by Tyler Hanson
A smile in her voice, Butterfly said, “I suppose it’s just another sign of change.”
DOSSIER CLASS FELDGRAU
Folder 1 Completed
Granting Access . . .
. . . Access Granted
Folder 2 Unlocked
Thank you for visiting the world of The Faction! I hope you enjoyed your time there. I’d love to know your thoughts on Personnel, so please leave a review!
More information about The Faction can be found at jointhefaction.wordpress.com, and you can check me out on Twitter @VitameatavegamN!
And . . . read on for an excerpt from Conscription: Dossier Feldgrau, the sequel to Personnel: Dossier Feldgrau!
A Sneak peek inside Conscription: Dossier Feldgrau
New York, United States
September 10, 2001-B
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The steady tone of an EKG machine penetrated Zen’s foggy consciousness. Following it were heavy footsteps scurrying, distant sirens wailing, and panicked people crying. Everyone was screaming. Despite the noises around her, her vision remained obscured; she was numb.
Am I paralyzed?
Am I drugged?
Did the winged man take me?
Boots clacked against tile near her left. She tried to turn her head, but she couldn’t move. The footsteps stopped close to her arm, and someone’s body heat radiated onto her exposed skin.
Who are you? She attempted to say, but she could neither move her lips nor form the words in the back of her throat.
The EKG, the frantic footsteps, the sirens and the crying continued at a steady pace, but that was all in the background of Zen’s focus. In her immediate vicinity, silence had fallen.
More body heat, now near her face. The person wasn’t touching her, but they were far too close for her comfort.
“Okay, you were right,” a male voice said. It sounded distant and tiny, as if broadcasted over a radio.
Zen heard a rustling noise, then the sharp thwick of something telescopic extending.
More silence.
The same voice spoke again. “Go ahead, then.”
A new sound emerged. This one was far more familiar.
It was the electric crackling of a stun device.
Energy poured into Zen’s left hip. Her cells absorbed it, dispersing the power throughout her bones, her skin, her muscles, even her nervous system. As the electricity coursed through her, wounds she didn’t even realize were there restructured into healthy forms.
Her spine creaked and snapped, the feeling moving from her waist and making its way up into her neck. As it passed along her upper body, she found feeling in her toes, then her legs, then her torso. The energy reached her head, exploding into her brain. Her eyes snapped open, the fog gone in an instant.
She sat up with a start, gripping the sides of her hospital bed with enough force to shatter the plastic into dozens of small shards. The electricity had closed the tiny holes created by a series of IVs in her arms, and needles ejected from her body, quivering in the walls.
Zen absorbed her surroundings. She laid in a simple white bed shoved in a small closet of some sort. Hospital staff scurried around her, carrying bleeding and dismembered people, either unconscious or screeching. The hospital was overpopulated with the dead and dying.
Before her stood a young Hispanic woman. She was petite with dark brown hair and bright green eyes. The eyes reminded Zen of David’s, and the thought made her uncomfortable.
The woman wore a black leather jacket, black undershirt, darker jeans, and matching combat boots. On the flared lapels of her leather jacket were two opposing pins: A silver-mesh disc on the woman’s right lapel, and a dark glossy orb on her left lapel. In her hand was a collapsible stun baton. While it was still extended, she had turned off its electric feature.
Zen found her voice. “Did you just rob a Hot Topic?”
The woman looked down at her clothes and back up at Zen, a wry smirk on her face. She laid the baton on the bed at Zen’s feet and made a series of gestures in front of her body.
Zen shook her head. “I don’t know—“
An electronic laugh interrupted her—the same male voice she’d heard before. Now that she was awake, she pinpointed its source: The silver-mesh disc on the woman’s lapel. It was a speaker.
“Shadow says her outfit is still better than yours,” the man’s voice said, chuckling again.
Zen looked down at herself; she was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown. She snorted.
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” She looked around. “Where are my clothes?”
The woman in the leather jacket snatched up the baton and used it to point to a small table near Zen. On top of the table was a pile of burnt and shredded cloth ribbons.
“It seems, Zen, your body was the only part of you to survive your experience in the North Tower,” the voice from her lapel said.
“How do you know my name?” Zen asked. “Actually, how did you know about . . .” She looked at her arms, which still housed errant blue sparks.
“I don’t know you at all, Zen,” the voice said.
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t, I swear. I possess a file documenting your personal and professional history, as well as detailed notes on the growth of your . . . ‘Refinement,’ as they call it. But I do not know who you are. It is that particular detail I wish to learn.”
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Why the hell have you been watching me?”
“Oh, no no no,” the voice replied, his tone apologetic. “These are not my files. These files belong to a very powerful enemy. An enemy whom I believe you and I may share.”
“Do you mean the man with the wings?” Zen asked.
“Well, I do not know much about that particular Chimera, but I’ve studied some of his companions. For the most part, I’ve been trying to prevent the circumstances that he and his people orchestrate. Unfortunately, Shadow and I have not been very successful. If I’m being honest, I believe she was more efficient at this when she worked alone.”
Shadow made a face Zen interpreted as agreement.
“Still, I have poured many resources into knowing our enemy. We have much to learn even now, but the documents I’ve gathered and the worms I’ve strategically planted have given me enough to act. I can’t do that, though, until I have people who will be my proxies, representatives of a cause who can actually survive their encounters with the enemy.”
Zen slid from the bed and stood to face Shadow. “So, what? You want me to be a soldier? A terrorist?”
“Zen, I want you to be the closest thing to a hero that the real world can afford to have. I want you to be a person capable of making the tough choices necessary to protect people. And I mean really protect them, not just pour salve on their wounds while they continue to fester under toxic leadership.”
She considered his words. “If what you say is legitimate, then I should involve the police, the colleagues whom I’ve built a strong relationship with. Collectively, my precinct can offer the wisdom that I lack on my own.”
Shadow shook her head, and the voice was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, as if he were comforting a crying child.
“Zen. You told me you already encountered these people. You met a Chimera, right? The man with the wings?”
“Right.”
“And did he escape?”
“Yes, I’m sure he did.”
“Then Zen, you must understand. Your precinct is gone.”
She bristled at the comment. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t know if they’ll be dead, or if they’ll just be . . . not themselves. Maybe the only difference will be that they don’t know who you are. You may walk into your precinct and find that everyone you know was replaced with new faces overnight, though people will swear that they’ve always been there. No matter how it happened, as so
on as the winged man clashed with you, the people you know and care about were removed from your existence.”
“You sound fucking insane, sir,” Zen snapped. “I’ll take you there, and we’ll talk to my partner. He’s the most honest man I know. Besides, we have a suspect with knowledge about this mess locked in a cell there. I can pull useful information from him; I know it.”
The voice sighed, his breath blowing into the microphone. “Shadow, are you armed?”
Shadow wobbled her hand in a “so-so” gesture in front of the glossy pin on her left lapel, a device Zen inferred was some kind of button camera. She followed up with an “okay,” creating a circle with her thumb and index finger.
“Well, if you’re certain you’ll be fine,” the voice continued. “Could you please accompany Zen to her precinct?”
Shadow responded with a thumbs-up.
Zen said, “I’m going to need better—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Shadow tossed a bundle of clothing at her. Zen caught it, unraveling the wad to find a black-and-white checkered flannel shirt and some blue jeans. She put them on and adjusted them until they were comfortable. They weren’t perfect, but they fit quite well.
“Where did you find these?” she asked. “They aren’t mine.”
Shadow just stood there, stone-faced. The voice’s response was sheepish.
“Actually . . . I’m pretty sure she did steal those.”
________________
Zen and Shadow trotted down the New York City sidewalk, keeping an eye on the smoke and emergency vehicles in the distance. Thousands of people gathered around the rubble of the two fallen towers. Zen looked at her new acquaintance.
“So,” Zen said, “It was the World Trade Center that they attacked?”
“Unfortunately, it was,” the voice replied. “We were actually trying to establish a safe way to contact you when we learned of an impending large-scale event scheduled for the city. It was slated to occur on the eleventh, not the ninth, so we thought we still had time to act. I suppose their timetable was moved up by something.”
“Do you know . . . do you understand why it happened?”
“I genuinely do not, Zen. Believe it or not, I’m still quite new at this. Other cells of my organization, The Faction, are not quick to trust one another or share intelligence. I’ve had to use my computing and data analysis expertise to map out a general understanding of the enemy’s plans. But the why? The why still escapes me.”
They reached the entrance of Zen’s police precinct. Inside was an open space, filled at intervals with wooden desks for detectives and other staff. Six uniformed officers, three detectives, and one receptionist were visible in the lobby area. Zen could see officers posted at strategic vantage points, and they seemed more on-guard than usual. Detectives filled out papers on their desks, and the receptionist looked up from a book she was reading, greeting them.
“Detective Kipper!” the woman said. “We’ve been worried sick about you since the towers fell. Where have you been?”
“Hey, Janet. I, uh . . . I was working on a case and got caught up with a rough crowd. I needed to lay low until it was safe to check back in.”
“Oh, my! I suppose you saw what happened, though?”
“Yes, I did. Such a terrible tragedy.”
Janet shook her head. “Such a terrible tragedy.”
Zen looked around the room. “Honestly, I’m shocked we have anyone in the precinct. I assumed most would be helping clear the rubble, and we’d be left with a skeleton crew.”
Janet leaned in to whisper, her face conspiratorial. “That’s what happened at first! But when the officers were assisting the survivors yesterday, somebody broke into our records office and stole a stack of files.”
“What did they look like?” Zen asked. “Did they take anything important?”
“Zen, I’m just the receptionist; they don’t tell me anything!”
Zen smiled and patted Janet’s hand. “I’m happy you’re okay, Janet.”
“You too, Zen!”
Shadow had wandered away during the conversation, and Zen left the receptionist’s desk to catch up.
“Janet seemed fine to me,” Zen said smugly.
The voice chimed in, his tone worried now. “I suggest you hurry and get what you came here for. I don’t like any of this.”
Shadow nodded in agreement.
Zen pointed at a hallway leading further into the precinct. “I don’t see Phil, but Trevor should be back there in holding. I’ll pull him into interrogation and see what I can do to help you. Wait here.”
________________
Zen walked through the rows of desks and disappeared into the back of the building. Shadow put her hands on her hips and shook her head, surveying the other people in the room. As far as she could tell, they were not very interested in her or in Zen. She signed in front of the button camera.
“No, Shadow, I don’t believe this is an exception to the rule. I believe this is a trap. Be ready and be safe.”
She shrugged and walked to a small bar housing a pot of coffee and an area for cups, stirrers, creamers, and other supplies. Shadow poured some of the coffee into a Styrofoam cup and walked away from the bar, back into the center of the room. She sipped the coffee and winced. Not only did it taste terrible, it also burnt her tongue.
As she pulled the cup away from her face, a glimmering object caught the corner of her eye.
________________
Zen walked down the hallway and into the holding cells. The only occupant was a ragged-looking man who reeked of alcohol sleeping on the bench.
Where’s Trevor?
Turning around the corner, she approached four doors, each leading to interrogation rooms. She opened the first door—empty.
As she moved to the second door, Zen detected voices coming from the fourth, near the rear of the building. She released the second doorknob and crossed the distance to the active room in three strides. Pressing her ear to the door, Zen heard men talking. One of them sounded like Phil.
She opened the door and confirmed her suspicion: Phil was in the interrogation room, sitting across the metal table from Trevor.
“Well hey there, Kipper,” Phil said in his gruff voice. “I was worried about you.”
________________
Shadow walked across the precinct floor toward a silver object on the ground. As she moved within line of sight, she realized that it was nothing more than a silver Maglite flashlight. It rolled beneath one of the empty desks, and she wouldn’t have noticed it, except . . . it was whistling.
The high-pitched whine pierced her eardrums, causing her to stick her pinky finger in her ear in an attempt to clear it. Now that she could see it, she found that it shared a similarity with that night atop El Peñón de Guatapé.
The flashlight had an upside-down afterimage, some transparent doppelgänger that intersected with itself. Shadow had to rub her eyes to ensure it wasn’t some trick of the light, something optical rather than physical.
It was still there, in the same state as before.
She reached for the flashlight; as soon as her fingers touched the handle, both the tone and the afterimage vanished, leaving behind a simple silver flashlight. Shadow lifted it from the floor and placed it on top of the empty desk.
After returning to a standing position, a new officer appeared in the doorway. The man didn’t speak, but he nodded at some of the stationed officers, who nodded back. When he saw Shadow, he stopped, though only for the briefest of seconds. The look in his eyes in that moment, though, sent shivers down her spine.
Shadow was in the United States today, during a crisis, when federal and state personnel had their hands tied with damage control. Prior to this moment, she’d spent her life in South America, always hidden from the public eye due to her relationship with the cartels. Not once had she even come close to interacting with U.S. officials. She knew the man in front
of her was a complete stranger. But the look in his eyes . . .
It was a look of recognition.
________________
“I was out dealing with the wreckage of the towers yesterday, but I’ve spent all morning grilling him,” Phil said. “He swears he doesn’t know anything beyond what he already told you.”
Zen leaned, casting a shadow across Trevor’s face.
“Did you know where you were sending me when you told me about your contact?” she asked the criminal. “Did you know who the man was, or what he could do?”
“What happened at the park, Zen?” Phil interjected, looking at her, his gruff voice softened with concern. “Did you meet his contact?”
Zen ignored Phil. “Tell me, Trevor. The big ‘S’ on the wall. Who is that? What does it stand for?”
Phil reached out and grabbed her wrist. “What are you talking about?”
At Phil’s movement, Trevor bared his teeth at Zen in an aggressive grin.
“He didn’t know before.” Trevor’s voice was low, almost subsonic, and his words hissed through his teeth.
Phil stood, his hand still around her wrist. “But I know now.”
________________
Shadow’s back was to the new officer, sipping her hot coffee, but she was vigilantly aware of his movements. She had opted to wander away from the entrance of the building, using the mirrored security cameras mounted along the corners of the room to track him. His behavior was casual, but she was certain that his ambling gait carried him closer to her.
The officer looked around at the other people in the room, and this time, almost everyone made eye contact with him. The only people who didn’t react were one of the officers posted in the corner, one of the detectives working at his desk, and Janet, the receptionist.
