nap," Aamor snapped.

"I don't need sleep," Malik groaned, adjusting a setting on the hallucinogen, and observing through a screen what Daren was seeing in his mind. It was sufficient. "You think you're smart, but you're not. You're a worm, just waiting around to be ground into the soil by my boot. You're weak, pathetic, and won't last long in the war. You're only in it for yourself."

"Funny. I was about to say the exact same thing about you."

Malik snarled, but stopped himself. Deep breath, in and out. He retreated from the verbal battlefield, but Aamor would not let up. "So, where'd you get this hallucinogen anyway? It's curious."

Malik drifted away from him, but still the squashed man kept talking. Malik attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes, legs feeling ready to give out.

"Ignoring me? Not very polite."

"Shut up," Malik slurred sleepily, sinking into a chair and blinking slowly. Another blink and he was out.

Aamor smirked.

***

Malcolm folds his arms across his chest as his men repair the damage, making sure the infrastructure is secure. Kyle Gordon and Randall Quinn hang off to one side. Both men look visibly unaffected by the events that just happened. Their colleague just exploded, and my friend captured, yet they're acting like everything's normal.

"How goes the hunt for Daren?" Malcolm asks Adam, who shakes his head miserably.

"Not good. I can't find anything...I...I need more time...I'll keep looking, I won't stop until I find them!"

"You don't have to do that, Adam-"

"No! I need to do this! If...if I don't then I'm just gonna think too much and then I'll feel miserable and then I'll flash back to all those times Malik tormented me and placed me under that...that drug of his, saying it's for the greater good while I'm screaming in agony, no, I need to do this!" Adam looks ready to break down, and Adamaris moves over to comfort him, only to be pushed away by shaking hands.

"It's okay, Adam," Malcolm says comfortingly.

"No! No it's not! Daren is going to die because of me!"

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don't form attachments," Kyle Gordon yawns lazily, eyes half closed.

Adamaris slaps him across the face, a glare on his face. "Show some sensitivity, Gordon! For once!" he seethes.

"Oy! Found something you guys might find interesting!"

The voice comes the only one who hasn't said anything yet. Randall Quinn holds up his smartphone triumphantly. "Just used clandestine security cameras to pick up an image of Theo Malik...in an ice cream van, parked at...an old office building downtown. Tell your kids to stay away from the scary man in the ice cream truck," he chuckles.

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you!" Adam hugs Quinn, sobbing in relief. "Everything's gonna be okay...Daren's gonna be fine..."

"And...you just jinxed it," Gordon sneers, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, seemingly forgetting the red mark on his face from Adamaris's slap.

"You do realize that you're not endearing yourself to anyone here, right?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He hisses, air escaping through his teeth, and he exits the room, a fact which we are all grateful of.

"Well, that's got him out of our hair," Malcolm sighs in relief. "Adam, you can relax. I'm going to be leading this mission myself. The goals? Rescue Daren Gallows and kill Theo Malik."

"Amen," Madeline and Adamaris say at the same time, and I nod in agreement. Malik is going down. A headache penetrates my skull, and I rub the sleep out of my eyes. I can still remember what it was like to be in that hallucinogen...and if Daren's trapped in there right now...

"Well, I'll just sit back and enjoy the show," Quinn shrugs nonchalantly. "I have a meeting to go to, after all."

Malcolm nods. "All right, then. Adamaris, your team will come with me and Astrid. This is your teammate, you should be the ones to get him back."

We all nod in understanding. We move quickly, getting our gear on and priming our weapons. There is a certain determination, a certain drive that propels us forward and compels us to work harder than ever before. The three of us quickly run inside the car, clouds obscuring most of the sky. Adamaris drives, and I take the shotgun seat, per the norm. There are a total of five cars, each with four people in them. The GPS system has automatically pinpointed Malik's confirmed location.

"We're closing in on the target. All units be at the ready. They are heavily armed."

Adamaris stops the car and we get out, striding confidently, guns at the ready. We join up with Malcolm's full force. There are several littered dead guards, and several of Malcolm's agents back away from the door, a charge attached to the metal. Boom. Who needs hacking when you can just blow the door to bits?

"All right, that's it. Move, move, move!" Malcolm calls the shots, as our soldiers hustle inside, and the sound of gunfire is heard. He turns to the three of us. "Use them as a distraction. Find Daren, and bring him back. Don't let him die. We're doing this for you, so don't screw this up."

"We wouldn't dream of letting Daren miss the reunion party after this all is over," Adamaris grins, and primes his gun. I do the same. The three of us move through the building, the dim lighting and drab colors reminding me of the mission where I'd first fought Damien face to face...something fills me, the sound of a gunshot and my father keeling over, bleeding from his head.

The boy smiled happily as his father spun him around in the air, laughing jubilantly. The smiling parent sat him down and did the same to his other son.

Ring. Ring.

Daniel sighed and groaned. He lay with his wife in their bed, and the phone was ringing. "Honey, who is it?" his wife slurred, still half asleep. Groggily, Daniel glanced over the caller ID. Damien Byrne.

"It's...my brother," he said uncertainly, not sure how to take the news. Another ring, and his wife rolled over to face away from the light.

"Well, if you're going to answer it, go ahead. Just make up your mind."

Sighing, Daniel stood, and answered the phone, walking out into the hallway and closing the door. "Hey Damien. What's up?"

The twin's voice on the other end was fearful and nervous. "H-Hey, Daniel. Just checking in."

"Why are you talking to me? After that whole incident at Dad's house, I mean."

"I'm just calling to say...I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I acted the way I did. I was a *****. I know. Just please...forgive me."

Daniel smiled. He could tell that Damien was sincere. "Of course, bro. Anything."

The next day, Damien Byrne went to a party and killed thirteen people.


All of it flashes together at once, within a couple of seconds. Why that particular memory? Why now? I clench my fists, and suddenly, machine gun fire forces me to dive behind cover. Adamaris quickly takes them out, and out of the corner of my eye I see the tail of a lab coat before a door closes. Instinctively, I sprint in that direction, killing a guard in my way.

"Where th-the hell are y-you going?" Madeline shouts, but I pay her no attention. I open the door, and Theo Malik turns around. The paint in the room has scraped away, and there's a chill surrounding everything. To Malik's right, there is a Plexiglas window. To Malik's left, suspended in blue hallucinogen, is Daren. Malik raises his hands in the air as I point my gun at him, tilting his head in a reptilian manner.

"Hands behind your head," I say calmly, fully intending to kill him when he does so. Suddenly, behind the Plexiglas, a door opens and Malcolm's battered form is thrown in, coughing and spitting. He tries raising his gun but the figure who threw him in knocks his gun out of his hands and stamps in his face. He turns to face us and my eyes flicker back to Malik, but a hiss of something sliding behind me, and I turn to see a second, thick, steel door has blocked my exit. Grant Aamor is at the controls from the other side, grinning.

"That's far enough, Danny," Malik says in that usual arrogant manner of his, removing his gun from his holster and pointing it at Daren. "We've got ya now." He giggles, and I notice that his eyes keep blinking at an uncannily fast rate.

"That's right, Malik." Aamor's voice comes in clearly through the glass. "Daniel, put down your weapons."

Growling, I comply, and Malik grins. I hear a hacking cough from Malcolm, who remains weak on the ground. Malik laughs. "We knew Quinn had tracked us. We were counting on it, really. I took it upon myself to rid Prophet of you pests, and that's exactly what I'm doing." He cackles.

"I read your manuscript! Can you in full honesty tell me you are here to protect the world?" I shout angrily.

Malik laughs in that insane way of his, shoulders heaving violently. He absentmindedly rubs his chest with his free hand, which is twitching. "No! I'm just in it for the entertainment value." He moves closer to me, looking down through his nose at me. "You think you're so clever, the lot of you. You think you're so strong. Well, you're wrong. You're nothing. You hear me? Nothing."

"You tell him," Aamor says sarcastically from the other side, and a hissing noise escapes Malik's lips.

"Shut up, you," he snarls, and draws his fist back and punches me in the face. "Who's laughing now, huh?" He shouts gleefully. "Who's the dog and who's the master, huh?"

I stagger, but hold my ground, and I stand tall. Gunfire rings in the distance. "How long are you going to keep me here? As long as it takes you to gloat?"

Malik's grin fades slightly, and he tosses his gun to the ground without looking at it. "I am in control here. I have all the time in the world. You have never won against us. You know that? You can not beat us." He laughs like a hyena, holding out his hand and pressing a button, and a blade pops out. "And you could never beat me. I am invincible. It was only a matter of time."

I back up, my legs ready to give out, and a grinning Malik prepares to lunge at me and end my life. It's over. It's all over...

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Malik stops in his tracks, looking confused. His eyes slowly move downward until they are trained upon his chest. He quickly jerks back the covers of his shirt to see a pulsing, glowing, red dot, and burn scars all over his chest area. His smug look seems to melt away in an instant, replaced by a look of absolute, comprehending horror, mouth a perfect 'O' of surprise. He turns to Aamor, who looks like it's his birthday and Christmas rolled together into one.

"Yeah. I kind of put a bomb in you."

In an instant, the man who was so confident in his superiority only seconds beforehand is screaming and banging his hands against the Plexiglas. "NO! Pleeeeease! Aamor! Think about what you're doing! I...I...you'll lose all my expertise! How could you? HOW COULD YOU?"

Taking advantage of the distraction, I run over to the terminal in front of the stasis tube containing Daren. I quickly go through the options, trying to find a way to release him...

"We found out about the Hallucinogen Program," Aamor says gleefully. "I was given the green light to kill you. Trying to administer a coup? Tsk tsk..."

"No! Wait! I can explain! It was just..." I press a button, and the stasis tube opens, sending hallucinogenic water spilling out onto the ground. Daren coughs weakly.

"It was just what!?" Aamor grins triumphantly. "To help us? No, no, you were going to betray us. So obviously you had to go."

Beep.

Beep.

I check Daren's pulse and find it satisfactory, and Malik continues banging on the glass, sweat pouring down his face and breathing heavily. "But...Trueman needs me! I...I'm valuable!" he whimpers pathetically.

"Then you shouldn't have betrayed us," Aamor says coolly. Behind him I can see Malcolm's form moving slightly, but Aamor doesn't notice. "What a shame, the great Theodore Malik reduced to a whining, pleading child...who would have thought?"

"YOU'RE GOING TO BURN! YOU'RE GOING TO ROT YOU ****ING *****! **** YOU! **** ALL OF YOU! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS ****ING ****! HA HA HAAAAAAA, ****ITY **** **** ****!" He lets loose a strange sound from his throat that appears to be a disturbing mixture between a laugh, a scream, and a gargle. He descends into a coughing fit, sobbing violently all the while as he writhes around, clutching his chest.

Malcolm steadies himself, and is on his feet. The beeping is slowly getting quicker. Aamor seems to be enjoying seeing Malik at his absolute worst. Then, I realize something. This is what Malik was hiding. Beneath that calm, superior, psychopathic attitude is the screaming, swearing lunatic in front of me. I drag Daren out of the way, and grab my gun, just in case Malik decides to turn on us.

"I've enjoyed this game we've been playing, Teddy," Aamor yawns. "But I'm afraid it's over now." As he speaks, a bloodied Malcolm creeps up on him, a gun in his hand but no magazine. "This is how it ends." Aamor laughs in jubilant victory, only to be clobbered in the head by Malcolm's cold, metal gun. He collapses to the floor with a grunt, and Malcolm takes the mike.

Malik seems to be viewing Malcolm as his last remaining lifeline. "PLEEEEEAAASSEEE! I can still be of use to you, I swear! Just stop the countdown!"

Malcolm looks down at the control board, eyebrows furrowed. He looks up at the beady-eyed, sweaty psychopath on the other side of the glass. "Sorry, mate. It can't be stopped. But I wouldn't want to anyway. You deserve it." Malik snarls, drool flowing down his face, and he screams hoarsely as he claws at the glass.

"I'm going to open the door! Daniel, drag Daren out of there! You're going to have a five second window before he blows. Ready?"

"Ready!" I yell, and Malik lies throbbing on the floor, eyes bloodshot and twitching.

The thick door slides upward, and I quickly drag Daren out. Malik screams and tries to claw at us, but Malcolm closes the door right on his hand, eliciting another garbled scream. Daren sputters weakly, and his eyes flicker open.

"Thank...you..."

I smile.

"PLEEEEASSEEE! HELP ME! I'LL DO ANYTHING!"

"Everyone back away!" Malcolm yells, and I drag Daren away from the room.

Malik lets out one final, feral scream, and my eardrums nearly seem to burst as the explosion rocks the building, blood splattered against the cracked Plexiglas. I fall to the ground, smashing my face, and slowly, dizzily, I stand up.

Staggering, I walk over to the controls. I turn to see Malcolm coughing and slowly getting up, giving me a thumbs up. Grant Aamor lies unconscious on the ground. I look inside the torture room, to see the internal organs and blood of Theo Malik splattered across the walls.

Karma really is a *****, I guess.
 

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
Chapter 29

Justice.

Justice fills my being, and fills me with a sense of small satisfaction. Theo Malik is dead. That monster is no more. Finally, we've struck a blow. For my father. For Elijah. For everyone who has died because of these sons of *****es. Two of their top agents are now dead at our hands. I stand behind the glass railing, peering out at the lobby. Grant Aamor is led inside, escorted by Astrid and Malcolm. He meets my eyes and shoots a death glare in my direction. I wave casually to him as his escort leads him into the elevator. He hisses through his teeth, and disappears from my view.

"Hey."

Daren materializes besides me, leaning against the railing as well. His eyes stare off into space, unlike the focused glare I've come to know. I nod in acknowledgment of his presence. "How are you doing?"

He grips the railing tightly. He's pale and sweaty, haggard. Like I was after I recovered from Malik's hallucinogen. It's clear that he should not be up and running so soon, but I want to know how he's faring. I certainly wasn't well when I was rescued from Malik's clutches. "I saw things. Under the hallucinogen. Everything I fear, everything I tried to hide, it all just rushed back into me, sharper and in more detail than ever." He looks desperate and miserable. "I saw death...and it saw me."

I place a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "I went through it too. It's sick and twisted."

"I'm sorry."

"Hmn?"

"I'm sorry, Daniel. For my sarcastic comments, for my arrogant rudeness...I didn't realize...it didn't click for me the pain you went through. I blamed you for Tony's death. But I was wrong."

I smile warmly. Is that a tear in my eye? "You're forgiven. Now come on. We've got a weak-willed, sniveling Prophet agent upstairs that we're just dying to interview." He chuckles, and his waxed pale hands grip the railing all the way to the elevator. He should not be up so soon, but I was just the same after I was rescued. I understand it. While in the elevator, Daren stoops slightly as muzak plays through the speakers, completely and totally destroying the mood. Finally, the door opens to the prison floor, and Malcolm nods in our direction in acknowledgement of our presence.

"You sure he should be up?" he asks, jerking his head in Daren's direction. I nod.

"He's fine. He should see this." Daren gives me his appreciation, and leans faux-casually against the wall, sweat glistening against his face. Madeline slips in from behind and watches in disoriented silence as Malcolm enters the room and sits down across from Grant Aamor. The shorter man has a bandage wrapped around his head and his arm in a sling, and he scowls at Malcolm as he enters. Astrid merely observes, arms crossed, eyes unmoving from Aamor's face. She seems to be examining him in the manner one would observe a biology experiment.

"'Ello, Grant." Malcolm beams at Aamor. "How goes it for you? The food treating you well?"

Aamor sniffs disdainfully. "Could be better. Could be worse. You here to interrogate me, Waters? You should know by now that you can't get anything out of a Prophet agent."

"He's scared." The words come from Astrid's mouth, and I turn to her. "He's sweating. He's scared he's going to be tortured. He's weak-willed."

Malcolm leans in closer to him. "Oh really? Is that so? Well, it seems to me as though you have a bit of an agenda yourself. Why did you kill Malik?"

"He was attempting to organize a coup using nearly-dead soldiers. He felt as though our current regime was too restrictive for him." Aamor snorts, sounding uncannily like a pig. "What an idiot."

"What about the pods? What's the deal with them? And what about Bartholomew Trueman?"

Aamor laughs nasally. "You really expect me to-"

With a morbid calm, Malcolm reaches out and presses his thumb into Aamor's throat, causing the pig man to sputter. Feeling his point has been made, Malcolm draws back his hand. Aamor sighs.

"We were in the final stages anyway, so you were bound to find out sometime. Fine."

"What happened to Bartholomew Trueman?" Malcolm demands. "He went missing, did he? Is he dead? Is Marcus Trueman an usurper?"

A laugh escapes Aamor's mouth. Astrid turns to me and Madeline. "Aamor enjoys being in control of the conversation, knowing things the other person doesn't. It makes him feel powerful."

Aamor grins, although his sweaty and bloodied form rather lessens the impact. "Marcus Trueman, an usurper? You sure have an active mind, Malcolm...no. Bartholomew isn't dead."

"Then where is he?"

Aamor sighs in a melodramatic manner, although still grinning widely. "Prophet was formed when Prometheus told Bartholomew and Marcus of the existence of the other world. That much is knowledge to you, right?"

Malcolm nods irritably. "We knew that from the manuscript," he says, trying to make it as clear as possible that he wants Aamor to get to the point.

"Well, what you don't know is that Prometheus also gave him designs for a prototype machine that would allow us to be transported to the other world."

"What?" For once, Malcolm truly seems surprised. Aamor takes a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes, clearly enjoying the captive audience. Probably doesn't have people clinging on to every word he says that often.

Aamor laughs, a shining light in his eyes. "He built it, but it didn't turn out so good when he tested it."

"So he's dead?" Malcolm asks uncertainly.

Aamor grins. "No. It worked perfectly. But it fried every single piece of the machine. Bartholomew Trueman isn't dead. He's on the other world."

Silence.

Malcolm tries to rearrange his facial expressions into a cool composure. He does not succeed. "How...do you know this?"

"There's a reason why we disarm the pods. It's not just for the good of humanity. Bartholomew recreated some of the pieces and sent them in the pods. Now that we have the blueprint from Prometheus..." he chuckles. "We'll be unstoppable. We're doing this for the greater good. Soon we'll bring the fight to them. And you would try to stop us then?"

"Your people have committed some of the most horrid atrocities I've ever seen," Malcolm retorts. "It doesn't matter whether you've done it for the greater good or not."

"So you'd really kill the human race just to settle a grudge match," he sneers. "That's all I know. The machine will be complete soon. We just need a few...more...pieces." He chuckles in a very villain-esque manner. Malcolm stands with a blank look on his face, and exits the room.

"I'm not going to be here for long, you know," Aamor calls. "They never leave one of their own behind. They're not going to just leave me in here. You'll see."

***

"We're just going to leave him in there."

Trueman strolled through the facility, cane in hand. Damien visibly struggled to keep up with him. "Are you sure that's wise?" his lieutenant asked in a surprisingly mild manner. "He knows about Bartholomew. And the machine. You're just going to-"

"Not much we can do about it, Damien," his boss said soothingly. "You're one of my few remaining officers, and my last lieutenant. Slater...I truly miss him. May he rest in peace. Malik, not so much."

This elicited a growl from Damien. "Traitor...he deserved what he got."

"As for Aamor, I consider his service to our cause complete. He can die now for all I care." Trueman brushed himself off of some invisible dirt.

"Sir!"

Natalie Hunt strode up to him, looking noticeably and excitably determined. "Adrian and I recovered one of the final pieces. It's starting to power up."

Trueman smiled warmly at Natalie. "Excellent work! Thank you so much for bearing with me. I know you have had your doubts about some of the people we've accepted.." He trailed off.

Hunt crossed her arms. "Malik's dead. Gardner was demoted. I'm about to receive a promotion. The only thing I ask is that we ease up on the methods. I don't want us to be feared by the people we're trying to protect."

Trueman nodded slowly. "I understand the sentiment, my dear...come now, let us observe what we've been working towards for so long." Trueman led his subordinates, walking in the direction of the machine. A faint humming infiltrated their ears, slowly growing in intensity as they drew closer to the machine. Natalie Hunt opened the door, and Trueman smiled, spreading his arms out in a grandiose manner, cane in his hand as he triumphantly observed the fruits of his labor.

"It's quite impressive," Damien said calmly, an emotionless stare on his face.

"It's huge," Hunt replied. "You sure this will work, Marcus?"

"Definitely," Trueman affirmed.

"And what about Malcolm's group?" It was difficult to tell, but the slightest hint of concern, of sympathy entered her voice. Hunt had always been sympathetic towards the poor souls who opposed them due to their more gruesome and callously cruel ventures that had destroyed some of the lives of those they were trying to help.

Trueman gave Damien a poignant look, and the mass murderer tensed slightly, keeping his emotions in check. "They will be taken care of accordingly," Trueman stated authoritatively, making uncomfortable eye contact with his lieutenant. "Isn't that right, Damien?"

"Of course, sir," he replied stiffly. Trueman smiled warmly at him. But it was an act. Damien knew it. Hunt knew it. It was the smile that he used to make sure one of his subordinates knew that if they failed, they would receive no sympathy. But Trueman was not one to kill subordinates simply because they displeased him. In fact, when he wasn't focused on the task at hand, he was found to be quite a jovial and fun person to be around. His true smile was much more alive, much more free.

Hunt backed out of the way as babbling technicians pushed their way through, hurriedly discussing something of critical importance, no doubt.

"Very good. Dismissed."

Damien nodded, quickly contorting his features to hide his conflicted features. He quickly exited, and Hunt slowly walked away. Her mind flashed back to when she'd saved the lives of four of Malcolm's men from Steven Gardner. If they found out...she would be dead. Prophet was a big happy family as long as you did what you were told. The punishment for deserting was death. No, she was not satisfied. But she hoped that with the impending threat, they would become more heroes than villains.

The door closed behind her, leaving her to her thoughts. Trueman stood, staring intently at the machine as it began to spark. He gripped his cane tightly, and his smile changed to a wistful one.

"Soon, brother..." Trueman said softly, clutching the locket containing the picture of his brother in his hand.

"Soon."

***

Three chapters left!
 

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