Centurion- Dark Genesis

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Centurion- Dark Genesis Page 14

by Christofer Nigro


  The leader of the proceedings clicked a small button on his arm band to activate the intercom system. “Len, have another 300-pound cinderblock brought in.”

  “Fun, fun,” Benny murmured to himself in anticipation of what he knew was going to be a grueling day of training.

  ***

  Several miles away, in the business-heavy section of Buffalo’s Sheridan Drive area, stood a recently established research outfit called Osmos Exploration. The fledgling company’s already well-known mission statement was the following:

  “Using state-of-the-art technology to investigate the emerging scientific anomalies of the present era, Osmos is dedicated to using such knowledge to facilitate advances in the growing energy needs of human civilization. The establishment of affordable alternative sources of energy production that eliminates the need for reliance on fossil fuels without undermining the profitability of the many corporations that make America the world leader of industry is our goal and our privilege.”

  Of course, the average working person paid no heed to the presence of this research facility in favor of tending to the all-important concerns of earning a living and raising their families. Those few who did pay attention, however, knew exactly what “anomalies” and opportunities Osmos was referring to.

  Many corporations were eager to invest in metahuman research, and the government was just as keen to provide generous finance subsidies and contracts for the same. The executive board of Osmos was confident that before long the facility would be “too big to fail.” The rarely seen head of this company, Martin Teasil, was an enigma, but apparently well-respected by the money-movers on Wall Street.

  Amongst the many separate laboratories within the sprawling complex was the one that was headed by Prof. Rutger Kaiser. A research physicist, the fairly tall man had a mop of unkempt graying hair stop his head, and his exquisitely unattractive face was marred by the scars of what was clearly the result of having suffered a very severe case of acne during his adolescence. His grating voice was tinged with a slight German accent that drew shivers from every lab assistant and colleague who had to hear it. He wore a pair of thick, strap-on goggles of his own design that doubled as protection from the light effects generated by his various experiments, and as a corrective remedy for his far-sightedness.

  This particular afternoon Kaiser’s pale eyes, which looked twice as big as they normally were due to the concave lenses of his goggles, were focused upon his latest handiwork: a full-body, thin suit of shiny blue material covered with circuitry-like attachments, the main part of which appeared to be a bronze-colored metallic circular device connected to the sternum region.

  The suit was displayed within a plexi-glass chamber where it was soon to be subjected to a final few operational tests. The scientist smiled smugly at the glittering garment before him, an action much disliked by his colleagues, since it exposed a mouthful of crooked yellowing teeth.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Kaiser asked no one in particular.

  “Yes, yes, it’s quite an accomplishment, Professor” answered his lab assistant Renee Mack with a nervous stammer. “Glad I could be involved in this.”

  “If only your job didn’t depend on you never saying otherwise, huh, Ms. Mack?” the scientist snapped back, just to make it clear that he wasn’t a fool who couldn’t recognize insincerity when he heard it.

  “Um…”

  “So, are you happy with the results, Prof. Kaiser?” his other lab assistant, Myron Wexler, quickly interjected to rescue Renee from what would likely be an awkward response.

  “I expected no other outcome, Mr. Wexler,” was the scientist’s curt rejoinder. “I am hardly an ineffectual loser incapable of producing results. That is why I am where I am and… well, others are lab assistants, no?”

  Myron exhaled slightly to signal being put off. “Well, Prof. Kaiser, it is late and well past quitting time. So, if you are no longer needing our services…”

  “Do feel free to vacate the premises, Mr. Wexler,” Kaiser said. “I no longer need any gopher work done this evening.”

  Without saying another word, both Myron and Renee stormed out of the lab, making sure to keep their opinions of Kaiser to themselves until they were well beyond the corridor leading away from his lab.

  The scientist made no attempt to be courteous to others, as he long ago abandoned any belief that his fellow human beings were worthy of such niceties. The abuse and rejection he had endured in his youth and young adulthood due to his less than appealing appearance and unorthodox interests had resulted in his writing off the human race as a point of consideration. He owed his success to the support of no one else. In fact, his employment by Osmos was merely a means to a personal end as far as he was concerned.

  The dumpy-looking scientist walked towards the plexi-glass case where the suit he constructed was confined and put his hand to the surface of the glass, directly opposite to where the suit was strung up. A crackling field of energy jumped between the circular apparatus of the outré garment’s sternum region and the surface of the glass where Kaiser’s hand was pressed. It much resembled the effect observed when one puts their hand to the glass of a plasma ball one can buy at a novelty shop, but considerably more intense.

  “Yessss…” Kaiser slurred to himself while he remained transfixed upon the energy generating suit. “You are going to be my road to the power I’ve always lacked. This entire city, and the world beyond it, will pay for what the depraved human species has done to me. We will see how the residents of this backwards city enjoy receiving a dose of the hell that people have always subjected me to.”

  His smile then took on a vicious countenance of contempt, his yellow teeth gritted tightly together like the maw of a predatory creature savoring the thought of a soon to commence kill. With this change in mood came a noticeable increase in the intensity of the energy pouring between the suit and the palm of Kaiser’s hand that was still tightly pressed to the surface of the glass.

  ***

  Tuesday morning was quick to come, and with it the ever-reliable wake-up buzzer that forced Benny out of his slumber. He was at least thankful that he didn’t seem to get tired anymore, or to wake up feeling like he had just finished running a fifty-mile marathon stretch (which had previously made him extremely crabby in the mornings).

  Nevertheless, he came to find that he needed the sleep, if only to enter a form of meditative trance which he appeared to naturally drift upon entering the REM state. Many strange images passed within his mind while in this mode of consciousness, which he knew served roughly the same purpose as the symbolism of dreams. They differed from standard dreams, however, in that they tended to be much more vivid and full of information.

  These nightly meditative forays were accompanied by the overwhelmingly peaceful sensation of making a powerful psychic connection with the ultimate intelligence of the universe itself. To his perception, this eternally vast universal intelligence seemed to be “downloading” such symbol-laden information into his organic neural hard drive (read: his brain). Discerning their meaning was a challenge, but one he was determined to undertake.

  Once again, however, Benny had to put such concerns aside and report to the training chamber. This time, though, he was to receive quite an interesting surprise.

  “If you’re going to play the role of a hero who deals with the type of menace that the Warp Events have proven capable of producing,” Donovan told him, “then you need to dress the part.”

  “Please don’t tell me that you got me a tuxedo,” Benny replied with his usual acerbity.

  “No, silly-ass,” Donovan said. “I’m talking about a fully functional outfit and disguise that I think you’re familiar with from reading those dreadful comic books; not to mention watching those CGI-saturated movies based on them that have recently become such popular money-makers for God knows what reason. Those funny books and the movies based on them just encourage metahumans to do stupid shit.”

  Benny exhaled a sigh of
indignation. “Are you talking about a costume?”

  “That is precisely what I’m talking about. Take a look at this.”

  Donovan walked over to a plastic suitcase on a nearby metal stool and opened it. Out of it he produced a monochrome black and white full body suit that included a cowl which covered the head and the top part of his face. In its center was a white insignia that resembled an inverted triangle surrounded by a disc. The uniform came equipped with sturdy-but-comfortable-looking gloves and boots, along with what appeared to be a sort of white utility belt around the waist area.

  Donovan smiled upon presenting the costume. “So, what do you think, guy?”

  “It… looks okay. Is that a utility belt?”

  “Yes, as you will need to carry certain types of equipment at times.”

  “And what does that emblem in the chest area mean?”

  “It’s a Tetrad of Pythagoras, lined with Nordic runes. The circle around it represents a mystical field of protection for medieval wizards who summoned all sorts of weird entities into the triangle, where they would be trapped. Classic occult symbols that Claire suggested, which she felt was just somehow ‘right’ for you. Hey, it’s not like we could just put a big ‘S’ symbol there, huh? But it gets better.

  “The uniform is made of a special type of polymer that a certain research facility was able to create just a few years ago. Not coincidentally, nothing like this was able to be produced prior to the global onset of the Warp Events, which seem to have changed what is and isn’t possible to invent, let alone actually make work. This material has been referred to as bio-mimetic polymer, and it duplicates the properties of the wearer’s skin to an approximate extent.”

  “Ah, sort of like those ‘unstable molecules’ invented by Reed Richards in the Fantastic Four comic book.”

  “Not having read any of that junk, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Benny scowled. “Comic books are very influential on all aspects of culture and science, dude. In fact, you’re now seeing what was once considered to be exaggerated pseudo-science in their pages becoming a reality following those Warp Events. So maybe you should show those books and what they represent and have always foreshadowed with a bit more respect, huh?”

  “Look who’s suddenly giving me advice on showing respect. Anyway, this bio-mimetic polymer will effectively become as tough as your own skin when you wear it, even though you shouldn’t expect it to be indestructible. Hence, you should be able to project your energy discharges at full force without shredding the material. And their highly adaptive structure has one more very cool feature that I think you’re really going to like.”

  “I already like what I see here. Please do tell me about whatever property this suit has that’s even better than this.”

  “The polymer is ‘energy-responsive.’ Since it will instantly adapt to the energy frequencies produced by your cellular structure whenever it’s in contact with your skin, a short-wave omni-directional discharge of your energy, if properly focused into the clothing itself, will cause the suit to expand and take on its regular appearance.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “Meaning, that your entire regular wardrobe--just about any type of clothing imaginable--can be altered by a procedure we have access to that will convert its sub-atomic structure to bio-mimetic polymer. It will then become adaptive enough that the pattern and shape of this suit can be invisibly grafted into its matrix by a process we call sub-atomic overlaying. So…”

  “So… when I produce that omni-directional burst of energy, my clothing that is overlaid with the pattern of this suit will quickly change color and expand to instantly cover me in this costume! Sort of like what Ms. Marvel could do in the comics! That is so far beyond cool that a special adjective needs to be created for it!”

  “You can invent that adjective yourself, being an aspiring writer. In the meantime, you need to try on this outfit, and you need to spend the rest of the day practicing how to precisely use such an omni-directional energy discharge to initiate the morphological alteration effect on your clothing. That also means, of course, that we have to give your entire wardrobe the sub-atomic alteration and overlay treatments.”

  “Let’s get to it, then. And I can’t wait to see how this sub-atomic alteration process works. This place is more awesome than I ever imagined! Do I ever have to go home?”

  Chapter 12: Picking Up the Pieces

  Head Nurse Beverly Tanner found herself utterly charmed by the tall, early-middle-aged man with a prominent athletic build and a thick, salt-and-pepper mustache that, unbeknownst to her, was dyed black. He resembled nothing less than a classic movie star hero with the way he proudly stood over her front desk on the 4th floor of Kenmore Clemency Hospital.

  The nurse was curious as to what color his eyes were, but they were concealed by dark shades which made him look like a figure right out of 1980s action cinema. Of course, Beverly hadn’t the slightest idea that the gently speaking man was actually Valis Institute agent Donovan Jakes utilizing a false identity.

  “Well, I think it’s very sweet of you to stop by and bring flowers to your nephew, Mr. Wolfe,” Beverly said with a sly wink of her eye. “He just recently regained enough health to speak after that horrid beating he took at the school. Your whole family must have found this quite difficult to deal with. My heart goes out to you.”

  “Thank you for the condolences, Nurse Tanner,” said the incognito Donovan. “And yup, ‘difficulties’ is certainly something that Jeff’s situation has brought to everyone concerned. And you say he’s sharing a room with Mickey Judge, the other boy who was hurt along with him?”

  “Please call me Beverly,” the faux blonde nurse stated with another clearly flirtatious tone. “And yes, Jeff is sharing a room with Mickey, as both their parents felt it would be better for their spirits if…”

  “Much obliged for telling me where the room is… Beverly,” the disguised Donovan said with a friendly though not flirtatious smile. “Here, please take this as a token of my appreciation.”

  He reached into the package containing the chrysanthemums he was carrying and handed one of the flowers to Beverly.

  “Oh my,” she said, graciously accepting the purple floret with a swoon.

  Before she could say another word, or even come close to working up the nerve to inquire about whether the handsome gentleman was single, the undercover agent of the Valis Institute had already begun storming down the hallway towards the room housing the recovering Mickey Judge and Jeff Wolfe. His expression was no longer one of a good-natured uncle, but an angry soldier on a mission.

  The still badly injured but now conscious Jeff and Mickey found their mutual semi-slumber rudely interrupted when the clandestine Donovan suddenly barged into their room and discreetly shut the door behind him. His dark shades, dyed hair, long overcoat, and large cowboy hat did an effective job of detracting from his naturel distinctive features. The overall demeanor he exuded before pronouncing a single word froze the two young patients to the core of their currently wretched being. He was clearly a man used to inspiring such feelings and commanding immense respect with his mere presence alone.

  “Mr. Judge, Mr. Wolfe,” Donovan greeted the two still heavily bandaged young athletes. “I’m Corporal Bob Taylor, and I’m here at the behest of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  He then brandished a realistic and official looking identification badge to show them. In fact, the insignia truly was crafted by the U.S. government for him to facilitate an actual undercover mission years ago.

  “Are you… here to take our statements ‘bout about who did this to us?” Mickey croaked out, making it clear that speaking was still difficult for him.

  The youth’s enquiry, however, confirmed Claire’s prediction that they were not yet questioned by the police. The former soldier never doubted her, but still felt a pang of relief at this verification.

  “Not actually, boy,” Donovan said. “I already know of Mr. Lonero’s
involvement in your sorry situation right now. Moreover, I’m aware of what you little miscreants and your lady collaborators did to drive that kid to do what he did to you two. I know it was self-defense on his part.”

  “Not… entirely true,” Mickey insisted. “He called us names… he provoked us…”

  “Something you and your sycophantic followers never did to him many times before, right?” Donovan interjected rhetorically. “I know all about the dementedly cruel little scheme you two concocted in league with Miss Robbins to lead Mr. Lonero into your planned dressing room encounter. That was really low, and for what I understand about you guys, that’s sure as hell saying something.”

  The two boys looked at Donovan’s icy glare with expressions of mounting fear.

  “Let this be known to the two of you,” the disguised Valis agent said with the firmness of a bamboo stick. “Mr. Lonero has always secretly been working for us. He was trained by us. You don’t need to know the details behind that, as it’s information highly classified by the Homeland Security Department.

  “Your constant provocation of the kid caused him to snap and display his true prowess. He’s being dealt with by us, but what the two of you and your cohorts did to Mr. Lonero over a prolonged period to make him lose his cool and force him to defend himself and reveal his true capabilities means that you’re all in some majorly huge trouble with the government. I’m talking about the type of trouble that makes even the bravest Navy Seal stain his pants if he so much as imagines being in it.

  “You are now privy to highly classified government secrets, and I have the authority—at my discretion—to have both of you detained and ‘disappeared’ over to Guantanamo or some other ‘black’ prison of my choice, if you get my meaning there.”

  “Shit, man…” Jeff groaned.

  “’Shit’s’ the word all right, kid,” Donovan concurred.

 

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