Prosper Snow Series

by Shaun Jeffrey

  A guard stood further along the corridor, arms folded, eyes masked by dark glasses. He stared at Prosper, expression unreadable.

  “They’re human beings. You can’t treat them like this.”

  “They signed up for the program. Once the experiment’s finished, they’ll have their memories wiped a final time and then they’ll be given a new start in life. It’s a win-win situation.”

  Prosper clenched his fists. “The aim of all this,” he waved his arms to encompass the building, “is to see if people can be made to kill. So how exactly is the final part of this … experiment going to be tested?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Well I’m making it my concern.”

  Klement glared at him, his hand gripping the baton handle tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

  Brundle stepped between them and placed a hand on Prosper’s chest. “You’ll have to excuse my associate. He’s new. Doesn’t understand the system.” She turned, gave Prosper a look that said, ‘cool it’.

  Prosper relaxed, letting his shoulders slump. He licked his lips. “Sorry. I guess I’m just keen to catch Clarke before he hurts anyone else.”

  “Well we’re on the same page,” Klement said.

  Prosper doubted that very much. He nodded.

  “So Mr. Klement, do you mind if we continue?” Brundle asked.

  Klement waited a beat, then held his arm out. “This way.” He continued to the next cell, peered through the peephole and then unlocked the door.

  Brundle touched him lightly on the arm. “Do you mind if we just have a quick word with the prisoner – alone.”

  “They’re dangerous.”

  “I realise that. But you’re only outside the room if we need you.”

  Klement looked from Brundle to Prosper, then nodded. “One minute.” He stepped aside.

  Prosper started walking towards the cell when Rogers barred his way with the baton.

  “They’re messing with the experiment.” His features were like granite.

  Klement put his hand on Rogers arm. “Mr. Rogers, let them past. We need them to help us find 142345.”

  Rogers looked from Prosper to Brundle, then lowered his arm and stepped aside. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He glared at Klement.

  Brundle and Prosper entered the cell. A tall gangly man sat on his haunches in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees. He didn’t appear to see them, his gaunt features haunted by shadows.

  “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Brundle asked.

  The man didn’t respond; didn’t even acknowledge them.

  “The other night, prisoner 142345 escaped. Do you know anything about it?”

  The man unfolded himself like a giant stick insect and stood up. He was about seven feet tall. Prosper whistled silently through his teeth. The man looked down at Brundle and nodded. He glanced at the open door and then crouched down. Prosper and Brundle leaned in.

  “The only escape is death,” he whispered, his voice seeming to rattle out of his mouth.

  “142345 escaped,” Prosper said.

  The man nodded. “Yes, he did.”

  He stood up straight again. Prosper and Brundle looked at each other and then walked out of the cell.

  They continued along drab corridors, visiting one cell after another, but none of the prisoners were able to help. As they progressed, Prosper realised that his speculation was correct, and rather than being dangerous, the prisoners seemed scared.

  When they reached the end of the final corridor, they turned to leave when Prosper heard shouting from behind a metal door at the end.

  “Have we interviewed all the prisoners now?”

  Klement pursed his lips. He nodded. “You’ve interviewed all the ones that have had contact with 142345.”

  “So what about the others?”

  “They’re either in solitary, conditioning or they’ve had a memory wipe, so they’d be useless to you.”

  “What’s conditioning?”

  “Training.”

  Prosper looked at Brundle. She shrugged.

  “What’s behind that door?” Prosper asked.

  Klement looked at the door, his eyes seeming to go unfocused as though he was looking right through it.

  “Mr. Klement. What’s behind that door?”

  Klement shook his head as though waking from a dream. “Sorry, what?”

  “I asked what’s behind that door.”

  “That’s the training hall,” Rogers said.

  “Training hall?” Prosper narrowed his eyes. “Training for what?”

  “Survival.”

  “May we have a look?” Brundle asked.

  Klement sighed. “This is all very time consuming. I have an important job to do.”

  “And so do we,” she snapped. “Catching your escaped prisoner. To do that, we need to get an angle on him, so anything that might help is essential.”

  “Was Clarke conditioned?” Prosper asked.

  Klement nodded. “He was very good.”

  “Was?”

  “When he was here, he was very good.”

  Brundle pointed to the door. “The sooner we look beyond that door, the sooner we’re out of your hair.”

  Klement stepped forwards and punched a code on the door, then opened it and walked through.

  Brundle and Prosper followed to find themselves in a dark passage that circled around a pit about forty feet square and ten feet deep. Glass surrounded the pit, allowing them to see the two naked men in the middle of the sand covered floor. The men were in grappling poses, fingers extended as they circled each other. Sweat coated their bodies, mingled with blood that seeped out of various cuts and speckled the sand.

  Both men had stubble for hair. One looked to be in his early thirties and was of medium build with a square face. The other looked older, in his forties, and was slimmer, wirier, his muscles taut, tendons visible in his neck as he clenched his teeth.

  Red stains marred the concrete walls of the pit. Prosper put his hands to the glass and looked down, his jaw dropping.

  “What are they doing?” Brundle asked.

  “Learning.”

  “Learning what?”

  “Survival.”

  The men continued to circle each other. The wiry one feigned a punch, then ran forwards. The man with the square face sidestepped and performed a turning kick to the other man’s stomach, causing him to rear back slightly.

  The wiry man stepped forwards to attack again, and his opponent delivered a sidekick that sent the man flying. He crashed into the wall and slumped to the ground.

  Prosper saw him grab a handful of sand, stand up and run at the other man, flinging the sand at the last minute. The larger man ducked, the sand flying over his head. Then he came up out of his crouch and slammed his palm into the other man’s jaw. The wiry man’s head flew back and his feet left the ground before he crashed back down. Square face ran forwards and started punching the downed man in the head.

  “He’s going to kill him,” Prosper said. “Isn’t anyone going to stop them?”

  Klement held up his hand. “Just wait.”

  “Wait. He’s going to k—” Realisation hit Prosper like a cannonball to the gut. He stared wide-eyed, goose bumps erupting along his arms.

  Survival. Survival of the fittest.

  Blood dripped out of wiry man’s nose and his lip looked as though it had been split in two. Eventually, square face’s assault slowed, his punches lacking any force and he plopped down onto his bottom and wiped a blood soaked hand across his brow.

  “For God’s sake, isn’t anyone going to help him?” Prosper asked.

  “In a moment.”

  Rogers stepped up beside Prosper and looked down, his expression impassive. Square face collapsed onto his back. Blood and sweat glistened across his body, his chest rising and falling fast.

  Prosper saw movement, watched as wiry man stirred; sat up, his top lip pouring with blood. Wit
hout hesitating, he jumped astride square face and head butted him. Prosper felt the blow and he winced in sympathy. Wiry man then stood, kicked square face between the legs. He continued kicking until a bell sounded and then he stopped and backed away. A door opened and two guards entered. They dragged square face out of the room.

  Wiry man looked up and punched the air in victory and then another guard entered and escorted him out.

  “That man was the most timid patient we had,” Klement said. “Now through conditioning, he’s virtually unstoppable.”

  “This is what it’s all about.” Rogers sounded proud of the exhibition they’d just witnessed.

  Prosper backed away from the glass until he hit the wall, the brickwork cold against his hands. A snake slithered through his stomach, turning it in knots and his throat felt dry.

  They had unleashed the nature of the beast.

  CHAPTER 40

  Prosper stood outside the prison and sucked in a deep lungful of air. He looked up at the grey clouds, but couldn’t get the image of the two men out of his head.

  “I can’t believe they’re allowed to get away with that,” Prosper said.

  Brundle leaned against the wall, her eyes glazed. After a moment, she looked across at Prosper. “It’s not our place to judge.”

  “Judge? It’s just downright sick.”

  She shrugged. “You’d be surprised. Lots of things occur that the public doesn’t know about. Because of who we work for, we get to see them.”

  “But those are people in there. People with families, people with hopes, dreams—”

  “Jesus, Prosper, don’t go getting all mushy on me. They’re there through choice. Either they’re dying, or they’re habitual criminals, drug addicts. This is their last chance house.”

  “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”

  Brundle glanced down and then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s none of our business. Our business is catching Clarke before he kills again.”

  It didn’t escape Prosper that for the first time, she used the prisoner’s name. “Okay, so where are we going to look?”

  “We’re going to comb the surrounding area once more. He has to be holed up close by to have seen the breakout.” She pushed away from the wall and started walking towards the archway. Prosper followed.

  “Well if you ask me, none of those prisoners looked as though they wanted to be there. They were asking to be released.”

  “They would have signed a waiver. Remember, they won’t have any previous memories, so they’re experiencing all of this with fresh eyes.”

  “That’s even worse. It’s like someone else signed them up for it and they’re now paying the price.”

  “They’ve probably all got their motives.”

  Prosper shook his head. “Nothing could make me sign up for what they’re going through.”

  “You’d be surprised. Imagine you’re dying, an incurable disease, but someone offers you a way to leave your family a monetary legacy? Are you going to tell me that you’re not going to take it?”

  “But that …”

  “As you said yourself, if they’ve had their memories wiped, it doesn’t matter to them as they’re already gone.”

  “You’re still not convincing me that you’re happy with it.”

  “I’m not trying to convince you of anything.”

  “So what about the final phase, you know, the seeing if they can be made to kill without compunction?”

  “What about it?”

  Prosper skewed his mouth. “Well how are they going to test something like that?”

  Brundle didn’t reply.

  “Think about it. What better way than if the prisoner escapes. That way they’re unaccountable.”

  Brundle stopped and turned to look at Prosper.

  “And the prisoners themselves,” he continued, “they have a get out of jail free card because they’re not responsible for their actions.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying what you must have thought yourself. What if the prisoner didn’t escape? What if he was released?”

  CHAPTER 41

  Prosper leaned against the sink and looked at himself in the mirror – he didn’t like what he saw. How many more people were going to die because of him? How many more people were going to suffer?

  He held the razorblade between the thumb and two fingers of his right hand, the slim piece of metal bending slightly in the centre. One quick slice. One goddamn cut and all the pain would go away.

  The door crashed open and Leon ran in. “Need to go toilet!”

  Prosper dropped the razorblade. The metal sliver tinkled around the sink.

  “Dad, what’s the matter?”

  Prosper wiped his tears away and dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him close, burying his head in his son’s hair, smelling the aroma of strawberry shampoo.

  “You’re strangling me.”

  Prosper eased his grip but didn’t let go. “I love you, son.”

  “What’s wrong? You’re crying.”

  “I’m … I’m just being silly.” He released his grip. Leon stepped back, looked at his dad in confusion, then stepped forwards and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I love you too. Now I need to pee.”

  Despite himself, Prosper cracked a smile. He stood up, retrieved the razorblade and put it back in the medicine cabinet beside the sink, then walked out of the bathroom.

  No matter how bad things were, he couldn’t take his own life, not when he knew how much heartache it would cause his family. No, he had to channel his anger at the people who deserved it.

  Prosper exited the house and jumped into his car. It was time to take the power back. Omni ope atque opera – Whatever it takes to get the job done.

  “You’re keen today,” Sally Metcalfe said as Prosper signed for his weapon.

  “Just want to get some practice in.”

  Sally handed the gun across with some ammunition. “Practice makes perfect. In this case, it can also save lives.” She smiled.

  Prosper nodded and walked through to the firing range. He continued past the shooting lanes and went through a door marked ‘Tactical Shooting Range’ at the opposite end and found himself in a breezeblock corridor. There was a window on the wall to the right, behind which sat a man with black hair. He was surrounded by television monitors and computers.

  “Morning,” Prosper said.

  The man looked up, brow furrowed. “Don’t recognise you. First time?”

  Prosper nodded.

  “Well you’ll find this is one of the most modern tactical shooting ranges in existence.”

  “So how does it work?”

  “Unlike a simple shooting range, it offers training on timing, threat evaluation and decision-making skills using moving targets in various simulations.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “It gives it a more realistic feel. So what sort of situation are you looking to try?”

  Prosper stroked his chin. “I just want to kill bad guys.”

  The man shrugged. “Don’t we all? OK, I’ll give you a hostage situation. So just follow the corridor, and we’ll get the ball rolling. Just remember, evaluate the situation before firing. Not everyone in there is a threat. Choose your targets carefully.”

  “OK, thanks.” Prosper headed along the corridor and through a door at the far end, finding himself in a brightly lit foyer with two more doors. He held his gun in both hands; barrel pointed at the ground, and made his way towards the door on the right. He nudged it open and peered through, saw another corridor about forty feet long, and entered. The door swung shut behind him with a click.

  He could hear voices in the distance, but couldn’t work out what they were saying, so he started along the corridor. When he was about halfway along, the lights went out, leaving him drowning in darkness.

  Prosper froze, his finger tensed on the trigger. All of a sudden he saw movement up ahead a
nd a shape rushed towards him. Prosper raised his arms and aimed. The lights flickered, allowing him a brief glimpse of a figure carrying something. He recalled the man’s words, ‘evaluate the situation before firing’ and he hesitated. The lights flickered again and he made out that it was a woman carrying a baby. He stepped aside and the figure swept past and disappeared.

  Even though the figure had only been a motorised mannequin, it had been real enough to make Prosper feel nervous. Blood pumped through his veins and his heart thudded.

  The lights flickered like indoor lightning, and he saw another figure, another woman carrying another baby. Prosper started to lower his weapon. The lights flashed again and he saw this woman was armed. He raised his weapon, didn’t want to hit the baby, so took what he assumed would be head shots, firing two rounds.

  The figure stopped and the lights went on, allowing him to see one of the bullets had hit its target. Red emergency lights started flashing, filling the corridor with hellish illumination.

  Prosper continued, progressing from room to room, honing his skills. When he eventually finished the course, he found himself in a corridor on the opposite side to where he entered.

  The man with black hair gave Prosper an appreciative nod. He pressed some keys and glanced at a monitor. “For your first time, you did well - had good reaction times. You took out fifteen bad guys, twelve with kill shots. You did injure two innocent bystanders, but their injuries wouldn’t be life threatening.”

  Prosper was still buzzing, but he was a little disappointed that he had hit two innocent people. He thanked the man, then made his way out of the building. Simulations were one thing, but he knew that in real life, the bad guys were going to fight back.

  Prosper entered the research facility and made his way to Klement’s office. Klement looked up as he entered.

  “Back again?”

  Prosper stepped up to the desk. “You know what I think? I think Peter Clarke was released on purpose to test your theory into whether he would kill.”