by Hanks, Greg
“Jonas Repik announces Australia as newest Vax destination,” he read. As he continued, the rest of us sat quietly, gathering every speck of information and storing it in our vaults. We needed to know everything that came out of GenoTec, and everything that went in. We had become trained listeners, careful to not let one ounce of data go unchecked.
Bollis either read from the Reach, one of the more prominent sites published by GenoTec, or the Pigpen, a more realistic view of the world written by the citizens of Manhattan. The two web pages were our “light reading.” The Reach gave us concise information about what GenoTec was doing with research, communications, and anything proactive. The Pigpen let us know how the world was taking all of it. Dodge and I particularly got a kick out of the Pigpen’s often ruthless posts that escaped GenoTec’s proofreaders.
“Listen to this,” said Bollis, sitting up in his chair. “After a second look at the body of Archturus Slate, experts are saying that it might not be the actual corpse of the former CEO. GenoTec has been assuring people that it is a simple fluke. Jonas Repik denies all propositions that Slate may yet be still alive.”
“Alive?” repeated Dodge. “You know those scientists are definitely going to wind up in some dumpster in the next few weeks.”
“How would something like that even leak?” I asked.
“Not all of GenoTec is the enemy,” affirmed Bollis. “If he is still alive, why not show himself?”
“Well, it was Repik who sent those men, right?” I hypothesized. “Maybe Slate’s trying to get revenge or something.”
“Great,” said Dodge, handing the crossword to Justin and standing up. “Another unanswered question.” He cleaned his dirty dishes and leaned against the sink.
“Hey,” said Tara, “speaking of questions, have you guys seen Vane lately?”
All eyes turned to her.
“What do you mean?” asked Bollis.
“I’ve seen him just standing in front of the Corrupt Vista doors.”
“Just standing there?” I asked. It could really only mean one thing.
She nodded and said, “I’m pretty certain it means—”
“We’ve got another job comin’ up,” finished Dodge.
Justin shifted in his chair and said, “The Corrupt Vista? You bucket-sacks are screwed.”
“Do we have any idea what caused the shutdown?” asked Tara.
Bollis shook his head.
I sighed and concluded, “If we’re going there, I guess I need to watch the footage again.”
33
I observed the tiny particles of pink powder dissolve into my water. It was another day of training, and I was determined to propel myself into new levels. As I spun the contents with a utensil, Dodge and Bollis came down the corner of Quarter.
There was such a deep bond between those two. I had noticed it from the beginning, but with every interaction they held, it became stronger. Dodge was so happy-go-lucky, even during this crazy time. His personality brought something unique and fresh to the group. While he provided a steady flow of humor, Bollis was the one who kept things from falling apart. He maintained composure so easily and his vision was undeterred. He always saw the good in Tara, Justin, and I, even when all odds were against us. The two friends definitely complemented one another.
“ ‘Gettin’ huge’ with Mark Wenton!” announced Dodge, like it was some kind of television program. He grabbed a quick breakfast from the fridge.
“I only hope,” I said, putting away the container of pre-workout supplement.
“You’re with Vex today, right?” asked Bollis, fixing something on his suit.
“Yep.”
I received a slap on the back from Dodge. “Good luck, dude. I hope this time goes much better.” He turned to Bollis and said, “You ready, old man?”
“Says the guy who’s only three years younger than me?” Bollis retaliated.
“Are you two sparring with us?” I asked.
“We’re headed topside, my friend,” said Dodge with a wide grin.
“Through Liberty,” added Bollis.
Before I could ask why, they were saying their goodbyes, leaving me alone with my half-mixed cup of slosh.
That’s the first time they’ve left since . . .
Then someone came down the hallway that almost made me spit out the last of my drink. Tara glided across the floor, wearing her Undersuit like a billion dollar dress. It curved at all the right places, leaving me breathless. Maybe it was the energy starting to pump through me from the supplement, but something about her today just sang.
“Vane’s teaching me how to use the RPG today,” she told me. She was brimming with excitement.
Ever since we had officially accepted Genesis, it was like a grenade had exploded inside of her. She was already a marksman with the rifle, a dexterous disarmer, and something of a pupil to Vane. I admired her connection to Genesis, but I had the slightest wish that we could be spending more time together.
Okay, it wasn’t the slightest wish. Damn it, I wanted us to be together.
“Excellent,” I replied. I set my glass in the sink and we exchanged stories for a minute.
Since that first night in the Underbed, we hadn’t really had another intimate moment. For a month, we were simply machines, working our bodies to the bone in order to become supreme soldiers. I almost wondered if she had lost the emotion she once had for me. I certainly hadn’t lost mine.
“You better get ready,” she concluded, “Vexin’s not much for tardiness.” Then she was gone.
I pondered our relationship for a few more minutes. I think a part of me knew this would happen. Her personality was so accepting and outgoing. She might have been reluctant and scared at first, but she had since thrown those precautions out the window. She had blossomed, but hadn’t taken me with her.
I audibly sighed, alone in the kitchen.
“Mark!” Vexin’s voice burst out from overhead. “If you’re not here in ten minutes, I’ll kick your ass in Quarter if I have to.”
I dashed to my room and opened my bedside cache. It was a small chest, containing my Undersuit. Genesis had two suits for our little gang. First, was the stretchy, yet constricting Undersuit. I shoved my feet into the plush booties, pulled the wetsuit-like leggings up to my waist, and wrenched the hip-clamps to their positions. Next, I donned the restrictive chest piece and sleeves. I clamped down the mini-latches by my ribs and my skeleton forcefully displaced into optimal positions. I inhaled deeply and locked the last clamp on my neck.
It was like walking on the moon. I felt so light and agile. My muscles were supported in every way imaginable. The suit was designed to empower the user with increased mobility, flexibility, and overall prowess. It was indeed a stealth suit, adequately giving each member of Genesis a distinct advantage.
The second suit provided by Genesis was called the Oversuit. It might have been called a “suit”, but in reality, it was a collection of plastic-metal plating that covered important portions of our bodies. Protecting the chest, shoulders, arms, torso, legs, and feet, the Oversuit could allow us to walk into a barrage of bullets without feeling a thing. While the GenoTec soldiers were mainly armored to the teeth, we had the advantage of flexibility. Lastly, each of us came with a standard helmet. They were form-fitting and utilized a large visor.
I approached the great mirror in Quarter’s arced hallway. I looked stronger, bulkier, yet lean and quick. Instead of what used to be flabby muscles, there were thick, resilient bricks, protruding from the suit. My black hair was cut short and my face was clean-shaven. I stared into my new eyes, realizing Vane’s premonition about Tara and I was coming true. The thought of Vane dissolved into Vexin’s venom-doused image and I bounded to The Break.
“Welcome to the Training Chamber, Mark,” said Aiya in her soothing voice.
I ignored her and jogged into Simone’s room, crossing to the Sparring Chamber. As I was about to drench Vexin in my apologies, I traversed the threshold only to be imme
diately tackled to the bouncy floor.
“Oof!”
We tumbled on the springy ground, and Vexin managed to grasp me by the chest, mid-roll, and hurl me further across the mats.
That’s what I got for being late.
I picked myself up just as he bounded toward me. This time I readied myself and we faced each other in an intense fashion. His blonde hair had grown a bit since our initiation into Genesis, thin and dashing. His nose was flared and his eyes glared me down with their white, piercing beams.
He lunged at me, and I backed away, but he attacked again before I could register his movements. He tried to take me down with a low shoulder, but I managed to somewhat hold him steady. We stood there on the mat, struggling like two teenagers in an arm wrestling match. He forced me to one knee, which luckily gave me enough leverage to spin him to the ground.
But his hands locked onto my torso again and I was flung off. I sprang like a panther and we clashed again, this time falling to the mats and wrestling. He put me into a headlock, which I reversed and barred his arm against my chest. This only worked for a few seconds, as his foot reached to unlatch mine and we were at it again, finding positions to hold each other down.
After a sweaty ten minutes had passed, I asked, “Do we want to actually spar? Or is this how it’s gonna be today?”
He spat at the floor and grinned. “Shouldn’t have been late.”
We went at it again for another fifteen minutes, and he finally managed to pin me successfully. As I collected myself from the exhausting match, I marveled at the amount of time we had spent. Never in my entire time here had we managed to have a thirty-minute session of tiring combat. We were getting stronger, more durable, and less winded. It was almost terrifying.
“Let’s lift for the next hour, and come back to work with weapons,” said Vexin, unclamping his chest piece, revealing a cut, muscular trunk, littered with scars and recent bruises.
I nodded through heavy breaths and we moved toward the back of the room to use the weights.
As we spotted each other, I prodded Vexin about Bollis and Dodge going topside.
“They’re just doing a job,” he answered, grunting as he lifted his final repetition on the bench.
“So, you don’t even know about it?”
“It’s just another piece to the plan, Mark,” he got up, and we switched places. “We really only have one more thing to do.”
I stopped. “What do you mean?”
“Once you’ve finished another month of training, we’ll be ready to move on the Manhattan Branch, then to Jersey City.”
“How come I’ve never heard this?”
“Never asked, I guess.”
I scrunched my face and sent the questions to the back of my mind for now. My last repetition was done in seconds as I forced the bar with more exertion.
Once we had gotten our fill, we moved to the pads and each grabbed a rifle from one of the racks. We relocated to the center of the room, only an arm’s length away from each other.
Even though my muscles were swollen and my bones moaned for relief, we continued. We were relentless.
“We’ll start where we left off,” he commanded, preparing himself. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I stared into his white eyes, grasped my false rifle tightly, and placed my left foot a little in front of me.
Our rifles hit like hot iron as I attempted to knock him off balance. His right foot caught him, and he began to raise his weapon. In what seemed like slow motion, I swiped the tip of his rifle with the butt of mine, successfully disarming him. He remained emotionless as I rose my barrel inches from his nose.
“Again,” he growled.
For another long session, Vexin taught me different techniques involving close quarter combat. I swear we had run through every scenario possible. I was bruised, crunched, and aching like a rusty skeleton. I had suffered two dislocations, a nasty hyperextension, and three pulled ligaments. Although I felt like putty every time I left the sparring chamber, I enjoyed Vexin’s sessions the most. While extremely brutal, they provided me with the most realistic experience.
I looked up at him from the flat of my back, nose running with blood and left eye socket black as tar. That was it—the last session for today. I reached for his dainty hand and barely received help as I mustered myself onto two legs again. I winced and hobbled, detaching my chest piece and discarding it to the floor.
“Today was better,” he said. His voice acidic and gravelly. “You’re not a wimp anymore.”
I stretched my back, bending down to reach my toes. I probably should have said “thank you” at least. Getting any sort of compliment from Vexin was one of the great wonders of the world. But there was something sprouting up in me. I don’t know why, but I wanted to train alone for a little longer.
“You coming?” he asked, looking back before he crossed the threshold.
I brought myself back up, filled with vigor.
“You know what?” I walked away. “I think I’ll stay a little longer.”
I could feel the salty beams from his eyes cutting into the wounds on my back. But it didn’t matter. Inside of my bones there was burning direction. I was driven, activated, and obsessed.
I jumped up and clutched the pull up bar at the end of the room and began to work myself to exhaustion. I felt the splitting of my muscles, the white hot, searing activation of growth. I ran ladders, back and forth on the plush, buoyant carpeting. My sweat ran with me, falling beside and singeing my surroundings. I grabbed a barbell and did a set of weighted lunges across the length of the room.
I was on fire. My vision had never been clearer. I was some kind of monster. I could almost feel the horns protruding from my skull. I felt like a waterfall, continuously moving and churning into oblivion.
Thank God I had drugs and technology to help cope with pain and repair.
As I continued to train, I began thinking of my first few times in this room. I was drawn into a memory.
About a month ago, Bollis stood across from Tara and I, teaching us different forms of hand-to-hand combat. It was our first time learning how to fight. We were both awkward and reticent to commit. We hadn’t even really accepted Genesis yet. The more we trained, though, the more addicted we became. Between Simone’s extensive neurological implantation and Bollis’ mixed martial arts training, Tara and I were transformed into confident combatants.
Sifting through more nostalgia, I recounted Dodge showing us how to move without a sound, Vexin making us discover our weaknesses, and Vane tying it all together with psychological experiments. The exhilaration. The dedication. The passion. I found myself yearning for those times. I must have been going crazy.
I remembered the three days of fear extinction. Sitting in Simone’s shackles, being subconsciously held at gunpoint, firing upon another human, and watching someone die before my eyes. For hours we replayed those scenarios. We became exposed on all levels. Even though the adrenaline and the concern never faded, I simply wasn’t afraid anymore. I could look someone in the eyes without hesitating to kill them.
It was utterly sick. And not the Justin kind of “sick.”
It was brainwashing. It was forfeiting a piece of me that I would never get back. I had sold my soul to war.
After who knows how long, my next round of exercises consisted of acrobatic training. A week ago, I shockingly learned an essential aspect of Genesis. I replayed Bollis run, cartwheel into a back handspring and flip, landing on his feet gracefully. I watched as Dodge did a precise aerial over Tara, his back barely whisking over hers. It wasn’t so much about being able to perform an Olympic spin over an enemy, but rather the flexibility and added finesse that came from acrobatics.
I took my stance at the back of the room. I remembered what they had told me. Focus. Tuck. Eyes open. Breathe. I stared down the wall at the other end of the chamber and took off, leaving trails of fire behind. I bounded across the floor and sent the signal to my brain. I hadn’t complet
ed this one before. This was it.
I brought my arms forward as quick as I could, leapt up into my attempted gainer and tried to throw myself into a spin . . .
My shoulder hit the padded floor and I crumpled to a lumpy heap.
In the distance, I heard startling applause.
Expecting—more like hoping—to see Tara standing at the entrance, I looked up from my collapsed state only to find Vane approaching.
“Don’t worry,” he said amiably, “those ones are the hardest, in my opinion.”
I brought myself up and felt embarrassed.
“You still have a month left, Mark. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
My breathing was heavy and my legs couldn’t find the energy to keep me aloft for too much longer. He stepped closer to me and narrowed his eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. Up close, Vane looked older, gaunter and yet just as intimidating.
Before I spoke, I noticed a tiny crease in his hairline. “Just training,” I stammered through wheezes.
“No, you’re not.” He waltzed around me, peering at my red skin and multiple bruises. “Vexin really worked you, didn’t he?”
I tried to collect myself. I felt drained now that he was here.
“Why are you really here, Mark?”
I looked at the floor, wondering if it would be worth it to say anything. If I kept quiet, he would think something was wrong.
“I’m not really sure. Something’s just—er—gotten into me.” I started to walk back to the entrance. I picked up my chest piece just as Vane hit me with a searing dart.
“It’s Tara, isn’t it?”
The words echoed and found resonance in my bones. I gripped the collar of my chest piece and turned to face him.
“That’s the real reason?” He stepped closer, delving deep into my mind.
It was quiet for at least a minute. His perceptions of my emotions were even greater than my own.
I blurted out my thoughts, unsuccessfully keeping them at bay. “I just feel like we haven’t spent much time together.”
He thought for a moment, his gaze locked onto mine. But there were no words of comfort to follow.
