by Jobe, David
Mac smiled. “That is amazing. You up for some experimentation?”
Allison smirked. “Are we still talking about my power?” She winked.
“Would you say yes if I wasn’t?” He winked back.
“Let’s let your back heal before we go down that road, flyboy. What do you want me to do?”
He stared at her for a second, and she could tell he was debating continuing to flirt. She didn’t mind. She could only imagine the amount of pain he was in. If she could distract him with innuendoes, she would. “Go back to my workbench and bring the green tub full of parts in here. You can just set them on the table here.”
She nodded, hurrying off to grab the parts. As she walked in, Asimov glided in, stopping to rest over the center of the table. “Great job, Asimov. What did you tell them to do?”
“I instructed them to return from wince they came, and to report a job finished. I may have instructed them to take the long way home though.”
Allison laughed, setting the container on the table. “That works. Hopefully, it sticks, for a while at least.”
“There is the matter of a ball of steel sitting on the lawn though. I could not determine how to get them to take it with them.” His tone sounded perplexed.
“That’s fine, Asimov. I have an idea for that. I think the front lawn needs a sculpture.” Mac winked at Allison.
“Excellent. We will look even more cultured. If it suits you, sir, I would like to go recharge and download the data from the incident.”
Mac nodded. “Go ahead, Asimov. And let’s keep your ability to use Holger’s power a secret for the moment. That kind of tech could get dangerous in a hurry if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“It started in the wrong hands,” Asimov said before floating off into another room.
Allison watched the flying droid leave. “Did you program him with sass?”
Mac laughed, wheezing a bit as he did. “Perhaps, but let’s test your powers. I’m curious if you are making duplicates, or you’re pulling the original somehow.”
Allison shivered. “I hope it’s the first.” He told her what his dad had said if they took his tech again.
“Yeah,” Mac replied in a softer tone. “Place your gun at the other end of the table. Then recreate what happened in the shop here. Feel free to use whatever items in this you need.”
Allison walked down to the other side of the table, placing the gun on the edge. Then she walked back and began to assemble junk to represent his father’s gun. She took a deep breath and placed a shaking hand on the collection. The assortment blurred like someone was shaking the camera in a movie. When it settled, the weapon sat before her. At the other end of the table, scraps had replaced the firearm. “Shit.”
Mac gave a soft laugh. “I think we are beyond worrying about the wrath of my father. I think he sent those people. And while this ixnays my grand idea to have a weapons business, it does make things more interesting. Grab me the TV remote?”
She nodded. Grabbing the remote, she handed it to him. She leaned against his chair, tracing the lines of his bare shoulder while he turned on the television.
For a few moments, he channel surfed, muttering “no” to himself as he did. He jumped through news stations. Then on one channel, a familiar face appeared.
“Is that Grimm?”
“Looks like,” Mac replied. He turned up the volume.
“We are here live on Main and 126th street, where a man has taken his girlfriend hostage.” The reporter was a short woman with too much makeup, and a look to her eyes like all she wanted to do was sleep. “Reports are conflicting, but what we are getting is that he believes his girlfriend is an Altered.” The camera panned away from her, over to the man in question.
He looked to be about thirty, his long black hair obscuring part of his face. “Get back!” He held a panicked blonde woman in a loose chokehold, a shiny revolver pointed at her temple. “Get back, or she dies!”
The camera panned to Grimm, who stood there with arms outstretched in front of him in a gesture of trying to calm the guy.
Mac pulled his laptop over and opened it, pulling a headset from a drawer in the underside of the table. After a few moments, he muttered, “please have your earpiece in.” The computer made a low beep. “Grimm, can you hear me?”
“Kinda busy, kid.” Allison couldn’t hear the conversation through the headset, but she could pick it up from the television broadcast.
“I know. You are on television. Allison and I might be able to help. No promises, but be ready to move.” Mac smiled up at her, putting a hand over the mic. “Try that again, but focus on that man’s gun.” He used his free hand to point at the television where they once again showed the assailant yelling a slew of obscenities at the cameraman.
Allison smiled and nodded. “I’m not sure it will work.”
“We lose nothing from trying.” Mac removed his hand. “Get ready, Grimm. It’s about to happen.”
“What is?” TV Grimm said.
Allison pulled out just a few trinkets and placed them before her. She focused her view on the television while she laid a hand on the pile of junk.
It happened so quickly that they had to rewind the television broadcast and watch it at half speed. The man’s gun shined bright and real in one frame, and in the next, junk rained down from his hand as his eyes grew wide. Four frames later, Grimm pushes the woman away while grabbing the man in a rear naked choke and twisting to the side throwing them both to the ground with himself on top.
Allison stared at the gun sitting on the table before her. Another shiver ran down her spine. “This scares me.”
On television, Grimm had vanished from the scene so that she couldn’t hear the exchange, except for Mac’s side.
“Glad to help,” Mac replied to the mic. “No, this was Allison’s doing. We’ve discovered her power. “ A pause while he appeared to listen to Grimm. “Right? A useful power indeed. Especially when armed thugs show up at your house.” He laughed, listening. “Yeah. I will give you more details when you show up.” Another pause. “No idea. Tell them whatever you want.” He smiled up at her. “I don’t know. Do you think they will consider her helping like this in her possible trial.” He nodded, though she wasn’t sure if it was for her, or because he wasn’t paying attention to the fact his audience couldn’t see him. “I’ll trust in your decision.” He laughed. Looking up at her, he smiled, “Grimm wants to know what he can get you as thanks. Hold on.” He listened again. “And he wants to know what kind of energy drinks you drink.”
Allison laughed. “Tell him I don’t need anything. I just want to be a helpful member of this team.”
Mac grinned. “No.” A pause. “You bring her flowers, and I might take that as poaching.” He winked at her.
“Tell him I have an idea. But I would rather tell him in person.”
Mac raised an eyebrow but repeated what she said back to him. “He’s game. Yeah, talk to you later.” He pushed a few buttons on the laptop and set the headset down on the table. “What’s this all about?”
“Nothing big. But, can you do something about this if I want to take a little day trip?” She pointed at the house arrest bracelet around her ankle. It matched the one he wore.
He smiled. “Quite easily.” He eyed her sideways. “What are you up to?”
She shrugged. “Want to go watch Firefly on the couch?” She tried to give him a smile that implied more than a movie.
“You had me at Firefly.”
Allison smiled and gave an inward sigh of relief. What she had planned, she doubted Mac would go for. But, that is why Marvel had its Daredevils and its Punishers. She smiled at that, thinking she would have to buy a Punisher shirt. After all, they did call her the Angel of Death.
Chapter Twenty
The Hanged Man’s Story
Brian lay in the stillness of his room, listening to the sounds of the complex. It had become a nightly routine to listen to the sound of the lights dimming
and the generators kicking on. The first time the lights had dimmed and a bell chimed, he had been confused. A voice spoke to him through a speaker mounted on the wall, letting him know not to worry, that they were switching to night mode. Lights would dim, doors would lock, and the ventilation system that pumped air into the underground facility would go through a short yet loud cycle of purging the day’s air and pulling in fresh new air. Thirty minutes later the staleness he hadn’t noticed before faded and a new breeze with a lovely scent of fresh cut grass and flowers would flow through the vents.
Tonight, for the first time, he doubted it was actually fresh air at all. Perhaps it was just the same stale air passed through a filter and scented. He had begun to doubt much about the installation after the visit from Nurse Lindell a few nights passed. Tonight, after the facility had been in night mode for a few hours, he hoped to discover some of the truth of what he had allowed himself to join.
The minutes ticked away as Brian fought to control his breathing and his heart rate. He had no idea what might happen to him if he got caught, but part of him feared that Officer Wolfe’s treatment would mirror his own in some horrific way. As the time ticked to when he had decided to make his move, he found himself having to mentally push himself to get up, afraid that a pipe-wielding doctor might lurk just beyond the door. His mind went back to the countless horror movies and games he had witnessed over the years. A secret lab rated high among the locations they preferred to use. And it wasn’t like a game, where if he failed he could just reset and start again.
Then he laughed. “Well, I guess technically I can.” That helped release the tension, and he found himself able to get up. He walked over to the door and the touchpad beside it. A few times he had been escorted to another room by Doctor Patton, and with each, he had seen that the pattern the doctor punched into the door remained the same. Though he didn’t know what the letters were, or if they were even letters at all, remembering patterns in strange codes was gamer skill ‘el numero uno,' as his father liked to say.
Running a shaking hand through his hair, he started the sequence. At the last icon, the screen flashed red, letting him know that his code didn’t work. Silencing the internal voice that told him it was a sign, he tried again. This time the screen flashed green, and the door slid open. Brian exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding when the hallway beyond lay empty. Slipping into the shadowy corridor, he gave a small start when the door slid shut behind him. “Calm down. You got this.”
Trying to get his bearings, he knew which room he wanted to go to first and why, though the prospect remained a terrifying possibility. He knew which direction they had headed for that trip, so he began to pad down the path to his left, his bare feet slapping on the smooth cold floor. He took seconds between each footstep to make sure that he couldn’t hear any other footsteps or voices coming his way. He suspected that the small army of techs and doctors retired from the complex at night, but he had no proof. For all he knew, right now, someone sat on the other side of the mirror in his room, reporting that he had just left. So, his first stop became the door immediately following his. There he typed in the code, getting it right the first time. He breathed a sigh of relief as the door slid open, thankful that even a possible mad genius like the doctor had created one universal code to allow him access to the rooms. Or at least these two.
Stepping in, he found the observation area for his room to be empty. Though the machines remained on and a single camera on a tripod still recorded, there was no sign of anyone having been here recently, and that no security team had been dispatched to reel him back in. He decided that while he was there, he would turn off the camera. It took some work, but he was able to stop its recording and rewind it to just before he slipped out of his room. Then he held up a clipboard against the lens of the camera and recorded a few minutes of utter blackness. Once done, he rewound the recording again and stopped it at the point just before he recorded blackness. Then he wiggled the battery on the end until it looked like it had slipped loose. He hoped that by the time anyone returned, the camera would die and that would explain why it was off.
He slipped back out, feeling a bit more confident in his chances of remaining undetected. Moving with fewer pauses to listen for anyone coming, he sprinted down the hallway to the intersection. Peering around the corners, he found himself alone. Again he sprinted, stopping only once when he thought he heard a cough. For a few tense moments, he froze in place before deciding he had either imagined it, or it was coming from one of the occupants. He moved on.
He found the door he had been looking for and punched in the code. When the door slid open, he realized that it wasn’t the room he thought it was. Careful not to step inside and possibly be seen by the room’s camera, he stared in open horror at what lay beyond. Blood had been splattered all along the far wall, spraying out in wide arcs across the whole expanse of white. A pool of blood around the base of the bed nearby indicated where someone had met their violent end. He couldn’t see the whole area, so he wasn’t sure if the occupant, the victim, or even if they were the same person, still resided inside. Pushing the button to close the door, he backed away, as if expecting someone to start hammering on the door.
Letting out another held breath, he moved down a door and found he had the right place this time. Inside he found another observation room, this one looking into pitch black. He turned off the camera in this one and slipped back out. Moving down yet another door, he opened it and stepped into Mr. Tarot’s chamber. The light from the door spilled into the room, falling on the table of weapons like a sunbeam from God highlighting a quest item. The path before him lit, he couldn’t see any blood on the floor, nor any sign of the body of Mr. Tarot. Odd as it was, he had timed tonight’s adventure with the three-day cycle that Mr. Tarot held. He knew the man’s corpse would be in here, and be halfway through its regeneration process at this time. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he tiptoed across the room, hoping that his passing wouldn’t somehow disturb the man’s corpse like in the horror movies. Where he would turn around, and it would be hanging there in front of him like a perfectly timed jump scare.
On the table, he found an array of weapons. A noose, a revolver, a vicious-looking long knife, a scalpel, and what looked like a bottle of pills. He could see the drawer under the arrangement lay slightly open. Pulling the drawer out slightly, he could see that a copy of Starship Troopers lay alone within. “Like a Gideon Bible,” he said to himself. He shut the drawer. Just as he was about to pick up the revolver lying there, a voice said, “I wouldn’t do that.”
Letting out a truly unmanly high-pitched squeak, Brian spun on his heels to face the speaker.
The lights in the room grew from nothing to just enough light to make the whole chamber visible. Mr. Tarot sat on his bed, a hand on the light switch. He had removed his shirt at some point. The man’s chest and arms were one mass of intricate tattoos. They looked like the tattoos Brian had seen on characters said to be in the Yakuza, though Mr. Tarot himself was white. Brian wasn’t sure if that mattered anymore these days, or if the Yakuza was even a real thing. After a few moments of staring at each other, Mr. Tarot spoke. “They’ve put traps on the weapons. If you try to pick one up, it will shock the piss out of you. Quite literally. And that’s never a good look.”
Brian blinked and gave a soft yelp when the door slid closed. It had been on a timer, but Brian’s brain was running on all cylinders at the moment. “Why would they do that?”
Mr. Tarot gave a coughing laugh. “It’s Patton’s punishment for me not revealing the secrets of the beyond to him. He’s finally wised up that I’d much rather be there than here.”
“There?” Brian tried to do something with his hands, and in the end looked more like he was fidgeting than appearing calm and collected. When he saw the man glance at the mirror, he added. “I turned the camera off.”
Mr. Tarot gave another raspy laugh. “Smart move. Why do you want a gun anyways? Planning to off
yourself?” He gestured for Brian to take a seat in the chair that sat near the end of the bed.
Brian nodded his thanks and sat down. “Well, Mr. Tarot, I-“
Mr. Tarot raised his hand to stop him. “The name isn’t Tarot.” He shook his head looking for a moment as if he might shed a tear. “That’s a cruel nickname given by the monsters that run this place. You can call me Shane.”
“Shane. My name is Brian.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Brian. Why do you want the gun?”
Brian opened his mouth to tell him but stopped. “Why do they call you Mister Tarot?”
This got a chuckle out of Shane. “Tit for tat, eh? You’ve got some balls, son, but since I know you aren’t one of the monsters from this place, I’ll tell you. Mainly, because I want you to understand who we are dealing with, and more because you asked for it. It isn’t a pleasant tale at all.”
