Evolution of Angels

by Nathan Wall

  “Half a klick northeast,” the pilot said, pointing, “on the other side of those buildings.”

  “Bring us to a rendezvous,” Jackson yelled, pulling off his mask. When seeing who he was, the pilot nodded and brought the helicopter around.

  The aircraft turned right, zig-zagging between the modern towers that neighbored the old world architecture and headed down a street with St. Basil's Cathedral noticeable in the distance. The sun sat in the blue sky behind the picturesque scene.

  Getting the lay of the land, Jackson saw nine large towers in a close proximity with one another. Eight were completed; the ninth currently under construction. Below his position was a large oval-shaped building which ran the length of several city blocks, acting as a barrier between two sets of massive towers. The tallest tower standing to his left was on fire and in ruins as several of the top floors had collapsed and tore down the side of the building.

  He shook his head, doing a double-take when spotting Lian and Charon standing side by side. Austin was behind them, in shackles on one of the mid-level floors of the construction site. On the other side of that same building was Helicopter One, but he noticed Sanderson and Jarrod weren't inside.

  Charon, focused on Helicopter One, raised his hands. He emitted a bright pink light and opened up a rift behind the first helicopter. A swarm of Crill exited through and quickly overtook the aircraft, dragging it to the ground and making it crash into a multilayer bridge that housed rush hour traffic.

  “There's our friends. Down there in the construction zone,” Jackson yelled, pointing so the pilot could see. “Those two are the friendlies. Can we engage that target with a missile without endangering them?”

  Three MiG-29s soared into the skyline, opening fire on the Crill and on Jackson's helicopter. The gears on Jackson's custom aircraft cranked. The rotors shifted and rocket jets formed as wings protruded out, turning the helicopter into a jet. The aircraft hung a hard left, zooming between the Mercury Tower and the construction zone, evading the Russian machine gun fire.

  One of the MiG-29s gave chase while the other two attempted to destroy the Crill. Jackson's aircraft dipped low to the ground, flying not much more than a dozen yards from the streets, making several quick turns and evading maneuvers to miss bridges, signs, and crosswalks.

  Within seconds, the aircraft was in the center of the town flying through Red Square and heading back south toward a large oxbow in the river front right next to the Kremlin. The small jet began a steep seventy degree incline, climbing into the sky. Hundreds of Russian forces stormed the streets, setting up blockades around the center ring of Russia's capital city. A constant jarring beep stabbed through the throttling sounds of the aircraft’s roaring jets.

  “What's that noise?” Jackson asked, his muscles bulging as he held firmly onto a few grips that lined the aircraft.

  “The MiG’s got a lock on us,” the pilot grunted, quickly flicking a few switches.

  Several flares shot out from the tail end of the aircraft as the Russian jet released two missiles. The first missile exploded in the flares, but the second made it through unscathed. Leveling the aircraft, the pilot made a race toward a park near the outer ring of the city.

  “Everyone in your seats,” the pilot ordered. The other men complied and the pilot pushed a large red button. Straps slid over the waists and torsos of his passengers and thick bulletproof plastic tubes shot up and encased them. “We're not going to outrun it.”

  He pressed the button once more, holding it down for five seconds. Three clear pods, with his passengers inside, were launched out of the bottom of the aircraft and into the park. Jackson pushed his way out of the pod and looked up to see the pilot turn left toward the river. The missile hit the aircraft, engulfing it in flames. Debris scattered out over the water.

  The wave-like sound of emergency sirens echoed through the thick tree line. Police cars, ambulances, and military vehicles sped through the city streets on the other side of the trees toward the wreckage.

  Jackson freed the other two survivors and did a quick count of how many weapons they had remaining. The copilot, shaking, looked at Jackson.

  “Why don't you form your suit?” he asked, his lips quivering. Jackson just looked at him and snapped the chamber back on his handgun. The copilot fell to his knees, shuddering in fear. “We could use the suit.”

  “I can't.” Jackson shook his head, offering his blotchy hand to the copilot. When he stood the man up, Jackson rolled his sleeve up to his elbow and showed his skin which was a myriad of sickly-looking colors. “Even if I had the armor with me, I'm far too weak to survive it for long.”

  “So are we as good as dead?” the other survivor asked, following close behind as Jackson jogged back toward the skyscrapers.

  Jackson stopped in his tracks, breathing hard, and turned to look the two scared individuals in the face. He opened his mouth, briefly thinking about telling a lie, and then hesitated. He sighed, looking down, and laid his hands on their shoulders.

  “You two should find cover. No doubt we're being tracked by our home base. They'll find you and get you to safety.” He turned and ran as fast as he could, following the sirens as they raced to the warzone, leaving the two other survivors in the dust.

  A chill tore through his body, icing his lungs as he was deconstructed in a wave of pink energy and reformed on a mid-level floor of the construction building. He collapsed forward, grimacing and grabbing at his ribcage. His blurry vision started to come into focus. Walking up to him was a tiny figure.

  “Welcome to the party, Jackson.” Lian smiled, lifting her club and swiping it off the side of his head to knock him out. “One more to go before my collection is complete.”

  * * *

  “My chest…” Hershiser coughed, trying to sit up. Shah slid his fingers through Hershiser's hair and gently pushed him back down. “I have to get moving.”

  “Relax, Shawn, I'm trying to help you,” Shah said, grabbing for a sedative. Hershiser rolled off the sofa and pulled himself to his feet. He swatted the syringe out of Shah's hand. It shattered on the floor. “You're still recovering.”

  “How?” Hershiser pulled his shirt up and saw three swollen black and purple welts. “They went through me.”

  “Them.” Shah pointed at two unconscious child healers with bleeding noses. “I found you like this. I wanted to tell you about the rift—”

  “—What rift?”

  “The rendezvous was a trap.” Shah shook his head. “They're in Moscow. It's all over every news station. Some are calling it Armageddon. Some an alien invasion. Most seem to think it's a terror plot. The Russian Prime Minister has called for a state of emergency. They're cut off.”

  “I wonder if this is a part of his plan, too.” Hershiser clenched his fist.

  “Who?”

  “Elliot.” Hershiser looked at Shah. “He's the one who shot me.”

  “Because of this?” Shah asked, holding up the flash drive. Hershiser reached for it, but Shah pulled it back, placing it in his pocket. “I saw everything. Trust me, I'm on your side. We can't let him go through with his future plans.”

  “We can't let him continue with anything.” Hershiser stepped forward, reaching his fingers into Shah's pocket and removing the flash drive. “We have no communications with Sanderson? We need to find Jackson and get him into a suit.”

  “He's the first person I tried to find, but he's not here,” Shah said with a long face. “I was told he snuck his way into the extraction. He was on Helicopter Three and it was just destroyed by the Russian Air Force.”

  Hershiser fell back to the sofa and rubbed his head. Breathing hard, he collected his thoughts.

  “Why don't we just have Elliot arrested?” Shah asked, shrugging. He sat down on the sofa and turned his shoulders to face Hershiser. “We've got enough evidence to end him.”

  “What? Arrest the most powerful man in the Agency? The one guy who's been getting his hand into the back pocket of every single in
dividual who could shut this place down?” Hershiser laughed, rolling his eyes. “Good luck with that. To top it off, he's been dosing himself with PVH600. He's one of the gifted.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Fight fire with fire and beg the next best thing to help us.” Hershiser stood, laughing at the thought of what he'd been reduced to. He had to ask for help from the lowest of scum. “We crawl on our hands and knees and ask Oreios to help us stop him.”

  * * *

  Jackson awoke with his head lying on Sanderson's lap. The fierce wind flowed from the northwest, bringing with it smoke from the skyscraper adjacent to their position. He sat up, rubbing the side of his face and saw thousands of Crill swarming through the sky around them. He stood, walked backwards, and tripped. Sanderson grabbed his hand and pulled him back onto the unfinished floor.

  “Be careful where you step,” Sanderson yelled, his voice barely audible over the fracas caused by the thousands of flapping wings. “This place is still under construction.”

  Five Cyclopes lumbered toward the two, squinting and snarling. Lian followed behind them.

  “Hello, boys,” she laughed, entering the mind of a Cyclops and telling him to lift her onto his shoulders. “Are you enjoying the party?”

  “What's wrong with you?” Jackson screamed, stepping toward Lian before Sanderson pulled him back. “How could you betray us?”

  “Betray you?” she yelled, laughing. “You guys are the ones to talk. Betrayal… I laugh at the thought.”

  “She's not herself,” Sanderson said to Jackson. He looked at Lian's glassy eyes and knew something was wrong. He addressed her. “You're not in control of things, Lian. This isn't like you at all.”

  “I'm not in control?” She clapped her hands, rocking back and forth, taunting them. “Look at who’s my prisoner thirty stories high. How does it feel to have the situation reversed, Sanderson?”

  “I know that the past ten years have been hard on you, Lian, but you have to believe me that I was cold on purpose.” Sanderson stepped forward, hands up in a show of submission. A Cyclops stomped on the floor in front of him, sending a shockwave through the steel beams and knocking Sanderson on all fours. “If you want me to bow in front of you and ask for forgiveness, all you need to do is say so.”

  “We're way past the point of forgiveness.”

  “Then what do you want from us?” Jackson asked, lending a hand to help Sanderson to his feet. “I don't know how you can just turn your back on everything we've been able to create in this world. Being a part of the death of millions of people completely washes it all away.”

  “Look at what Sanderson's lies has done to you, Daniel,” Lian said, rolling her eyes as a serious expression formed on her face. “You look like hell. Your body can't cope with the changes you've been made to endure for two years. Just two. I've been under his thumb for far longer.”

  “I'm ok with this. I asked for it.”

  “I didn't,” she screamed. A violent surge went through Jackson's and Sanderson's head, momentarily crippling them. She released them from the pain. “Get up.”

  “Lian, you need to forget everything you think you know.” Sanderson’s stomach convulsed as he rolled on his back. He looked up at her, panting heavily. “Look inside my mind. See the truth.”

  “I should look inside and wipe everything away,” she said, having the Cyclops lower her to the floor next to Sanderson. “But I want to watch as all of your triumphs, failures, and hard work is erased for good.”

  “Just do it,” he said, grabbing her by the shirt and pulling her close. “If you're not swayed by what you see, then you can kill me.”

  Jackson slowly crept toward her, but she lifted a hand and froze him in place. She stared deep into Sanderson's eyes, gliding her fingers along his temple and entered his mind. She surged through his thoughts to the beginning days as he tried to help his wife conceive a child. Time flashed forward as he watched his house burn, fearing the woman he loved was trapped inside. She felt the pain mutate into agony and hate over the years. Walking in his shoes, she relived the moments when he met a man by the name of Dai Wu. Her father.

  “Daddy?” she said, her hands trembling. Sanderson held them tightly and brushed her cheek as she continued to see into his thoughts.

  “Promise me you'll care for them,” Wu said, embracing Sanderson, crying. “If anything happens to me, you have to help them disappear.”

  “I will,” Sanderson replied.

  Lian let him go, severing the connection. Her eyes welled up, turning red as her lips trembled. She wiped the moisture away from her cheeks and slowly stood, ignoring Sanderson as he offered his hand to comfort her. She turned around and laughed at him, her eyes still glazed over.

  “So you hid me in the program to keep Elliot from killing me?” Lian yelled. “And you thought that was a good idea?”

  “I didn't know what else to do.” Sanderson crawled on his knees. “I had to move you to keep you safe. Your father hid something very important inside of you and your brother. I had to keep it away from Elliot.”

  A deafening explosion tore through the air. Sanderson turned, looking to the east to see the Kremlin going up in flames. The fighting spread throughout the entire city. He looked back to Lian, grabbing her hands.

  “You have to end this,” he pleaded. “You can end this.”

  “I'm going to do the same thing you did all those years. All the years when you could have ended everything.” Lian pulled her hand back, glaring at Sanderson. “Nothing.”

  * * *

  Jarrod spun in the air, driving a ferocious crescent kick through the faces of the three Satyrs who stood in a circle around him. He swung the short blade he found lying amongst the hundreds of dead bodies and slashed it through one of their necks before driving it through the stomachs of the other two, killing them.

  The explosion at the Kremlin shook through the building, imploring him to shift his attention toward the gaping hole on the east side of the tower. He walked that direction, stepping over bodies, destroyed desks, walls, and vending machines. He ducked past the wires and lights which hung from the ceiling and went toward the shattered glass wall to see a massive ball of flames extend into the sky in a swirl of radiant yellow and charcoal.

  He looked down at his arms and his suit was still nearly at full capacity. A few of the scuffs quickly repaired. He swiped his fingers over the tablet on his left wrist, trying to establish communications with the home base, but all electronic and radio signals had been cut off by the Russian army as part of an emergency plan to suppress any uprisings as well as quell any fears.

  Another quick pink flash entered behind him just as it had happened many times already through the whole ordeal. Wave after wave of easily defeated adversaries were sent through rifts to fight Jarrod, only to die.

  “What is he biding his time for?” Jarrod said, thinking about Charon.

  A hulking Cyclops smashed through the wall. Jarrod dove to his left and rolled along the ground. He sprinted through the door, circled around to the right, and charged up at the Cyclops from behind. He leapt into the air, yanked a jagged steel beam from the ceiling, and flipped around, landing on the giant's back. He stabbed the sharp metal through the beast’s neck and rode him to the floor like he would a falling tree and nailed him down.

  “If he's trying to wear me out, he's not doing a very good job.” Jarrod shook his head, stepping around the five foot tall metal beam that was lodged in the back of the giant’s head. He walked out of the room and looked throughout the entire office floor. It was like a hurricane had blown through. Two fighter jets zoomed through the distance, drawing his attention. “He's distracting me.”

  The coming and going of the loud swooshing roars passed around the tower followed quickly by the unmistakable sound of weapons fire and missile launches. Jarrod rushed toward the fighting and looked down to the street level to see thousands of people fleeing as Argus gave chase with an army of creatures behind him.r />
  Thousands of Crill swarmed through the sky, tearing apart the jets. The aircrafts tried hard to outrun and outmaneuver the demon-looking creatures, but there were far too many. A tank in the far distance unleashed a shot and the blast exploded several floors above Jarrod. The energy tore a hole through a large chunk of the tower, blowing Jarrod through several walls. The fire rushed over him.

  Shaking his head, his vision blurred and finally readjusted. He sat up and noticed that large sections of the aurascales, including the portion over his face, had been blown away. Several burns, cuts and abrasions littered his arms, legs, body and face. He wiped a small trickle of blood away from his right eye, pushing himself through the rubble to stand.

  His eyes had a slight bluish glow, but it quickly faded away as he suppressed a beckoning rage within. He clenched his fists and a white light beamed over him. The aurascales quickly repaired its damage. He charged forward, racing toward the new hole in the building and jumped out of the thirty-third floor of the tower and into the fray.

  Soaring through the midst of the Crill, he crisscrossed his hands over his chest, pointing his body as stiff as a board straight down. Tearing through the air, he set his sights on Argus who was killing Russian forces and civilians a good five hundred yards to the west. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he counted the floors as he passed them. Gaining incredible velocity, he balled his fists even tighter as he passed the tenth floor. When he reached the fifth floor he shifted his body at an angle. He pointed at Argus, spread his arms, and formed the aurascales wingsuit. Gliding faster than the Crill could fly, Jarrod steered himself on a collision course with his enemy.

  Then… the impact.

  Jarrod extended his fists out in front of his flying body, ramming them into Argus’ chest. A deafening boom spread out, blowing debris in all directions and shattering all of the windshields and windows within a one block radius. The momentum of Jarrod's flight carried the two several hundred yards down the street and through a building, crashing them into a shopping center. The pair skidded uncontrollably in a V-shaped formation away from one another, smashing through display cases, walls, electronics, clothes, and numerous other items as they slowly rolled to a stop.