by Drew Avera
"How so?"
Gosney pulled his necktie loose and cleared his throat. "We are having him followed."
I couldn't fight back the scoff before it left my lips. "Followed? He came here accusing me of being behind his wife's death. If you were following him, then he never should have made it into the elevator."
"I understand, sir. Our people were instructed not to interfere in any way unless the situation warranted it. The Guard detail was more than sufficient at removing the threat without our people revealing themselves."
"What kind of situation would warrant your people's involvement?"
"Interaction with the real killer, sir."
"What is your plan if that is to happen?" I anticipated his answer with great expectancy. This was exactly why I needed to hire people to handle these situations to keep me out of the spotlight.
Gosney shifted in his seat and gazed out the window. "Both targets will be eliminated."
I nodded, holding my breath as I gathered my thoughts. "Do you know what's happening as we speak?"
He shrugged. "No, sir. I do not."
I rose and paced the room. "The Agency is stalking the agent they assigned to Marada's assassination and reports of gunfire are being reported in Outer Downtown. It's enough of a mess that Pontiff Cherum came to my office lamenting about it. I know the Guard does not have police jurisdiction there, but if this situation is to get resolved, you may need to put actions in place to prevent this spark from becoming a raging fire."
"I don't have the authority, sir. That kind of action requires a rank beyond my station. I can certainly take a report and feed it upline in hopes that my supervisor takes notice."
"That isn't good enough," I spat. My voice betrayed the composure I struggled to maintain. It was like walking on grease with bare feet. Once you overcorrected in one direction, you were certain to fall the other way. I bit my tongue and took a deep breath, calming myself as much as the situation allowed. "If you can't put resources on the rogue agent, then neutralize Halem."
"How so?" Gosney asked.
I didn't resist the urge to smirk as the answer flowed from my lips. "Grief is a horrible punishment that not everyone can survive. Perhaps Halem will give into the darkness of depression and not make it out the other side?"
Gosney rose from his seat and approached me by the window. "Consider it done."
17
Castor
The room spun as I writhed in pain. I could hardly breathe while the muffled sound of gunfire filled my ears. It was a cacophony of sensations I struggled to differentiate from each other, like sensory overload dialed to the max. it was relentless. With it, the sharp dagger of pain returned behind my eye, my punishment for acting outside the confines of my programming. I recognized it for what it truly was. I was the lion and it was the whip.
I just wished I knew who controlled it, so I could return the favor. I was tired of being their puppet to command. I wanted my own life. I wanted to be free. Even if it meant I would die.
I turned over, lying prolapsed on the floor as the end neared. I waited for it. Hell, I welcomed it. Anything to move on from this mortal realm and descend into the eternal darkness where I belonged.
"Get up!" Halem shouted. I recognized the panicked voice of my former partner. He seemed to hover above me, my vision unable to focus correctly through the blur of tears. "If you want to live, get up." He snatched me up by the collar as another round struck my shoulder, instantly driving me back towards the floor. I was too weak to fight back.
I felt Halem pat me down, searching my body as I lingered somewhere between life and death. I hoped for the latter, but I knew better than to expect it. A satisfied exhale escaped his lips before he grabbed my collar and dragged me towards the kitchen, behind the island.
"If you're going to die, it'll be my doing," he whispered. Or, at least I thought it was a whisper. The sound of his return fire sounded the same level as his voice when he spoke.
I looked up, losing touch with reality as I subconsciously counted the imperfections in the ceiling. The swirls of white plaster resembled seashells on a sandy beach. It was like peace in the midst of war. A moment later, the shots stopped, and the ringing in my ears screamed louder. No longer dulled by the report of gunfire.
"Halem Scrimpshire, you are charged with aiding a felon in the murder of Marada Scrimpshire. If you want the opportunity for a fair trial, then lower your weapon and step out peacefully."
"Aiding a felon, are you serious? This man came to me and the next thing I knew, you opened fire on us!"
I watched Halem glance from side to side, the panic causing him to lose touch with the calm composure necessary to get through such an ordeal. He wasn't trained for this kind of combat. Not like I was.
"This is your last chance. Drop the weapon and come out slowly. We have a kill order if you don't surrender. Think about the justice that Marada deserves." It was a low blow, even if the charges were true. More than that, it was a tug on his chain and they knew what kind of response he would give. His temper would get the better of him and he would pop up, possibly even open fire on them. That gave them the authority to exercise deadly force and silence the truth, whether he knew everything or not.
"God—" Halem started to speak before placing the gun on the floor between us. I knew what followed, and it wasn't what he expected.
"Don't do it," I croaked, the pain in my shoulder erupted again as I shifted to my side. "It's a trap."
"Of course, it's a trap," he spat, his voice low, or my hearing was still half gone. "How could you do this to us?"
The accusation didn't feel real. His words were just logic floating against a stiff breeze. They meant nothing to me, but I knew they should. "They'll come through that door in less than a minute. If you want to live to get out of here, I suggest you leave me behind and go out a window."
He looked down at me, his mouth opened as if he wanted to respond. Finally, he said, "I'm four stories up. There's nowhere to go."
"Use the balconies as a ladder. It might hurt, but you won't fall the entire distance."
"Sounds like you've done it before," he said, taking a moment to peek around the counter.
"A few times, yes."
He glared at me, suspicion scrawled across his face. "What about you?"
"You want me dead. Either way, you get what you want. Only if you take my advice, then you might get the chance to avenge your wife," I said. I could tell by his expression that my words resonated with him.
"All I need is evidence of Tetrim's involvement and I'll hang him over a building before dropping him to his death. A bullet is too good for him," Halem said coldly.
"Too bad it wasn't Tetrim," I replied, trying to sit up to see if it helped my breathing. If anything, it grew worse, but I couldn't find a reason to care. My time was limited anyway.
"What do you mean?" Halem asked, his typical panicked expression returned.
I looked at him and tried to muster something resembling empathy, but I had the feeling this body didn't respond in the same way as my former one. For all I knew, the only change in my appearance was the widening of my eyes. "My orders came via video call from Pontiff Cherum."
Halem appeared as shocked as I had ever seen him, and his line of work came with wild situations none of us ever wanted to talk about. "Then I'll kill him too," Halem replied.
The sound of footsteps approaching drew his attention away from me.
"You're running out of time," I warned, grabbing the gun and holding it up to give to him. "You have two choices. Run or fight. Are you sure fighting is worth the risk?"
He took the gun from my hand and racked a round. "I'm not running. But when this is over, I'm going to kill you too."
I scoffed. "You better hurry. I might bleed out before you get the chance."
He glanced over at me as I drooped back to the floor, exhausted from our exchange, and all I did was talk. A moment later, three men stormed through the front door in a hail o
f gunfire.
I closed my eyes and waited for it to be over. I no longer cared about the mission. I just wanted my existence to cease. It didn't seem like too much to ask considering I should have died five years ago. Perhaps I was already dead, but I was just too stupid to recognize it.
For that, I certainly hoped it was not true because that would mean hell actually existed.
18
Halem
They taught us stress management and to remain calm under fire during our training at the academy, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Bleeding next to me on the floor lay my wife's killer, and barging through my door with military grade weapons was whatever organization aimed to silence both of us permanently. They wore Guard uniforms, but given how crazy everything was, I wouldn't doubt if these were Agency killers in disguise.
Marada would have thought I was crazy for suggesting a conspiracy was unfolding, but as sure as I was kneeling behind our kitchen island with my heart beating faster than I could count, the best evidence for said conspiracy was shooting up the apartment we shared.
They destroyed every peaceful memory, I once shared with her in the process.
"There's only three of them, do you have another weapon on you?" I asked.
A half-hearted moan was the only reply coming from the man I used to know. Up close, it was easy to see how disfigured he was. Whatever means they used to replace his face with someone else's left faded scar lines dividing his head into thirds. I could see them even with his longish hair attempting to mask them. How I hadn't noticed before was beyond me. Perhaps he wore makeup to better conceal the scars at the gala, but that wasn't important right now.
Getting out of here alive was.
Another round exploded above my head, shattering glass, causing it to rain down on me. I subconsciously untucked my shirt and allowed the fragmented glass to fall out the bottom from where it entered through the neck hole. I did this while peering through a small hole in the cabinet giving me less than thirty-percent visibility on the other side. Without sticking my head out to display it as a target, it was the best I could do.
"It's time to give up, Halem. Surrender now, or you'll be hauled out in a body bag."
"On whose authority?" I demanded. Doran said Pontiff Cherum orchestrated this, but I had my doubts. I met the man on more than a few occasions. He was too weak-minded to pull something off like this. Then again, his weakness of character could have been a ruse for all I knew. Either way, I was as good as dead, and the truth would die with me.
"On behalf of the authority vested in me by the World Council. You are wanted for conspiracy to murder your wife. Any further resistance will be met with deadly force. Do you understand?" The Guardsman barked.
If he was truly a Guardsman, then maybe this wasn't a silencing mission, but actual justice. Unfortunately, they had the wrong guy complicit with the conspiracy they wanted to charge me with. "I had nothing to do with it," I said. "It was this man you already shot. He admitted to killing her."
"You can put that in your testimony. We will work it out from there. Now, come out with your hands up or we'll be forced to end you where you stand."
I turned my head to look at Doran. He appeared barely conscious, most likely from blood loss. Still, his warning of this being a trap gnawed at me. The logical part of me wanted to surrender, but my suspicions wouldn't let me. "Leave me and I'll surrender to the Guard first thing in the morning. I have unfinished business," I said.
"You know it doesn't work that way. You'll come out now. Don't make us come and get you."
I heard radio chatter in the background but couldn't make it out. At least not all of it. The last few words hung in the air all-too-clearly. "End him now and put this behind us!" the voice was definitely not Pontiff Cherum.
Thought so.
"Is that Councilman Tetrim?" I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the static of their radios and their murmuring back and forth.
"Yes, it is. He's the head of the investigation. We report to him. I'm assuming you heard him. If you don't come out, we end you." The matter of fact tone in his voice sounded like condescension. All it did was increase my paranoia. If you could still call me paranoid as my suspicions were painfully true.
"Funny story. Tetrim had it out for my wife. This man you shot, who is the killer, said Pontiff Cherum conspired with him to murder Marada. So, the fact Tetrim is heading the investigation is suspect, wouldn't you say?"
One of the men spoke to another before responding. "I thought you said it would be a funny story."
"Yeah," I said. "But I lied."
I rose from behind the island and fired the weapon in rapid succession. Each bullet meeting its intended target in a display of marksmanship I hadn't demonstrated in years. Unfortunately, their body armor was resistant to the bullets and all my actions did was reveal my position.
Shit.
The Guardsman closest to me shook his head with a snide grin on his face before tossing a frag grenade in my direction. I watched it spin closer to me in slow motion.
Everything I knew about the grenade flashed in my mind. It was a tool to neutralize multiple targets at once. It was deadly. It was only four feet away from me and I was still standing there gawking at it as if I was waiting for it to do a magic trick.
I saw movement from the corner of my eye as the grenade began to fall towards the floor. Like a shadow devouring the light as the sun fades behind the horizon, Doran sprang up and struck the grenade with a cast-iron skillet, propelling it back towards the Guardsmen. Before it exploded, he jerked me down by the collar, sending me to the floor hard enough to smash my head against the tile. The sound of shrapnel piercing the walls and surround cabinets was reminiscent of the gunfire preceding it. But hearing the gurgling sound of the fallen Guardsmen in the doorway gave me a sickening sense of satisfaction.
I wanted to hate myself for it, but strangely, it felt too much like a victory for me not to appreciate it.
"What the…I thought you were dead," I said, almost stammering as I looked at him, his pale, sickening face gazing back at me.
"Adrenaline pump," he replied, patting himself on the chest as he eased towards the corner of the island to look at the damage done. Sitting on the floor next to me, the cast-iron skillet looked unimposing, a far cry from the fact it was used to put down three men at once.
"Any other upgrades they gave you?" I asked, climbing to my feet and limping behind Doran as he approached the men. One of them was dead, but the other two still gurgled as they struggled to breathe, blood bubbled from their mouths and nostrils as it slowly choked them.
Doran reached down and grabbed one of the guns on the floor and quickly dispatched the survivors. "No need for these guys to suffer unnecessarily," he said as he reached down for another weapon and tossed it to me.
I caught it in midair and glanced back at him. "How considerate," I said, checking the gun before placing it in my pocket. I felt naked without my shoulder holster, but the Guard still had my service weapon.
"I'm not a monster unless they manipulate me into being one," he said, his voice low. I could tell he had trouble breathing, but the adrenaline pump appeared to do a bit more than keep him upright. He seemed energized.
"I'll keep that in mind between my thoughts of you killing my wife," I replied.
He glared at me, no remorse on his face at all. I could barely see anything in his neutral expression. The skin hung like a mask in front of the familiar eyes peering back at me. "I would not have done it if not compelled to do so."
"What are you, a drone? How could you not stop yourself? You used to be a cop like me."
His head tilted as he brought a hand up to his face, covering his right eye. I watched him flinch like he was in pain, but only for a moment. "I'm worse than that, Halem. I'm two people trapped in one vessel. Each time the real me fights to take control, they punish me and force me into compliance. Sometimes, my thoughts aren't my own. It's like being trapped in a serial
killer's body and there's no way out."
"How do they do it?" I asked, puzzled by his words. Regardless of his excuse, I wanted to hate him for what he did to Marada. It would be easy to pull the gun on him and end him where he stood. He earned that much in the part he played in my wife's death. Even if what he said was true, he killed her. Marada deserved justice.
He shrugged. "They call it programming. I have so many electronic devices in my body that I'm practically a cyborg. I didn't know this technology was real until I woke up with a new face. Now, every day is a nightmare."
A long silence followed as I looked around the room. Three dead Guardsmen and my wife's killer in front of me. Never mind the fact he was once a friend, my partner on the force. "Are they controlling you now?" I asked. It seemed a reasonable question given the circumstances.
"No, but they're trying to hack my mind. I think there's a chip behind my eye and they try to shock me into submission. Imagine having a thousand flaming ice picks driven into your brain at once. It's terrible and I've resisted it as much as I can, but it's only a matter of time before they regain control." The way he described it sounded like torture.
"What happens when they succeed?"
He glanced at the bodies on the floor, then back at me. "I'll probably end up killing you too."
An awkward silence followed before I broke it. "You said Pontiff Cherum hired you for the assassination?"
He nodded, kneeling to rifle through a fallen Guardsmen's pockets for supplies. He pulled off the belt and holster and tossed it to me. "It was all on video, but it was him."
"You had no orders from Tetrim?"
"No. Just Cherum. The feed would ping on my comm before deleting. But I have access to the raw files. I downloaded them to a server they don't know about. I can prove his involvement."
"How?" I asked, skeptical of not only Cherum's connection but also Doran's ability to provide the evidence. It was challenging to see someone I thought was dead standing before me with a different face and believe what he had to say. That was without the fact he was now a murderer staining my opinion of him. It was too surreal to not be fictitious.
