Mr. Halaby watched from above as Stratus passed through the last few walls, concerned the undeterred man was closing in on the last red security wall. Mumbling was heard above as Mr. Halaby spoke in to his wrist communicator quickly and deliberately.
A dark form began moving at an incredible rate between the last two holographic walls. The form came dangerously close to the red heat laser security wall that Stratus rapidly approached. As he passed through the second to last holographic wall, the strange red tinted barrier came into view.
Stratus wasn’t sure what Mr. Halaby’s last comment meant. Despite the warning from above, he continued to sprint forward. Anticipating something painful, Stratus closed his eyes just feet away from the flowing red barrier.
With the impact of a freight train Stratus’s body was thrown sideways, his feet leaving the ground, his body finally coming down with a thud onto his shoulder. He and the assailant slid across the slick, cold, unforgiving floor finally coming to a stop.
Red light filled his vision. Inches from the mysterious red wall, Stratus pulled his head away; the smell of molten metal and burnt clothing filled the air. The Phantom pushed off Stratus’s body and rose to his feet. He picked up the dazed Stratus by the shirt and tossed him away from the security wall.
“You damn idiot! You almost got yourself sliced and diced,” said Fox One as he huffed and puffed quickly, trying to catch his breath.
Stratus’s eyes were focused on something to Fox One’s side, causing the Phantom to investigate. The tip of the Phantom’s MP5 was cut clean off and still glowing orange, along with pieces of his knife and other gear; smoke filling the air, making him cough.
Stratus lay amazed at Fox One’s lack of concern. The lasers extremely close proximity could have cut off his limbs or spilled open his guts.
“Shit Stratus! Look at all that gear you ruined. Oh hell, and my lucky rifle too…you’re lucky we’re a team and Mr. Sullivan has asked me to play nice. If it were up to me, I’da let your ass run right through that wall, if it weren’t for the mess. Your welcome, suit.”
Stratus, unable to resist, “Damn, you are a whiner, aren’t you?”
A faint crack of a smile appeared at the corner of the Phantom’s mouth. As the brute walked away, he playfully kicked the foot of the downed Stratus.
CHAPTER 10
W atching your back, avoidance, path of least resistance, defensive positioning: these were all skills Matthew had learned in the army. Now that he was in the National Guard he didn’t use these skill sets much, but those habits die hard. Having an everyday job as a personal trainer seemed mundane to him comparatively, his wife being his newest domestication. Settling down was an adjustment, and a tough one at that. He needed a drink. He preferred to knock one back alone, but tonight he seemed to have company.
Matthew noticed his tail prior to entering the bar, he sat down for a while at the closest barstool, hoping to alleviate his paranoia. Minutes later, the man came in and ordered a drink as well, Matthew’s mind raced, thinking over reasons why this man would have for following him.
The guardsman nursed his cocktail and observed the man dressed sharply from the waist down. The oddly bulky sweatshirt on top, complete with a ridiculous dark grey bowler hat. Not the kind of clothes you typically see in a dive bar like this one. The man sat erect at the bar stool, swirled his drink, and shot an occasional glance his way.
His wife’s voice yelling at him for being drunk and stupid played in the back of his head. He pushed the drink aside. His days of just asking the man to step outside and duke it out were behind him, but damn would it be fun.
Matthew decided to test his suspicions. He laid a ten-dollar bill down for his drink and headed to the bar next door. In the next bar loud music filled the small crowded space, and a band jammed out, tucked away on a corner stage.
A laser light show danced across the dark space; patrons stood head banging to the beat as Matthew grabbed a quick drink and morphed into the dense crowd, keeping an eye on the door. The beat of the music, and the hum of the speakers were so loud they shook his shirt, and thousands of points of light swept back and forth, mixing together into an entrancing environment. Matthew began to sway to the beat and relax until a couple next to him jumping up and down, slammed into is drink.
“Oh, my bad bro,” came the voice from the intoxicated man, his woman giggling.
Matthew’s callous stare caused them to spin away, making him lose sight of the door for a few seconds. Angrily he slammed what was left of his drink, crumpled the cup in his fist, and threw it in the direction of the couple. Worried he had missed his stalker entering, he searched the outer edge of the crowd quickly to see if his stalker had joined.
Unable to find his stalker inside, he moved to pay his tab and leave when someone pushed him from behind. The push caught him midstride and he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground, noticeably enough that the crowd cleared the area around him. When Matthew turned around to face the culprit, he saw the same concert goer he had collided with moments ago, his girlfriend standing behind him.
Matthew couldn’t believe this pencil of a man was challenging him over a thrown cup. He reluctantly strolled over to settle the score.
Amid the lasers, fog, and noise, a flare of glinting light shone in his eyes. The light came from the bar’s glass door being opened. It was his stalker. The man had only partially entered, stopping at the standoff before him. His eyes met Matthew’s, and they both stood staring at each other for a moment, both knowing their cover had been blown.
The stalker hurriedly retreated outside, throwing his hood up over his head, trying to play it off like he entered in error. The hooded man definitely didn’t want to draw attention to himself, especially in such a crowded location. It was clear he didn’t want Matthew to know of his pursuit.
Matthew didn’t waste a second. With a blow to the stomach, he doubled over the rocker approaching him and ran towards the door. He hated running from a fight, but he didn’t care this time, his wife would have been irate just to know he hadn’t avoided the rocker.
Something told him this mystery man was important, and he didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder all the time. Matthew ran to the door and thrust it open, glancing in both directions, hoping to find the stalker. He barely caught a glimpse of the man’s leg disappearing into the alley and followed him around the corner. The cool alleyway was vacant, and he searched the brick-lined space for where he may have disappeared. Had he man ducked down behind the restaurant somewhere, patiently waiting with a knife to spring on him. Matthew was half way down the alley when he stopped to speak.
“What do you want? Be a man and face me! I’m right here,” Matthew shouted.
The butcher was planning on stabbing him before he knew it but he accepted the challenge.
The butcher stood up and turned the corner facing Matthew, his knife by his side.
“I’m not afraid to face you and what I want isn’t your concern. Besides you won’t be alive long enough to make it matter.”
Matthew was successfully goaded by the man’s tough words, he walked towards the knife wielding challenger.
“It’s going to take more than a blade to stop me, you’re going to need that advantage coward.”
“Call me what you will. You’ll have to help me with the ‘being a man’ part though.”
The man shot him a glance, his eyes shining bright red for a moment, causing Matthew to slow his walk and consider the unthinkable. A noise came from behind Matthew, and he turned his head to see who was joining them. His look of frustration said it all.
“Where you runin’ to punk? We didn’t get to steppin’ yet. Figures you’d run like that! Say you’re sorry nicely, or this is about to happen.” The scrawny rocker pounded his brass knuckled fist into his other palm, provoking Matthew.
“Your friend knows what’s up. Ha, ha, he jetted faster than you, sissy.”
Matthew had only turned his head for a moment, but the attacker had disappeared, le
aving him to now wonder when the stalker might pop back up into his life. He had no enemies, but the man seemed intent on killing him. He was very confused; what was it that he had said? “You won’t be alive long enough to make it matter?” The irritating voice of the music fan jolted him from his thoughts
“Ok, let’s do this! You’re in for a whupin’ son.”
Matthew heard a retching sound, and turned to face the trash talker, struggling to hold back from barfing. Ughhh! He laughed at the man and gave him a quick noogie as he passed, shrugging his leg away from the rocker’s grip. Matthew exited the alley and made his way down the bar-lined sidewalk, looking over his shoulder occasionally.
He decided to leave the bar scene before his night turned into one resembling his past, cuts, and bruises. Matthew was relieved his interaction with the rocker didn’t turn out worse, but he was worried about the stalker. Did he need to worry about his wife at home? Would the strange man try to attack her there? He finally reached his car parked a few blocks away, sat down, and turned up the radio out of habit. A song ending in a loud, fading guitar riff and thrown drum sticks cut into a breaking news story.
Local authorities have released information on a suspected missing national guardsman. Twenty-five-year-old Victor Renique, declared missing five days ago and feared dead, showed up to his home just hours ago. His delightfully surprised wife says her husband isn’t aware of the time that elapsed over the last week. My husband having no recollection is certainly scary, but it’s obvious he was taken care of. The soldier will undergo testing to rule out the possibility of future blackouts. In economic news, New Wave announced---
Matthew turned off the radio and worked to put all the pieces together. He was happy that Victor was okay, and with a healthy exam, he would most likely return to duty. Matthew being an E5 sergeant had taken the time to work his way up.
Patience, hard work, and proven leadership skills had made him an E5. He took the team he was responsible for very seriously. In his large team of twenty, five had gone AWOL over the last week. He feared the team had an abandonment bug circulating and they may all fall prey to it. The men and woman he supported took pride in their duty. It was odd so many had left. He knew in this age of fickle commitment the loss of a few, perhaps, could be expected, but five in one week was out of the ordinary. On his own he had begun to investigate where they had ended up and what had happened to them. After all, he was accountable to his staff sergeant for the squad.
What he found during his investigation was bizarre. All of them weren’t just AWOL, they were nowhere to be found, not even by their families.
Had these disappearances been caused by the man that had been stalking him tonight? Now able to relax, Matthew tried to recall once again what his stalker had said to him. You wouldn’t be alive long enough to make it matter?
Perhaps it was a coincidence, perhaps not, but the stalker clearly knew him. He would have to interview the newly found Victor himself and see if he could connect the dots.
CHAPTER 11
M arty couldn’t wait to go to the cell they called a room. While it wasn’t ideal by the farthest stretch of anyone’s imagination, it was away from the lab, making it quiet, cool, and in a strange way peaceful. He was exhausted after slaving over Ms. Likvold’s latest replicated butler or ‘butcher’ as she apparently called him.
He was dingy, sweaty, and all the smelting had given him a headache. He was very good at assembling these monstrosities now, but he knew at some point it would become automated. This would make him obsolete once he passed on his knowledge to a production database, that is until she wished to put in place significant modifications. Marty had stayed to see Ms. Likvold’s interaction with the butcher, and it was apparent he didn’t like her either. Ms. Likvold was true to her word though; she had made Marty a rich man as promised, but he didn’t like being pushed around. Mr. Sullivan was off putting, at least she was personable.
He sat down, dampened a wash cloth, and rubbed his face while he dialed his shop phone; it rang and rang without an answer. It was mid-day and he knew his daughter’s schedule. She wasn’t on lunch, and she hated to let the answering machine take the call. He went through the motions and left a message.
Marty assured her he was okay and that he had to rush and work on a project on site somewhere. He apologized, then ended the call. Marty let out a painfully sorrowful sigh; he remembered Gretchen’s face when he told her he had to leave again. She had been very upset over his sudden unannounced departure, but he knew she wouldn’t abandon the store.
Worried, he typed another number into his phone and waited to hit the send button. Marty had no way to confirm with certainty something was amiss. He decided to text her instead of calling the office again.
I just called the store, where are you dear? No response. Gretchen is everything okay? I apologize for my quick departure. He contemplated jumping the gun and calling someone else when a text came back from Gretchen.
Hello, Mr. Naublock. I’m sure you know who this is. I have something of yours, and you sir, have something of mine. A picture came in showing a smiling Mr. Sullivan, behind him Gretchen and an armed soldier standing by her side. His blood began to boil, and he angrily typed out a reply, his fingers stabbing the virtual keyboard.
You wretched filth. You really think threatening me with harm to my daughter is the best motivator. You’ve only solidified my hatred and contempt for you. My project here has already had its successes, and I’d rather die than help you. My daughter is everything to me, all that I have left. I am here till my work is finished but let me assure you I have ways of protecting her and making sure she’s looked after. My contact will follow up and make sure you comply with my wishes and prove that your word is good. I will continue my work here as normal, not giving a second thought to your attempted distraction. On the other hand, should you provide me with certain reassurances, good faith, and release of my daughter, I may be able to throw a wrench in things here. The clock has begun on things. You have no longer than 4 weeks to follow through; at that point things will be irreversible. Ms. Likvold waits for nothing. Her resolve is absolute.
Marty hit send and tried to relax with the thought that he may have just taken the wrong approach, the consequences of which were the life of his daughter. He nervously looked at his watch to check the time left Ms. Likvold had extended to him. He needed to make sure he had time to send his friend the go-ahead to pursue Mr. Sullivan. Only a few minutes left, he hoped Mr. Sullivan had received his message loud and clear.
So you’re the one calling all the shots? I thought I made this clear, we’re not here to negotiate. The man in the photograph is as deadly as they come. The game you’re trying to play is a foolish one. I only have your daughter because Ms. Likvold has abducted you, if my man had been there earlier we would have saved you both. Don’t be stupid, you want to get this one right. This is simple, stop your work or we will cease ‘taking care’ of Gretchen. The machines you are to produce have one purpose, do you really want blood on your hands? The butcher you so stupidly helped her make is nothing but ruthless. Thank goodness they were both destroyed by my beasts and me. Her plan has yet to begin. Help me stop this madness Marty.
Marty finished reading Mr. Sullivan’s message and fired back a reply. So sly, every word lies. I have already created another butcher for her, one that in time will have upgrades and won’t be so easily taken down. Clearly, you don’t believe I will follow through. I only have moments left to speak today; the next time we speak I will have had eyes on your actions, and I hope you see my seriousness.
Marty’s time was running out. He nervously waited for his response, till a chime announced Mr. Sullivan’s response. If what you say is true, it is already too late. You now have the blood of innocents on your hands, and her plan is already in phase two. I implore you to listen. If you want to see the world continue as it now exists, help me. Do nothing, collaborate with her, and you will see the death of your daughter, not by my hand
s but by the machines you have created.
Mr. Sullivan’s last response chilled Marty to the bone. Did he believe this man? The one who threatened his daughter, then claimed it would somehow be Marty pulling the trigger on his own daughter.
Both of them were master manipulators, both with agendas he didn’t care for, nor understand. Something compelled him to believe these last words from Mr. Sullivan. If what he was saying carried even a shred of truth, it was worth listening to. Either way, having a tail on Mr. Sullivan couldn’t hurt. He quickly entered in a phone number. After waiting for a prompt, Marty then entered a sequence of numbers and ended the call.
He quickly returned to the texting app to type a final message, indicating he might be able to help slow things until he saw proof of Mr. Sullivan’s honesty. Marty tapped send and waited to assure it transmitted. The blinking wheel to the side indicated it was taking some time, then the worst was confirmed.
Ms. Likvold had disabled his thirty minutes of Wi-Fi promptly. He sat in his bunker prison cell, terrified. His last words unsent, left a connotation of complete defiance to Mr. Sullivan that he no longer felt. Marty deleted his text history quickly before anyone had any chance of finding it.
He now must decide how much or how little he’d help either side complete their goal. He was a bundle of nerves. Sweat now covered his face once again, his grease coated hand wiped it away.
Lying down, exhausted, Marty put his head on the pillow and thought of his beloved Gretchen caught in the middle of all this unpleasantness. Marty had produced her Butcher and thanks to his intuition, the Butcher was now being recorded with a geo-tagging device.
Marty would only be able to retrieve the data if the Butcher returned and required service, or upgrades. Marty had a feeling her thug would be back, and when he returned he would have the Butcher’s last known location, his location.
The Second Rising Page 5