“Is there something wrong?” Sibylla asked.
He wiped his face. “Always. But that’s not why I’m here. Sibylla, you need to start trying, or people are going to start rethinking the deal they made.”
“I am trying.”
“Then try harder.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“You don’t really have a choice anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your contract with the United States Government is non-refundable. You either graduate, or you don’t.”
“And Dillon?”
Murdock’s lips tightened. “Just focus on finishing.”
“No, tell me!” she demanded.
“Sibylla, when I made this deal, I knew you weren’t a soldier. But I believed in your ability. I expected you to be like your father.”
Sibylla rolled her eyes. “You didn’t know my father. You think you did. But you didn’t.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Murdock pivoted on the edge of the bed to face her. “About what happened to him?”
Sibylla cringed. Why did he have to keep bringing up her father? Just the thought of his face was like the spark of a match, an instant trail of fire that led to the memory of his death so troubling that she could barely stand it. She saw him standing in their kitchen, his Piercer pressed against his head, the shiny barrel reflecting in the morning light of their window as he pressed the trigger.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered, trembling. “I can’t. Anything else, just not a gun.”
The General sighed as he rubbed his chin in thought. “Alright. Look, there may be a precedent for this. There was a private back in World War I who refused to touch a rifle based of his moral beliefs. The court tried him and allowed him to train without a rifle.”
Sibylla eyed him closely. “Are you serious?”
“That doesn’t mean you can relax, though,” he said sternly, pointing a finger at her. In fact, you’re going to work harder than you ever have.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m assigning you a trainer.”
Sibylla lifted in her bed. “A trainer?”
“A swordsman to be exact.” He looked at her. “From now on, at the end of each day, I want you to report to the Forge. It’s the Practice Center for the Eagles, located on the far side of the base.”
“I know where it’s at,” Sibylla said bitterly as she looked away.
He lifted from her bed and refitted his cap. “One last thing.”
“What?” Sibylla asked.
“This trainer, you’re going to have to convince him.”
“To do what?”
“To train you.”
Sibylla’s mouth fell agape.
“Your father never cared about himself,” Murdock said. “I always knew that. But what I didn’t know was whether it made him weak or strong. Maybe you’ll be able to answer that for me.”
As he turned to walk away, Sibylla felt the legs of dread crawling over her skin like spiders. It felt as if she’d just signed her contract with the military all over again. Only, this time, the stakes were higher.
“Murdock!” Sibylla called after.
He paused and turned around.
“If I fail…” she began, her gaze lowering slightly, “if I don’t finish, or if I die, does Dillon still get to go free?”
Murdock watched her for a moment, his eyes growing still, then, in a voice that was more cold and distant than she’d ever heard from him, he answered: “No.”
18
One Long Note
The Forge stood at the edge of the Nest, a five-story training facility that was fitted with state of the art equipment and augmented by an advanced holographic system. Eagles went there to train, to sharpen their bodies, to make themselves as hard as the weapons they used on the battlefield. But to Sibylla, it was hell.
She’d already been there before, a couple of days earlier. The experience hadn’t been pleasant. Forced to do squats with a machine that actually increased the weight as she went down, her legs were still aching from the grueling workout. Luckily, she’d been able to swing by the cafeteria on her way here.
Inside of her practice bag, apart from the official documentation she’d received from Murdock’s office, was a mixture of mashed potatoes, rolls and chicken strips. By now it was probably a porridge. She wanted to stop and eat, but she was already late.
The entrance to the Forge opened to Sibylla’s approach, and her eyes and body were quickly scanned under an array of invisible sensors.
“Good evening, Private Reid,” greeted a man with a deep voice. Most of the A.I.’s used female voices out of an attempt to appear less confrontational, more docile. It was a ridiculous notion that Sibylla found infuriating. But here at the Forge, a place where recruits were expected to toughen up, the programmers had obviously felt that a man’s voice was better suited. Sibylla rolled her eyes. “You are expected in Dome One.”
Dome? Sibylla thought, confused. She gazed up at the triangular cameras recessed along the ceiling and frowned as they shifted in her direction. It was recording her, watching her every move.
The constant reminder was suffocating, and she had to bite her tongue just to keep from screaming. If only she could escape, if only she could leave this place and find Dillon before Division did, the two of them could flee to Mexico and start a new life together. After all, Murdock had already changed the rules once. Who’s to say that he wouldn’t do it again? But without help, escape was impossible.
Suddenly, a holographic monitor flickered to life before her, and she saw a complete layout of the facility, vibrating in a myriad of lush colors. The resolution was unbelievable. She reached out to touch the screen, then winced as she felt what seemed to be an energy field. What the…
Sibylla remembered how Dillon had mentioned to her about a holographic system that could be reinforced with a vibrating frequency. She just never thought she’d ever see one.
“May I help you with directions?” the A.I. asked.
Sibylla hesitated as she took in her surroundings. The Forge was a large facility, but nothing too complicated that she couldn’t figure out on her own. Studying the solid walls around her, the curved edges of the corners, the compression sealed doors labeled along the sides, a picture of the facility began to take shape, and a smile spread across her lips. “No thanks,” she said, “I think I can find my way.”
* * *
The compression doors slid open with a hiss and Sibylla saw a white circular gym with a high dome towering overhead. Spotless and with a matted floor, the dome was a pristine bubble of white surface that showed no sign of blemish whatsoever. Sibylla entered.
From the other side of the room, a door slid open, and a group of veteran Eagles appeared. Donned in black exo-suits and fully armed with VK-26’s, they marched across the deck with grave faces, escorting what looked to be a man handcuffed with a bag over his head.
Sibylla stopped. She didn’t understand what was happening. Her appointment was with a trainer, not with a team of soldiers. Glancing back at the door, she wanted to exit the dome, then stopped as she suddenly heard a voice.
“Wait right there!” it yelled.
Sibylla looked back and saw Instructor Williams marching toward her.
“One question,” he said. “Who the hell did you piss off to get this assignment?”
Sibylla blinked. “What are you talking about? I’m here to meet a trainer.”
“A trainer?” He echoed in confusion, glancing back at the hooded man. “This guy’s the Goddamn Devil.”
Sibylla cringed. Her stomach turned, and she felt a sheen of sweat sweep over her skin. Forcing a swallow, she asked, “Who is he?”
“A prisoner,” Williams replied. “And that’s all you need to know.”
Sibylla watched as Williams marched back to the man, aiming his VK directly at his head. Soldiers backed away. The perimeter opened up, and Sibylla felt her
heart beating in fear. What was happening? Who was this guy?
When Williams finally halted, he yelled out for the other Eagles to proceed to Phase One and a middle-aged woman with cropped blond hair, quickly dug the barrel of her rifle into the man’s head and screamed, “Don’t you fucking move!”
A tense silence followed as another Eagle rushed in. Snapping a metal collar around the man’s neck, he locked it into place, and Sibylla froze as she realized what it was.
Beheaders were electronic control collars used for only the highest level of criminal. With the single push of a button, the collar would activate a countdown process that, if unstopped, would explode around the prisoner’s neck, decapitating their head from their body in a sudden blast.
Sibylla had never understood why it needed a countdown in the first place. If it was activated, why not rupture immediately? But after Dillon had explained that the countdown brought with it a searing charge that burned the victim’s necks, she quickly realized its true purpose: a torture device.
By continually reactivating the collar, interrogators could punish the victim with heat, all the while reminding them that their mortality was only seconds away. It was a gruesome form of torture that was both physical and psychological in nature. Sibylla shuddered.
“Proceeding to Phase Two!”
The Eagle who’d installed the collar, then reached for the man’s hood, his fingers curling against the black fabric as he readied to pull it.
Sibylla could only imagine the terrifying face hiding underneath. She pictured a bald man with cracked teeth, a pair of black eyes and facial tattoos—the kind of man who ate other men. But when the hood was lifted, and she saw a pair of beautiful blue eyes with soft lips, she thought that she was looking at an angel.
He blinked at the light of the dome as they unlocked his cuffs, cringing as if the brightness of it was too intense. With long black hair that was matted and oily and a full beard, he looked as if he’d been living in the wild for months. Even so, she could see that he was young. Maybe nineteen.
He pulled away as one of the Eagles moved in behind him and the sudden movement earned him a kick to the leg. He fell to the floor, snarling from the pain.
“Keep it up, asshole!” the Eagle warned, pulling out a black cylinder the size of a lighter and holding it out with a trembling hand.
It was the remote to the Beheader, Sibylla realized with a pang of fear.
The prisoner glared up at the Eagle, unbridled in his defiance.
“Relax, Jones,” Williams urged, eyeing the Eagle closely. “We just started this rodeo. Don’t need to end it so soon.”
“Sorry, Sir,” the Eagle replied with a nervous nod. He was sweating profusely, and his breaths were shallow. “Just got a little jumpy for a second. I’m okay now.”
“Good,” Williams replied, satisfied with his answer. After a few seconds, Williams waved his troops to fall back. They retreated toward the round walls where they held their positions, aiming their rifles at the young man from where they stood.
They were setting him free, Sibylla realized, leaving the two of them by themselves. Was it safe? Would she be okay? Watching him closely, she held her breath.
There was a pregnant pause as the young man stared at his wrists in confusion. His freedom was dawning on him and he wasn’t sure if it was real or not. Rising to his feet, he struggled as the leg that had been hit suddenly buckled beneath him. And the sudden movement caused the surrounding Eagles to grip their rifles again.
After a while, the young man rose to his feet, and Sibylla realized how tall he was. Over six-foot with broad shoulders, he had an impressive frame. Yet, he was still extremely skinny, and he stood with a hunch, clearly the results of severe starvation and random beatings. Sibylla felt sorry for him.
“Remember what we told you,” Williams warned the young man. “You get out of line, and we explode your fucking head off. You feel me?”
The young man shot him a hateful glare, unworried it seemed as to the consequences. Did he not care about his life? Was he that ruthless?
Williams accepted the his silence for his consent and, with the wave of his barrel, motioned for him to turn to Sibylla. “Go ahead, meet your new partner.”
Confused, he squinted at Sibylla, peering through the dome’s bright light.
“Go on!” Williams prodded.
Slowly, he moved. He stepped out with a stutter, hobbling as he fought against some hidden pain in his back. When he reached Sibylla, he struggled to meet her gaze, his eyes hidden beneath the mop of dirty hair. “Go away,” he grumbled, his voice deep and accented. Was he Russian?
Sibylla stared at him, captivated by his helplessness. It was strange, she thought. As dangerous as the Eagles had made him out to be, she could only see the damaged human being standing before her, a person whose freedom had been stripped away and now forced to live in an unfriendly surrounding…like her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He looked at her, said nothing, then lowered his head again.
“General Murdock sent me,” she continued. “He said that you would train me.”
He shot her a look of confusion. “Train?”
“Yeah, like teach? Watch, I have a document that explains it all.” She rifled through her bag in search of the paper, hurrying as she felt the entire dome staring at her in impatience. Finding the paper, she yanked it out and cringed as she realized that the front of it had been smeared with mashed potatoes. “Oh, crap…”
The prisoner’s head lifted, his nostrils flared, and he dove for the paper in desperation. He’d moved so fast, so incredibly fast…. Swiping it from Sibylla’s hands, he began to lick the front of it, ravenous as he sought to devour every last corner and section.
But his movement had caused panic. The Eagles shuffled forward, and his collar began beeping, a red light flashing across the front of it.
He stopped, stared down at his neck, then looked at Sibylla with wide eyes.
“Oh no…” Sibylla whispered in terror. “They’ve activated your collar.”
The prisoner went down hard. He fell to his knees, clawed at his collar as the metal beneath began to sizzle loudly. It was building its charge, readying to explode.
Sibylla turned to the Eagles in the distance. They were watching him through the sights of their rifles, unmoving in their reaction, while the soldier who’d been in charge of the collar was glaring at the cylinder in his hands, his eyes wild with fear, aware of his mistake.
“We warned him, man,” he muttered nervously, his gaze shifting between the instructor and Sibylla. “You saw that. You heard the sergeant.”
The collar was beeping faster now, threatening to fall to the single long note that would signal the end of the countdown process and cause the collar to explode.
“No,” Sibylla said, watching as he continued to struggle. “You can’t do this. Do you hear me?” She turned to Williams. “He was only hungry. And now you’re going to kill him for it?”
Williams stared at her in silence, a restrained regret written across his hard face.
“Well screw you then!” Sibylla said in disgust. “If you’re going to kill him, you’re going to have to kill me too.”
Rushing forward, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the Russian prisoner, holding him as tightly as she could. His body was tense, and she could feel the power of his muscles straining under her clutch. Pressing her face against his, she took a deep breath and shut her eyes, listening in horror as the frenetic beep finally slowed to one long note.
19
The Deal
“You think you’re brave, don’t you?” Williams asked, leaning into Sibylla’s face. “Risking your life for this piece of trash.”
Sibylla looked back at the Russian prisoner who was now on his knees. His head was hung low, and his face was curtained by a length of dark hair. Around his neck, the Beheader had been disabled.
If it hadn’t been for Williams, who at t
he last second yelled for the soldier to deactivate the countdown, the young man would’ve died. And so too would’ve Sibylla. Perhaps, she should’ve been thankful. But she wasn’t. It was because of Williams that she’d almost lost her life before. At the very most, they were even.
“In the end, it doesn’t make a difference what you do,” Williams said. “He’s still gonna die.”
“And how’s that?” Sibylla asked.
“Because I’m the one who’s gonna do it.”
Sibylla met his gaze, holding it for a few torturous seconds. What had this man done to deserve such treatment? What had this guy done to be treated so badly? She searched the instructor’s face for a clue.
Slowly, Williams’s jaw hardened and a look of anger twisted across his features. Eagles weren’t used to undisciplined soldiers. Even the criminals who’d braved some of the worst prisons had learned to cower before them, regarding them with stern “yes, sir’s” and “yes, ma’am’s.” But Sibylla had held off such compliance. There was still a piece of her that wouldn’t budge.
“Keep staring at me, Private,” Williams warned, taking a step closer to her, “and see what happens.” He was just about to do something when one of the female Eagles called out to him. “What’s the plan, Williams?”
Williams turned around, stared at the prisoner, then let out a long sigh. “The practice session’s over,” he declared. “Pick him up and take him back to his cell where he can rot.”
“What? No!” Sibylla rounded on Williams. “He’s here to train me.”
“Not if I can’t protect you.”
“Protect me?” Sibylla stared at him in disbelief. “You shot me in the leg and threw me out of a plane at ten-thousand feet! Now you care about protecting me?”
“That was different.”
“How so?”
“You had precautionary measures—hidden assets that were at your disposal.”
“And I still do,” she said, holding his gaze.
The instructor paused.
“Look,” Sibylla said, “you don’t think that I’ve dealt with psychos before? Hell, every one of you needs to get your head examined.”
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