by Jim Roberts
The dead man was standing.
He was standing straight up as if he hadn't been shot at all.
Before Anita could focus on the man, he leapt into the air, like a charged bolt of energy, towards the first building. She saw him land on the roof. Then the sounds of frightened rebels yelling filled the air. The noise of gunfire wracked the building.
Then the screaming began.
Men calling out, terrified as something not of their world ripped them apart. The little girl had never heard a worse sound in her life. The men screaming in agony as they were slaughtered to the man was more horrifying than anything Anita could imagine.
A few seconds after the screaming began, it ceased. The gunfire quieted and stopped altogether. Anita searched the building, trying to catch a glimpse of the brown man.
Suddenly a deafening explosion ripped into the building, as if a demolition charge had been activated. The entire structure collapsed in on itself, buckling at the foundation and tumbling forward in a deafening swell of smoke and debris.
Anita was buffeted by the destruction. She curled up into a fetal ball, trying to block out the horror of war she had walked into.
But something made her continue to watch. Just to catch a glimpse of the brown man one more time.
She saw him, leaping with a speed and height simply impossible for any man. He leapt straight against the next building of rebels. He collided with it like a cannonball, plowing into the side.
More gunfire. More shouting.
Then came the screaming.
It echoed throughout the boulevard. Anita put her hands to her ears, trying to drown out the sound.
And then it was all over.
Silence filled the streets once more.
Anita got to her hands and knees, planning to run towards the nearest alleyway with all her might.
The brown man might return. I have to run!
Before she could even stand, a massive weight landed on the rubble just meters from where she stood. The force knocked Anita off her feet. Her eyes stinging badly from the dust, the little girl managed to open them and focus on what had once been the man in brown.
He was so tall. Taller than any man she had ever seen. His body shone like dark ebony, covered neck to toe in a black and fluorescent blue armor that seemed to glow. In one of his hands was a long blade, drenched with blood. Smears of red crimson covered one side of his body, dripping down the slick armor to pool on the rubble at his feet.
Anita cowered at the feet of the man, her eyes bleary in fear.
The man looked down at her.
For as long as Anita lived, she would never forget the face that stared down upon her.
A skull. Behind a transparent helmet that covered his head, behind the glass was what Anita could only describe as a skull. The dark pits of the eyes stared down at her, piercing her soul.
And then the eyes seemed to enflame, glowing red as they scrutinized the small child at its feet.
"Are you Satan?" Anita asked, getting onto her knees. To the little girl, it was the only logical explanation for what stood staring at her.
Death itself.
The red eyes of the skull looked at her for a moment before it raised its head back up. Then, without a word, the man leapt into the air, gripping the side of the building behind Anita. He propelled himself along, as if gravity meant little to him, gaining momentum before leaping again to the building beside it. Anita tried to follow where he was, but after a few seconds, he had vanished.
Anita stood silent, standing amidst a burned out street, quiet once again.
It took the small girl another five minutes before she could scream.
* * *
Olympus Blacksite, Sadoma, Zimbala
Titus stared dumbfounded at the command interface.
"My God." He stumbled for words, "Just...how did..."
Octavia deactivated the camera links for the time being and turned to meet the eyes of her lover.
"The Code. In essence, that is all Prometheus is. The machinery that comprises forty-five percent of his body is merely a sheath, a sarcophagus so to speak, that houses his brain and nervous center. The Code increases his tactical awareness by superhuman levels."
Octavia stood up from her station and called out to the technicians. "Everyone get out of the way, he'll be returning any second!"
Suddenly, a heavy impact on the roof of the Blacksite sent Titus's hand to the pistol at his side. Octavia rested her hand on it.
"No, don't do anything that will provoke him!"
Titus took his hand away from the holster, but kept his eyes on the roof. The Olympus technicians backed away, muttering amongst themselves about whether or not this was part of the test.
Everyone in the Blacksite was bowled back as the person on the roof tore through the ceiling with ease, and dropped into the compound. Reacting instinctively, Titus pulled the .45 Colt 1911 from his holster and leveled it at the stationary figure.
Prometheus.
Olympus's greatest achievement.
"Put it down, you idiot!" Octavia clamped her hand on Titus's arm, pulling the weapon away from her creation. Titus could only stare at the monstrosity before him. He had never been this close to the cyborg the Imperator had called 'The Future of Warfare'. It was a nightmare. Towering over everyone in the Blacksite, Prometheus was war itself compacted down into a single man.
The machine of war stood steady, not moving after his dramatic entrance into the Blacksite.
"What's it doing?" Titus asked, his hands shaking.
"He is in cooldown mode. His mental capacity is temporarily overloaded from battle fatigue." Octavia put her hands out to show she was unarmed. Gradually, she approached Prometheus, careful not to provoke the cyborg.
Titus holstered his gun, "But he was only out there for an hour at most."
"Closer to forty-five minutes, actually." Octavia replied, gingerly approaching the blue and obsidian colored man. "The Code requires his mind to operate at speeds unquantified by human capability. The amount of time he can spend on the battlefield has been gradually diminishing."
"Why would that be?" Titus asked.
"Because the Code is incomplete," Octavia's voice quivered with annoyance as she touched the exterior of Prometheus's armor. She checked the slick material for any damage he may have received in the fight. "Why do you think getting the Tactical Code is so important."
Titus sighed, trying to relax at the sight of the man/machine that was fully capable of rending him piece by piece. He walked slowly to stand behind Octavia. Prometheus stared straight ahead, the cold skull behind the helmet showing no expression of movement or soul.
"Why the skull?" Titus asked.
"When something like this heads toward you intent on ending your life, wouldn't you be afraid?" Octavia smirked as she finished her analysis of her creation. "He is most efficient in close combat. That's why we chose a sword for his primary weapon. The Code gives him knowledge in nearly all forms of martial combat."
Titus folded his arms. Around him, the technicians went back to work. Several workers began the arduous task of patching the roof from the war-machine's dramatic entrance. Titus reached forward and cautiously touched the armored body of Prometheus.
"Why does the suit glow?" he asked.
"The armor is a reactive titanium resin, interlinked with nano-fibrous thermoplastic. The body underneath is hyper charged in order to function, thereby requiring a continuous cooling system to maintain its operation. The blue glow is a result of the cooling procedure."
"Doesn't do much for stealth operations." Titus said, snidely.
"He wasn't built for stealth." Octavia said, passing a sensor device over the surface of Prometheus's armor, checking for damage. "He is built to evaluate, penetrate and destroy. He is a first strike weapon capable of entering into a conflict zone, doing massive amounts of damage, then retreating to safety."
Titus looked up at the hole in the ceiling. "How does he jump like
that?"
"The legs of the suit have a muscle density comparable to that of a grasshopper. Prior to a jump, the legs act as a catapult. The compression of the jump builds massive tension inside the servos of the muscles, allowing Prometheus to reach a velocity of about 10 feet per second. The clamps on the foot−" Octavia gestured at several metal claw-like proboscis along both boots on the cyborg's feet, "−allow him to cling to the side of vertical objects, effectively allowing him to traverse any terrain, urban or otherwise."
As Titus slid his hand along the glowing obsidian armor, he noticed a crack in the suit. Dark, viscous blood oozed from the small wound.
"He's wounded." Titus said, showing Octavia the damaged area.
"Not for long. Watch."
As he watched the wound, something miraculous happened. The injury began to heal, at an astonishing pace. The blood flow ceased, the skin began to fuse back together, staunching the wound completely.
Octavia called over to a nearby tech, "There has been damage to the right thigh plating of the armor. See to it that it is repaired." Octavia threw a look over at Titus, "A result of the hyper charging means that Prometheus's innards are highly volatile. He requires repairs during any downtime he gets. If he were to ever take a catastrophic amount of damage, he is programmed with a fail-safe option."
Titus raised an eyebrow. "Fail-safe?"
"If Prometheus can no longer fight, he will initiate a function called Protocol One. Upon activation, the body of the cyborg will detonate in a mini-fusion explosion, taking his killer with him."
Titus looked at his lover, amazed at her erudite mind. Octavia smiled as she ran her sensor over the damaged area of the cyborg's thigh. "Prometheus is only half a machine. Much of what remained of his body is still in one piece, locked away under that armor. If a part is damaged, the nano-resin layer under the suit quickly repairs any damage to his human organs and bones."
"Prometheus..." Titus said, finally understanding the name.
Octavia smiled. "That's right, the Titan who brought fire to mankind−"
"−and was cursed by the Gods to have his liver pecked out every day, only for it to be healed and be eaten the next." Titus stepped back to admire the extraordinary machine he now had under his control.
"An obvious metaphor I suppose," Octavia ran her own hand down the thigh of the machine. "More testing is required, but soon, you may make use of him. Just remember, without the other half of the Code, Prometheus will always be a chained Titan; not allowed to fulfill his true purpose."
Titus put a hand on Octavia's face, stroking her perfectly formed cheek, "Trust me. It's only a matter of time. I will bring you the fire to make our Titan whole."
Chapter 9
The War Begins
Nunavut, Canada, November 23rd
"Give me a second, I need to think about this one," Joe paused before answering his taciturn friend's question. "Ok, I got it...motorcycle mechanic."
Danny gave Joe an odd look.
"I'm serious!" Joe said, making a wounded face, "When all this is done, when the military, CIA or whoever no longer has any need of me...motorcycle mechanic all the way!"
"I didn't know you liked motorcycles."
"Sure! Used to drive them all the time back home. I haven't driven one for−" Joe had to pause, trying to add up the years since he'd been behind the handlebars of a full-blooded Harley. "Huh...about four years actually."
The companions had been trudging through ankle deep snow for the past two hours, only half-heartedly searching for game. While visiting Arviat to gather some firewood, the two men had heard of several smallish caribou herds moving south along the plateau to the north. It was almost certain the population would make its way through the general area sometime soon. It had been two days since and neither man had seen anything besides a few coyotes. The northern winter was beginning in earnest and the temperature was chasing animals into the forests and more hilly areas of the northern territory.
"Why motorcycles?" Danny asked as they stopped for a moment to survey the deserted tundra. The bionic sunglasses were receiving too much white glare from the snow, so he placed a hand above them to draw out some of the light.
"The power, the control that you have over them, I guess. Just you, the open road and no cares in the world."
Danny lowered his hand. Nothing within three kilometers at least in any direction. They would have to turn back soon, or they risked being caught out after dark. Up here, the temperature could drop quickly, and although they had packed emergency gear, Danny wasn't keen on spending a night outside in minus forty degree weather.
"I could open a garage somewhere maybe, fix up old bikes, tinker with them...you know." Joe glanced at his Inuit friend. Danny had seemed so at peace these last few days. Joe didn't know if it was the 'revelation' his friend had had, or if it was just the peaceful quiet of the cold tundra that calmed him. It made Joe glad to see him like this, but at the same time, he felt uneasy. He personally gave little regard to anything outside what he could see with his own eyes. In a military full of men of strong faith, Joe knew he would have been an outsider if he'd shared his feelings, so he kept them to himself. A man's faith was his own damn business.
It just worried him that Danny was taking these odd visions too seriously. But Joe trusted his friend and gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"So what about you? What does a former Canadian Special Forces soldier do when he's no longer needed to fight against a super-secret Private Military?"
"Haven't thought about it." Danny said, after a pause. The Canadian rarely spoke about his past and had never spoken about his future. "I don't think there is an end place for me outside of the fight."
Joe looked confused. "What do you mean?"
"I think my spirit will always be in conflict. I've felt it since I was a boy. I always wanted to make a difference; to help people."
"Don't go all righteous on me now." Joe said, chiding his buddy.
"My existence will always be one of battle, Joe. My people's ways are engrained in me. We have fought our own environment for thousands of years, battled storms...hunger. That war is part of me. If I am no longer fighting for something−anything−than what good am I?"
They walked on in silence for a few minutes, both brothers weighed down by heavy thoughts.
Danny broke the silence. "Olympus threatens the natural balance of the world. Nations will continue to strive to dominate others as they always have, but Olympus...I know in my soul they care nothing for the way the world is. As long as they exist, so will I."
Joe found himself nodding softly. He didn't want to say it, but he agreed. With every fiber of his body. His story about the motorcycle job was a half truth. Or half lie more like. In Joe's soul, he knew he lived for combat. It was his heart and soul. It was imbedded in him and Joe didn't understand where it came from. He knew he was a good soldier, capable of things on the battlefield he himself didn't understand. It was a secret he told no one, but Joe knew there was no other life for him either.
The two men walked in silence for the next hour. This was to be their last day of the hunt. Tomorrow, they would return to Arviat, book a charter to Winnipeg and then on to Andrews Air Base. Joe didn't know if either of them would still have a job when they got there, but he had faith the Colonel wouldn't give up the fight.
Joe became aware of an odd whine, humming through the cold arctic air. It started quiet, then gradually became louder. Danny heard it as well, his head turning, trying to get a fix on the direction of the sound.
"You hear it?" The Canadian asked.
Joe nodded. "It's an engine."
The two men searched the landscape. Several small forests dotted the plateau filled with loose pine trees. Neither man could make out anything visually. The noise was getting louder.
"It's a jet." Danny said, his voice tense. "Flying very low."
Joe didn't like it. There had been, besides a few single engine Cessna's, no jet powered aircraft in this ar
ea in the entire time the two companions had been in Nunavut. Why was a jet flying so low here?
"What do you think it is?" Joe asked, unshouldering his 30.06 rifle, "Maybe a forest fire aircraft?"
"Doubtful. There aren't enough forests in this area for one to be this far east."
"It couldn't be...Olympus, could it?" Joe asked. His eyes were scanning for the aircraft, still indiscernible to them. The whine of the engine was completely alien to Joe; he couldn't pinpoint the type of craft simply from the sound.
"How could they have found us?" Danny slid the bow of his shoulder, knowing full well how useful it would be in any kind of battle against an aircraft. "Is it a Hyperion?"
Joe shook his head. "If it is, it ain't any I've ever heard."
The two men stood amidst the tundra, waiting to see what it was that was out there. The engine noise seemed to be coming from all directions, neither man able to pinpoint the exact location.
There was nowhere to run. The forests were too far and would give little cover. They could only stand their ground, eyes out, waiting.
From over top a small forest of willowy birch trees, exploded into view a highly modified V-22 Osprey−a vertical takeoff and landing aircraft typically designed as a tiltrotor vehicle. Instead of rotors, this aircraft was outfitted with two jet engines on each wing, currently swivelled vertically. This allowed the aircraft to hover low above the ground. The VTOL's exterior was highly polished, almost gleaming in the late November sun.
Joe brought his rifle to his shoulder, ready to make some sort of last defense. Danny knocked one of the high powered arrows into his bow, preferring to go down swinging, no matter how uselessly.
But the aircraft made no offensive movements, instead bringing itself into a landing position about two-hundred feet from their current location. The jet made a few brief dips and yaws before finally alighting on the permafrost.
The two men lowered their weapons and approached the aircraft cautiously. The engines slowly depowered and the tundra grew silent again.
The side door of the aircraft slid down, controlled by mechanical gears.
