by K. T. Hanna
After winding his way for a while, he pauses at the entrance to the underground labs they raided, hand poised by the door as he reaches out with his mind to quiet the silly psionic alarm. An odd choice, given what the lab is supposed to conceal.
He breathes in that strangely filtered air, with all its suggestive properties floating around, and places his hand on the door to open it. Peace suffuses him, and a calm washes through his mind. Regardless of right or wrong, there is no going back now. He steps into the corridor, and makes his way up through Central.
Dom sits in the corner of the room, spying on the board of directors. Bastian bites his lip, in that sort of habit he gets when trying to figure something out. For just a moment, a jolt of recognition almost pulls Dom out of his thoughts, but the shadows tug him under and he joins them, comfortable.
Davis is easy to spot in the room, slightly overweight with a pot belly that belies far too much indulgence in alcohol. His greasy hair is speckled with silver, and his eyes wander the room, lingering with a disdain that’s almost tangible on every person in it.
Deign taps her foot, and the anger is palpable as she speaks. “Not one of you has yet to bring me a reason for this embarrassment. It’s been far too long in the coming.” She stands, her hands on her hips, her height used to full advantage. She looks thinner than Dom remembers. Perhaps the stress is getting to her. As it should.
She scowls and it projects. Her tactile empathy only applies to what others feel, not what she’s feeling. And the anger that’s bubbling over into the room from her makes being in it uncomfortable. Davis and Sever squirm. Even Harlow fixes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, eyes never leaving the flickering glow of her implants.
Deign shifts her weight, and her eyes focus on each person in the room in turn. “Perhaps we can see about replacing some of you.” It’s not a request; it’s a simple statement. Even Dom can feel the tension in the room rise.
Davis clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is as oily as his hair. “I can look into the locators on the dominos and see if we can track them down via those?”
Deign turns at the sound of his voice, an eyebrow raised as she takes two short steps closer and leans her fists against the table. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
To his credit, Davis manages not to squirm. “I can do it. In the uproar over the laboratories, it’s been difficult to locate the tracking devices.”
Selwyn interjects seamlessly. “We have managed to locate the tracking file again and should have it activated by the end of the day.”
Deign glares at them both, her wave of displeasure wafting through the room. “See to it that you do.”
A margin of panic tries to assert itself into Dom’s mind—that the Exiled need to know about the trackers, that there could be danger coming their way—but he bats it aside. There are more matters overriding urges that, and he moves smoothly out of the room, ignoring the rest of the conversation as the door opens to let Davis out.
The man waddles toward the bathrooms. As he turns into the small hall that precedes the toilets, Dom reaches out and grabs him around the throat, his own body still mostly blended into the surroundings.
Davis splutters and kicks feebly as Dom studies him. His mind feels awfully blank, and yet somehow eager. There’s a gentle compulsion to twist his wrist and just do it, do it. He could. It’d be so easy—so much energy in there for the taking, just like with Sai, except harmful, not helping.
“Why?” Davis manages to splutter out.
“Why?” Dom tastes the word on his own tongue, foreign for a moment. “People like you make people like me disposable. And people like me resent that.”
The words wash over him, through him in a delighted sort of realization that gives him a greedy shiver up his spine. Would that the world were empty of this kind. His fingers clench around the man’s neck harder. He watches with a strange detachment as Davis flounders, as his face turns interesting shades of reds and purples and blues. Finally, having enough, he twists his hand and snaps the man’s neck.
Life force ebbs immediately, and Dom dives into the electrical energy without a second thought. There’s power in it, heightened senses, and he flings the big man easily against the bathroom tiles.
“Damn it,” he mutters, heady with an electrical rush. Hunting is almost fun, but killing was anti-climactic. A wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm him, and words he can’t define clamor at the back of his skull, trying to make themselves heard. A sickening realization that he just gave in all too willingly, all too easily.
He shuts all the voices down with a thought and a shield, leaving himself in silence again. Alone.
Bastian runs his fingers through his hair before letting his head collapse on outstretched arms on his desk. A harsh day, and only one of many since the infiltration.
With no Dom around to confide in, to talk to and bounce some of his zanier ideas off, Bastian is left to his own devices, his own thoughts. His own sense of Shine regulation to dull his power levels in order to avoid Zach and Deign’s potential vigilance is starting to wear on him. He’s balanced precariously, and the sour metallic taste never fully leaves his mouth.
Crisis mode means even his trips to Garr are risky. He can’t risk the board finding out about him, not now. Mason’s smack to his face had been almost too convincing, so no blame lay at Bastian’s feet, but the council was in uproar and venturing out on his own had been mostly cut.
The lack of privacy was dangerous. Right now, appearing any stronger than they’d always assumed would be a death sentence.
He could do with Dom to watch his back and provide his usual unintentionally acerbic observations. They’d been companions since Bastian’s teenage years. It was hard to let go of his friend, even if it was for the best.
There’s a soft knock on his large entrance doors. Stifling a groan, Bastian motions the mechanism with his hand and mumbles “Come in” into the sleeves of his ever-present jacket.
He can’t hear footsteps and looks up to see an open door with no one standing in it. Immediately alert and a little embarrassed that he opened it before being on his guard, he murmurs under his breath. “Damned kids, playing pranks. I swear I was never allowed to be this annoying.”
He rises slowly and walks to the door as if to peek out into the broad hallway and see if there’s someone lurking nearby. Once the door is closed, he turns to face the room, retightening the wards. He pulls at the brick-like structure, stuffing the slight cracks with as much mind mortar as he can. Nothing seems to have forced its way through. Even in his tired and Shined-up state, he would have noticed a disruption to his wards. There’s no ripple in the air to give away anything, no hint of psionics gently fluttering against his perception shields, and no sound whatsoever.
But something is there.
The most telling sign is the lack of hostility. Even the most professional assassin still has thoughts of the act or of the greed for the money they’ll get at the end. If he concentrates really hard, Bastian can pinpoint pretty much anyone based on their thoughts alone, regardless of how professional they profess to be.
“Dom?” he whispers into the room, hoping against hope that he didn’t just give himself away with that three-letter name.
The change isn’t sudden; adrium doesn’t work like that. But gradually, Dom’s natural colors come into view, the underlying hum music to Bastian’s ears.
He gasps involuntarily at the sight of his friend. Despite the fact that Dom is a hybrid creation and should technically always appear the same, Dom has changed. His jawline is harder, more pronounced, with none of the casual lines it formed over the last few months working as Sai’s partner. There’s a hardness about him, a ripple-free form that lends a sense of danger to the languid way he moves.
“Dom,” Bastian says, this time not a question. “You seem...different.”
Dom locks eyes with him for a second, silver flickering through a myriad of colors. “Mathur helped me fix my
self.” He shrugs, but the easy roll of his shoulders make the very human movement look eerie and alien. Dom takes a half-seat, resting on the edge of Bastian’s desk. “You obviously heard.”
Of course Bastian heard, and Dom is right not to phrase it as a question. Bastian knows everything there is to know about his role in Sai’s injury, only he’d hoped his friend would help her with recovery, too. After all, everyone knew Sai had been injured. Even the GNW spun it in their favor.
It is with great sadness we report the loss of one of our own. Do not venture where we have deemed it unsafe. The GNW wishes you to be content and protected.
Bastian hesitates before testing the waters, unsure how this new Dom, this darker version of his friend, will react. “How is she?”
This time the adrium edges of his form sharpen when he shrugs, as a brief wave of irritation passes over his otherwise blank expression. “I haven’t seen her for a few days. I took my time getting here, sorting my head out.”
“Sorting your head out?” This doesn’t sound like Dom, not the Dom Bastian grew up with. Something is very wrong.
Dom shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge something. “I don’t think she welcomes me near her for the moment. It’s probably for the best. I almost killed her.”
There’s a metallic clang to his voice, soft and sad, like a darkly toning bell. Bastian watches him, entirely aware of the strong attachment Sai and Dom have for one another. “I’m sure she just needs a bit of time. You have plenty of it. She’ll come around.”
“Perhaps.” His tone is doubtful, but the dark bell is gone—at least for the moment. “I’ll be around here for another week or so. I can come and go easier than anyone else, and I can make sure I take care of a few things along the way. If even you can’t see me when I focus on camouflage, I doubt anyone else has a hope.”
Bastian laughs, but also cringes a little at the thought. “My perceptions might be a little duller than usual.”
For the first time since arriving, Dom actually meets his eyes unflinchingly. “Since when?”
“I have to dose myself almost constantly.” The words sound strange in his head, and Bastian hesitates, watching Dom for a sign of reaction, but his friend only blinks once before speaking.
“Be careful with it. I won’t always be within reach.” He leaves the rest of the statement empty, but they both know what he means and Bastian shivers slightly. Without Dom close, there is no hope of escape if he’s found out. Living with danger just got more tangible.
“It’s probably not a good idea for you to hang around,”
Dom raises an eyebrow in an almost perfect mimicry of Bastian’s own. “It’s not a risk. I’m the perfect assassin. No one can see me, no one can hear me, and no one can sense my brand of psionics.”
When Bastian opens his mouth to speak, Dom holds up a hand. “It also makes it easier for you to contact us. No reaching out and being caught by the net, no accidental overdoses from overdoing it.” He grins, and the lighting in Bastian’s office lends a sinister gleam to Dom’s eyes. “I can get in and out without being observed, pick up information or deliver it. I’m fast. No one will see me coming.”
There’s a lull as Bastian assesses his friend’s new poise, this strange distance even though he’s right in front of him. “So can I ask what business you’re here for?”
“Of course.” Dom grins—the one expression he can never totally nail down—but offers up nothing else.
“You’re being pedantic, Dom.” Bastian is surprised to find himself irritated at his friend or perhaps at the changes in him.
“No. I’m just granting you the permission to ask me that question.” There’s a playful hint to Dom’s voice in direct juxtaposition to his expression.
It hits Bastian with the sheer force that only a hundred percent certainty can, and the picture fills in. It’s dark and dramatic and nothing like the Dom he’s used to. “You killed Davis, didn’t you?”
“Just a little.” Dom cocks his head to the side. “You have guests approaching. There’s no time for me to exit. I’ll hide by the workout mats.”
Dom moves to the corner, deftly melding with the shadows until there is no trace left of him. A knock follows shortly afterward. Bastian takes a deep breath, pushing the worry for his friend down and away to be analyzed later. For Dom to give into his original programming goes against everything his friend had become.
A quick probe at the door lets him know that it’s not only Deign and Zach, but also a couple of other board members. Precisely what and who he didn’t want to deal with right now. He checks himself and his psionic levels, sits down at the desk, and hopes there’s still enough Shine in his system to be convincing.
With a thought, he trips the psionic door mechanism. He only hopes Dom is as good at concealing himself as he seems to think he is.
It takes an inhuman amount of control for Bastian to refrain from glancing over at the corner where Dom is hiding. Deign reaches the desk first, her expression taut as she avoids his eyes for the first few moments of her entrance. Zach saunters more than walks, a slight smirk tugging at the left side of his lips before he pulls up a chair next to Deign. Selwyn, catapulted into a leader position in the wake of Davis’s death, sits with Harlow off to one side. None of them say a word, and Bastian can feel his patience precariously balanced just this side of losing his temper.
Harlow fidgets, tucking her dark brown hair behind her ears. Her eyes flicker through a spectrum of color as she blinks rapidly, looking at no one. The implants allow her to never leave the running of the system to anyone else. While she’s never been all that comfortable with her authority, her attention to detail and tireless dedication makes her the best. Not counting Kayde, of course.
Bastian double-checks his patience before speaking. It’s in meager supply, and he doesn’t have the energy to dull his tone. “I’m tired. I’ve been testing half the day and in meetings the other half. If you’re here to regale me with how much work still needs to be done, then my only argument is: I can’t work if I’m dead.”
Deign laughs, but the forced sound doesn’t relieve the tension. The others shift uncomfortably, and Bastian feels like he has a steel rod straight through his spine. People don’t visit his offices often. His reputation sees to that. So why are they here?
“Can’t have you dying on me, Bast. I can’t do this without you.” Deign’s voice is tired and oddly vulnerable in front of the people who could technically strip her of her position if she let them live to do so. Her usually perfectly coifed dark hair has strands hanging loose—so uncharacteristic. She signs and locks gazes as she scans the room, a glimmer of steel in her eyes despite the apparent exhaustion. That wisp of helplessness barely conceals the ruthless woman he knows, the one who, with a single focused thought, can bring people to their knees.
Deign clears her throat. “I’ve called us together because I trust you. Right now, we need trust the most.”
Bastian keeps his face as neutral as possible while he cringes inwardly. Stoic or not, surprises aren’t his forte. He waits for her to continue, wondering if she’s perhaps ill. They don’t need a fight for succession right now. And trust? It’s not something he’s ever attributed to Deign before.
“We have to do something drastic.” Deign’s tone changes, hardens, and her eyes flash with some of their habitual edge. The moment of vulnerability has passed, almost like it never existed. “With Davis gone, Selwyn is our foremost adrium and mechanical scientist. He informs me that the tracking beacons on the missing domino contingents will not function at all and that the original 12 never had the device installed.”
While she pauses, Bastian raises an eyebrow in question, only to receive a nod from a rather pale Selwyn. No tracking ability. Lucky Dom. The silence lengthens, and he realizes they’re all clearly waiting for a response from him.
“I’m not sure what you think I can do? I’m much better at running the training divisions.”
Deign frowns, annoyan
ce spreading to a crease in her forehead. “Davis is dead. Very dead.” She breathes in and scowls. The expression pinches her lips in a strange way, making it more sinister. “Dead. In the bathroom down the hall from our meeting room, Bastian.”
He waits, knowing she’s not finished, but does grant her a nod, which she returns.
“I have no idea what Markus was doing, but this lack of security needs to stop.” She pauses, locks eyes with each of them in turn before lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “We don’t know who it was or what they wanted, but they got around security, just like the Exiled did. They can do it again. They could kill us all in our sleep.”
The words echo slightly through the huge room, the rustling of the last sentence paling the other inhabitants. Deign waves a hand at Zach and pinches her brow as her chest rises and falls more rapidly than it should. And suddenly Bastian realizes what’s wrong. It doesn’t matter how strong Deign is, how formidable she might be in any given situation, because if she’s asleep and her assailant is stealthy enough, the probability of her death becomes very real. He finds it hard to tear his eyes away from her, from this new side, this side of selfish self-preservation that, by default, extends to everyone else. It’s almost like she cares.
Meanwhile, Zach stands, smirk on his face, and smoothes down his jacket. There’s an odd gleam to his eyes that Bastian can’t place except that it usually has to do with Zach thinking he has the upper hand. It immediately makes Bastian wary.
“We think the only way we’re going to come out of this even close to where we entered it—in terms of resources and recourse—is to bring the Damascus out of stasis.”
For a second, Bastian thinks he’s heard it wrong and wonders briefly if he and Dom could take all four of his guests out without anyone being the wiser. He blinks, but the others are just as shell-shocked. Only Deign, still pinching the bridge of her nose, and Zach, still smug in all his stupidity, don’t have their mouths open in terror.
