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Contents

More from Kenneth James Allen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Don’t forget to check out my other books

Special Extract

More from Kenneth James Allen

––––––––

INCH

The Steal Dossier

The Humanist

The Isolationist (A Humanist Prequel)

Identity Series

Identity

Reality

Proximity

Caddius Finch Files

Machines

Find out more at https://kennethjamesallen.com/

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

PROXIMITY

Second edition. September 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Kenneth James Allen.

Written by Kenneth James Allen.

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”

T. S. Eliot

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“Don’t mistake proximity with loyalty.”

Unknown

For those who don’t know who they are

Chapter 1

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One week earlier

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Xavier tightened his grip around the man’s neck. The assailant had been easy enough to spot through the mass of airport patrons. He looked just like him, after all. Besides, it was something Xavier accepted when locating a Sleeper, yet unsettled him just the same. The others always seemed to be a few steps ahead, and if he hadn’t moved quickly, the target would encounter death.

That was their game now. It used to be seduction, luring Sleepers into a false state of security, edging them out of their hiding places. But not anymore. They called for a more blunt and brutal form of planned execution.

Xavier followed the man into one of the many male bathrooms along the concourse. The bathroom selected wasn’t random, nor was their intention when they got there. Purpose drove the man.

The man entered the stall next to the target, and suddenly the countdown timer was on. Xavier followed the man into the stall, quickly encasing the man with his limbs before he reacted to his presence. With one arm around his neck and the other muffling groans, Xavier tightened his chokehold on the man. Squeezing life.

To the tune of retching from the next stall, the intertwined bodies banged against the stall walls, the man attempting to rid his attacker and nullify the potent attack. The man fought for air, tried to prize the arm away from his neck, to find some solace from the banging in his head. He could feel the blackness coming for him, feel the mission sliding from his grasp.

All the attempts were to no avail. Once Xavier had started the attack, it would only end one way. It was the man or Xavier, and the latter just wouldn’t be acceptable. Perhaps if the others knew what Xavier knew, they would have sent more people. The target was more important than they gave him credit for. It was obvious to Xavier they hadn’t found that out yet. He hoped they never would.

The man slowly gave up the fight, surrendering to the lack of oxygen. Xavier held on a little longer, needed to ensure the man was unconscious, if not dead. He made sure of it by twisting the man’s neck sharply, a sickening crack signaling the conclusion of their contest. Xavier always found it easier to break a neck when the victim wasn’t struggling.

Another vomit from the next stall, more dispelling of stomach contents, followed by a flush and a lackadaisical opening of the stall door. Xavier propped the man’s body on the toilet. Then deftly slid under the partition to the neighboring empty stall. He waited for a moment, patted down his disheveled hair and clothes, and steadied himself. This wasn’t his first target, but was the most important. That would come to be realized soon.

Xavier flushed and kicked open the door and marched to the sink.

Chapter 2

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One week later

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Scott stirred. Groaned from clenched jaw. Last memories replayed continuously behind his eyelids. Relentlessly. Maxine rendered unconscious by the butt of a rifle from an unseen attacker. Running. Closer to the aircraft. But then what? He didn’t know. Just knew he needed to get there. And then a hit in the chest that took his legs out. That moment of weightlessness that felt like it could have gone on forever. Harsh reality when his ass found the deck. Shouting. Threats. A gun. Then Xavier. Looked like Xavier. Exactly like him. But different. An alternate version? Then blackness. Pause. Rewind. Replay. Over. And over.

Tiredness seeped from his pores. Out of breath from running. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Bobbing up and down in the surf. Hands pulling him under. Boot on his head. Couldn’t see who it belonged to. Not above the waves long enough to capture enough precious oxygen. Light cut through numerous frothy peaks. Burning lungs. Couldn’t hold it any longer. Needed to suck in. Human nature. The body's fight mechanism. Happening. Couldn’t stop it. Then...

Scott gasped. Groaned. Wet face. Persistent water washing over him, splashing on the ground. The sound of his heartbeat crashing in his ears.

“Enough!” The voice ripped through the torrent.

Then it stopped. The weight lifted from his face. He coughed, spluttered. Like an old engine slowly turning over. Clearing out the dusty carburetor. Tried very hard to catch his breath. Shook the water from his face, spat out whatever was in there. Opened his eyes and saw people around him, but they seemed upside down.

His view shifted. Body changed position, tilted upright. A face rose up under bright lights, was like staring into the sun. Burned his skin, melted his eyeballs. Clenched eyes shut. Couldn’t turn away.

“Welcome back.”

The voice was gloomy, yet soothing. Like a jazz singer crooning against a backdrop of trumpet and base in a smoke-filled club at two in the morning. He had never frequented such an establishment. His wife had forbidden it. She didn’t like the smell of smoke or booze, so he stayed away from both. Which was fine, because the scene didn’t fit his frugal lifestyle. But she was dead. And he had the rest of his life ahead of him. At least, he thought he did.

He tried to move but found himself sufficiently restrained. Inch thick leather straps over his wrists and ankles. Similar fastenings over his forehead. He was naked. Felt ocean air waft around his unclothed body. Exposed. Humiliated.

“What do you want?” Scott gasped. He continued to squint at the ball of light.

Then that too went away, even though he could still see it in the darkness. The afterimage imprinted on his retinas.

“Where is the one you call Xavier?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“Again!” The voice ordered. It was militaristic. Unyielding.

Immediately, he titled back. They pushed a wet towel over his face and the water cascaded over him. Continuous splashing. No oxygen. He shook and shuddered in the chair. Shouted. Willed for it all to be over. Reflex. Breathed in water. Coughed. Choked. Repetition. Lost count of the seconds. Felt like an hour. Then it ended, and the device he was strapped to righted again, forcing him once more into the searing light.

“Where is the one you call Xavier?”

“I... I’ll say anything you want. I’ll do anything!”

“Where is he?”

“They went to the shuttle.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Again!”

The torturous process repeated. Tilt. Water. Couldn’t breathe. Heart raced. An attack was coming, he could feel it. Chest crackled. Lungs burned. Reprieve came before death did. He wouldn’t have minded—he wished for something to ease the pain.

Scott titled upright again, mumbled all the way towards the bright orb.

“I’ll tell you anything... say anything... anything you want...”

“Where is the shuttle?”

“I... I’ll tell you anything.”

“Where is the shuttle?”

“Anything.”

“Cables!” the voice shouted.

Through the haze, Scott felt a sharp pain on his nipples. Clamps felt like they were being screwed on. The dull throb turned into a sharp bite as electricity hit him unexpectedly. He bucked in the chair, teeth clenched, breath held until it passed. Pain subsided for the enduring spike in his chest. Then another jolt, and another. Random intervals for arbitrary amounts of time. The perpetual process wore him down. He struggled to make any coherent thought. A jumble of sparks raced around his head, and he whimpered as he waited for the next lightning bolt to hit him.

“Where is it?”

“It’s here,” Scott mumbled. “It must be here... We were here... We were all here... But then we got separated... I don’t know where he went... I’ll say anything you want... Anything... Everything... Please...”

“Shears!”

Metallic scraping noises rung in Scott’s ears. The schick of blades opening and closing echoed.

“Please,” Scott garbled. “Anything. His name is Xavier. That’s all I know. Please.”

A slap across his face, a thwack that raised him from his ramblings and into the room. Light danced with the shadows. Figures moved back and forth. A man standing in front of him. Another person beside him. Heard the shears open. Felt the cold steel against his limp penis.

Breath caught in throat. Fuck. The threat turned his brain from mush to an extravaganza of firing neurons.

“I want you to be conscious when we do this,” the man said. “Now, I will count back from three. When I get to zero, if you haven’t told me, you will lose your cock. Now, I should tell you, there are no second chances, and we can only play this little game once. So, if you value your manhood, you’ll start talking. Unless you’re one of these people who suggests you don’t need a dick to be a man, so be it. I don’t care either way. I just want information. And you will tell me what I want to know.”

“Yes,” Scott yelled. “I’ll fucking say whatever you want. My name is Scott. Xavier found me in an airport bathroom. Put an app on my phone. Then he—.”

“Where does the shuttle go?”

“Um, he’s an entrepreneur... or a lawyer... or something.”

“Two.”

“He... he’s assembling people. Um. Shit. Something about a war. He’s got an army. Shit!”

“One.”

“No! Fuck. I’m an agent. A sleeper agent. I think. Please. I don’t know anything else.”

“Zero.”

The blades scraped together without further warning. The noise echoed in his ears.

Then blackness.

Then nothing.

Chapter 3

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Scott slowly roused with the taste of vomit in his mouth and waft of urine in his nostrils. Salty air stuck in his dry throat. The grey room distorted like a wave. A crackle in the transmission. Numbness had crawled its way up to his torso so he could no longer feel his legs. Tried moving. Still restrained. Thought about the shears, his dick between the blades... waiting. Wanted to look down. Imagined the damage. Pictured grotesque imagery. Could feel bile rising in his throat.

The table shifted and once more he was being lifted towards the light. It extinguished when he reached the peak, light fading to black. Then overhead lights came on and room illuminated. Scott could sense others around him and noted some swift movements in his periphery vision.

A silhouette filled his vision, his eyes still adjusting to their environment.

“Who are you, Scott Harris?”

Scott tried to talk, but his voice came out like a bag of sawdust. Swallowed.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Scott gasped, his eyes flickering, struggling with consciousness.

“No, stay with me, Scott.”

His vision slowly cleared. The colors sluggishly returned, washing over the monotone. The captor's face started to sharpen, bold lines, definition returning to a blob of flesh. When the face fully formed, Scott blinked wildly.

“It can’t be,” Scott breathed. “You... You look like him.”

A smile perched on the man’s face.

“You,” Scott continued, his eyes roaming the facial landscape, investigating the area like he was surveying a new country. “Apart from your hair, you look identical to Xavier.”

“Oh, I know,” the man replied, running a hand over his slicked-back dirty blonde hair.

“How? How can this be? What’s going on? I don’t understand.” And then a memory struck him. Maxine knocked unconscious. Running towards the aircraft. Sunshine within reach. Legs taken out from under him. Thrust against a wall. The revelation. A bald Xavier. “How?” Scott pleaded. “How many of you are there?”

“We will come to that, Scott. But there are more pressing matters to attend to. We need to find Xavier.”

And then Scott remembered. He can’t believe he forgot.

“Oh god, what about my penis? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Am I going to die?”

The man reached up and released the strap covering Scott’s head.

“See for yourself.”

The pressure release was astounding. He immediately flung his head forward. Beyond his flat chest and slight paunch, there was his penis, in all its shriveled glory. At first, he didn’t believe it and refocused his eyes a few times just to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

“I don’t understand,” Scott said. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m kind of attached to my dick.”

The man grabbed Scott by the hair and pulled him back. Sauntered up close to him.

“You’re not like the others, Mr. Harris. Not by a long shot.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

The man stroked Scott’s cheek with the back of his fingers, working them down to run along Scott’s jawline.

“Maxine, well, she was forthright. Tight-lipped. Couldn’t get a word out of her.”

Scott gasped. “Is she okay?”

“Barely, Scott,” the man said, looking over every inch of his face as if it held the secrets to his quandary. “She gave us nothing, as her training dictated. As was protocol. In fact, I’m pretty sure if she had the chance, she’d kill herself immediately.”

Scott swallowed.

“But you? You aren’t like her. You aren’t like any of the others.”

“So, I keep hearing,” Scott said with a wry smile.

“You caved so very quickly.”

The smile faded. “I need to use my phone...”

“Ah, yes. The little program Xavier has created. It has caused us much trouble, yet we’ve been using it to track agents’ movements. A blessing and a curse.”

Scott looked over the man’s features, still taken aback by how similar he was to Xavier. Brothers? Wait. With the bald Xavier that grabbed him topside, that made three. Triplets? Was this some kind of family falling out?

“Where’s Maxine? Is she okay?”

“She’s... fine. Just fine.”

Then another man appeared. Correction. Another Xavier. Brown hair, neatly parted. But same physique. Identical everything else. Matching black flight suit. He handed the interrogator a tablet who took it, clicked some buttons, swiped across the surface, and gave it back. As the device changed hands, there was a moment they simultaneously looked directly at Scott. Synchronized. Saw the confused and fascinated face of their quarry.

The two identical men looked at each other once more. “Are you sure there is no other way?” the interrogator asked.

“I’m afraid not,” came the reply.

A deep breath. Consideration. “How certain are we about this?”

A mumble. Incoherent. Unintelligible. A foreign language? It didn’t sound like any Scott had heard. Not that he had widely traveled in his life, but even the biggest xenophobe could place an accent somewhere on the planet. Not that one.

The interrogator eventually relinquished and waved the guest away. He turned to Scott and leaned in close.

“I know what you’re thinking, Scott. I could read your mind. Xavier hasn’t told you, has he?”

Scott quickly shuffled through his memory banks for something—anything—Xavier had told him that might allude to exactly what was happening. At the moment, he came up empty.

“I don’t think so,” Scott said.

The man tutted.

“My name is Xander. Myself, along with my brothers, along with Xavier, were born here.”

“You were born at this base? You and Xavier are brothers?”

Xander scratched his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make myself very clear. I meant to say, they grew us here.”

“Grew? What?” The words just made little sense to him.

“My. He has kept you in the dark, hasn’t he?”

“Well, it’s just that—.”

“I don’t think he trusts you, Scott. And you shouldn’t trust him either.”

Scott stared at him, willed him to continue.

“Xavier is a dangerous man. He doesn’t care about you or the others he is with. He is rogue. We need to stop him before it’s too late. We’re hoping you can help us do that.”

Scott smiled weakly. “I think I’d rather take my chances with the person who hasn’t had my nuts between the blades of a set of shears.”

“We had to be sure, Scott. Had to be sure you were still you. That little program he’s created turns people into minions to undertake his bidding. Tell me, Scott. Have you killed anyone recently?”

He thought back. The numbers were many, but the difference between reality and fantasy was awash with grey, a flexible border that seemed as malleable as putty.

“I guess so,” Scott replied.

“And had you killed anyone before meeting Xavier?”

Scott dropped his head. “No,” he mumbled.

“Do you see? He is making you into something you are not. You’re just lucky that we could get to you before it was too late.”

“No,” Scott said defiantly. “It can’t be. I don’t believe it.”

Scott looked down at the floor. Tried to remember everything Xavier had said to him.

“He said something about a war.”

“Yes. There is. A war he started. Do you have any idea what he’s trying to do?”

“No. Well... You’re the bad guys in all this.”

Xander’s features dropped. “I’m sorry, Scott. But that just isn’t true. We need to bring Xavier back into line. He’s gone rogue. Causing damage. Killing people. Ruing lives.”

“Who sent you? Who’s behind all of this bullshit?”

“A conglomerate called The Circle.”

That name struck a chord deep within Scott, and the recognition showed on his face.

“Ah, I see he’s told you some things at least.”

Scott looked away once again.

“Listen,” Xander said. “There’s a lot of money supporting this. We can give you your old life back.”

Scott thought about his dead wife and the murder charge Xavier stole him away from. “I didn’t like my old life.”

“Fine. Fuck it. You can start a fresh one somewhere. Far away from this. With enough cash to see you through a thousand lifetimes. You could go wherever you wanted. Do whatever you wanted. Buy whatever you wanted. Girls. Cars. Drugs. Put the money in a pool and swim in it like Scrooge McDuck. I don’t give a shit.” Xander sucked in through his teeth. Came even closer to Scott. When he spoke, his voice was low, even... menacing. “What I give a shit about is finding Xavier.”

Scott mulled it over. Thought about the death, the mayhem. The blood, the danger. The fantasies, the pain. He looked up to his detainer.

Xander smiled.

Chapter 4

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Scott sat on the floor of the room; his knees pulled to his chest. Xander had released him from his restraints and led him to a room with an entourage in tow. They pushed him inside and threw one of their black flight suits at him. He was told to get dressed and wait. That’s all they wanted. For him to wait. He was the lure.

In a predictable move, Scott had flinched at the deal. It was compelling enough, more than enough. Money. A new life in a new place. Away from all the madness that had existed the moment he met Xavier. But they wanted him to go to Xavier, get him out in the open, and give him up to Zero Division. Make it easy for them. But he knew he could never pull it off, couldn’t even lie that he could. Xavier would see right through him, and he’d be lucky if the mysterious man didn’t put a bullet in his brain the instant he caught on.

Xander’s smile had faded as quickly as Scott's inability to accept the arrangement. So, they made him the lure, hoping that Xavier might come back for him. Xander told him it was the only reason he wasn’t dead. And Scott wholeheartedly believed every word. Had no reason not to believe they wouldn’t use the shears to cut off every extremity the steel blades could cut through. Perhaps even those it couldn’t.

As he sat in the corner of the darkened room, he thought about Maxine. Last he saw of her was a glimpse of her limp body as he bolted for the aircraft on the runway. He didn’t know whether she was dead or alive, whether she divulged critical information or if she held herself together under extreme duress. Xander had threatened to remove his manhood if answers weren’t forthcoming... and he had nothing to tell.

Maxine was a different story. She knew things; she must have. Scott shuddered at the thought of what they put her through. But even so, he knew how strong she was, physically and mentally. And he was certain if she had the chance, she’d kick all their asses with little effort.

The icy walls seemed to close in on him. The lights were off and heavy shadows idled over every surface. Scott looked up to the shrouded dental chair that owned the majority of space in the middle of the room. Ominous from his upward angle, threatening from his vantage point. It was another of those rooms, the torture rooms that Xavier mentioned. Devices and exercises, designed to test their training, to make sure it had stuck. Since wedging himself into the corner, he’d thought a lot about what Xavier had told him. Who was he? What was he capable of? Who was lying, Xavier or Xander? Trust seemed to be a currency, and he was from an unfamiliar country. He could neither give nor accept it, and any trade or bargain was off the table.

Beyond the chair, a silhouette in one of the frosted glass panels. An ever-vigilant guard ensuring the prisoner didn’t escape. Scott scoffed. He had absolutely no intention of trying to escape. Even if he did, where would he possibly go to? He was stuck inside a manmade island (is what he called it, despite Xavier suggesting it was more of an iceberg), surrounded by thousands of square kilometers of ocean.

Scott traced around the soft outline of the shadowy figure. He was wondering if he too looked exactly like Xavier. Another carbon copy. He was ready to accept Xavier’s version of the truth. But then things had changed, had taken a twist he never saw coming. And now he was a prisoner in someone’s game, a pawn on the chessboard waiting for someone to move him.

Then everything changed again. The shadow outside the door disappeared. One second, he was there, and then he wasn’t. No sound. Nor any other movement. Perhaps he had gone on break and another would replace him. Which got him thinking how many Xavier’s were out there? How big was the war going to get?

The door creaked open. Scott could see the top of it from behind the chair. There was a shuffling noise, then it closed again.

“Hello?”

No reply.

He pushed himself off the ground and peered around the chair. The door was closed, and there was no one there. Maybe someone got the wrong room. Or whoever it was, thought the room was empty. He stopped. Could hear breathing. An ever so soft exhale of breath. Heartbeat vibrations chorused with his own. A smell, the biological makeup of the room had changed. That overwhelming feeling of being watched. That additional sense that something or someone was close.

Sudden movement. A hand over his mouth. Blocking the gasp, a girlish scream from a b-grade horror movie. An arm pulled him down behind the chair. Out of sight. Easy prey. A face in front of his. Eyes wide. Threatening. Obdurate.

When he realized who it was, he threw his arms around their neck.

“Holy shit, Maxine!” he whispered. “I thought you were dead!”

“For some time there, I thought I was.”

He pulled away. Noted her black flight suit.

“What are you doing here? Christ, is this an escape?”

She nodded. “Something like that.”

“Holy fuck. Can we get to Xavier?”

“We don’t need to,” she said. “He’s already here.” She motioned with her head to a corner of the room.

Scott cautiously peered around the chair. Xavier was slumped up against the corner, claret streaming down the side of his face. Strands of chestnut hair stuck to the blood. His arms limp beside the body.

“Holy shit. What happened to him? Is he dead?”

“I most certainly am not!”

The voice startled Scott so much his heart rate jumped to jackrabbit in a millisecond, and he banged his head on the chair. He fell to his side, away from the familiar voice, and shuffled backward as if seeing a ghost.

Xavier came into view. A mop of brown chestnut hair. Black flight suit.

“Jesus Christ,” Scott yelped between pants. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“What do you think this is?” Maxine asked. Rhetorical question.

“We're getting you out of here, Scott,” Xavier added. “Which means I need you, more than ever, to get yourself together.”

Scott looked over Xavier skeptically. “Why are you wearing one of their suits?”

Xavier looked down. Tugged at it. “This? It’s the perfect cover. I can’t very well come in here wearing flashing lights and an enormous red hat.”

“How do I know it’s you?”

Xavier crouched down. “We met in an airport bathroom where I gave you the Identity application. Some terrible things happened. We engaged in a firefight in the middle of industrial streets. They attacked our helicopter en route to this facility How much do I need to say for you to know it’s me?”

“They said lots of things about you.”

“I bet they did,” countered Xavier.

“They said I couldn’t trust you. That you are the one starting the war.”

“Do you believe them?”

Scott looked down. Resigned.

Xavier bit his lip. Disappointment.

“Help us get out of here and I will tell you everything. But we can’t do this without you.”

“They said you grew here. What that fuck is that about?”

“Everything,” Xavier repeated. “But we need to get out of here, and to do that we need your help.”

Scott shook his head. “I’m still a no one. A nobody. Whatever you think is inside me, maybe it’s not there. So, what the hell can I do?”

Xavier smiled and held out his hand.

“You can wear these.”

Chapter 5

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The trio crouched by the door. Scott rolled the small earbuds around in the palm of his hand. He found it ridiculous that his value relied on the device he was about to connect to his brain. But the alternative didn’t sit well with him either. He was sick of being ordinary. Less than ordinary. What the device was, whatever it made him do, it made him feel beyond anything he could remember. He would get his answers from Xavier, and if they didn’t live up to the mark, if he thought he was being lied to, he’d run back to the other Xaviers and give them everything.

“Scott!”

Scott shook his head and looked up; a questioning expression on his face.

“Did you hear the plan?” Maxine asked.

Scott opened his mouth. Silence.

“That answers my question. Thank you.” She sighed. “Just let the program do its thing. We really need you on this one.”

Scott nodded, very uncertain how the next hours would turn out. He was told to wait. That he was the bait. And waited he had. He hadn’t told them, yet, nothing had happened just the same. He was walking the fence line waiting for the misstep that would force him down a path he couldn’t recover from.

Maxine was standing at the door when it suddenly kicked open, the crashing sound enough for Scott to release his bladder. The black-clad guard stepped forward into the entry. Maxine slammed the door on the guard, who released a volley of fire into the room.

Xavier groaned and fell to the side, his hands over his eyes. Scott sank to the floor, covering his head as bullets tore up the interior, causing wood and fabric to fly and float in every direction.

Maxine grabbed the gun with one hand as she continued to slam the door against the guard. She screamed at Scott, but all the noise was colliding into a single effort of clatter that struck him like a brick.

Scott fumbled the devices into his ears, his shaking hands making the process difficult. But he eventually squeezed them into his canals. Just like last time, they seemed to come alive and crawl into his brain, coating his grey matter with a calming ooze.

As the darkness crept over him, he noted Maxine ripping the gun from the guard, smashing his head against the frame, and drop kicking him out of the room.

***

Machine gun fire ripped the door frame to pieces, sending wood splinters flying in every direction. Maxine wedged her machine gun in the gap and fired relentlessly, blind shots sparking off the interior.

“Nice of you to join us, Scott,” Maxine puffed as she let loose another volley of stray bullets.

Scott unclipped his parachute. “Landing on the roof of Dimitrijevic’s building isn’t a simple thing to accomplish. What the fuck are we doing here, Maxine?”

Maxine squeezed off some more rounds. “Before you killed Dimitrijevic and Miroslav, they had stolen something from the Bolivians. That’s why he needed those guns from you. They were preparing for an onslaught.”

“What did Dimitrijevic get himself into?”

“Intelligence is slim on this information. The thinking is some kind of artifact.”

“Great. He stole a piece of art. So what?”

“Well, the Bolivian’s want it back.”

“So? Let the Bolivian’s get it back.”

Maxine turned. “Look around you, Scott.”

Scott did. Black-clad bodies littered the roof in various states of dismemberment. Between them lay an assortment of body armor and weapons. It was a stark contrast to the cloudless night and silver orb that shone down on them like a personal spotlight. Another round of bullets ripped into the door.

“Besides,” Maxine continued. “Krantz from NCS wants it resolved. Something about a trade deal or something. I can’t remember. I fell asleep.”

“I believe it’s a hostage exchange scenario and political coup that aims to simultaneously bring regional peace and socioeconomic lament,” Woodward said.

Scott turned and did a double-take, noting the bandage over his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Woodward. What the hell happened to you?”

“Stray shrapnel,” he declared. “Just a flesh wound, sir. I’ll be just fine.”

“Shit. Maybe best if you sit this one out.”

“No can do,” Maxine piped in. “He’s memorized the path to the bounty.”

“Path?” Scott exclaimed. “We don’t need a path; we just kick some doors in until we find what we’re looking for.”

“Unfortunately, not this time,” Woodward stated. “Before meeting with you, Dimitrijevic booby-trapped the entire building. Open the wrong door and the entire building comes down.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I intercepted a copy of the plans as they were in virtual transit. Obtained a cursory glance before a virus ate my hard drive.”

“Can you just explain the path to us?” Scott asked.

“How long have you got?”

Maxine fired a few more rounds before the gun clicked dry. “Not long enough,” she said.

“I see. What hardware do we have?” Scott inquired.

“Whatever you see on the roof. Pickings are slim. Most are unreliable black market AK47s redirected from Iran.”

Scott rubbed his hands together. “Okay. Unreliable weapons and a blind man against an army of merciless killers, in a building that may explode at any point, looking for something, and we’re not sure what that something is.”

Scott rubbed his chin. “I like those odds.”

More firepower busting into their barrier.

“Have you got a plan?” Maxine asked.

They looked at each other. Unspoken words. The most powerful there is. They nodded in unison and shifted their attention to Woodward.

“Ah, would anyone mind filling me in on the plan?”

Scott smiled. “You just need to stand very, very still.”

Chapter 6

––––––––

Scott kicked the remainder of the door in. The loud crack of the wood was replaced with the deafening roar of thunder from multiple machine guns. Bullets bit into the Kevlar and tore into the body, sending it into a shuddering spasm. Many more pinged off multiple surfaces, erupting sparks, the muzzle fire lighting up the stairwell.

With empty clips, the firing ceased. The last of the casings rained down and chimed on the concrete stairwell. The body perched forward and then fell. But something was wrong. Why did it fall forward? And why is it bulkier than usual? Caught in contemplation, they didn’t notice until it was too late.

A kneeling Maxine, stock to her shoulder, eye down the sights, let loose with a short barrage of fire. Neat bullet holes formed in the mercenary’s foreheads, resulting in them collapsing over each other, their life well and truly vacating their bodies in an instant.

Scott peered around the corner. “Anyone else in there?”

“If there was, they would be dead,” Maxine replied, her gaze still on the interior, waiting for any sign of life, any movement that would dictate she needed to kill someone. Nothing.

“Maxine, you take point. Woodward will guide you. I’ll bring up the rear.”

“That’s what she said,” Maxine quipped.

“Yes, she did,” Scott fired back. “Yes, she did.”

The trio quietly descended the internal staircase and carefully through the door at the bottom. Beige corridors stretched out in both directions. Equidistant brown doors filled the walls. Each door had a faded gold number on it. There was no sound, no movement, and boredom quickly set in.

“Jesus,” Scott said taking in the interior. “If I had to live here, I would set off the explosives myself.”

“To the left,” Woodward murmured, ignoring Scott’s jibe.

Maxine led the charge, edging down the corridor, waiting for a soldier to jump out and attack them.

“Stop at the elevator doors,” Woodward instructed.

Maxine stopped at a set of silver doors to her right, yet kept her vision forward. Scott did the same for the corridor they just walked down. Woodward reached out and felt around for the button.

“An elevator?” Scott asked. “Really?”

“When is an elevator not an elevator?” Woodward pondered.

Metallic cranking noises filled the void, and the doors clicked open as a single door. Darkness spilled out into the lit corridor.

“Oh, what a sneaky fucker,” Scott beamed. “Seems like we’re on our way.”

Woodward pushed the door inwards. A shrill alarm filled the hallway, heightening the alertness of the three.

“What the fuck is that?” Scott yelled.

The searing tone of GPS directions entered the cacophony. “Building detonators armed. Explosions imminent, in... seven... minutes.”

The alarm died down to a peaceful drone.

“Seven minutes?” Scott scoffed. “Who the hell sets an explosive timer for seven minutes?”

“Oh, I see,” said Woodward. “A clever ruse. Anyone breaking in without knowing the correct path would immediately evacuate.”

Somewhere in the distance, doors opened and slammed again, followed by a barrage of heavy footsteps. Scott and Maxine steadied themselves, waited for an army to rush around the corner and open fire. Out in the middle of the corridor, they were sitting ducks. But they quickly realized the footfalls weren’t coming toward them. They were running away from them.

“Are you sure about that assessment?” Maxine asked.

“No,” Woodward said, dropping his head. “I guess not.”

“Well, that gives us seven minutes to find the thing we’re looking for and getting the hell out of here.”

“Actually, six minutes, twenty-six seconds,” Woodward announced. “Twenty-five. Twenty-four.”

“Well get on with it then,” Maxine snarked.

“Well, we go through there.”

Maxine sighed and pushed her way past the door and into the blackness, her gun at the ready. Woodward followed close behind, a hand on her shoulder. Scott took one last look along the corridor in both directions, before backing into the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

Overhead lights clicked on. Beautiful furnishings decorated the small room, with a rustic armchair in one corner, and an antique lamp in the other. They found themselves in the center of a hand-loomed circular rug, contemplating their next move. Three doors greeted them, one embedded in each wall, identical to the doors they passed out in the corridor.

“Left,” Woodward said.

“Left it is,” repeated Maxine. She reached for the door handle and turned the knob.

“I think,” Woodward quickly added.

Maxine stopped. Held her breath.

“What do you mean you think?” Scott asked, coming up to him.

“Well, I’m fairly sure.”

“I thought you said you saw the plans before they destroyed your computer,” Maxine said, looking over her shoulder.

“It was a cursory glance,” Woodward defended. “There was a lot to look at.”

Scott sighed. “How certain are you?”

“I’m not uncertain,” Woodward breathed.

Maxine looked at Scott. He nodded in reply. She held her breath as she turned the handle. The door opened into a dark space. No additional alarm came forth. No impending warning of catastrophic proportions.

Maxine took a step.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Woodward declared.

Maxine paused mid-step.

“Why not?” she asked curiously.

“Because you will struggle to find a floor.”

Holding onto the frame, she found no solid footing.

“A shaft?” Scott asked.

“Yes, like an elevator shaft,” Woodward instructed. “There should be rungs just below the edge.”

Maxine, on hands and knees, found them.

“So, we just climb down? Doesn’t seem that hard,” Scott announced.

“Getting on is easy, getting off is hard.”

“That’s what she said,” Scott quipped again.

No one laughed.

“Oh, come on guys.”

“I’ll laugh when we’re out of here,” Maxine said.

“Hopefully in the next ten minutes or so,” Woodward added.

“Well, we should hurry the fuck up then,” Scott barked.

Maxine slung the machine gun over her shoulder and commenced her decent.

Time seemed to stand still as they climbed into the depths of the impenetrable void. Several times, Scott felt the frigid hands of unconsciousness grab a hold of him, and he wanted nothing more than to release his grip and fall backward into the nothing and let it swallow him whole.

“Stop!” Woodward shouted. “Maxine, to your left, there should be an opening.”

A moment of silence. “I can’t see anything.”

“You must feel around for it.”

Metallic hisses sounded above them.

“Quickly,” Scott yelled. “Something is happening up here.”

“I’m trying,” Maxine snorted, frustration edging on her voice.

“Try harder,” Scott yelled. “Whatever it is, it’s getting closer.”

Then the handhold he had a grasp on pulled back into the shaft, leaving nothing but a smooth surface.

“Shit!” Scott shouted. “Go, go! The rungs are receding into the wall.”

Then the next one went, and Scott leaned in, gripping the handhold at his waist.

Maxine frantically descended while scanning the smooth surface next to the rungs for an opening. Woodward misplaced a foot and hung for a moment before regaining his posture, but Scott placed a foot onto a hand.

“Hurry,” Scott murmured.

“Found it!” Maxine announced and awkwardly eased down into a short corridor. She blindly reached up and helped Woodward in. The blind leading the blind, literally.

Scott struggled to keep up, his hand rungs quickly disappearing into the shaft wall.

“Where’d you guys go?” he yelled out.

“Down here, a little further,” Maxine yelled back.

Then at once, all the ladder rungs clicked back into place, leaving Scott floating in the abyss, his arms flailing as gravity wretched him down.

Chapter 7

––––––––

Scott screamed as he scratched for purchase on the smooth walls as he sunk deeper into the cavity. Then something grabbed him. His body swung like a pendulum and hit the shaft wall hard.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Maxine said.

“Leave the jokes to me,” Scott scoffed. “But, thank you.”

She hauled him up and into the unlit corridor.

“Woodward,” Scott said. “Nothing on that plan of yours about the ladder rungs disappearing?”

He shrugged in reply. “It was a cursory glance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott said. “Any other surprises we should know about?”

Over an invisible speaker came: Explosions imminent, in... four... minutes.

“Just that,” Woodward said, pointing somewhere above him.

“Come on,” Maxine ordered. “Time is running out. And I think I see some light up ahead.”

The group resumed their mission, under the watchful eye of the explosion countdown timer. Why Dimitrijevic armed the explosives to behave in such a way was beyond him, but figured it was the last line of defense. Surely there had to be a kill switch where the artifact was hiding. Those who knew the path could get there on time and disable the explosives. Others who had a ‘cursory glance’ at the building schematics might have less chance of success, let alone survival.

The corridor curved around at curious angles, as a means to do nothing more than to slow down the travelers on their journey. The trio found themselves in a brightly lit square room, the luminance so overwhelmingly powerful even Woodward shielded his bandaged eyes from the barrage of light.

“Well, which door, Woodward,” Scott said through squinted eyes.

“What do you mean?” Woodward asked. “There should be only one door.”

Scott looked to Maxine, and then to the three doors inset into each of the walls. Each had a numeric keypad next to them. Random numbers flashed at regular intervals.

“Come on, Woodward. We haven’t got time for this.”

Woodward felt his way around the room, gently placing his hands over each of the keypads. “I’m telling you, there should only be one door.”

Explosions imminent, in... three... minutes.

“Christ. Three minutes,” Scott puffed.

“This is bullshit,” Maxine murmured.

“You fucking got that right,” Scott added. “This whole thing is bullshit. In three minutes, we’re all dead. Where did you get the plans again?”

“I intercepted them,” Woodward hurriedly replied. “Got a cursory glance before they ate my hard drive.”

“Just what I thought,” Scott said, raising his weapon.

“Hey, Woodward?”

Woodward turned. “Yes, Scott?”

BLAM!

Scott fired and Woodward’s head exploded. The body crumpled, revealing a spray pattern of goo on the wall.

Maxine swung around with her weapon. “What the fuck, Scott?”

Scott looked past the barrel, into Maxine’s eyes. “Don’t you see? This whole situation is a setup. It was a way for Dimitrijevic to trap us here, sentenced to our deaths. Retribution. The countdown to imminent destruction, the ladder rungs disappearing, this room, all designed to slow us down. Christ, we haven’t even faced any resistance.”

“Why?”

“Why? This is Dimitrijevic’s last colossal ‘fuck you.’”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off like you just did Woodward’s?”

“Because that’s not Woodward.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because he kept talking about his ‘cursory glance’. Since when do you know Woodward to have a cursory glance at anything?”

Maxine chewed the comment over in her head. “Who the fuck is it then?”

“Or what,” replied Scott. “Listen, all I know is this building is coming down in a matter of minutes, and we have got little time to decide. Because we sure as hell can’t go up.”

Maxine eased back on the trigger.

“Do you trust me, Maxine?”

“As much as I trusted that corpse on the ground,” she shot back.

“Well, that doesn’t bode well,” Scott huffed. He walked up to the middle door under the watchful gaze of Maxine’s machine gun sights. Not that she needed them at such a close range. Even Scott could close his eyes and pull the trigger and slice him in half.

“Stand back,” Scott said, readying himself.

“For what?”

“I’m going to kick that door in.”

“Why that door?”

“A hunch.”

“You kick that door in, and it’s the wrong door, this whole place is coming down.”

Scott looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “It’s coming down anyway.”

“And what do you think you will find behind that door?”

Scott turned at the voice: Explosions imminent, in... two... minutes.

“More than we’ll find standing around out here.”

Scott reared up and kicked the door hard, enough power to break a man’s ribs. The door barely moved, and Scott held his hamstring.

“God damn it,” he pushed between clenched teeth as he hopped away from the door.

“Forgot to do your stretches?” Maxine smirked.

She raised her weapon and released a controlled burst of fire at the handle and lock. Metallic clicks sounded, and the door released.

Maxine, weapon at the ready, kicked the door in. Scott appeared beside her, a smile appearing on his face.

“Well, well, well,” Scott said. “I guess someone owes me an apology.”

He looked over the two prisoners. Each was tied to a chair, gags in their mouths, pleading to be released.

“Great to see you, Woodward,” Scott said. “Who’s your friend here?”

Maxine removed Woodward’s gag and release him from his bonds, while Scott released the woman.

Explosions imminent, in... one... minute.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” Scott shouted. “Woodward, any chance you have an escape plan?”

“No, sir. Do you?”

“There,” the woman shouted as she pointed to a grate in the wall. “The vent.”

“I don’t think that will save us.”

“It will if it’s not a vent.”

“Of course,” Scott said. “Why would it be?”

Around them, the building shook. Vibrations tore into their bones. Death was imminent.

***

Scott blinked several times as he stood on the steel concourse. His blurry surroundings slowly formed a solid image. The grate flooring, a crisscross of walkways above, a solid metal door behind him.

“Hurry, Scott,” Xavier shouted. “We haven’t got much time. This place is about to blow.”

Scott looked up to the vehicle in front of him. It looked like a bullet, with one side open upwards, Maxine and Xavier sitting inside. Maxine sat at the controls, pressing buttons, and checking gauges. Xavier stood still; his bandaged gaze pointed forward.

There was a rumble overhead, followed by blaring klaxons. Scott could hear gushing water somewhere around him like he was standing behind a waterfall.

“Now, Scott,” Xavier advised.

Scott climbed into the strange vehicle next to Xavier and fumbled with the buckles.

“Best you hold on tight,” Xavier said.

Maxine pressed a button on her dashboard and the door hissed shut.

“Welcome to the shuttle,” Maxine shouted, as she hit the launch button.

The shuttle lurched off from its starting position at a remarkable speed, pushing Scott’s head back into his seat, and his heart into his throat.

Chapter 8

––––––––

After the initial jolt, Scott got used to the shuttle speed. Lights whizzed by at indeterminate speeds, each flash swallowed by an extensive section of darkness.

“So, this is the shuttle,” Scott said, mesmerized by the intermittent flashes outside the viewing pane. “What’s the purpose of it?”

“We’re using it for its purpose,” Maxine shouted from the control panel.

Xavier laughed. “Hours by helicopter or about fifteen minutes by shuttle. A means to quickly and stealthily access the mainland.”

“Wait, where are the others?”

No answer.

“Xavier?”

“Yes... Sorry. I was lost in thought. The others, yes, they went ahead. No point all of us getting captured if it all went awry.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t expecting any rescue mission,” Scott said. “Let alone you leading the charge.”

“Me neither,” Maxine added from the front. She got up and walked to the rear of the vehicle and sat opposite the other two. “I would’ve thought you’d blown the charges as soon as possible.”

Xavier looked down and smirked. “We rigged the detonation of charges to explode when both shuttles departed. We’ll be well and truly at our destination when the tunnel collapses. And don’t think it didn’t cross my mind to leave you two behind. But I couldn’t. Scott, you are more important than you will ever know. You are crucial if we demand success.”

“Me? You keep saying it, but I can’t be. I’m not Maxine. I’m not like her.”

“Everyone has their skillsets, Scott. But you? You are something else. Perhaps that’s why it’s so hard to unlock, why it’s buried so deep.”

Scott looked to the window and then back again. “You said you would tell me everything on this trip. Best you talk.”

Xavier reached up to his temples.

“You all right, Xavier?” Maxine asked.

“I’ll be fine. It was just a spark or something. I’m sure my eyesight will return to normal soon. When we get back to the others.”

“What the hell is Zero Division? You promised me answers and I want them.”

“Scott,” Maxine said. “Maybe this can wait until we are with the others.”

“No,” Scott shouted defiantly. “I was promised answers.”

“Scott’s right. And so, I shall share everything with you. The Circle crafted Zero Division in a lab, designed as small team insertions at the will of the powerful. They deployed us in all manner of situations; to exterminate a head of state, help another gain power, stabilize a region, destabilize a region for war. Our pursuits were noble, for the good of all, or so we thought.”

“So, you just went about their bidding? Whatever they wanted you to do?”

“Exactly.” Xavier looked down. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but you must understand the control we were under. I know this is no excuse, but I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“Where do the sleeper agents come into it?”

Xavier sighed. “Ah, the Sleepers. The likes of you and the others were the insurance policies.”

“What do you mean?”

“They designed Sleepers to work alone. You were individual agents, with separate protocols and missions. You never even knew there was anything like you out there.”

“So, what happened?”

“It happened many years ago. I’m not sure what, because when it happened, everything shut down. Records got destroyed. They disbanded Zero Division, with sleeper agents assigned to kill each of us.”

“Obviously not too successful judging by all those people we just left behind.”

“People is a powerful word, Scott. Perhaps organism is better suited. Regardless, battles ensued. Don’t get me wrong. Zero Division lost vast numbers at the hands of the Sleepers. Once the Sleepers performed their assigned tasks, they shut down again. Put them into storage for the next uprising. But the remaining members of Zero Division banded together in secrecy to find and destroy all the remaining sleeper agents, to destroy them in case it happened again.”

“But not you? You didn’t band with them?”

“No,” Xavier blurted. “Their aim is simple. Destroy all the Sleepers so there is no one left to stop them.”

“Stop them from what?”

“That is a troublesome question to answer. But think of the worst conceivable outcome and multiply it a hundredfold.”

“And you’re getting in the way, you’re stopping them on their quest,” Scott breathed.

“Very much so. It started with Maxine.”

Scott looked over, and she shrugged nonchalantly.

“When we, Zero Division, received orders to eliminate the Sleepers,” Xavier continued, “something happened. I don’t know what it was or why it happened to me, but I experienced a level of clarity I had never considered possible. Maybe my programming was faulty, perhaps the chemicals in my brain became unbalanced. Whatever the reason, all manner of information flooded my consciousness. I started to remember things. After convincing Maxine to join me on my quest, I located the facility. It held even more secrets, long-forgotten mysteries. It helped me to conduct my research, hunt down my leads. I started finding Sleepers and using my program, waking them from their veiled existences to help build my army. Unfortunately, the facility is now lost.”

“So, there’s more like us out there? More Sleepers?”

“Of course. How many, I can’t say. Where they are, even less so. What I do know is Zero Division won’t stop until your kind is all but dead.”

“So, they’re just going to keep coming? After you? After us?”

“They are relentless, Scott. That’s their programming, as strong and inexorable as yours. Do you know what I was doing in that airport bathroom stall when I met you?”

Scott shrugged.

“I was killing a member of Zero Division. Strangling him, crushing his throat. You were their next target, Scott. They knew about you. But they don’t know what I know. For if they did, you’d already be dead.”

Scott swallowed hard and turned his attention to the flashing lights out the viewing pane.

“I’m sure none of this is easy to hear, Scott. Nor understand for that matter. But you have to trust me. We are doing the right thing.”

“I mean, it’s a far cry from selling pens and paper to various companies. I just wish I was more use, that’s all.”

“It’ll happen, Scott. We just need to dig a little deeper.”

The console beeped.

“Five minutes till stateside,” Maxine said.

“What’s the plan when we get there?”

“We’ll meet up with the others,” Xavier said. “Maxine, I’ll need your eyes until I can recover. Scott, I’ll need you again. I don’t know what we will face when we arrive. They may have traced us; they may have mapped out the tunnel. There could be an armada waiting to execute all of us. Or there could be nothing. But I’d rather not take the chance. I just need you to be ready.”

Maxine ejected the magazine from her weapon and checked the ammo. She threw it to the side.

“Empty?” Scott asked.

“No, just no good walking around the city with a machine gun strapped to my shoulder. Tends to raise the alert of the authorities. And the less heat we have on us the better.”

She reached under her seat and pulled out a compartment lined with handguns and ammunition. She selected a weapon, checked it, and handed it to Scott. He looked over it, gently ran his hands over it.

“It’s a gun,” she said. “Not a newborn baby. Tuck it into your belt, just don’t shoot your dick off.”

“Because you care about my dick?” Scott asked.

“No, I care about not having to administer a penectomy and renaming you Scout.”

She pulled out another weapon, cocked it, and eased it into Xavier’s hands. Finally, she loaded up her person, as much as one could conceal without drawing attention to oneself.

“Where exactly are we arriving into?” Scott asked.

The flashing lights faded into a single powdery glow.

“You’re about to find out,” Maxine said.

Chapter 9

––––––––

The storm that erupted as the shuttle entered the station slowly died down, dust lingering in the old, yellow glow of random bulbs that littered the station roof. The engines wound down as the door hissed open, and Maxine stepped off, Xavier right behind, hanging onto her shoulder. Scott eased out and felt like he had stepped into a mausoleum, the cold naked concrete bearing down on him. He noted the other shuttle on the tracks opposite a central platform. Their footsteps echoed off into the darkness, and Scott looked to the tunnel they had emerged from.

“What the hell is this place?” Scott asked as the smell of damp concrete fought its way into him.

“A direct route to the island, a perfect way to inject Agents, Sleepers, Zero Division, into the city. From there, they could scatter where they needed to, flights to anywhere, and so on. Inaccessible to the public or anyone else.” Xavier turned. “Lead us on, Maxine.”

Maxine led the group to the end of the platform towards the tunnel. Wafts of seawater rose upon them, the result of their thoroughfare collapsing into the cold Pacific. She stopped at the elevator door and called for their ride. The door opened immediately, and the trio entered the tight space. Chequer plate lined every surface, save for a small black plate next to the open doors.

They waited. Doors remained opened.

“Uh, Xavier?”

Xavier leaned his head towards Maxine’s voice. “Yes?”

“Your fingerprint?”

“Oh,” he called out. “Of course. This injury has very much got me off-kilter.” He held up his right hand.

Maxine grabbed his left hand, singled out the ring finger, and pressed it against the plate. The doors immediately closed and the metal cocoon rumbled to life, slowly ascending.

“Sorry again,” Xavier announced. “I’ll need a full assessment when we get to the others.”

Maxine looked over him carefully, and then to Scott. “Best you get ready. As I said, I’m not sure what we’re about to step into.”

Scott pulled the earplugs from his pocket, and wedged them into his ears, and waited for them to do their work. It amazed him at how comfortable he was in releasing his body to the unknown, like falling asleep and letting the dream sequence take over.

––––––––

Scott slid down the metal tube. Woodward, the real Woodward, was a flailing of arms and just below him. A fireball followed his decent, just above him, and close enough to melt his brain. There was a moment of complete weightlessness, of time standing still, until the harsh impact of reality hit him. He looked up as the fireball mushroomed out of the vent, a complex array of yellow and black, as he landed in a cardboard laden metal box, landing heavily on those who had arrived just before he had.

Apologies were unrequired as the more pressing matter of escaping a collapsing building was upon them. They pushed and pulled each other out of the bin as another wave of violent rumblings bore down on them. Maxine ran for a side door, launching a flying kick into the metal barrier, the others in close pursuit.

The group burst out into an alley occupied by sizeable chunks of reinforced concrete and twisted carbon steel.

Quickly gauging bearings, Maxine and Scott took off towards the street, guns ready to fire at anything that got in the way. Woodward pulled along the mysterious woman from the room as dust clouds enveloped them.

A black SUV screeched to a halt in front of the alleyway amongst hordes of screaming pedestrians who did their best to escape the unplanned demolition. Doors clicked open and armed mercenaries trained their weapons on the dust cloud, hoping for a kill.

Hot bullets punched holes in the cloud, leaving wisps of dust in their wake. Each finding a mark in a soldier's forehead. Bodies fell or hung limply from their positions. A mercenary from the opposite side of the vehicle fell backward, the cadaver hanging awkwardly from the rear seat.

The driver gunned the V8 engine, lurching the backseat body onto the roadway and under the rear tires. The back of the SUV jostled over the soldier’s face, leaving a smear of blood and brain on the bitumen.

Maxine burst from the alleyway and aimed, firing a shot through the open rear door and into the back of the driver’s head. A spray of goo washed over the inside of the windshield, the body collapsing onto the steering wheel, the vehicle idling across the lane to the other side of the street. Surrounding cars screeched tires and honked horns as they evaded the runaway vehicle, their concern more on the building that was collapsing on itself in the middle of the city.

The group raced towards the idling vehicle, well aware that hundreds of thousands of tons of concrete, glass, and steel were pummeling the ground behind them. They stopped short in the middle of the street, curious about a drone hovering in front of the vehicle they were heading to.

“What a very curious thing,” Woodward remarked.

Scott aimed his weapon and fired. The bullet sparked off the metallic bug which righted itself and continued its ominous stare.

Then another sound. Faint at first. It was Maxine who spotted it first, a fast-moving object flying at skyscraper level heading right for them.

“Oh, shit!” Maxine called out. “Bogey inbound.”

The others followed her gaze.

Scott said, “We should—.”

The ear-piercing sound reached its crescendo before the missile struck the idling SUV. The force from the explosion threw the group backward as a hot wave crashed into them. Nearby storefront glass shattered. The vehicle jumped off the ground, returning to earth as a fireball, the make or model unrecognizable.

The drone slowly flew over to them and tilted down. It seemed to focus its vision, glaring through squinted circuits, at its next target.

Maxine looked over to Scott. “You were saying?”

Chapter 10

––––––––

Maxine took off down an adjacent alley, sirens echoing from the street behind her. “What the fuck was that?” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Given we’re alive, it certainly wasn’t ballistic,” Woodward replied. He had grabbed their newly acquired person by the hand and yanked her along at pace behind Maxine. She constantly brushed her long black hair out of her face to help with her vision. She misplaced her footing a few times, with Woodward helping her to her feet to keep moving.

“Definitely small, specific, and self-contained,” Scott shouted. “I have seen nothing like it. Just keep moving as far away from here as possible.” He stayed at the rear and bustled them along, firing shots at the stalking drone. It offered no reaction and accepted each direct hit with an unwavering countenance. Kept its distance, did not try to interact with them. Just glared with unseen eyes, observing every movement.

“Get that thing off our tails,” Maxine yelled from the front. “I don’t want to watch over my shoulder for a cruise missile to bear down on my ass.”

A black SUV skidded to a halt across the end of the alleyway. The group took shelter behind an industrial bin. Bullet spray pinged off every available surface. Maxine held her machine gun around the corner of the barricade and released a burst in reply.

“We can’t stay here,” Scott shouted, investigating his surroundings for a way out. Suddenly, the drone became unimportant.

“Well, get that door open then,” Maxine shouted back as she let loose with another volley of fire.

Scott looked at the door he was leaning against, a red emergency exit door for the building. He noted the small plexiglass panel near the top of the door.

“Cover me,” he yelled.

As Maxine lashed out with more retaliation, Scott stood and jammed the butt of his machine gun into the panel. It shattered into large grains, leaving more than enough space to reach inside. He unlatched the door as a barrage of bullets singed the door above his head.

Scott hustled inside and ushered everyone while firing at the drone. Maxine was the last, laying down a final swath of covering fire, enough for her to escape into the safety of the building.

As the group descended the stairs, Scott took one last look towards the door. The drone seemed to inspect the opening it couldn’t fit through, before elevating out of sight.

––––––––

The group scurried down a few levels and burst out into a multi-level parking area. A myriad of vehicles, mostly boring sedans and practical people movers, greeted them. They maneuvered through the parking lot looking for a suitable ride.

Scott turned in front of the group. Sweat soaked concrete dust covered them. Maxine was bleeding from a head wound, possibly when a missile destroyed their original getaway SUV. She seemed to wear it with pride. Woodward held the mysterious woman up, her arm around his shoulders. Long dark hair stuck to her wet face. She seemed out of place, uneasy in the combat zone.

“Dimitrijevic went to a lot of trouble to make sure no one found you,” Scott said looking at the woman. Her head was down, her gaze on her next shuffled footstep. “And if you were, made it very difficult to keep you alive. So, you had better talk.”

“My name is Maria,” she whispered between quivering lips. Her accent was part Eastern Bloc, part Queen’s English. As muddy as her complexion.

“Why did Dimitrijevic kidnap you? What did he want from you?”

She slowly looked up, cocked her head “He didn’t kidnap me,” she said. “I volunteered.”

“What do you mean you volunteered?” Scott asked. “You willingly joined your family's enemy?”

She smiled. Devious. “My father never understood, never had the balls to do what Dimitrijevic was trying to do.”

“And what’s that exactly?”

“We were making an army. Neural implanted replicas with extraordinary vision, that couldn’t feel pain, that were exceptional fighting machines right out of the box. No training required. Instant killing machines that carried out orders, instead of questioning them.”

“And what was your role in all this?”

“I have degrees and certification in particle regeneration, neuroscience, cognitive psychology, and nuclear physics. I didn’t have a role in the program, I am the program.”

“If you were so important to Dimitrijevic, why was he willing to kill you.”

“I guess if he couldn’t have me, then no one could,” she replied with a smile. “Besides, the work had neared completion, the Replicas were online.”

“Well shit,” Maxine butted in. “None of this sounds good.”

“Jesus Christ,” Scott breathed. “This wasn’t some kind of rescue mission. This was a snatch and grab. Krantz wants you all for himself!”

Maria shrugged, seemed to lose interest in the conversation.

The sound of a banging door followed by heavy footsteps echoed around the parking garage.

“Might be best to take this conversation on the road,” Maxine suggested.

They turned to inspect the vehicle Scott had stopped them in front of.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Scott asked whimsically.

“Certainly,” Maxine said. “But it won’t look like that when we’re through with it.”

––––––––

The shiny black Hummer’s tires screeched on the polished concrete as it circled upwards to the exit. Woodward and Maria clung to the safety rails in the backseat, as Scott screamed in joy at the roar of the six-liter V8. With a straight-line bolt to the exit, the drone slowly descended on the street outside.

Maxine, a look of determination and disgust on her face, jammed the accelerator. The wide-body beast shuddered and rocked back. It busted through the flimsy security gate and mashed into the flying parasite. The Hummer skidded onto the roadway, narrowly missing a series of cars, each screeching and honking. Electronics skittled off in a thousand directions as the drone become just another casualty.

“I guess that was easier than I thought,” Maxine scoffed as she squealed around corners to put as much distance between them and Dimitrijevic’s soldiers.

“Of course,” Scott said, patting the dash. “This baby will take us back to the safe house with no—.” He stopped short in finishing the sentence.

Maxine mashed the brakes, the Hummer’s tires locking up, leaving two lines of black on the bitumen. The vehicle trembled to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the rear passengers thrown forward in the sudden deceleration.

“Is everything okay up there?” Woodward asked.

Maxine and Scott stared out the front windscreen, at the squadron of drones descending in front of them. Maxine revved the engine, the Hummer eager to jump off the blocks.

“Sir?” Woodward called from the back seat.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Scott asked, ignoring the noise from the rear compartment.

“Don’t see why not,” Maxine replied. “Seemed to work pretty well last time.”

“Sir?” Woodward called again.

“You just going to ram them?” Scott asked.

Maxine cocked her head. “Might back over them if I get the chance,” she replied.

“Sir!” Woodward shouted.

Scott turned. “What is it, Woodward?”

And then he saw it.

––––––––

The four people bailed out of the car as the heat seeker missile bore down on their location. There was no time to maneuver or retaliate. Only to run. Maxine and Maria bolted in one direction, Scott and Woodward in the other. Each desperately sought cover for the impending destruction of the Hummer.

The impact caused a sudden shock wave that broke, dented, or scorched everything. White flame instantly engulfed the Hummer, dismembering the chassis in one fell swoop. A fireball worked up into a mushroom cloud, black plumes engulfing the sky.

Scott found himself on his back, his ears still ringing, the blue sky turning ugly shades of grey. He pushed himself up on his elbows and attempted to call out but couldn’t hear himself. He jolted his head a few times to knock things into place. Through a heat haze, he saw Maxine limp over to Woodward, Maria’s arm around her shoulder.

More than anything, Scott wanted a holiday. To be lying on a beach, a very cold and very alcoholic beverage in his hand—one that had a piece of fruit and a little umbrella. He’d watch the sun sink into a warm ocean. Then he would pass out until the next morning when he would repeat the process. What a way to kill time.

Screeching tires destroyed his fantasy. Through half-open eyes, he saw a silver van pull up and the sliding door open.

A man stuck his head out. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

“Fuck you, Krantz,” Scott fired back.

The four wounded piled into the back of the van at the behest of Krantz, as a dozen drones encircled the vehicle. They hovered. Stared. Focused. Krantz sat backward, behind the driver, with his guests occupying the tight back seat.

“You’d better do something about those drones,” Scott mumbled. “Because I don’t feel like being involved in another explosion today.”

Krantz reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device. He pressed the button. One by one the drones sparked and fell from the sky, no more dangerous than a television remote.

“Damn,” Maxine said. “Really could have used that earlier.”

“Makes you wonder why you didn’t have it,” Krantz sang suspiciously.

Scott eyed the Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Service, who smirked and adjusted his tie. His bald head and weathered features had seen their fair share of action over the years. Krantz was different from Special Agent Rollinson. Krantz had seen real action in real places, perpetrated by real bad people. The scar that ran along his check was tantamount to that.

“Ah, Woodward,” Krantz drawled. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve the bag from the compartment behind you?”

Woodward did so, turning in his place to reach over his seat.

The move was as sudden as it was unexpected. Krantz pulled out a nickel-plated firearm and fired a round into the back of Woodward's head. Blood and brain coated Maria’s and Maxine’s face. No warning. No explanation.

Scott blinked. “What the fuck?”

Krantz handed over the weapon. “A necessary development in the narration,” he said. He reached under his collar and pulled. Skin came away. It was thin at first, then become thick and rubbery the more Krantz pulled at it.

“I don’t believe what the fuck I’m seeing,” Scott said.

“What the hell is going on here?” Maxine added.

Woodward leaned forward. “I apologize for the ruse, sir, however, it was of the utmost importance.”

“You’d better start talking, Woodward. And fast.”

“The agency is in trouble, sir. Infiltrated to the highest degrees. You need to be sure you’re talking to who you’re talking to. I would spread your trust thinly, even on those you know the most.”

“Are you the real Woodward?” Scott asked.

Woodward sat back. “Why, of course, I am, sir.”

Scott pointed the gun. “That’s exactly what a replica would say!”

“Very well, sir,” Woodward said with a smile. “Ask me a question, something only I would know. If you are unsatisfied with my answer, you may eliminate me.”

Scott cocked the weapon. “Alright then. That time in Vegas with the hooker, the donkey, the bottle of Jack, and the bag of counterfeit chips.”

“Seventy-two,” Woodward said calmly.

Scott decocked the weapon and handed it back to Woodward.

Maxine looked over to Scott. “Are you going to tell me the connection there?”

Scott shrugged. “What happens in Vegas,” he said.

“Quite, right,” Woodward added. “You need to be careful who you trust, sir.”

“Wait,” Maxine said. “What was this all about? Why did Krantz need Maria?”

“He doesn’t need Maria,” Woodward said. “We do.”

“Why?”

“Because Krantz has gone missing.”

Chapter 11

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Scott swayed back and forth as blackness turned into a dim reality. He reached out and grabbed a wall for support, eventually dropping to one knee. Pain tore up one side of his body, and he was sure he was bleeding from somewhere. Damp air invaded his senses, wet concrete that had gone unattended, like a basement in the middle of winter.

Looking up, he saw Maxine nursing her wounds. She leant against a wall near a set of ascending concrete stairs, taking deep breaths. Dust covered one half of her body, bloody grazes covering the other half. A streak of blood ran down her elbow, most likely the least of her worries.

Xavier squatted in the corner, his makeshift bandage in tatters, his black flight suit torn at the elbows and knees. His head was in his hands, gripping the side of his head. A bloodstain on the side of his face, a cut that refused to seal.

A heavy steel grate lay in the middle of the floor, next to a dank pit.

“What the hell happened?” Scott breathed.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Maxine sighed. “But I can tell you the city is a fucking mess. We need to get to the others and sort out what we’re doing. We can’t stay here, not for long.”

“Correct,” Xavier said from the corner. “They will find us soon, and when they do, we need to be prepared. What we just experienced is nothing to what they are capable of. They will regroup, strategize, and execute.”

Scott considered their words. They were in pain, looking like they barely got through with their lives. He thanked God he could live through the experience in his fantasy world. Even though that was no walk in the park, he had the ability and confidence not to die. He couldn’t be sure how he would operate in the real world, with actual people, with dangerous weapons.

“Come on,” Maxine said to Scott. “Not much farther.” She turned to Xavier. “Then we can get you fixed up.”

Xavier pushed himself up the wall and shuffled over, reaching out for Maxine. His eyes were half-closed as if protecting them from the dimness. “Lead the way, Maxine. My vision is slowly returning, but it’s still not quite there. It’s all grey shapes at the moment, I’m afraid.”

Scott followed the others up the stairs, and across a landing to a heavy steel door inset into yet another concrete wall. She approached the keypad offset to the left of the barrier and pushed her body against it as she keyed in the code, either through a lack of trust or out of habit. Scott couldn’t determine which. Didn’t have the energy to think about it nor the mental capabilities to read her.

Numerous solid rods clicked into place, one after the other, the sound of metal on metal invading the compact space. Maxine pulled on the door and it swung back with some effort. On the other side, she pulled it shut, the same machine noise sounded to secure the door once more.

“Christ, are we in a safe?” Scott asked.

“Well, we’re in a safe house, if that helps?” Maxine replied.

Maxine led Xavier and Scott through a series of passageways, a left, three rights, short hallways, small stairwells.

“I’m lost,” Scott said.

“You should be,” Maxine replied. “It’s designed that way.”

“Another level of protection,” Xavier mentioned. “If they locate the entrance, then get through the door, they need to navigate their way through the maze.”

They ended up at a solid black door. Scott noted muffled voices beyond.

“Best we don’t make them shit their pants entirely,” Maxine said, then banged on the door three times with her fist.

The noise beyond the door extinguished instantly. Maxine looked over the other two, before placing her finger on the frame. The door fell open a crack, the magnetic lock disengaging.

Maxine pushed it forward and stepped into the doorway.

A gun appeared at her head.

Maxine stopped.

“Fuck sake, Maxine, I thought you were dead!” Charlotte holstered her weapon.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I feel like it,” Maxine said. “Plus, I brought friends.”

“Friends? Plural?”

Scott followed Xavier inside, the door sucking shut behind them.

What came next was absolute chaos.

Charlotte immediately drew her weapon, pointing it at Scott and Xavier, shouting for them to stay where they were. Maxine instinctively pulled her gun, traced the threat to her companions.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled.

Charlotte ignored the questions, kept shouting at the newest entrants. Jacob came from another room, gun raised. He stopped dead in the middle of the room, waving his gun back and forth, shouting his directions. Sound bounced; disharmony bellowed in the space.

Then another man appeared into the room, striding forward from the shadows of a hallway.

Maxine took a step back, shifted her aim to the recent arrival.

“What the fuck?!” she roared.

She took in his features. His eyes, his hair. The way he carried himself, the way he stood there. Swung the gun back around, then back again, slicing through the torrent of threats coming from her allies.

“Wait! Wait! Everybody shut the fuck up!” Maxine thundered.

She pointed the gun at the man. “Who the fuck are you?”

He stood in a slate grey suit with his arms out. “Maxine, I’m Xavier. I should ask why you’ve led a member of Zero Division into the safe house.”

“Incredulous,” her Xavier shouted as he threw his arms up, eyelids blinking rapidly. “He’s lying, Maxine. I’m the real Xavier. He’s an imposter who has fooled the others. If I were you, I could shoot him immediately.”

“We have protocols,” the new Xavier said. “We need to move fast; the rest will be upon us. He’s probably carrying a tracking device. Kill him now before he can activate it!”

“Nonsense,” the old Xavier said. “Check my pockets, frisk me if you like. He’s fooled you.” He looked at Charlotte. “How much did you show him? How much did he see? We can’t have that knowledge getting out. He will compromise the entire operation. You should get rid of him before he can transmit any data if he hasn’t done so already.”

Jacob and Maxine shifted their sights between the two Xavier’s, confusion and mistrust lying thick in the room. Charlotte drew a second weapon. Scott backed away into a corner of the room, away from the focus of the gun barrels. The two Xavier’s eye-balled each other, neither giving their position away.

“How the fuck are we going to sort this one out?” Maxine boomed.

An easy rumble sauntered underfoot.

“I don’t know,” Charlotte replied. “But we better make it quick.”

And then the alarms went off.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN FEROCITY

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Special Extract

1

Year 2020

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The nurse carefully pushed the hypodermic needle into the IV line and paused. She peered through her visor to the man standing on the other side of the plexiglass and waited for his response. The man nodded, giving his authorization one more time. Not that it was required. Captain Hayback had already signed a mountain of authorisation and indemnity forms in triplicate days ago. Still, the nurse felt it important enough to check one last time before plunging the liquid into someone’s veins and past the point of no return.

Hayback had no such qualms. The medication was the latest thing off the unofficial production line, a collaboration between the expertise and skill of private enterprise and the bottomless funding of defence budgets. The scientific name was Reguravixumbrusibine. In his world of military briefing rooms, armed forces boardroom tables, and detail-rich reports, they called it Rejuvenate. It was the number one priority for the mighty military machine he was part of.

After pushing the plunger and expelling the viscous liquid, the nurse pulled the syringe from the intravenous line and reassuringly rubbed the patient’s shoulder. The patient nodded, looked over to the plexiglass and managed a weak smile, the only possible smile she could deliver given her condition. She slowly raised her hand as if to say ‘thank you’ and ‘it will be alright’. He hoped so.

He returned the wave as he took in her bald head and sunken features. Seeing her like that tore him up from the inside. All the power in the free world seemed worthless against her particular form of aggressive cancer.

The patient grimaced as she sunk back into the bed, the ordeal taking its toll as the meds started to kick in. He held a hand up to the glass and willed the synthetic antibodies to do their job. To cure his wife. To save their family.

He watched as the nurse made her rounds of the other patients in the room. Twelve beds in total, each with a patient in different stages of human decay, all receiving a different variation of Rejuvenate.

From a Petri dish to human trial testing in a matter of years. It was unheard of. But when Defense wanted something badly enough, due process was sidestepped. He leaned on his relationships. Flexed the mighty bounds of his authority. Signed the numerous documents, policies and reports. Gave the orders. Hayback accepted the lack of propriety because the military was impatient, because they had troops dying on the front line.

He nominated his wife for the trial because the alternative was not a possibility. She was slowly dying before his eyes and he had already lost so much. He couldn’t bear to lose her as well.

The nurse continued her rounds, running basic medical diagnostics and recording the information on the patient’s chart before moving onto the next. When she had finished her assigned tasks, she stood at the end of his wife’s bed and watched. She cupped her hands to her chest as if in silent prayer, then made her way to the airlock.

Although Hayback couldn’t hear any sounds through the glass, he watched as his wife’s ECG displayed peaks and troughs before disappearing in a haze, then replaced by a replicate pattern. He wondered what he would do when all of it was over. The rollercoaster ride from a perfect family, to diagnosis, to untested miracle cure, was an emotional toll he was never built for.

Moments later, the external airlock door hissed open, and the nurse appeared from around the corner. Freshly sprayed and washed, she wrung her hands together as if they were still wet.

“Why don’t you go home?” she said. “We can call you if there are any sudden changes to her condition.”

“Ellie’s with my parents,” Hayback said, rubbing his own hands together. “There’s nothing for me at home.”

“Well, I can set up a cot for you in the bunks. That way you can stay here.”

“It’s okay, really. If she’s going to tough this one out, then so am I.”

She gave a weak smile. “At least let me get you a cup of coffee?”

He stared at her, and eventually nodded curtly, reluctantly accepting the offer. Accepting charity wasn’t his strong suit, never was. His wife tried to change him, but he refused to change.

As the nurse walked away, he reached up and stroked his beard. He couldn’t remember the last time he shaved, or showered, or ate. He was either too panicked the end would come as soon as he took his eyes off her or too excited when they prescribed a new treatment. Make it this one, let it be the one, make it the last one.

Minutes turned into hours, and they turned into days. The people, the conversations, his surroundings: they all became a blur. From time to time, he would feel pats on his shoulder. Some would stay while others would solemnly saunter down the halls without stopping for a word or a glimpse, purposely avoiding eye contact. Every one of them knew the toll it was taking.

A few of his visitors were civilians, but the majority wore either battle fatigues or dress uniforms. Despite the decoration on the chest of some of those people, he just couldn’t look them in the eye, let alone muster any sort of salute. He felt broken, which is an odd feeling when your wife is the one battling the invisible disease.

The checks by the nurses became startling more regular and he couldn’t tell whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. Then the doctors arrived and talked to the nurses. More and more hazmat-garbed people gathered at his wife’s bedside to take every possible sample and rush it away into an adjoining lab.

The medical leadership ignored Hayback’s requests for status updates as they fed him one standard response after another. A bullshit throwaway. His heart sunk each time, and he could feel his large shoulders hunch with every interaction. They mentioned terms like ‘liposomes’ and ‘polypeptide nanoparticles’, however, he knew enough to know they were talking about the delivery methods of the treatment, not the actual drug being administered, and certainly fuck all to do with what was happening to his wife. He was medically trained for the battlefield but certainly not a scientist, not a biologist, not a geneticist. It seemed his rank, his connection to the project, government funding, carried no weight within the hospital’s walls.

When he looked upon his wife, he could see that she was fighting it. Whatever muscles she had in her body were tensed, the grimace on her face permanent, even while she slept. She had always been a fighter. That was one thing that gave him faith that she could pull through. She would be a survivor.

It was late on a Thursday when the medical team induced a coma to ease her pain, while they continued their discussions and considered their options. He didn’t remember signing anything, and whatever conversation he might have had with a white-coated doctor seemed like a haze.

He gazed upon his resting wife when, unexpectedly, one of the patients crashed, their ECG displaying a sharp flat line. A mass of bodies rushed to the bedside as a patient on the other side of the room also went into cardiac arrest. The sudden crises had the hospital staff stretched across the room as they competed for valuable resources. Equipment moved around the room as much as the medical professionals. Each attempt to restore a life was countered with another patient’s needs.

He watched the circus implode through the glass. He couldn’t hear what was going on, but if he could the cacophony of alarms would be brain splitting. His eyes darted back to his wife and he watched as her ECG peak flatten out, her head falling limply to her shoulder.

An influx of hazard-suited reserves flooded the room, several attending to her bedside. They commenced the preliminaries, checking her eyes and trying to rouse a response. One of them wheeled a crash cart over as it charged. Everyone stepped back as the nurse placed the paddles on her chest.

The first shock sent her lifeless body flying upwards, and it bounced down on the bed unceremoniously.

Several orderlies attempted to centre her as they prepared for another round. Hayback put a hand on the glass. Willed for her heart to restart. Knowing it wasn’t over, that she had more to give.

The second attempt rattled her brittle body so violently blood flew out her mouth and covered the physician’s visors, specks of black and red covering their pristinely white uniforms.

Hayback looked on in horror as the carnage unfolded in front of him. The rushing of blood-covered medical staff; the shadow of his wife covered in her own blood. He was powerless to do anything for her.

He closed his eyes, turned and sank to the floor.

Put his head between his knees and howled.