Agent M: Project Mabus (The Agent M Series Book 1)

by L. M. Vila

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but until I can confirm your identity-”

  She didn’t have time to play this game. “Mark, send it through!”

  “Done and done.”

  Data streamed into the Sheriff’s computer. Before she could tap a second key, Lindsey had all of the information. She understood exactly why Nicole sounded so dire.

  “My apologies Ms. Wells. I will contact all officers immediately.”

  “Excellent. Can you give me the Lieutenant on duty’s radio information? I would like to stay in direct contact at all times.”

  “Not a problem ma’am, I’ll forward the information to your associate.”

  “Perfect, you have my thanks.”

  Once Nicole heard Lindsey drop the call on her end, she continued her original conversation. “Mark, I need you to take charge on this one. Once you give the pilot the radio information, coordinate with all of the sheriffs. Give them all of the details. Tell them one of our agents is already inside. They are not to proceed until I give the order. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal. I’m connected to their radios right now. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Not yet. Make sure the pilot is patched through as well.”

  “Already done. Good luck Agent Wells.”

  “Thanks again Mark, I appreciate it.”

  The call ended. Nicole paused before putting the phone in her pocket. For a brief moment, she thought of calling Michael. To see how he was doing. She followed her better judgment and refrained from communicating with him.

  “Do you think all those sheriffs plus our S.W.A.T. team is going to be enough?” Teased Meryl. A little levity wouldn't hurt. Especially since Meryl felt an equal amount of anxiety.

  “Let’s hope so. Last time we needed a few fire trucks as well.”

  Meryl sat quietly, not knowing exactly what to say. She was afraid to respond without knowing an equally funny response. More importantly, she didn’t want to try to figure out if Nicole was truly serious.

  The elderly men in the room could not believe what they just bore witness to. Roman was forced to look away. He couldn’t count the times Kurtis was told never to take more than one dosage in a twenty-four hour period. Now he was at three. The human body was going to be tested. If Kurtis could sustain this amount of power, he would be unstoppable.

  Whatever substance the Russian injected himself with would be worth noting later, but more importantly, Michael saw his chance to strike diminishing. A pistol flew out of his holster faster than their eyes could track. It aimed right at Kurtis. Or where he used to be. He shot out from across the office with a blinding force. Michael couldn’t distinguish the amount of steps he ran to get here or if he teleported outright. His finger didn’t even graze the trigger. Kurtis slapped the outstretched arm of his mortal adversary and as it was flailing aside, he drove a colossal punch directly into Michael’s chest.

  Registering the blow was an afterthought. Michael was pushed from his feet, with the force of a moving car and sent crashing into the wall behind him. The dent he made into the freshly build drywall was substantial. He would have gone right through if it hadn’t housed a metal frame from within. Both sides of his body roared, pleading in agony for the pain to cease. The attack came so quickly from both ends it was like being in the center of an explosion.

  A feeling of bliss enveloped Kurtis. Before this brute may have had a chance in hand to hand combat. The tables finally tilted in his favor. This drug was incredible. Surpassing a double dose was exactly what he needed. The ability to pull the restraints of his body and increase his strength was priceless. Kurtis could only fear but one thing. Ruining his clothes with that man’s blood.

  In all of Michael’s previous trials and tribulations, filled with battles upon battles, he’d never experienced a punch of that magnitude. His body dropped from the nest in wall straight to his knees. The Russian’s speed before was impressive but now, it was borderline superhuman. He started to understand Nicole’s initial warning. Even as he pushed himself up off the ground, with his body in a tornado of pain, Michael had to agree with the translated words of his opponent. It had only just begun.

  The image before him began to puzzle Kurtis. Instead of collapsing in a pile of cold meat, completely devoid of life, this man still moved. Still lived. Rage swelled within his being. Kurtis delivered a blow that would normally atomize the human skeleton. Yet, after all of the power he unleashed, this one survived. It was unfathomable. Something was off. The drugs may be having some kind of adverse affect. No matter. This oversight would be remedied in moments.

  Kurtis charged while Michael was still trying to get up. He swept his fist back and a vicious haymaker exploded forward. The air gladly welcomed his punch but Michael was no longer a resident of that area. His instincts and combat reflexes moved him aside, ducking the swing and rolling to his feet. Like Seika before him, exploiting emotions would be the key to winning this fight. Compensating against his increased power would be the key to him surviving. Especially with only one good arm left.

  The young Russian could not afford to let up his attacks. Kurtis turned and charged Michael once again, yelling in anger and throwing a hail of punches. Each swing came so rapidly it looked as if he had multiple arms. Dodging was almost out of the question. Kurtis was too fast; greatly increased from their fight hours ago.

  Michael’s nerves shouted at maximum volume. Not a single attack went unnoticed. His skin ready to burst from the added stress. Their last fight allowed him a bit of breathing room since Kurtis’ attacks were so unfocussed and wild. The increased quickness and strength of his opponent’s renewed offensive no longer needed to be precise. They would break down Michael’s defenses in seconds if he didn’t act quickly. His already injured arm was helping little in this resistance. Fighting fire with fire was Michael’s only hope.

  His opponent was blinded in offense. Protecting his body from attacks seemed out of the question and rightfully so. A punch, jab, uppercut, and even an occasionally kick flew respectively in less time it would take to call them out. Luckily, Kurtis wasn’t well trained in kicking techniques. Basic combat procedures were followed, but nothing exquisite. Michael remembered having similar training but he still had a distinct advantage. Something Kurtis would not be able to keep up with even now.

  A swift downward punch connected against Michael’s crossed arms, increasing pressure on his weakened shoulder. He immediately pushed back, giving him some space to fire a counterattack. It was only a couple of feet but still more than enough. Michael blasted his left knee forward, aimed right at Kurtis’ midsection. The Russian was almost impressed as he pushed away from his opponent’s clever maneuver with both hands.

  This was it. The exploit had worked. Michael dropped his risen leg immediately. While Kurtis was still airborne, he swiftly turned and thrust his right leg with a modified tornado kick of devastating proportions. Spit flew into the air. Wind forcefully ripped from his lungs. The agony Kurtis felt was unfounded; not like anything of this world. He didn’t even sense his body being carried by the force. Like a missile, the attack launched him into the air. He crashed straight through the office wall. Debris coated his body as it impacted with the unforgiving floor.

  Michael couldn't slow down his attack when an open advantage presented itself. Seconds were the difference between success and failure. Life and death. Skill and technique were on his side. Michael ran straight for the hole. He dove through it, flipping through the air, and driving his boots, like Satan’s hammer directly into Kurtis’ chest. The weight of the impact destroyed the ground beneath them. Bodies dropped to the floor below. Michael noticed the extensive pile of construction tools and garbage waiting to welcome their arrival and latched on to the edge of the hole with his good arm.

  Not as lucky, Kurtis’ body crashed into the heaping pile, spreading its contents across the unfinished floor, and burying him beneath it all. Dust emerged from the path and clouded the area in unhealthy amounts of
clutter.

  Strain pleaded with the newly abused arm of the FBI agent. He found a safe plot of land and allowed his body to fall. The distance wasn’t too great. Michael’s knees were easily able to handle the drop. He quickly regained his composure. It may have been a short fight but his body didn’t feel that way. For a Russian with fledgling hand to hand combat skill, he could surely dish out punishment.

  Michael knew he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Albeit wild, this opponent was certainly resilient. Surveying his work was next on the list. He hesitated. Movement could be heard from within. His opponent’s body exploded from amongst the rubble, stains and cuts covered his skin. Every breath Kurtis took was a deep one. He couldn’t imagine in even the most insane planes of existence that he would be subjected to such abuse. Looking back at him, that man gave him a cold glare. Such a smug bastard. After the beating Kurtis dished out and he still had the courage to stare at him like that. Rage commenced. Kurtis could feel millions of capillaries bursting in an instant. He led out an atrocious roar; the battle cry of a madman.

  Grabbing a sledgehammer from the pile, Kurtis rushed his opponent. Michael jumped back and stayed out of the weapon’s range. Kurtis swung with the force of ten men and the accuracy of a child. The weight must have been nothing to him. Avoiding these attacks was easier than before but not by much. His arms would not appreciate trying to block a large chunk of steel approaching the speed of sound.

  This area was not meant for conventional fighting. All of the junk lying around made it difficult for Michael to maneuver. The passing air of each strike violently licked his skin. A wall closing in drew pressing concern. Michael had to disable this weapon. Permanently. The only way he could think of was treat it like a spear.

  Instead of backing up, Michael timed the movement and jumped into the strike. His closed fist met the lacquered wooden handle of the sledgehammer as it came through and decimated it. Splinters decorated their vision, like sadistic fireworks. While Kurtis attempted to rationalize what had just occurred, Michael’s elbow slammed into his opponent's open chest, further complicated matters as he dropped to his back once more.

  Anger rose to immeasurable levels. Kurtis had been bested yet again. His mind had ceased logical functions. It now wanted nothing more than to destroy the being that dared to challenge him. Kurtis jumped to his feet, his stance now changed. The shock of the attack must have knocked a few screws loose. Michael watched his opponent move in a slightly hunched posture. His humanity slowly faded away, transforming into something else. Foam spewed from his mouth. Blood soaked every inch of his eyes. As the moments passed, Michael understood the effects of the drug. It gave the body strength at the cost of their mind.

  The beast lunged forward. Michael couldn’t dare match its haste. He dropped to the ground with the snarling Russian firmly on snapping on top of him. Continuous punches aimed for Michael’s head, met the unfinished floorboards, creating holes in their path. Michael couldn’t give into his frustrations like the animal he was fighting. And yet, he couldn’t put up a stable defense either. Soon enough, his face would be indistinguishable from those holes in the ground.

  Michael slid his leg between their bodies and kicked his opponent away. He sprung to his feet in time to watch Kurtis roll to his. The madness had to end, and soon. Standing toe to toe with this creature was out of the question. However, Michael knew what he must do and even if he didn’t like it, it was the only way to combat the ferocity of this man.

  Kurtis drew near and resumed his onslaught. A punched bolted directly into Michael’s jaw. His neck stretched to catch the head as it snapped to the side, almost tearing it clean off the body. In the remaining sane fragments of Kurtis’ mind, he couldn’t believe it connected, and so cleanly. His eyes were locked in his minor accomplishment; he didn’t even notice the knuckles crashing into his face.

  Blood forcibly ejected from Kurtis’ lips. Michael used every bit of discipline available to silence the effect of blow and then delivered a spinning back fist with the forced momentum. Now it was clear. He couldn’t treat this opponent like any other man. The only way to best an animal is by establishing dominance. Trading blows was not what Michael’s sensei had taught him. However, if he could see this opponent, an exception would certainly be granted.

  They began to tear into each other like savage brutes devoid of sensibility or empathy. Kurtis drilled an uppercut into Michael’s gut. The FBI agent responded in kind, smashing his fist downward across the young Russian’s temple. Iron knuckles met tight flesh in the hopes of ripping it apart, cell by cell. The pain proved excruciating on both sides. With every attack they had hoped to finish the other. The truth of their resilience was becoming difficult swallow.

  Michael couldn’t estimate how much more his body would allow him to take before giving up. Blood stained not only his vision, but body as well. More of this life sustaining liquid seemed to spew into the air with every volley. He ducked a blow that could have easily shattered every bone in his face and slid his right leg around, sweeping Kurtis right off his feet. Speed was crucial. Kurtis still tasted the filthy air when Michael launched his second attack. His devastating boot crashed downward and clapped like brutal thunder. Bones cracked, filling the empty floor with the sounds of devastation. Coupling a sweep with an axe kick was risky but if successful, very destructive. Watching Kurtis revert back to his human form, catching the blow with his stomach and shifting his expression to a normal agonizing grunt made the gamble worth it. The shock of the attack had shattered Kurtis’ frame of mind, silencing it permanently. His body ceased its painful convulses and his animal-like demeanor became an afterthought.

  These passing moments gave Michael the deep breaths he so rightly deserved. His body was barely able to stand. This fight was far more taxing than he calculated. His right arm's practically useless now. Danielle may have been right, though he’d never admit it. This work had to be done.

  Looking down on his opponent’s defeated appearance put his heart at ease. Going back upstairs might prove challenging. The old men in that room may put up a decent resistance in Michael’s current condition. Good thing he still carried another pistol and kodachi.

  Kurtis’ eyes shot open. The fool didn’t even notice. He reached for Michael’s leg and with one mighty tug threw him against the opposing wall almost twenty feet away. His body dented another structure inside A.N.K.H.'s headquarters. To think that this man believed Kurtis had been defeated was almost laughable. As Michael was painfully pulling himself through the newly created rubble, Kurtis had a moment to regain his composure. He didn’t want to admit it, but he lost himself there in the heat of battle. It happens to the best of men. Nothing to be overly concerned with. Kurtis stalked the beaten FBI agent. He looked too weak to pull himself up let alone continue to fight. The advantage now lay with Kurtis.

  Hands gripped Michael’s shirt. Before his mind could signal the approaching danger, he was being chucked into the air once more. Thankfully, there weren’t any more walls to stop his fall but the endless supply of pillars would be more than accommodating. His body blew through the solid structure, slicing in half. Michael bounced across the incomplete and grainy surface, stopping to a skid amongst a pile of used nails.

  A lifetime’s worth of pain coupled with longing exhaustion was not a good mix. This experience brought new meaning to the words anguish and torment. Unbearable came to the party as well. In his current condition, Michael didn’t stand a chance. His body could barely respond to his commands. Aches registered in places he had forgotten existed. Michael tried to pick himself up from the ground. Strength escaped him. He’d have better luck bench pressing a tank.

  Michael didn’t have the luxury of wasting time distressing over his essential manhandling. Death approached. He pressed his knee to the ground. The added leverage lifted him from a dangerously prone position. His eyes locked with the menacing look glazed over Kurtis’ face just inches away from his own.

  Lifting Michael’s body
off the ground was easy. Kurtis grabbed him by the collar. He didn’t even put up a defense. Michael just hung there at the mercy his insane captor, without even the strength to defy this man's will.

  “You’re a hell of a punching bag. I’ll admit, I’m surprised your bones hadn’t liquefied yet.”

  Not even a flinch in response. Kurtis felt like slapping him around a bit more. Maybe having an appendage or two torn from his body will impress the seriousness of this situation.

  “I have no idea what that old man feared. Look at you. Nothing but flesh and bone. In the end, you’re all going to die whereas I… I am going to live forever. Because that’s what I was created for.”

  Michael grunted. His lungs had been bruised. Breathing became a chore. Still, a time without thrashing was nice. If he could only keep this idiot rambling for a bit longer.

  Pain detonated at ground zero. Kurtis released one of his hands and slammed it into Michael’s injured shoulder. It was the first time he heard this man’s dismal wincing. Not the outlandish cry in terror he was hoping for but it seemed to do the trick.

  “Before I rip your bones out one by one, I have to know,” Kurtis struggled to take a deep breath. Apparently he had sustained more damage that he cared to admit. His frustration turned to anger. “Why would anyone be afraid of you? A weakling that can’t even move his lips to come to his own defense. Tell me human! What makes you so special that the General would fear you over me?!”

  That’s what this was all about? Michael felt insulted. He was caught between a parent and child squabble. This could be useful to his interests. Michael knew the perfect way to antagonize him. Pushing his buttons in this state may seem foolish but looks can be deceiving. He let out a slight cough and said in a raspy but fierce voice, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”