Forging the Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  Daron grabbed at the shotgun and pointed it at Jarrod's back, then let out a grunt of frustration. The barrel of his weapon was bent upwards; pulling the trigger would only cause the weapon to explode. Daron watched Jarrod disappear into the shadows.

  A few yards away, an elevator door opened and Team Two rushed out. They ran towards Daron, who jerked his thumb in the direction of the stairs. “Get after him!” he shouted. Without question, the five men charged up the stairs. Daron jumped up and jogged over to his pistol. He grabbed it off the floor and turned to join the pursuit. Before reaching the stairwell, he grabbed the pistol’s slide to make sure a round was chambered. He stopped short. The slide and barrel were crushed inward.

  “Daron, this is CJ.”

  Daron closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath, re-holstered his damaged sidearm, and keyed up his radio. “Yeah.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but Jarrod just left the facility. He's gone.”

  “Copy that.” Daron clenched his teeth and banged a fist against his helmet. “For now, post someone at every entrance to the building, and have at least two guards on roving patrol. I'll get back to you with more detailed orders in a bit.”

  “Copy.”

  Daron walked briskly walking back to the operating room. The hunt was far from over, and he needed to know exactly what he was dealing with.

  18

  The sun was setting as Jarrod crept away from Hillcrest. He moved noiselessly—a gleaming black mass sliding from one shadow to another. Needless thoughts did not enter his mind. Action and decision occurred almost simultaneously, and he moved as if he had rehearsed his route a dozen times.

  In the span of six minutes, he was nearly a mile away. He crossed a street and entered a crowded neighborhood with modest homes. Staying low, he approached the back of a single-story house and stopped to listen. Two voices conversed with each other in jovial tones, and someone else was breathing heavily. The television was on, and a severely overweight man was watching a sitcom. No other sounds came from inside the house. It would be simple enough for Jarrod to enter the home and get some supplies without the man knowing, but he decided against it. At this hour, it was likely that some families would still be away from home. Another house might be completely empty. He continued through the quiet neighborhood and quickly found a house with no signs life.

  The back door was locked, a minor obstacle. Jarrod broke the doorknob with his hand and pulled it free, then entered the house. Without hesitation, he walked into the kitchen and started drinking water directly from the faucet. When he’d had his fill, he trotted over to the master bedroom. There was an assortment of men's and women's clothing in the closet. He pulled a bright-green hooded sweatshirt over his armored torso—a disguise, not camouflage. A pair of blue jeans from the dresser and loafers from under the bed completed his outfit. The jeans were loose in the waist, and nearly two inches short. He ripped the power cord out of a lamp to serve as a belt and didn’t concern himself with the length. There was a leather laptop bag on the desk, which he emptied onto the floor. In place of the sleek laptop, he stuffed it with a lightweight jacket, an additional pair of pants, and four bottles of water from the kitchen.

  He paused at the back door for a full minute before going outside. With every passing moment, the shadows grew longer, and he was convinced the security team wouldn’t invade the peaceful neighborhood. Moving cautiously, he moved through backyards and driveways, avoiding detection from the residents and even their wary pets. When he reached the main road, he simply stepped out onto the sidewalk. The ebony armor drew away from his hairless head, and he pulled his hood forward. Two black orbs remained over his eyes, with black streaks leading down his face and neck. He was sightless without the black armor connected to the biomechanical ports on his cornea, but he still pulled the armor away from his face whenever he passed a vehicle or pedestrian. Following unlit back streets, he walked toward the abandoned manufacturing sector on the outskirts of the city.

  “I am sick of your excuses, Doc, “Daron growled. “Need-to-know doesn't apply anymore, not if you want to get this situation under control.”

  Daron's conversation with Dr. Wagner had become so heated that the surgeon insisted they continue it in his office.

  Sitting at his desk, Wagner’s was obstinate. “There are over one hundred patented procedures in Phase Three of the transformation alone. I am simply not at liberty to discuss them.”

  Daron spread his arms wide in exasperation. “I'm not telling you to reveal secret formulas or equations. Please don't, I wouldn't understand it anyway. But I need to know Jarrod’s capabilities before I square off with him again. What can he do?”

  Wagner huffed. “I don't know. You can bluster all you want, but I just don't know.”

  “What do you mean you don't know? You helped put this entire project together.”

  “I mean we haven’t found out yet. That was the whole point of Project Nerium. We applied hundreds of modifications to the subject and planned to test the efficacy of each one in turn.”

  Daron crossed his arms. “But you have to have some idea. You had to be expecting something from these procedures. What about that black stuff that covered his body in the operating room?”

  “It's a metamaterial,” Wagner answered with a wave of his hand. “It works with the nano-machinery in his brain and other micro-machines in and on his body.”

  “What does it do?”

  “Well, it was supposed to do several things. Neural connections with the material theoretically would allow him to rigidize it, causing quadruple-bonded carbon molecules within the outer layer to stand on end. His body would supply the electric current to stimulate the reaction.”

  “Ease up on the science, Doc. By rigid, do you mean bullet-proof?”

  Wagner couldn't keep from rolling his eyes. “On orders of magnitude stronger than Kevlar. But it remains in a near-liquid state until it receives input from his brain to become solid. Additionally, receptors within the metamaterial would react to strong kinetic forces.” He paused. “It would respond directly to an energetic attack, rendering the subject bulletproof without the need for conscious thought. It was also hypothesized that he would be able to control the liquid armor to change its texture, but that was purely speculative.”

  “Okay, so the black stuff makes him tough. What else? What about eyesight and hearing?”

  Wagner shook his head. “Again, we can only speculate. However, we made extensive genetic alterations to him during Phase One, creating a unique structure meant to enhance his hearing far beyond human capacity by sensing tiny vibrations through a liquid...”

  “Doc, please. Simple.”

  Wagner’s face flushed. “To put it simply, yes. He probably has excellent hearing. His eyesight was designed to be orbital through manipulation of the metamaterial with potential for binocular focus. However, I strongly believe his eyesight would cease to function without his armor in place.”

  “Okay, so he can't see without his armor. That's good. What else?”

  “There are other senses that we hoped to create... senses beyond what you or I could relate to.”

  Wagner paused for a long moment, glancing around the room with a distant look in his eyes. “Some might think it is akin to telepathy, but it isn't. We wanted to enhance his olfactory senses to the point where he could detect trace chemical shifts within the human body. Then, through the mental conditioning process, we taught him to discern between millions of scents. The hope was that he could use taste and smell to detect if a target was compliant or aggressive, even without visual cues.”

  Daron’s mouth gaped. “Well I hope that one didn't pan out. What else can he do, fly? Should I worry about him walking through walls?”

  “Certainly not. Although there are a few additional things worth mentioning. The machinery within his body, along with the hormonal and genetic modification, should provide him the means to regenerate from wounds very quickly. Although I can’t
say how quickly.”

  “Fantastic. Gumby is a bullet-proof, automatic medic. What else?”

  Wagner shifted uneasily. “We observed some success for solar autotrophy that should have been greatly enhanced in Phase Three.”

  “What do you mean? Are you saying he's solar powered?”

  “Perhaps not in the way you’re thinking. He receives some direct electrical charge from sunlight, but it’s inconsequential. A more impressive design allows him produce sugars through complex chemical reactions taking place within the outer cells of his body. With enough sunlight and water, he could theoretically perform at peak capacity for days at a time without food.”

  “That one doesn't scare me as much,” Daron responded. “I'm hoping this hunt doesn't last for that long. What else can he do?”

  Wagner looked sideways. “That's it.”

  Daron glared at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Well...there is one thing. But it certainly shouldn't be within his capabilities right now. We experimented with adaptive optical camouflage, but it would require several additional sessions of mental conditioning to create the neural pathways for it to work. There is no need to concern yourself with it.”

  “Adaptive optical camouflage? I shouldn't concern myself with the guy turning invisible?”

  “I'm telling you he can't. We included the chemical components for him to refract light and flush pigments through his armor, but there is no way for him to do it without the appropriate mental conditioning.”

  “For both our sakes, I hope that's true.” Daron rubbed his eyes. “This is worse than I thought. Are there any weaknesses we can exploit?”

  “I wouldn't know,” Dr. Wagner responded defensively. “I'm not a soldier.”

  “Did you screw up his brain so much that he can't talk? Is his sense of direction intact? Can he remember how to shoot a gun or drive a car? Does he show up on infra-red? Is he scared of cats? Anything.”

  “You will need to discuss the psychological details with Doctor Roberts. But yes, Jarrod should show up on infra-red cameras. His body temperature has remained above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit since the onset of Phase Two.”

  “Good. That's something, at least.” Daron moved toward the door. “I’m going to talk to Emily. I need to roll with a team as soon as possible, and she may have information I can use. I know you have things to settle with her, but Jarrod's capture is top-priority. He’s dangerous.”

  Daron turned to walk out, but stopped short. He pulled his sidearm out of its holster and dropped it on Wagner's desk. “And here’s a little proof of that.”

  The surgeon paled at the sight of the mangled pistol. He watched Daron's tall figure leave, and buried his face in his hands.

  19

  Emily paced around the small room. It seemed like it had been hours since the chaos began. After the server room breach, they locked her in a make-shift prison cell without even giving her a chance to explain herself. She stopped as the room's only door slid open. To her relief, Daron walked in.

  “Daron! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—It was an accident, I would never...”

  “Stop,” he interrupted. “I'm not here to talk about that. There will be plenty of time to point fingers later. Right now, I have to track down a very dangerous and unstable man.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “What do you mean by ‘unstable man?’ Are you saying Jarrod escaped?”

  “Like I said, I'm not here to play games or speculate on your involvement. Yes, Jarrod is gone. And we need to find him before he hurts himself or someone else.”

  Emily nodded, and her eyes blurred with tears. She fought them back and tried to speak in even tones. “What can I do to help?”

  “I need to know the state of mind Jarrod is in. He didn't kill any of my men, but he easily could have. He could have killed me twice, if he'd wanted to. What is holding him back? What kind of resistance should we expect when we go after him?”

  Emily took a deep breath. “I have no way of knowing what damage they did to his psyche in the operating room. But my gut tells me he’s still in there, somewhere. It’s likely he’s confused, and may react to threats on instinct, like a wild animal.”

  “My men and I have gotten a taste of that first-hand, but he definitely didn't seem irrational. He set a trap for me in the hallway and attacked me from behind, and he was smart enough to steal a guard's key card. It seems like he carefully thought out everything he’s done so far.”

  Emily nodded. “He has been conditioned to respond in very specific ways during dangerous situations.”

  “Does he have weaknesses we can exploit? Something that will make him stand out in public or hinder his ability to communicate? I don't think I heard him speak two words since Phase Two started. Can he even talk anymore?”

  “I think he still can. He probably didn’t see the need before, but several of the conditioning sessions addressed how to interact with people in the same way a deep-cover operative might.”

  Daron sighed. “Alright. What about his sense of direction, or memories that may have been erased? I need some sort of advantage.”

  “Every memory or skill that could be useful to him in tactical situations should be completely intact. He will have no weakness in that sense.” She paused. “I think any vulnerability he has will stem from internal conflict.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jarrod's personality may have been damaged, but I think his deeply held beliefs may still influence his actions. The mental conditioning program was meant to work with a biological machine, not a person. It’s my understanding that certain aspects of Phase Three were meant to remove most of his free will, further reduce his emotional responses, and eliminate all unnecessary thought.”

  “But they didn't finish Phase Three.”

  “Exactly. He has been given an instruction manual for how to approach millions of situations, but not for how to deal with emotion. I believe that the psychological issues he had before entering project Nerium are still there, and still need treatment.” Tears began to well up again, and distress crept into her voice. “That's why I never would have intentionally helped him escape. He's not a bad person, but he needs treatment. There's no way for me to help him if he's gone. And what if he doesn't even...”

  Emily's face suddenly grew hard, and she looked Daron in the eyes. “Will you kill him?”

  Daron's eyes were cold, unwavering. “Yes. If I have to. I don't blame Jarrod for what he has become, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s dangerous. I’ll try to bring him in alive, but if I have to choose between putting him down and keeping one of my men safe, I won't hesitate to drop him.”

  Emily's eyes softened. “You're right. You need to keep your people alive. There is no guarantee that Jarrod won't kill someone if he’s cornered. Please, be careful.”

  Daron nodded. “It’s what I do. With any luck, we'll have him caught before the sun rises. Then we can all take a breath.”

  Emily shivered. “The isotopes they injected into his leg. Will you be able to track him down that fast?”

  Daron regarded her for a long moment. “Yes. Wagner has helicopters in the air right now, scanning the city. We should have his location within the hour, and be ready to move in shortly after that. But you're going to stay right here. Wagner wants to talk to you.”

  Emily let her head fall backwards. “Great,” she said.

  Daron couldn't keep a smile from tugging at his lips, but he didn't respond. He turned sharply and walked out of the room.

  There was much left to do before the night was over, and his conversation with Emily did nothing to help his growing sense of unease.

  Darkness settled over the abandoned industrial sector, and distant street lamps failed to penetrate the shadows around the aging buildings. Jarrod approached an old, condemned shoe factory. A rusted chain-link fence, riddled with large gaps, surrounded the three-story building. The paint was peeling and all the windows were broken out, but the structure
appeared to be intact.

  Jarrod could sense it was occupied, and set himself to remedying that problem. He entered the building and marched over to a man reclining at the far end of the room.

  “Hey,” the man started to protest. “We don't want any trouble. There's room enough for—ach!”

  His words were cut short as Jarrod grabbed him by the jaw and lifted him off the ground.

  “You are going to help me,” Jarrod said. “I am going to stay in this building tonight, and I may have some very unfriendly visitors. I am concerned for the safety of everyone here, so I need you to make sure everyone is out of the building in the next five minutes. Do you understand?”

  The pale, thin man winced and did his best to nod.

  “Good,” Jarrod replied. “Move quickly. I will be around to give encouragement to any stragglers.” He set the man down, who ran out of the room. Jarrod walked throughout the building with his hood pulled back and the liquid black armor covering his head, rendering him featureless. His mere presence was enough to encourage the four remaining derelicts to leave without question. In minutes, he was alone in the factory.

  As he surveyed his new domain, a thought popped into his head like a proverb rehearsed in childhood. Enemies are easier to detect in a vacant structure. When enemy contact is likely, early detection and maximum mobility are vital.

  Jarrod made his way to the roof and listened to the sound of helicopters nearby. He identified them as R22 Beta's, small civilian helicopters. Odd for them to be flying at this time of night; they're probably part of the search effort. The helicopters moved over the city in a grid-like pattern. As he expected, one began to circle the factory after it passed overhead. A moment later, the other helicopter departed to the west, and the remaining bird made wide circles around him.