by T. C. Edge
Mikel withdrew his bloodied thumbs and dropped the second corpse to the floor, the body falling in a tangled lump of limps.
He turned to his final target, who’d staggered to his feet, terror now dominating his facade. It was the terror of a man realising his final moments were upon him. That no matter what he did, the game was up.
He held his knife out, hand quivering slightly. Mikel looked into his face, the very same as his own, and shook his head.
“No one will have this face but me,” he hissed. “No one will have this voice. No one,” he said, growling deeper, “will have this body. Mikel will be the only one. Everyone will fear Mikel…”
He burst forward as he spoke his name, drawing his knife up. The man stepped back, lifting his own, trying to form a posture of defence. Mikel was on him too fast, slashing his knife across the man’s face. He cut deep, slashing and hacking, opening up wide canyons of pulpy red flesh.
He thought of Tanner as he did so, reliving those glorious moments as he mutilated the Spectre. Of course, Tanner’s wounds had healed up better than he’d hoped; this man wouldn’t have a chance of that.
He fell into a frenzy, delirious and crazed. He wanted to destroy this man’s face and leave nothing behind. He’d do the same to all the rest, all those synthetics out there. He’d leave them faceless before killing them. That would be his terrible calling card, and everyone would know…
Mikel did this.
Soon, he was tearing to the bone, to the weird metal fused into the skull. The man yet lived, struggling to escape, face unidentifiable from that of a raw steak. Mikel hacked, aiming at the neck, blood spurting up into his face. Again and again and again he struck, feeling more alive with every lunge and stab of the bloodied blade.
He stopped suddenly, and hauled a long breath into his lungs. The man lay still beneath him, the corridor painted red. The sound of gunfire began to creep into his ears again, the battle still raging, though less intensely now, down the other wings.
He looked up, and turned his eyes down the corridor, to find a figure standing there, watching.
Ragan Hunt stood, eyes cast in horror, a grimace of disgust upon his face.
“Mikel,” he said, voice low. “I think that man’s had enough.”
Mikel stood, panting through sheer joy, if not the exertion of the kill. He stepped quickly towards Ragan, licking the blood that trailed down his face, and stood in front of him.
“Just a taste,” he hissed, quickly learning to adapt this new voice of his. “They’ll all follow, Hunt. I’ll kill every one of them.”
Ragan nodded, silent, eyes glancing down the corridor.
“The charges have been set,” he said quietly. “It’s time to go.”
Ragan looked at the carnage down the corridor and felt sickened to his bones.
Watching Mikel hack that man apart with such brutal violence was about the most horrifying thing he’d ever witnessed. The cruelty, the intense, unquenchable rage. Mikel may now look like a nice young man, but that mind of his was as warped and deviant as ever.
It had reminded him of Tanner, of seeing his friend so savagely disfigured. It was a sight seared into his memory, one he’d never be able to escape. He’d made his promises to himself that he’d kill Mikel one day. Tanner and Nadia and Chloe had done the same. But looking at him now, seeing what he’d become, Ragan felt a shudder run though him.
Would they ever be able to kill him? After all this was done, and Mikel grew bored of hunting synthetics, would he come after them again?
I have to kill him, Ragan thought, looking at his blood-strained face. One way or another, I have to slay this beast…
But not yet. Mikel could still be useful, couldn’t he? Hunting down the remaining synthetics wasn’t going to be easy. How would they react to hearing about this? Would they go rogue, start killing wantonly? Was there perhaps some protocol for them to follow should this facility be destroyed, or their leaders killed? Were they now set to be unleashed across the continent, bringing chaos wherever they went?
Ragan didn’t know the answers to those questions. All he knew was that here, in Mikel, he had a devastating weapon, a counter to the synthetic threat. He needed to unleash him, let him do what he did best. And in the meantime, try to figure out some way of killing the monster…
A voice came calling from down the corridor, and Ragan turned to look into the central hall.
“Sir! They’re overrunning us in the stairwell! We have to go now, sir!”
Ragan nodded, bursting right back into action, pacing down the corridor with Mikel cruising gleefully alongside him, blood trailing from his face and body as they went. They passed through the hall and rushed for the stairwell. Bodies of Panthers, Spectres, facility guards, Ravens, lay all over the place, many killed during the fight in the wings.
Others had fallen on the stairs, the soldiers of the coalition struggling to hold back the storm. Bodies clotted the shaft, the remaining Panthers and Spectres still battling hard. Reinforcements had come from above, coming down to join the fight.
Ragan rushed over and glanced over the side. To his surprise he saw that a few synthetics had been killed, overwhelmed by the gunfire from above. Yes, these ones weren’t so proficient, and they weren’t wearing their armour, but it was certainly something. It gave him some hope as he pressed on up the stairs, Mikel following along behind.
He called out for the retreat as he went, stopping and firing to offer cover for others. Grenades were thrown, dropped to cause confusion, explosions rattling down the stairwell, a billowing cloud of smoke and dust pressing up from below. They hurried up and out into the central hall on the level above.
Only a few soldiers remained here, waiting for the rest. They all rushed for the industrial elevator, pressing inside, rising straight for the surface. A cool burst of air hit them as they stepped back out into the elevated surface level, the wind howling, sky now spitting with a light rain.
Ragan ran out and noted that a couple of jets were missing, already having evacuated their human cargo. Another jet was pressing into the distant skies, shooting high into the thickening clouds. Only the jets carrying the Panthers and Spectres remained, one on the landing pad and being loaded, the other hovering nearby, awaiting its turn.
Ragan began shouting orders from the deck, bellowing over the sound of the rain, the water, the jets above. The first jet was loaded up, moving off the pad. The second came down, the remaining soldiers rushing on board, some carrying injuries, others helping them along.
He turned, nervously watching the elevator doors, praying for them to stay shut. Mikel lingered next to him, as though hoping for the opposite, so desperate to continue the fight.
“Ragan!” a voice bellowed from behind them. Ragan turned to find Captain Maddox there at the opening, all the others boarded. “Come on!”
Ragan hurried over, Mikel reluctantly following. A sudden barrage of gunfire shattered the air as he went, forcing him to duck and throw himself to the deck on instinct. He glanced back and saw soldiers pouring from the elevator as its doors opened up, firing upon the jet sat on the landing pad.
The men inside stirred, firing back, as Ragan began scrambling towards it.
“Go!” he called out. “Just go! Blow it!”
They didn’t.
He saw it in Maddox’s eyes, and the rest beside him. Faces that said, no, we’re not leaving you behind.
He crawled on, bullets singing as they passed overhead, some cracking into the floor around him. Then, amazingly, he felt a strong hand grip him, pull him right to his feet, and thrust him towards the jet at a searing pace. He looked to see Mikel dragging him on, his own body blocking the incoming fire, hauling him in a split second towards the jet as it began lifting a few feet into the air.
Mikel flung Ragan up into it as they reached it, and then leaped himself, clattering to the floor beside the other soldiers, who continued to fire down upon the swarming men below.
The plane began to
rise up more quickly now, spouts pouring blue flame, peppered with gunfire as it went. Ragan, panting, got to his feet and looked out of the rear door as they rose, a hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet away.
He hauled a deep breath into his lungs, anticipating what was to come. And then he spoke.
“Blow it,” he said, looking on.
His men obliged, pressing on their detonators. A dozen muted thuds followed in quick succession, guttural bellows from the beast beneath the lake. The men down on the platform stopped firing, looking around in confusion. And a moment later, fire poured from the elevator, bursting off its doors, hungrily devouring them all.
The surface level exploded in a fierce storm of sparks and flame, a thick black cloud belched up from below. And then slowly, surely, the waves spread in, drowning what remained of the platform.
The facility sank into the depths, taking Professor Phantom’s research with it.
119
Chloe froze.
A voice bellowed out in pain as Jason fell back into the staging tent, a single red bullet hole sliced through his skull.
“Jason!” called Colonel Slattery. “No!”
He began moving around the tables, hurrying on weakened legs towards his man. Chloe opened her eyes, returning from Remus’ perception and to her own, the interior of the warehouse coming back into focus from her vantage at the back. She spotted Slattery moving towards the entrance, and rushed over, cutting him off. She grabbed the old man, stopping him in his tracks.
“No, Colonel,” she said. “It’s one of them. He’s…outside.”
Slattery’s expression tensed, eyes cast with sorrow and rage combined. It was the final straw for him. He’d seen his base destroyed, his soldiers and staff murdered. Seeing this young man fall, this man he seemed to care for, had driven him towards the edge, teetering and threatening to tumble.
“I’ll kill him!” Slattery said. He wriggled in Chloe’s grip. “Let…me…go.”
Tanner came rushing over. He picked Slattery up, strong arms wrapping around his chest and locking his arms in place, and hauled him towards the shadows in the rear.
Chloe turned and took in the space and its occupants, just as more gunfire began to sing outside. General Linklater remained to one side, along with his officers and Spectres. President Rashmore was on the other, his Panthers now forming a defensive barrier around him. Nadia stood right there next to Chloe, rifle aimed at the exit to the warehouse, where the shadows turned to bright sunlight.
They needed another way out.
Chloe shut her eyes again, nanites working at full capacity, Remus’ view appearing in her cognition within a split second. He hovered above the entrance to the warehouse, watching the black-clad soldier work towards it. He was being fired at now by whatever soldiers remained outside, temporarily distracted as he engaged them in battle.
Tag him, track him, Chloe commanded mentally.
She felt Remus take the order on; he’d now continually update her on the synthetic’s precise location. Without looking back, or returning to his perception, Chloe would know instinctively where the soldier was.
Chloe opened her eyes again, and found the rest moving towards the exit in their groups - one protecting Linklater, the other one protecting Rashmore. They were headed for the main exit.
“No,” Chloe called out. “Not a good idea!”
They stopped and she looked to the rear. This place was only a temporary structure. Surely they could create another way out?
Nadia seemed to understand exactly what she was thinking. She lifted a grenade from her belt, shouted, “Get back!”, and threw it towards a section of wall. It exploded violently, crafting a large enough hole for them all to escape through.
“Go!” she shouted.
The two groups turned and obeyed without question, hurrying for the newly fashioned exit. Tanner had dropped Colonel Slattery by now and was moving him through, out of the back of the staging area, and into the rear of the base. Chloe followed, Nadia alongside him, keeping to the rear as Rashmore and Linklater were huddled out into the sunlight.
Chloe could feel the synthetic growing close. Gunfire sounded, right near the entrance to the warehouse, as he battled through the remaining defenders outside. She whisked through the hole at the back, moving around the side of the structure just as the black-clad soldier poured inside.
She found the rest now rushing quickly towards the jets, though Tanner held back, refusing to leave his friends.
“Get the falcon started!” Nadia called. “Get Slattery to safety! We’ll hold him off.”
Nadia glanced and Chloe at that, the young women sharing a look. A determined look in defiance of this threat.
Tanner didn’t move.
“Now, Cliff!” Nadia called. “We’re right behind you. Go!”
Tanner reluctantly continued on, pressing towards the jets with Slattery, the girls following behind at the rear. The synthetic was nearing the hole at the rear of the warehouse now, about to pass through.
“A grenade,” Chloe said. “Throw it…now!”
Nadia followed the instruction, grabbing a grenade from her belt, and tossing it at the breach. Chloe could sense the paths colliding - the explosive and the synthetic about to come into contact. The grenade hit the ground, bounced, bobbled to the opening. The synthetic came through at that same precise moment, saw the explosive, and leaped away just as it burst into a ball of fire and thick smoke.
Chloe grabbed Nadia and turned, the two running swiftly from the scene. They sprinted around the side of the staging warehouse, passing dead soldiers as they went. Ahead, the groups of Panthers and Spectres had converged, forced into a single unit as they rushed for one of the jets. Tanner was moving for the falcon nearby, hauling Slattery aboard, rushing in.
“Is he dead?” Nadia called out, glancing back as they went.
“No,” Chloe said. “We’ve only slowed him down…”
She could see him, feel him, coming back after them now. The explosion had been a delay, only, not enough to cause injury. He’d avoided the full blast, skipping backwards, and was now coming back at them again.
And close. He was close.
“Move!” Chloe shouted suddenly, grabbing Nadia, pressing her to the side.
A flurry of bullets came at them from behind, Remus warning Chloe of the incoming fire just in the nick of time. Nadia fell away, stumbling, as Chloe turned back. The black-clad soldier was coming fast now, pacing their way, shielded by armour from head to toe.
Chloe lifted a pistol from her belt and began firing, Remus flitting into position, directing her aim. She pulled the trigger, firing off several shots in quick succession. The soldier just kept on coming. He didn’t even bother to move.
The bullets pinged harmlessly off his mesh bodysuit, far too low calibre to do any damage. Chloe could almost imagine the man laughing as he ran, feeling impenetrable in his armour, unstoppable in his body. He flew right for them, and Chloe tossed her pistol to one side.
It would be useless against a man like him.
She turned again, and ran, Nadia once more alongside her. Another few shots came from behind. Chloe felt them coming. She moved left and right, avoiding them. One hit, deflecting off her own body armour, down in the small of her back. The impact still sent a shudder through her frame, igniting something…primal.
She felt a surge of power run through her, nanites pouring for her hands. Blue fire and lightning began to burn and zip, crackling between her fingers. She closed her fists, drawing up all the energy she could, the falcon now just ahead. She saw Slattery at the entrance, rifle to his shoulder. The old man aimed, fired, trying to keep the enemy at bay.
Nadia pressed towards the door, desperate. Chloe knew they weren’t going to make it. She could see Tanner in the cockpit, firing the jet up.
But too late. Much too late.
She stopped right there, feet crunching in the grit, and turned to face her opponent.
He rushed,
the large warehouse behind him, the city away to the south. Distant gunfire continued to crackle in the air, away over in the east.
Chloe drew a breath and looked to the sky. It was pure and blue, the morning glorious. No clouds up there, no thunder and lightning. No storm to hold Chloe back this time. No strikes from the heavens for her to fear.
The synthetic came, Remus buzzing behind and above him, so desperately trying to keep up. He’d done his bit, he’d helped hold him off.
Now, it was down to Chloe alone.
She glanced to her right, and saw the Spectres and Panthers boarding a jet, the plane set to take off any moment. She heard the falcon buzzing behind her now, its spouts blowing hot fire, set to press it up into the air.
A voice came, shouting her name.
“Chloe! Get back, Chloe!”
Nadia’s voice. Sweet Nadia.
She didn’t move back.
She didn’t turn back.
Gunfire spat from behind her, shot by Slattery, by Nadia, at the man coming their way. It was nothing but a minor distraction for him, dancing onwards, the occasional bullet sparking as it harmlessly hit his armour.
He lifted his own gun to fire, bullets peppering the falcon’s entrance, forcing Slattery and Nadia to take cover and withdraw.
Chloe’s hands burned, furious and blue. She stood her ground, awaiting her enemy, giving the others precious moments to escape. She could save them now. She could help her friends get away. It was her or all of them.
It wasn’t a difficult choice to make.
She drew a breath, and her mind swirled, casting aside all doubt and fear. A thousand memories and thoughts were condensed into one.
This is my destiny. This is my responsibility.
This is my time…
She reached up, and out, fingers splaying, palms facing forward. A tangle of silver and sapphire lightning burst from her hands, fizzing with a furious rage, a booming crack of thunder spitting the air.
The synthetic slowed suddenly, hesitating as the tendrils of ragged light reached out to grab him. He was fast, but not fast enough. Nothing, no one, was quick enough to outpace lightning.
