by David Brush
“Dante first. He might know where your father is being held,” said Michael, once again looking down to consult the floor plan he’d pulled up on his datacuff.
“Fine,” replied James, eyeing the map. “Let’s make this quick.”
Michael nodded, pointing down the hall. “That’s where we need to go. It should take us out near a central hub which we can use to access the other cellblocks.”
The group ran past cage after cage, charging unopposed toward the wide double doors at the far end of the hallway.
“Where the hell are all the prisoners?” said Matt, turning to look through another set of black bars into an empty cell. “I thought this place would be bursting with detainees. This is nothing like the reports we’ve been getting for the last few months.”
Dr. Reya nodded. “It’s odd. It’s almost as if they were evacuated before the battle began. Nightrick must’ve known we were coming well ahead of time.”
Raphael motioned for silence as the group approached the final crossway of the cellblock. He held his hand up, halting the advance. A deep, strained breathing from around the bend pierced the silence. Quietly, he raised his coil rifle, then bolted around the corner, firing clean kill shots straight through the heads of two out of the three men waiting to ambush the rebels. The last surviving guard, a lanky young man who looked more apt to piss his pants than fight back, tried to lift his weapon towards the massive Archangel, but before he could manage it, he felt the metal round slide through his left elbow, like lightning striking a rod. He fumbled his rifle onto the ground in shock. Raphael smiled, then fired another shot off at the young soldier, sending this one tearing across his left thigh. The man doubled over in a cry of agony, clutching his shattered arm as if a bit of pressure might restore the bone. Raphael walked over to the fallen soldier and picked him up by the collar, throwing him effortlessly against the solid titanium door that blocked the advancing group from entering the central hub of the complex.
“Now,” he said, unsheathing a long, sharp blade from his side as he stepped towards his wounded captive. “You’re going to open that door for us with your biometrics, or I’m going to take what I need from you with this hunting knife and then slam what’s left of you against the titanium until all that remains is a red paste smeared across the surface. Understand?”
The wounded man nodded feverishly, still sprawled out on the ground.
“Good,” he replied, leaning over to hoist the fallen guard over his shoulder like another piece of equipment.
Once through the door, Michael took a moment to consult his map, and then led the group down a ways towards the eastside of the compound.
“Where the hell is everyone?” asked Matt. “Were those three men the only soldiers Nightrick had to spare?”
“Something is off,” replied Dr. Reya, looking towards the half-dazed guard that was bleeding onto Raphael’s shoulder. “This place should be crawling with guards. I can’t imagine they sent them all out to the courtyard.”
“They’re...inner…,” mumbled the captive.
“Come again?” said Dr. Reya, walking up to the young man.
His head rolled limply along Raphael’s shoulder. “I said they’re all defending the inner sanctum.”
The physician nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose, with Nightrick being here.”
“Enough talk,” said Raphael. “We’re here.”
He pulled the guard down in front of the access panel to District 5. The console scanned the young man’s face, then chirped as the door slid open.
“Alright, everyone, keep your guard up,” said Michael. “If they’re going to try anything else, it’ll be here.”
The group entered the corridor with their weapons held high, slowly advancing from black-barred cell to black-barred cell. Half a mile down, they finally found their target. There before them, in a cage of steel, stood Dante, his head downturned, bathed in the rich yellow light that streamed in through the shielded window behind him.
He was an imposing figure, his presence far surpassing that of his physical size. His eyes blazed with a zealous fire, unbroken by his time in detention. It appeared that the Toxic Truth had met its match in him. His unkempt white hair hung freely from the sides of his head like loose yarn, giving him a wild look. It was hard to tell his exact age at a glance, as he neither appeared particularly old nor young. He wore a tattered white prisoner’s uniform that was fraying along the seams. Despite his ragged appearance, the leader of the Crusaders looked to be in good health. He had the same toned physique that he had possessed when last Michael had laid eyes on him. The zealot waited a moment before raising his gaze to address his rescuers. “My faithful Archangels, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you descended on this den of heathens to free me. And, Mira, so good to see you again. Hurry now. We must go before Dr. Nightrick realizes what’s happening.”
“Your holiness, it’s good to see you in one piece,” said Gabriel as he used a handheld on a nearby panel to open the cell. Despite being a literal cage, more appropriate for a dungeon than a prison, the cell still had the advanced electronic locking mechanisms that were standard for such facilities.
“Sir, we have one final order of business to attend to before we go,” said Michael. “These four are CLF deserters here to free this one’s father from Special Branch.”
“Deserters?” replied Dante, eyeing the group. “And who, pray tell, is this?” he asked, pointing at the wounded guard who had been set down next to the Archangels.
“He’s some stupid son of a bitch who tried to get in between us and you,” said Raphael.
“I see,” replied Dante, reaching into Raphael’s holster and pulling out his sidearm. He looked at the weapon for a moment, and then, in one clean motion, shot the guard execution style through the head. As the man slumped over, Raphael chuckled, Gabriel nodded, and Michael stood there expressionless. Of the Crusaders, only Dr. Reya looked upset about their leader’s wanton brutality. The CLF deserters, however, began to protest all at once before Dante raised the weapon at them.
“I’m afraid we won’t be having any time to help you lot. I think I’ll save you and Dr. Nightrick the trouble by putting you down now. There’s no room in this war for those who fight without righteousness in their hearts.”
Matt frowned. “More like self-righteousness, you maniac. We help free you and this is how you thank us?”
“I wouldn’t expect a member of the CLF to understand the nuances of rectitude. Your soul is muddied and only I can make you pure again. Let the vale of death wash you and cleanse you of your sins.”
“Wait! Wait!” cried Michael. “I promised to help them. They were instrumental in freeing you, your holiness! They could still be of use to us!”
“A pleasant thought, but I’m afraid not, Michael. Sinners are cast into the fire. I would have hoped you had learned that long ago.”
The moment that Dante averted his gaze to address his protesting soldier, Megan tried raising her weapon to fire on him. Halfway up, Raphael’s hand was there to meet the barrel, forcing it back down. He roughly pulled the coil rifle away from her before she could try using it again. Noticing the commotion, Dante raised his borrowed handgun at her, and as he did, without thinking, Michael disarmed the man in one swift motion. The rogue Archangel shoved Dante aside and laid a hard elbow into Raphael’s sternum before the man could even react, causing him to double over as the air evacuated his lungs. Gabriel stood there for a second, unsure which of his brothers to assist. After a moment, he raced to restrain Michael, but as he did, Matt and James slammed into him, pinning him hard against the metallic bars and knocking him out cold. Dante scrambled across the floor towards Gabriel’s fallen rifle.
“Run!” screamed Michael, turning to bolt back down the corridor. Everyone fled, except for Dr. Reya, who had leaned over to check on Raphael. Dante pushed up onto his feet and brought the rifle racing up. The group made it back through the door just in time for the zealot to le
t off the first clip.
“Your time is coming! You cannot escape the fire that awaits you!” he yelled as the ragged group continued running full speed down the hall, away from the district. As Dante lowered his weapon, Raphael managed to prop himself up on his elbow and reach for his own fallen rifle. He gazed over at his unconscious brother and moved to lift him.
“Leave him,” said Dante.
“But, sir, he’s just unconscious!” said Dr. Reya.
“I said leave him. We don’t have time to be lugging around the helpless.”
“He’s my brother. He’s coming with us,” said Raphael, beginning to reach for his sibling again.
“A martyr’s death awaits him. You will feast with your brother again in the Halls of Paradise. There’s no time for him now though. We stand on the brink of victory. I have seen the end. Our way is forward. We must reach the inner sanctum before Dr. Nightrick manages to seal it off entirely.”
“But, sir…,” Raphael began to protest.
Dante raised his weapon and shot Gabriel in the head. Dr. Reya screamed in horror as the man convulsed in response to the kill shot.
“He died a hero. Never forget that,” said Dante, looking down at his last remaining Archangel. “Now onward to victory.”
Raphael turned bright red, taking the shade of an enraged bull. The wild look in his eye ignited, then faded like a dying star casting out its light before going dark. As quickly as the fury had come on, it passed away with whatever remained of Raphael’s sanity.
“He’s at peace now, Raphael. Do not mourn the dead, my child, for their fight has ended. Ours, on the other hand, is just beginning. Now come. We have work to do.”
The rebels ran for what felt like miles before finally coming to a halt in front of another security door at the end of one of the complex’s thousand hallways. Thick, projectile-resistant glass loomed over Megan’s head as she ducked down near the access console. With Michael’s help, she pulled the paneling off of the terminal and connected her datacuff to it with a thin wire, while Matt limped up behind them.
“Good God, I can’t breathe,” he huffed, leaning his forearm against the wall.
“How the hell did you manage to get into progressively worse shape as the war has gone on, Matt?” Megan asked, looking up at him. “Most people fighting for their lives tend to get stronger. You, on the other hand, appear to be transforming into gelatin.”
“Oh I don’t know, Megan, maybe it has something to do with being shot, stabbed, blown up, and beaten every other day. How can I stay in shape when the universe is constantly trying to kill me?”
She shrugged. “A treadmill?”
“Treadmills don’t increase the ballistic armoring of your skin,” he said, pulling the damp, blackish red cloth of his right pant leg aside. “That fucker clipped me on the way out of his cellblock. I didn’t even realize I’d been hit until I felt my leg giving out a little ways back.”
“Shit,” said Michael. “That’s just great, and Mira chose to stay with Dante. Let me give you a hand with that.” He pulled a thin roll of cloth out of his rucksack along with an unmarked plastic bottle. After unscrewing the cap, he dabbed the cloth in the liquid and began meticulously cleaning the wound. “He did a little more than clip you,” he said, pulling a clean section of cloth off of the roll. “I’d bet good money there’s some metal in there right now. We’ll tie it off for the moment and take care of it once we get the hell out of here.”
“If we get the hell out of here,” said Haley, looking around the corridor. “Where are we even?”
“I’m not actually one hundred percent sure,” said Michael, pulling a knot into the fabric wrapped around Matt’s leg. “We ran farther into the complex though, so we’re likely headed toward the inner sanctum. If Nightrick is interrogating your father, that’s probably where he’s holding him.”
“Alright,” said James. “And thanks for the help back there. Dante is out of his goddamn mind.”
“I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to agree,” said Michael. “Dante was never overflowing with mercy to begin with, but he was certainly more flexible before. He was opportunistic more so than he was dogmatically rigid. In the past, he might have welcomed turncoats with open arms. Now apparently he executes them.”
“We’re not turncoats,” replied Matt, wincing as Michael pulled another section of cloth firmly around his wounded thigh.
“Well, helping us free Dante seems to suggest that you are. Good luck explaining all of this to your superiors. They’ll put all four of you up against a wall for what you’ve done here.”
James nodded in agreement. “Fuck the CLF. We’re independent operators now. I don’t care what anyone’s affiliation is anymore. It’s all meaningless. Just words in the wind. All I know is that anyone who stands in between me and Dr. Karich is my enemy, and I’ll put them down without a second thought.”
Megan swiped another command across her datacuff and the heavy blast door that had been blocking their way slid aside. “We’re in.”
“Perfect timing,” said Michael, pushing back onto his feet. “Matt’s leg should be fine until we can finish up here.”
Haley leaned over and picked up the coil rifle that she had propped up against the wall. “Good, then we need to keep moving. As soon as Dante and your friends make it out of here, our entire distraction is gone, and then we’ll be all that’s left standing against an army.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raphael stepped through the singed doorframe leading into the inner sanctum, firing relentlessly at the remaining sentries now writhing on the ground in agony. One by one they ceased their pathetic squirming, blank stares broadcasting from their once living faces. Dante swept into the room, pausing to peer through a window that looked out over one of the facility’s countless interrogation chambers. Large machines with tubes and wires of all sizes running their duration surrounded a chair equipped with bindings. Next to the seat was a tall table upon which scalpels, pliers, and various other instruments rested. Dr. Reya crept in behind her two companions, trying her best to go unnoticed.
“Dreadful places,” said Dante, more to himself than anyone else. “And yet, so much potential to do good with their technology. The Lord works in mysterious ways.” He looked over at his physician, seeming to notice her for the first time since they’d left his prison block. “You know, when I first got here, they tried desperately to reprogram me like they did to every other two-bit rebel leader they’ve captured since building this place. Day in and day out, they’d use every trick in the book to brainwash me, but they could never do it. See, their techniques only work on the weak willed and the weak minded. I was able to fight back their advances because my faith was strong enough to shield my mind.
“When reprogramming failed, they decided that perhaps they could torture me into breaking and then try again. They assigned a distinctly sadistic doctor to use any means necessary to drive me over the edge. He flayed me, stabbed me, burned me, broke my body but never my spirit. Week after week, month after month, I endured his brutality, sustained only by the grace of the Lord. While I underwent their ‘therapies’, I received countless visions from the hereafter. I’ve seen the end of this war, Dr. Reya. A rebirth is coming, and it will herald death for the doctor and his army of slaves,” he said, pulling back away from the window he had been transfixed on. He proceeded forward down the hall, pausing to read the plates on each door as he went.
“Sir, what exactly are we looking for?” asked Dr. Reya.
“First, we’re going to pay an old friend of mine a visit, and then we need to locate this facility’s Induction chambers. They have records here that outline how to perform the procedure in exquisite detail.”
She nodded. “I see. You mean to destroy this facility’s capacity to carry out Induction.”
“Destroy it? No, no, no, Doctor. I don’t mean to destroy anything. I mean to use it.”
The physician felt her stomach turn, but she didn’t say anoth
er word. She just followed the zealot down the hall, keeping a safe distance from Raphael as he lumbered closely behind his master. His blank face looked gaunter than it had just an hour earlier, and he hadn’t said a word since leaving Dante’s cellblock.
“There it is!” exclaimed Dante, pausing in front of one of the numerous rooms that lined the long hall. “Raphael, if you’d be so kind…”
The Archangel slammed his giant black combat boot into the door, knocking the hardwood off of its hinges. The barricade crashed inward, opening the room to the trio.
“Thank you,” said Dante, stepping over the fallen door into the office. He looked around the room, taking in the exquisite order with which every single item had been placed. There was a symmetry to the furniture that seemed almost obsessive in its execution. Two ferns on either side of the door, two chairs beside the lone, carefully centered desk, and two bookshelves pushed up against the walls across from each other, filled to the brim with a variety of thick-spined encyclopedias and medical texts, each one aligned perfectly with its neighbor. The lone occupant of the room let out a small squeak. Dante stared at the man quivering behind his desk for a moment before proceeding to sit down in one of the chairs adjacent. “Dr. Tellman, so good to see you again. Please, take a seat.”
The man rose shakily and sat back into his leather chair. His pasty skin was moist with perspiration, and the bald spot in the center of his head was highlighted by the damp hair surrounding it. As he adjusted his posture, he noticed Dante staring at the scalpel on his desk.
“Now there’s a tool that I know you’re familiar with,” said the zealot, raising his eyes to the man.
“Please,” started Dr. Tellman, shaking even worse than before. “I was just doing…”
He cut short his thought as Dante raised his hand at him, signaling silence.
“There’s no need to grovel, Doctor. You aren’t in any danger yet, I assure you. Quite the contrary, really. You’ll be coming with me. I have a good deal of work for you. I’m hoping you’ll be up to the challenge.”
