The Assigned

by A. D. Smith

  The crowd finally quiets under the urging of Bale as he speaks into an oversized microphone waiting on stage. “As many of you know, Bale Media has been a growing company ever since its inception five years ago. Employing about 1,500 people, Bale Media could not be classified as a juggernaut, until now.” Bale pauses, building his story. “Teaming with scientists, we have created a technology that will change our company, this country, the world. A technology that will bring us focus, direction. I give you … AIM!”

  Reporters appear baffled as they hold out miniature recorders capturing Bale’s every word. “The Analysis Identification Marker will change the way we share information. No longer will one have to carry around three, four, five different identifications. From now on, all your information can be stored in one convenient place … YOU.”

  Murmurs trickle through the crowd as Bale draws our attention to the giant screen.

  “Yep,” I say. “Here we go.”

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  A well-crafted commercial for Bale Media plays on the screen above. Tre and I watch as the video shows lasers etching a futuristic version of the Mark unto a wrist. The camera expands to show a young woman in sweats sitting at a computer. She holds her hand up to the computer screen. It reads, ‘uploading 98%, 99%, COMPLETE’. Now in business attire, the young woman extends her wrist towards a digital device. Again the camera expands to show graphs and charts instantly appearing onto a boardroom projector. A table of her peers applauds in the video. This guy really knows how to get his point across.

  Another character waves his wrist over an ATM scanner. Money immediately disperses. People wait in line to board a plane. Rather than tickets, their wrists are scanned. The person’s image and information is viewed upon a portable receiver. Next, a young mom’s wrist is scanned as she purchases ice cream for her young child. I can’t help but think about Chrissy as I watch. Each scene is brightened by the cast’s infectious smiles. Reporters, photographers, and fans alike all watch in awe. Bale has really done his homework. On the surface, this looks like a really good idea. And to think of all the jobs that could come from this.

  But I’m not here for a job, I tell myself. No matter how good it looks, I’ve gotta stay focused. Bale readdresses the crowd. “Soon, there will be no need for driver’s licenses, passports, or even credit cards. Zip drives will be a thing of the past. Imagine work files, reports, everything you need at the flick of a wrist.”

  “Flick of a wrist,” I mumble. Instantly, I can see the marketing campaign. It’s near genius.

  “Say something, Zeek?” asks Tre. I shake my head as we continue to watch. Bale and his entourage raise their arms revealing their Marks. As stated … in broad daylight.

  “It’s time!” shouts the big-time celebrity. “A new day is upon us. Those who want to be left behind, so be it. But those who want to be ahead of the curve, who want to work for a company on the verge of global domination, I say to you, consider Bale Media! In five years, we’ll be bigger than TimeWarner and Microsoft combined!”

  The mass of reporters erupt. I get so caught up in the moment, I barely hear Tre.

  “It’s time, Zeek,” he repeats.

  “Gotcha.”

  As Bale is about to field questions from the journalists, the screen goes black. A voice booms over the sound system. “Who is Jason Bale?” Bale and crew look around as images display on screen. “Dr. Harold Ambrose. Found floating in the Mississippi, one week ago. Where was he last seen?” A large question mark flashes across the screen. “Being accosted by Jason Bale’s personnel security detail he so often refers to as his Angels.”

  The screen displays a grainy image of the security tape showing the guy pouring water on Bale then flips to Bale’s men physically escorting the doctor away. Murmurs around the room grow louder. “I assure you, this is all false,” Bale says, stepping into the microphone. “It’s propaganda.”

  “You should know!” shouts a resurfaced Gloria. Looks like her video is producing the reaction we were banking on. Bale waves to the crowd once more before leaving the stage with his Angels. His PR staff remains at the podium as they address the crowd. “As you can see, we are experiencing technical difficulties,” says the smiling assistant. “Someone is playing a horrible trick on Bale Media and we will get to the bottom of this immediately …”

  “Well looks like your plan worked,” I say to Gloria.

  “Yeah,” she nods. “But I’m not sure it’s enough.”

  “I’m with you Glo,” adds Tre.

  “What are you guys talking about? Bale was right in the middle of his big unveiling and you came and stole his thunder. Where I’m from, that’s usually called a success.”

  “Yeah, but he needs to feel our presence,” says Tre, fist balled. “Can you see where they are?” he says, watching me.

  “Huh? Who? What—no. Remind me, what are we supposed to be doing here?”

  “Come on Zeek. You don’t seem like the type to back down from a fight.”

  “Well, what about what Anna said?”

  “And you definitely don’t seem like the type to follow instructions verbatim,” Gloria says, clenching her teeth.

  “Can you hear anything, Glo?” asks Tre. I can’t believe these two. But as Gloria focuses, I can’t help but focus on Bale’s commercial. Scanning your wrist to get ice cream? Could it work?

  “Bale asked for his car to meet him near entrance three!” she shouts. “Let’s go!” The two take off for the exit. Reluctantly, I follow.

  -----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

  Every sound is magnified in the dense acoustics of the parking garage. In here, my gift of hearing is not needed to pick up on Bale’s rhetoric. “They must worship me freely!” he shouts as we approach around the winding corridor.

  “Don’t bank on it!” Tre shouts back. Bale and his five Angels turn to face the Three of Three. Or as Tre calls us, the Assigned. Cars line the ever-turning structure as we take our stand. Twenty yards is all that separates us.

  “You think you have thwarted my ministry?” says Bale. “This is just the beginning.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I say.

  “But I give credit where credit is due,” he grins. “Nice move. So did Little Anna help you with that?”

  “Leave her out of this, Bale,” says Zeek.

  “It’s too late for that. You came for me. Her fate will be the same as her friends and the same as you, her little students. I don’t have time for this. Tell the Other I said, hello.”

  Bale and Amnon continue walking up and around the twisting passage. They disappear behind huge concrete columns that hold together the tightly confined space. The four remaining Angels block our path. But not for long. Almost on cue, the Shadow rises around the souped-up bodyguards. And at the same time, a power races through my veins. The power to fight. Dressed in the usual white suits, a couple of the Angels take off their suit-coats. Guess they know what we’re capable of.

  “Now which one of you killed my brother,” Tre mugs. The Angels snicker while some crack their knuckles. “Man, forget this.”

  “Tre wait!” shouts Zeek.

  Tre rushes for Bale’s Angels. I follow right behind. The mohawked Balak lands two fists to Tre’s chest sending him flying twenty feet and crashing onto the hood of a parked car. He can take care of himself. I find my old acquaintance, Hantos. Immediately he presses me with a barrage of swift punches and kicks. His speed is exceptional, but so is mine. Moves and combinations come naturally when the Gift takes over. I glance over to see Zeek engaged with the other two brutes.

  I take a mean kick to the sternum. It probably would’ve set me down a couple weeks ago, but this time I fight past the initial jolt and reverse my momentum, landing a stiff kick to Hantos’ temple while performing a back flip. I come out of it just in time to see my enemy land hard on the unforgiving concrete. I love that move.

  “I like to see you try that again,” says Tre, motioning t
o Balak. The doomed Angel sprints towards Tre as fragments of the Shadow linger. This time Tre waits, timing his assault. As Balak swings, Tre leans back, dodging the punch, while grabbing Balak around the waist. Like me, he uses his enemy’s momentum, heaving Balak over his head, sending him flying into the same car Tre himself, crashed into. Tre runs and with supernatural ability, soars in the air before coming down with a brutal punch to the face of Balak—Wait!

  With not a second to spare, Balak rolls off the car. Tre’s hand smashes through the metal hood as if it were gelatin.

  The other Angels regroup and formulate a different strategy. A row of custom-made choppers similar to Zeek’s, rest in the parking garage. Two of the Angels lift and hurl the bikes as if they were dumbbells. I can’t but help wonder if we’re that strong as Zeek and I dodge the flying torpedoes.

  “I’ve had just about enough of this,” says Zeek. His eyes glaze over as if his every move is being controlled by another force. Ripping the wheel off one of the flying choppers, Zeek uses it as a shield as he runs straight for the Angels, weaving through the hurling barrage of motorcycles. It’s like he can foresee their every move. Guess that’s what he does. Zeek gets close, heaving the wheel at one of the Angels. The spinning disc hits the Angel square in the chest. The demon in white soars backwards, black haze and all, crashing into the abundant selection of parked cars.

  The other Angel drops his motorcycle to deal with Zeek. But before he has a chance, I sideswipe him with a swift right jab. Not today. Two Angels lie unconscious. Two remain. I set my eyes for bigger fish. “You guys can finish up here. I’m going after Bale.”

  “Gloria, no!” shouts Tre. “We fight as a team!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll save you some. Besides, I can handle Bale. Remember the rooftop? Just come and find me when you take care of those two!”

  “Glo, wait!”

  I take off around the corner, trying to gain some ground on Bale. Tre doesn’t see it, but I am fighting as a team. I can hold off Bale until they arrive. Then we can end this once and for all.

  After a few turns around the carousel-like garage, I see what appears to be a stretch white limo in the distance. Sprinting closer, I view what looks to be someone in a hat—a driver— opening the rear door as two figures wait, one larger than the other. Bale and his oversized guard, Amnon.

  “Hey Bale, it’s over!” I shout, just as they are to step inside.

  “For whom? You?” he says, now standing in ear distance. “Because for me, it’s just beginning. Sure you’ve created a slight headache, but it’s nothing my PR team can’t handle. And by no means is it over.”

  “The people are smart. They’ll see you for you really are. No one will freely bow to you.”

  “You sound like Little Anna. She’s really done a job on you three. I should’ve destroyed her all those years ago. No matter. There’s always tomorrow.”

  “You’ll never get the chance!” I yell, running straight for Bale. The massive bodyguard, Amnon, steps directly in front of his lord, but I was expecting that. He swings wildly as I drop into a slide and glide right through his legs. Now behind him, I rise, landing an elbow to his back and a kick to Bale’s chest, sending him straight into the steel reinforced limo door. Direct hit!

  Time to show these guys who’s in charge. With both of them immobilized I advance, but Bale’s eyes open just as the Shadow swirls furiously about. I’m not sure if Bale hits or kicks me, but the superhuman blow throws me back at least twenty feet.

  “I am Bale! I … AM … BALE!!!” is what I hear as I come too. As I look up, I can barely make out Amnon shaking off the blow I delivered to him.

  “Destroy her. You know where to meet me,” says Bale before stepping inside the limo. The driver takes off immediately. Okay Gloria, gotta shake this off, I think as Amnon creeps forward. I know I’m supposed to get up, but so far, I can’t. Maybe Tre was right. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe I was trying to do too much, to prove myself. Maybe that debilitating punch has got me second guessing myself. None of that matters now as I notice the huge frame that stands above. My focus returns just in time to see his huge foot hover over me. He smiles as the Shadow spreads from his profile. The concrete floor ripples from the exact spot recently occupied by my head. Thankfully I rolled out in time. Cracks spring out in every direction while the ground trembles with the force of an earthquake.

  I spring to my feet as the beast swings for my head. He misses, nearly taking out a concrete support beam in the process. Rubble explodes from the weakened column. His punches are powerful but I’m much quicker. I land a flurry of punches to his abdomen but the monster just smiles before lifting me by the neck and slinging me across the corridor. The force is almost overwhelming but I summon the strength to get back up. He runs straight for me, wildly swinging for my head, but I drop into a split as his huge fist crushes another concrete beam. Squinting from all the dust and debris, I hit the rampaging monster squarely in the groin. He wails in pain. Finally.

  Standing, I kick Amnon in his left shin. “Finally, we see eye to eye,” I say as the giant falls to one knee. I land kicks to his temple, now to his chest. Part of me gloats as screams bellow from the pit of his belly. The Shadow weakens around him as he consumes the punishment.

  “And who says boys have all the fun?”

  Stepping back I focus my power. This next blow should send this monster back to the pit of Hell. I run full speed towards the chopped down giant, leaping into a high-kick. Suddenly, the aggravated monster jumps out of his stooped position …

  BOOOOOMMMMM!!!!

  An enormous boot—or something—I’m not sure—sits on my chest. It takes me a minute to understand its purpose. It’s here to drain the remaining life from my body. Dust crowds my airway as I wrestle with the odd sensation.

  Sharp, excruciating pain is replaced by a dull, numbness. I no longer hurt although I’m not sure if I still have the use of my limbs. The numbness sets in a little while longer before …

  … before the change. That feeling you get when you first revive an arm or leg that has been sleep, rushes through my entire body. I’m not sure what I see. Colors of some sort, not sure. They’re unlike any I’ve ever seen. Can’t really explain them. But I am certain of the melody that races past my ears. An enchanting tune filled with what sounds like every instrument I’ve ever heard. A blaring sound of horns, drums, strings, rising in power and volume before smoothing out into tranquil vibrations. The wind. That’s the only way I can explain it. It sounds like the wind … if the wind were a melody.

  A figure comes to meet me. Can I even say it’s a figure? It has no body, no shape, no definition. Yet I know it to be a specific entity. Although indescribable, it’s beautiful. I’ve witnessed it before in all its glory, though that was ages ago. Somehow I just know. As it draws closer, I have the uncontainable urge to scream to the top of my lungs. Not in fear, or anger, but in adoration. It consumes me and I know it to be … everything. And that’s when it no longer matters.

  I’m free.

  Chapter 25

  What would I do if I came out to find a demon sitting atop my crashed-in hood? I find myself asking this question as me and Zeek make mince pie out of Balak and his friend with the dreads. The two put up a good fight, but it’s nothing me and Zeek can’t handle. Finally subdued and comatose, I notice how hard it truly is to keep white clean. Oh well.

  “I thought those two would never get the hint.”

  “Yeah, I know right,” smiles Zeek. He pops his neck as I rub my hands, our little skirmish over. “I was just starting to have fun,” he continues. “Shame about those choppers, though.”

  “Yeah. Whada ya say we go help Gloria. I don’t want her having all the fun.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We take off running up and around the meandering parking garage. Every floor looks exactly the same. I make a conscious effort to notice what level we’re currently on. Zeek and I call out for Glo but get no answer. I suggest we spl
it up as we continue our search. Nothing out of the ordinary. Cars and the occasional passing glance by someone headed to or away from their vehicle. Guess it’s possible I look like I’ve been in a fight. Wait a minute. I can heal myself. Nah …

  “Tre!” shouts Zeek. “Tre!” he shouts again, louder. “Hurry!”

  I take off in the direction of Zeek’s voice. It only takes a few seconds to find him. He’s not alone. “Gloria?” I call. Zeek holds her head in his lap. I rub my face in disbelief, but when my eyes open, it’s still the same. Gloria’s motionless body. “I told you to wait!” I shout at her, not knowing what else to say. “I told you to wait!”

  A coarse line of blood falls from her mouth. Her face is intact but the black sweater—the sweater I got for her—is saturated with dust to the point it looks white.