by Hanks, Greg
And then at once, our bodies collapsed into each other, entrapped by our tightly wrapped arms. There was no sound, no exclamation of joy, just the simple yet profound assurance that we were both alive—together.
But that wasn’t good enough. I pulled us apart and smiled energetically at her curious face and laughed.
“We’re alive! We made it!” I exclaimed.
I picked her up by her waist and swung her around as she clasped onto my head, laughing. I brought her down and planted the biggest kiss I could muster on her irresistible lips.
45
“Justin!”
The boy’s eyes flickered and instantly his frail body felt the pounding, excruciating pains of the last five days. He could hardly feel his legs. His muscles were drained of mobility and strength. A huge, brown and black bruise covered his right arm. He was naked, except for the ripped pair of blue scrub bottoms loosely held around his waist.
Again, the voice shattered his sleep, calling his name and demanding that he get up.
“Can you hear me?”
Justin’s eyes shot open. Horrified breaths seized his lungs, and his body started convulsing. The only thing he could see were the piercing black eyes of Vane staring down at him from above.
The room was as white and blinding as the sun’s glare. A large, circular overhead lamp with six clustered lights hung above Justin. To his right was a sleek touch screen, supported by a swivel arm. He was lying on a white medical table, his arms and legs strapped down by polished robotic sleeves.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Vane tried to comfort, pulling the screen to his waist. He began to figure his way around the system to release the twitching eleven-year-old.
Justin couldn’t seem to say anything coherent. His lungs felt heavy, like they were filled with a gooey substance. He was inclined to cough, but nothing came. Everything was irritating him to the point of pure torture.
As Justin’s eyes violently scanned the room, he spotted a silenced pistol holstered in one of Vane’s thigh straps. Vane’s Undersuit was cut and ripped in various places. The leader’s face looked worn; hairs askew, eyes bloodshot. The only thing remaining of the old Vane was the flared nostrils and stern look of determination.
Focus failed Justin, and the boy began to writhe once more.
“Ah,” said Vane in a calm, triumphant tone. “Here we go.”
With a quick flourish, Vane tapped the glass screen and pushed it aside. Justin’s restraints receded into the table and became flush with the surface. Vane scooped the boy in his arms and carried him to the other end of the room, next to a tower of drawers.
Justin mumbled indistinctly. His small body felt cold and slightly damp to Vane, who wanted nothing more than to stuff Justin in one of the drawers and continue on without someone to worry about. But he didn’t. He crouched down and propped him up on one knee, searching the bottom drawer for anything that would relieve Justin of his suffering.
“Hold still, damn it!” Vane chided, practically punching the release glyph on the second drawer.
The sleek compartment slid open and Vane relaxed a little. Organized in perfect rows lived tiny vials filled with a pale blue liquid. He snatched one with his free hand, and attached it to the injection mechanism that came partnered with each tube. With the small glass vial sticking out of the back of the gun-like device, he impaled Justin’s leg.
In a matter of seconds, Justin’s body reverted to a calm state and he started to breathe normally. Vane shut the drawer just as the door behind them slid open.
“Hey!” shouted a nasally male voice.
Vane’s movements were automatic.
The unlucky, yellow-garbed scientist felt his abdomen where two holes started to issue sticky blood. He crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Vane holstered the weapon and turned back to Justin.
“Can you walk?” the leader said impatiently.
“What. The. Hell. Happened?!” snapped Justin, freeing himself from Vane’s grasp. The boy shook his head of blurriness and fell into the medical table, barely bolstering his stance. His breaths were heavy, his veins pumping with energy.
“I guess you can,” said Vane. He stood up and moved to the door, pulling the dead body inside and stashing it in the corner.
“How long have we been here?” asked Justin.
“A week.”
“Bastards . . . how come we’re not dead?”
Vane shook his head. “We need to get you some clothes.”
Justin looked down at his bare chest. He swore and asked how they would find anything his size.
“I have an idea,” said Vane, approaching the door again. “The scientists here sometimes wear these suits called slipdecks. It’ll fit. Now come, we’re running out of time.”
Before joining his guardian, Justin rushed over to the other end of the room where a long, sterilized table spanned the entire wall. He pressed the first glyph he could find, producing a shelf from below the counter.
Vane wore a malevolent face. “What are you—”
Justin held up his finger, and uttered nonsense to himself. He rummaged through the compartment and pulled out a handful of menacing syringes. The needles were four inches long, connecting to mechanized fillers. He stuffed more than ten into the bottom of his scrub pocket. Vane watched in annoyance as Justin opened another hatch and sifted through miscellaneous items, discarding unwanted supplies onto the floor. After the third shelf was pillaged, he flashed a grin, pulling out a large elastic band. He jogged to the drawers that Vane opened earlie, grabbed a vial-less gun, and tinkered with the elastic band.
Vane’s eyes widened.
“You’re not gonna have all the fun, dude,” said a proud Justin, brandishing his new weapon: a makeshift slingshot with syringes as darts.
Vane shook his head and turned to the door again, as Justin loaded a syringe.
The hallway was brightly lit; a tunnel of glossy white walls and lights built underneath the surface. The corridor spanned at least twenty yards in both directions, dotted with identical rooms. Voices could be heard from different intersections, but movement was nonexistent.
Vane emerged from the medical room, weapon held up. He moved right, coming down the hall like a prowling cat. Justin padded in tow, craving the satisfaction that came from nailing someone with one of his darts.
They continued through the hallway, turned right, and followed the next corridor for a few minutes. At the end of the hall they could see an opening to what looked like an enormous testing facility.
“Everyone here is working with Repik,” whispered Vane, speaking of their current floor. “But it’s two in the morning, so if we lay low, we should be able to go unnoticed. The slipdeck station is just beyond this room.”
Justin nodded and whispered, “How do you know this place so well, Vane-dawg?”
“I’ve been studying GenoTec more years than you’ve existed. That’s why.”
Justin smirked and said, “Burn. Wow, Vane I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Vane responded by moving forward. Justin’s bare feet slapped as the two prisoners infiltrated the large, library-sized room. They crossed to their right, avoiding detection. Justin’s view of GenoTec took a quick turn down reality lane, realizing that even evil had to sleep.
However, every few minutes, Vane would stop and hold his hand down. Justin would see a scientist pass between a row of shelves, yards away. Once the patrol had left, the mission would resume.
Data chips, computers, mainframes, engineering equipment, blueprints, and plans. The room was packed to the brim with sophisticated technology, most of which made Justin’s mouth water. He could hardly contain himself, becoming aroused at the sight of materials he could use to create more weapons, bots, and malicious devices. As he was licking his lips at a large crane arm hovering over a staging area, his face smacked into Vane’s rear.
“Pay attention!” Vane snapped in a venomous whisper. “We’re here.�
�
Justin poked his head around Vane’s legs and saw the words “Foyer” displayed across a shimmering door. Before they approached the threshold, Vane raised his weapon, so Justin made sure to secure a dart.
The door slid open faster than the boy expected, revealing a smaller room with an “L” shaped desk to their right. Vane dispatched the Volunteer sitting behind the counter and quickly ushered Justin inside. The boy noted the brutality of Vane’s actions. Not only was the leader killing without hesitation, but the precision and premeditated trigger-pulls solidified Justin’s concept of their agenda. Vane wasn’t there for surrenders and negotiation, he was there for blood.
Either way, it didn’t matter to Justin. The boy rejoiced in the grim headshot, ending the life of the thirty-something-year-old woman.
The Foyer was designed to prepare GenoTec scientists for their daily work through a series of decontamination procedures held upon a small, circular pedestal in the room’s far corner. On occasion, the pedestal donned scientists in their very own slipdeck: a flexible, spandex-like jumpsuit created to keep the skin protected from hazardous materials.
Vane moved behind the counter and pushed the corpse off her chair, engaging the pedestal. A crisp female voice enveloped the room saying, “Please step onto the dais for complete and total decontamination.” He nodded to Justin.
“What’s this thing gonna do?” the boy asked, frowning.
“Just get on,” Vane replied.
Justin obeyed, placing his weapon and extra bolts onto the floor’s sheen. He stepped onto the cold, steel platform, and admired the advanced technology. Immediately, robotic arms sprung upward and began to probe his body, spraying his pale and freckled skin with a purging mist and injecting antibiotics into his bloodstream intravenously.
“What the hell, man?!” he exclaimed, trying to squirm.
The robotic arms held him steady and finished their work. Once the mist had filtered away, leaving Justin irritated and fuming, the automated voice continued.
“Will a slipdeck be required today?”
Vane pushed a tile on his touch screen, and the robotic arms measured Justin’s body. Upon completion, the limbs receded back into the platform, and two sides of a skeletal coffin rose up, clamping over Justin’s figure, leaving only his head free. Enclosed and hating Vane with more intensity than a roaring fire, Justin could do nothing as the machine commenced. In no less than five seconds, the cage produced a thick layer of black foam upon Justin’s skin. Once he was completely covered, tiny mechanisms within the cage began to manipulate the foam until it hardened. Yellow paint was added to the shins, chest, and arms—GenoTec’s way of “signing” the product. Finally, the cage withdrew and the female voice announced the completion of the process.
Justin remained still as he admired his new suit.
My very own Undersuit, he thought ambitiously.
He flexed his fingers back and forth, twisted his torso, and kicked his legs around. Vane observed from behind the desk as Justin’s face rose, accompanied by a mischievous grin.
“Holy hell, this is tiiiight!” he said, hopping off the podium and dropping into a handstand.
Vane strode over, overcome with annoyance. The leader of Genesis hadn’t truly spent time with Justin before. It was uncanny for Vane to have been with anyone—other than Celia—let alone the spastic boy. Even though he was incredibly aggravated by the eleven-year-old’s antics, Vane foresaw Justin’s monumental potential. The boy was more valuable and resourceful than any three adults he could have brought onto Genesis.
Justin hopped back up, began securing his weapon, and asked, “D’ya think they’ve got some sweet goggles around somewhere?”
“Let’s go,” boiled Vane, his back to the exit.
Before he could turn around, the door slid open, revealing a Volunteer who at first looked shocked. As the young man went for his weapon, Justin ratcheted a dart so fast that it met with the Volunteer’s neck before the rubber band swung back.
Vane pivoted, realizing Justin had just saved his life.
“Ha!” exclaimed the boy. “Did you see how fast that dart went?! I bet if—”
Justin clutched his abdomen, groaning in pain. The syringe-gun fell and the boy’s frail skeleton stooped to the floor. Vane hesitated for a moment before hovering over Justin like a vulture.
“Wh—what did th-they do to me?!” said Justin through gritted teeth. Another rise of pain shook him off balance and he fell to his side.
“Stay with me,” said Vane, propping Justin up onto his knee. “If they wanted you dead, you’d already be gone. It must be some kind of side effect. It’ll pass.”
Like a prehistoric raptor, Justin emitted quiet moans, trying to be strong. The pain came from within his belly, permeating the rest of his organs and bones. He started to sweat profusely, melting like an ice cube on the glossy floor.
Vane looked around, trying to figure out what to do next. If they didn’t move fast, there would be no chance in hell they were getting out of here alive. Their only hope was a small band of mercenaries.
46
Dynasell. The skyscraper loomed over the Hudson River, standing fiercely in the face of both Axxiol and GenoTec Headquarters. Rising fifty-stories above the streets, Dynasell used to be a branch of one of the leading insurance agencies in America, giving life to the Owls Head section of northern Brooklyn. The insides were once paved and plastered with the dream of wealth and aid. Thousands of employees sat in cubicles, issuing claims, hearing disgruntled clients, and shelling out disgusting amounts of coverage. Now, after the dirge of Edge, it was just another nobody, rusting away, happily accepting its new inhabitants: six determined renegades.
“And . . . voila!”
Celia’s rigged computer screen displayed the most encouraging words I had ever seen. Access granted.
“Tara, I could kiss you right now,” said Dodge.
The rest of the group grinned. It was really happening. As the five of us stood around the dusty desk formerly belonging to an insurance agent, a feeling of anticipation overcame me. This was the only time I had felt ahead of the game, finally toe to toe with GenoTec. It was the only time I felt we had actually made progress. Because of Tara’s solo mission, we now had control over a crucial part of GenoTec’s surveillance.
“Okay,” said Celia, gingerly rolling back to the screen. “Let me see what we’ve got going on here.”
“Can we find them?” asked Dodge.
She made a noise signaling Dodge to shut up. Her eyes were set. Her focus, immovable.
I marveled at our analyst’s skills. I watched her decrypt countless windows filled with computer jargon in mere seconds. She was a grade-A genius. Every day I was more grateful to have her with us.
Celia stopped typing. Then she swore.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tara.
“It’s . . . It’s not working,” she said.
There was silence for a moment.
“We did the research,” Tara defended, “we knew those codes would be in Manhattan.”
“That’s not the problem,” affirmed Celia, trying to work around some technological red tape. “I can’t access the circuit collaboration that compiles all the—basically I can’t fully control the cameras.”
“What does that mean?” probed Dodge.
“I can only loop the footage.”
“So we can’t see anything?” checked Bollis flatly.
Celia cupped her hands to her face and shook her head.
The group sighed and we all took a step back in frustration.
“As long as we can at least keep them unaware,” said Vexin. His tone was brusque and stern.
“Wow, where did that optimism come from?” said Dodge, only this time it was more of a jab than a joke.
“Shut up,” Vexin responded with a passive annoyance.
“This never would have happened if Vane hadn’t sent us on that stupid Vista mission in the first place,” complained Bollis, which took me
aback.
“If we hadn’t gotten the Vista up and running,” Celia said, “this would have all been for nothing anyways, Bollis.”
“We would still be going to Jersey regardless,” Tara added. She was certainly offended. They were basically saying her solo mission was good for nothing.
“There has to be something you can do, Celia!” Dodge exclaimed.
“These codes—to even loop the video—this is GenoTec we’re talking about. You know what their security is like.”
“Maybe if all of you were better at doing your jobs, this would have been cleaned up years ago,” Vexin retorted, arms crossed.
Now I was starting to feel the resentment rising.
“Oh, coming from the guy who only knows how to be angry and clean weapons for hours on end.” said Dodge.
Seeing Dodge—of all people—getting mad was something I never expected.
“Well,” Vexin surged, “if you weren’t so damn annoying all the time, maybe I wouldn’t be so angry.”
“I can still try!” said Celia, rising in anger. “I can see heat signatures just fine. I can loop the video so you can still go unnoticed, then I’ll just guide you through using those signatures. This can work.”
“Nice, Vex,” Dodge whined, ignoring Celia. “Maybe I wouldn’t be so annoying if you weren’t so easy to annoy. You’re like a walking geyser, always fuming out the ears.”
“This ‘project’ has seen too many days,” said Vexin. “How many setbacks do we have to endure before we actually get something done?”
“You try sitting in a chair for six damn years,” Celia exploded at Vexin, “working on codes all day, getting nowhere except into the same damn hole!”
Everything went silent. It felt as though we were standing in a pot of boiling water. Breaths were heavy, eyes were ablaze. Without another word, everyone simply walked away, leaving Tara, Celia, and me alone in a cloud of heat.
——————
“We’re all stressed out of our minds,” I told Tara as we walked the steps in the rear of the building. “This had to happen some time.”
