by Jeremy Flagg
“You shouldn’t.”
“You’re one of the richest men on the planet now. You control an army. You inherited a war we can’t win. The world is waiting for us to fall. Is this what you want? What more is there?”
The question repeated in his mind.
It had started as a quest for power, the ability to stand above those who mocked him. With so much raw ability at his disposal, he recognized the position came with opposition. The military threatened his seat of power. Children waged a guerrilla war against his authority. There is more, he thought. I don’t want power, I want absolute power.
As he adjusted his tie, a warmth spread through his body. The shadow, the darkness hidden in the depth of his mind, agreed. Jacob couldn’t explain the sensation, but he believed the bond between himself and the mysterious benefactor only deepened with his resolve.
“Lillian, there will be always be more until there are none left who challenge me.”
* * * * *
You need to run.
Cooper’s words echoed in Twenty-Seven’s mind. The officer hadn’t meant it as a command. He'd said the words as a plea, knowing there was a good chance the trio of superpowered Coyotaje would stay to fight. There were no discussions, no debate on the next course of action; all three understood the battle arriving on their doorstep.
From the second story of the pier, she could look at the horizon, surrounded by the vastness of a Great Lake. On the other side, she could see along the waterfront of Chicago, the iconic park. The scenery went on for miles from her vantage point, the towering buildings of the Loop and the frozen ferris wheel. The world beyond the window appeared infinite, but sitting in her perch, she felt small.
The actuator in her hand whirled as she flexed her metallic fingers. The ring finger had been sticking, refusing to fold with the rest. Sometime in the future, she’d have to leave the pier and visit an underground Body Shop. If she were lucky, they’d be able to repair her prosthetic instead of suggesting she upgrade to a newer model. Running the flesh of her palm over the metal knuckles, she tried to recall what it was like to have two hands that could feel.
“How did it happen?”
Twenty-Seven didn’t acknowledge Jasmine. For three months they had occupied adjacent space. They traded tactical information, laid plans, discussed strategies, but beyond some generic small talk, they kept their relationship professional. Twenty-Seven recognized the demons haunting Jasmine. Even this simple question served as a lifeline, anchoring the soldier to another human.
“After Dav5d brought me to Canada, the people in charge of relocating Children often spoke about Helen of Troy. It didn’t take me long before I realized they meant Troy, New York. The woman was a mentalist. I didn’t take to living like a refugee. I wasted my youth hiding. I went there to find the mentalist and enlist her.”
“Ariel.”
Twenty-Seven nodded. “Her ghosts are as vivid as yours and mine.” The women let the statement hang in the air for a moment. “It took convincing, but she offered to help me. During our first escapade together, trying to rescue a single mother and her child, we were trying to outrun synthetics, I drove straight into a lamp post. Thrown through the window. My upper arm was fractured in a dozen spots.”
“Surely they could reconstruct it?”
“We saved a woman and her child. They were the first residents of Troy. I could have had surgery, had my arm laid up for months. People needed saving.”
“More than your arm?”
Twenty-Seven nodded. “Underground Body Shop removed my arm. I don’t regret it for a moment. I didn’t want augmentation. I wanted to be functional. I wanted to fight. Most of all, I wanted to be able to protect those who couldn’t do the same for themselves.”
Clenching her fist, she had a phantom sensation of the fingers. If she avoided staring at the metal, she could imagine her hand still attached. “It lets me do a job.”
“I admire your determination.”
Jasmine’s compliments were few and far between. The soldier chose her words carefully. Twenty-Seven remembered those days, leery of every word you spoke for fear of the retribution they’d bring. Unlike her and the Jasmine, the third of their trio spoke openly, with a bluntness that had started to rub off on both of them.
“I killed my husband.” The words came out flat. “He was a horrible man and deserved it. I was scared of everything in life. Vanessa was the first person to call me Twenty-Seven. She rescued me because she thought I was worth saving. I’m paying it forward. There are so many who need somebody to stand up for them.”
Jasmine leaned on the ledge, keeping her eyes forward, staring out over the endless lake. Twenty-Seven resisted the urge to put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Hurt sprawled across every ounce of her being as if it was written in ink. Ariel had invited Jasmine to join them, claiming it was destiny, a prophetic message supplied by the psychic Eleanor.
“Redemption,” Twenty-Seven said.
“What?” asked Jasmine.
“I’ve never asked before, but I can see it written on your face. You’re here for penance.”
Jasmine’s eyes slid to the side, not a look of anger, but a warning glance to push Twenty-Seven away. Her sigh was deep enough that its volume matched the whipping winds coming off the water. “I served monsters. I hunted Children. Some were actual children, barely old enough to know what was happening to them. I told myself I was doing it for the greater good. But…” Jasmine rubbed the back of her neck, pushing her hair out of the way to reveal a bump in her skin. “Truth be told, I was doing it to survive.”
“What changed?”
“I refused offers to go under the knife in the Body Shop. I wanted to keep my humanity, no offense. Eleanor” —Jasmine’s muscles tensed as she said the woman’s name—“that damned psychic, she reminded me my humanity had already started to slip away.”
“Eleanor saved me,” Twenty-Seven said.
“A dead woman held me accountable. I could either keep betraying people like me, or I could change. Yeah, I guess it’s penance.”
“Eleanor Valentine has a knack for saving us from ourselves.”
Jasmine nodded in agreement. “I’m here because I owe her. The least I can do is save Children.”
“Why leave New York?”
“Somebody is inquisitive today.”
“It’s the first time I don’t think you’d punch a wall if I asked,” Twenty-Seven said.
“Eleanor saved me. She put me in Ariel’s path. The only thing that fueled me since I escaped the Paladins has been revenge. I can’t…”
Twenty-Seven rested her mechanical hand on Jasmine’s shoulder. She didn’t push her to keep speaking. Somewhere between the complicated history and the unsaid, they came to an understanding. In the course of a few minutes, they'd exchanged more personal information than they had in months. Sharing motives made Twenty-Seven respect the woman more. The need she felt to prove herself meant she’d always be a trustworthy ally, or perhaps, even a friend.
“Holy shit,” Jasmine gasped.
“Wha...”
Breaking from high altitude, a score of carriers descended along the skyline of Chicago. The vapor trails left behind by the massive ships streaked the air, a crisscrossing weave of white. Twenty-Seven pressed a hand against the glass, leaning forward, taking in the sight of cargo ships as they slowed their descent.
“Jacob’s making good on his promise,” she whispered.
“Each of those ships could hold two hundred synthetics. The city is going to be overrun,” added Jasmine.
“What do we do?”
“We’re going to fight back.”
CHAPTER FIVE
1996
Ariel woke. Still, she continued to toss a bit in bed, acting as if she returned to sleep. Two handcuffs held her arms firmly in place. A slight tug on the top of her hand gave away where the IV dripped fluids into her veins. The lack of stiffness in her muscles meant she had only been there for a short perio
d.
Relaxing her breathing, she focused on the small room where they held her. In the subtlest use of her abilities, she touched objects with her mind. She couldn’t see details, but she knew a man sat in a chair against the wall. If she felt threatened, the cuffs would be off, and he’d be unconscious before her eyes open.
He shuffled some papers. “Reckless? That’s an understatement.” It was Jonah, with what she could only assume were more of her records. “I think we might need to upgrade that word.”
He started reading her report out loud. Mark had written enough about her that it could be turned into an encyclopedia. “Aspirations of being an actress? I can see that.” Warmth spread through her face and she hoped he didn’t notice her blushing.
The door opened. “Jonah,” said another soldier. When she had been outed to the entire complex, she took time to learn each of their names. Mark, the closest thing she had to a father, said it would help remind them she was still a human despite her gifts. Now, with the Facility working hand in hand with the military, the soldiers’ faces and voices blended together.
“They’re waiting for you in the debriefing room.”
“How’s it look?” In the past few weeks Jonah had ingrained his voice into her memory. He shouted a lot. To be fair, most of the time she deserved it. She admitted she didn’t like being told what to do, and there was something fun in watching the military squirm whenever she broke a rule. The military loved rules as much as she hated them.
“They’re not as pissed as last time, sir,” his subordinate said.
Jonah wasn’t much older than her, but he didn’t understand the definition of fun. The man came out of the womb asking for directions. Because of some wartime expertise and battlefield experience, he became her handler. Remembering the first time they met still made her crack a smile. She turned her head to hide the grin.
“Blessing for small favors,” he said. “Lance Corporal, under no circumstances are you to allow her to leave this room. If she attempts to leave, alert me immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door shut. Her handler vacated the room to be grilled by his superiors while she had to listen to a mouth breather. As the man leaned back to sit down, she gave a slight mental push. He half hit the chair, falling to the ground. He worked his way back to his feet. She had his attention; she didn’t need to see him to know he had that look on his face.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?”
“Obvious?”
The soldier didn’t appear to appreciate her grin. His hand rested on the firearm at his waist. She got used to the jumpy nature of the military. It was only six years ago they had been ordered to eradicate people with her gifts. In private, several had expressed their displeasure with the Culling. They treated her like a priest, expecting her to forgive their sins. She did her best to set an example to make the thousands of victims proud.
Most of the time.
“What’s he in trouble for this time?”
The man shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
She recognized this room, a small enclosed space in the infirmary. Other than medical equipment, there was only the single chair to the side of the bed. She’d be down the hall from the recovery rooms, where patients underwent therapy for new prosthetic limbs. Further down, men and women of the United States Military were being operated on. They called it “enhancements.” She called it creepy.
“Have we met before?” He looked like everybody at the Facility wearing those annoying camo uniforms. They could have bumped into each other earlier that day and she wouldn’t remember his face.
“I don’t believe so, ma’am.”
Ariel rolled her eyes. She didn’t have any friends among the military other than Jonah. Frequently, she heard them refer to her as “the asset,” or “the powered,” or “her.” Their formalities had become a bit incessant.
“First, my name is Ariel,” she said, holding her hand out as far as the chain would let her. He eyed it and made no move to shake. “Second—”the handcuffs fell off her wrists, unlocked by an immaterial key. The man panicked, reaching for his gun. He drew the weapon incredibly fast. As he took aim, the magazine fell out and the shot in the chamber ejected.
“Second, I asked you politely.” As she sat up in the bed, the man let go of the gun and it remained hovering in the air. “If you reach for your walkie-talkie, I’ll just break it, so let’s dial this down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ariel.”
“Ariel,” he echoed.
The soldier’s eyes darted back and forth across the room. He had been trained for threat assessment. Right now, she knew he was considering apprehending her or escaping. The military was nothing if predictable. She sat up, cross-legged in bed. The needle stung as she eased it out of her hand. Now she’d have matching bruises.
“What’s he in trouble for?”
“I can’t say.” Even fear wouldn’t motivate him.
“How about something we can talk about?” she said. She rubbed her wrists, easing the red marks from the handcuffs. “What’s your name?”
“Erickson,” he responded.
“Hello, Mr. Erickson.” Mark insisted she temper herself and learn manners as a young teenager. “How are you liking your assignment?”
Erickson’s eyebrow rose. He had obviously been expecting torture, or some diabolical plan. The military didn’t know what to do when somebody showed them any amount of courtesy.
“It’s kind of in the middle of nowhere. Any family?”
“A fiancée,” he said.
“Congratulations,” she said as she scooted to the edge of the bed, dangling her legs. “I hope it’s a great wedding.”
“Thanks,” he said. His facial expression spelled out his confusion. “You’re not at all like they talk about.”
“What do they say?” she asked.
His face turned a shade of red. She waved her hand at him. “It’s fine, I know I’m the ‘freak of the Facility,’ it stopped bothering me a while ago. People are scared of what they don’t understand. It’s a normal human response.”
“Are you human?”
The question caught her off guard. She didn’t entirely know how to answer that. There were a lot of theories of why she could accomplish what she did, but nobody had ever given her a definitive answer. “Maybe.”
Her feet touched cold tile. The slight bumps along her skin reminded her of how frigid they kept the recovery area. “I’m going to this meeting and see what trouble Jonah has gotten himself into. Do me a favor and give me a three-minute head start?”
“You know I can’t do that,” he said. Ariel liked him. She’d have to make sure to remember his face. His eyes shot down as the handcuffs locked around one wrist and secured him to the chair. The camera in the corner of the room moved just enough to hide what unfolded.
“I don’t want you getting in trouble,” she said. “Blame me, they’ll believe it.”
She pushed the door open slightly, peeking to see if they stationed more guards in the hallway. She stopped hiding and moved along. There were few people in the Facility more well-known than her. She was more easily identifiable with her flaming red hair than the person who signed the paychecks. It meant wherever she went, people attempted to discreetly catch a glimpse. It was like the entire staff of the building were her overprotective babysitters.
Nurses and doctors moved about, talking to patients and discussing their therapies. It almost seemed like a real hospital, except more and more of the people in the waiting rooms had cybernetic limbs gifted by the military. One of the men in a hospital bed being wheeled toward the operating room had an entirely metal arm and both legs had hints of technology poking through.
It reminded her of Goddard, the former head of security for the research facility. Nearly four years ago, he had died at the hands of Mark and Ivan. After stealing a glance at the security footage, Goddard attempted to kill Ivan after being refused prosthet
ic limb upgrade. When the Ivan held his ground, the head of security turned irate and attempted to strangle the man. If Mark hadn’t been there, Ivan would be dead now. It was the second most terrifying thing she had witnessed while living at the Facility.
Poor Penelope, she thought.
She walked out the door to the medical ward without incident. She wasn’t sure if they had better things to do, or if her adventures had become common enough they knew to let her go. Ariel followed long, white halls, working her way toward the back of the building. She reached the military controlled part of the Facility and spotted the hand scanner needed to get in. In other areas, simple card scanners were used to grant access; here, security was a bit stricter.
She leaned against a wall as she debated whether she should try and force the door open. Mark had given her a talking to about forcing her way into secure areas of the Facility. Once upon a time, her quarters had been the most secure of those areas, but now, she was just one of the many oddities happening in the building. She wondered how long it would be before the girl who could move things with her mind became old news.
Just as she decided to force the door open, the locks started to turn with the familiar hiss of the hydraulics starting their motion. As it opened, she walked up to the door. A scientist stepped back, startled by the intrusion. Ariel continued walking, ignoring her protests. The researcher might call security, but it’d be too late by the time she reached the conference rooms.
After some time spent winding through the halls, she arrived at her destination.
“She’s not a child!” Ariel recognized the shouting. The man behind the thunderous voice thought his girth and chest covered in medals intimidated her. Of the half dozen people most likely sitting in the conference room, he frightened her the least. His ego and desperate need for those beneath him to fall in line gave away his inability to instill genuine respect from subordinates.
“She’s not your personal weapon,” Ivan shouted back.
“Stop treating her like an object,” Mark followed.
