The Titan Strain

by Virginia Soenksen

  Disappointment was evident in his dark eyes, but Damian stood without further protest. “Then I’ll leave you to think through it.” He stood and retrieved his overcoat. Liane followed him, looking graver than ever as she walked him to the door.

  Damian stopped on the threshold, looking back at her before darting forward and kissing her hard. His hands were on the small of her back, holding her to him. Liane was slightly unsteady on her feet when he finally drew away. There was something deadly serious in his face as he said, “I meant what I said, you know. About us changing the world. We can do it, if you’re brave enough to try with me.”

  Struggling to recover her voice, Liane asked, “What will happen if I don’t?”

  Damian stepped back, his voice light despite the intensity behind the words. “There are only two types of people in the Agency, Liane; those who are with me, and those who are against me. Be smart about which side you choose.”

  With that, he turned and headed towards the elevator. She watched him go, her breaths constricted. Only when the elevator doors shut behind him did she finally give in to her emotions. Shutting the door behind her, she stood leaning against it, her head bowed and veiled by her blonde hair as she considered her pitiful options.

  Damian knew something was wrong with her. He knew where she had gone within the city. And it was abundantly clear that the line between professional duty and personal desire was now dangerously blurred . . . It was only a matter of time before he discovered what she had been doing, before he discovered Seth. She thought of what Damian would do once he found out and gave a shiver of fear.

  The rational part of her mind had always ruled her. Even before the Agency, Liane had always been willing to do whatever it took to survive. One of her very first memories within the orphanage was seeing the stronger children steal the food off the plates of the weaker ones. Eat or be eaten; kill or be killed. Those were the tenets of the London she knew, those were the creeds she lived by. And there was no place within that for selflessness, or softness, or friends who could lead her to disaster.

  Liane lifted her head, knowing with cold purpose what she had to do.

  Seth jumped when the grate was pulled away, his heart lurching within his chest. But it was just Liane who crouched to peer through, saying, “He’s gone. You can come out.”

  “That was a little too close,” Seth said, scrambling out and shaking dust out of his hair. He tried to catch her gaze, but she seemed determined not to make eye contact. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m not used to lying to Damian,” she said sharply, turning away from him and leaving the closet.

  “Did he seem suspicious?” Seth asked, following after her.

  Liane laughed hollowly. “Of course he’s suspicious. I’ve been stupid and careless enough to make even the worst Handler suspicious. And Damian is the best one the Agency has. So it’s safe to say I’m living on borrowed time as we speak.”

  Almost hopefully, Seth said, “But he hasn’t done anything to you yet.”

  Liane turned to face him, her face cold and contemptuous. “Are you really this much of an idiot? He’s testing me to see if I’ll slip up or confess. If I don’t, then he’ll make his move.”

  “So what are you saying?” Seth demanded. “You’re suddenly realizing the risk? A bit late, given that you’ve been helping me for nearly a month.”

  “I’m realizing how brainless I’ve been,” Liane shot back. “I should have never approached you, let alone invited you in . . . you’re going to get me killed.” She turned away from him, saying stiffly, “This has to end. I can’t help you anymore.”

  “Stop acting like this was something done to you,” Seth said, finally angry. “You came to me, remember? Because you wanted to help this city. However cold or selfish you want to act now doesn’t change that.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Bullshit!” Seth burst out, gesticulating as he said, “Why do you think you were born this way, huh? So you could be a living sniper-rifle for some faceless bureaucrats? That’s a load of crap—you were made extraordinary so that you could do something in this world, something good!”

  “Don’t try to shame me into changing my mind,” Liane said with a jerk of her head. “You’re not that good of an orator.”

  Seth flushed, but persisted, “Maybe I’m not, and maybe you can just sit by and watch the world go to hell around you. But here’s one thing I do know; if you can watch evil being done in the world and do nothing, then the Agency is exactly where you belong.”

  Liane kicked him in the solar plexus, the blow sending him sprawling and sliding across the floor. She followed him, grasping a fistful of his shirt and hauling him towards the door as he laid slack, gasping for breath. She lifted him bodily to his knees, wrenching the door open and throwing him out into the hallway. Seth struggled to his feet, looking back at her with pain and disbelief in his eyes.

  Liane stood in the doorway, looking down at him as she said emotionlessly, “If you come back here again, I’ll shoot you.”

  She turned, closing the door behind her without so much as a glance in Seth’s direction.

  Chapter 11

  Deep under the skyscraper that housed the Agency, Damian walked into a tiny observation room. A team of techs were seated at the control panel, their faces illuminated green by the keyboard. The room itself was dark, the only other light source coming from the large window that looked down into a spacious chamber padded in black fabric. Damian moved to look through it, asking, “How is she doing?”

  One of the techs chuckled, adjusting the controls. “Brilliant as always. Your girl’s been going for nearly six hours. She’s unstoppable.”

  Another tech looked towards Damian, the green light glowing against his face as he announced, “We’re beginning the next simulation now.”

  Damian said nothing, his eyes on Liane down in the chamber.

  Liane stood in the center of the room. Perspiration was already darkening her hair, and her eyes were narrow and focused. The black walls shimmered slightly, and then vanished completely. It faded into a dark, dank cellar, the air around her turning stale. Liane barely had time to take it in before a shape emerged ahead, a gun raised level with her head. She ducked, the bullet striking the distant floor as she rolled to the side. She drew a simulation gun from a back holster, shooting her attacker in the chest with a blast of light. The figure disintegrated into a shower of green pixels as she turned, spotting two more gunmen running out from a distant doorway. A simulated bullet struck her shoulder, but she ignored the ferocious stinging and fired twice, dissolving the two gunmen.

  Liane heard a noise behind her and fired three more times; three more assailants fell. She aimed at the fourth and the gun jammed. She tossed it aside, getting a running start and aiming a flying kick at the gunman’s head. The figure was struck to the ground and vanished in a flurry of green.

  She crouched on the ground, breathing hard. As she stood, the walls shimmered and the cellar faded into the practice chamber. A door opened and Damian walked inside. Even though he wasn’t smiling, she could tell he was pleased.

  “Twenty simulations beaten with only minor injuries,” he noted. “Not bad.”

  Liane said nothing, focused on removing her holster. Damian watched her, observing, “You weren’t scheduled for simulation. Why the request?”

  She shrugged. “Too much energy. I needed to burn it off.” It was a half-truth, at least; without Seth and the murders to occupy her mind, she’d felt adrift, full of restlessness. She’d hoped the simulations would help, but she felt no more settled now than when she’d walked into the chamber.

  Damian pointed out, “You know you have hand-to-hand combat in ten minutes. Are you up for it?” Liane nodded, and he gestured to the door. “Well, then . . . no sense in waiting.”

  The practice rings
were crowded when they arrived. Agents and heavily padded trainers faced off against one another, shouts and grunts filling the arena. Damian joined the other Handlers at the edge of the mat, while Liane went out into the ring. One of the older Agents, the same burly blond man she’s snapped at during the Vienna mission, turned as she entered, taunting, “This area’s for the grownups.”

  Liane ignored him, facing off against a trainer. The trainer started easy, allowing Liane to warm up with blocks and punches. Liane kept her eyes on the padding, putting her entire body into every strike.

  The blond Agent moved past her, saying under his breath, “You too good to talk to me, bitch?”

  Liane picked up the pace, the trainer forced to move fast to keep up with her. For a moment there was just the movements, and Liane could feel the blood pumping through her veins as she hit again and again . . .

  A noise came from behind her, the unmistakable sound of a body turned, a fist cutting through the air towards her. Liane whirled, blocking the blond Agent’s punch and clamoring up his bent leg to clamp her thighs around his head. She threw her weight backwards, and the Agent went crashing to the floor at a twisted angle as she leapt safely away. The practice area had cleared, and Agents and Handlers were shouting around her, egging on the fight. The blond Agent was getting to his feet, face red with rage. She ran towards him, kicking him in the chest with the heels of both feet. He went flying backwards to the mats, giving her the time she needed to grasp his arm and twist it back into a submission hold. Liane looked through her disheveled hair at him, her teeth bared as she growled, “Come at me again and I’ll break your fingers off one by one.”

  She twisted his wrist, snapping the joint to the side. The Agent screamed, cradling his broken wrist as she moved off of him. He lay on the floor sobbing in pain, his Handler rushing towards him. Liane looked across the room to Damian, who merely gazed back at her and smiled.

  They left the arena soon after, passing the medics who were hurrying to see to the wounded Agent. Liane was still angry, her pulse thumping loudly as she walked down the corridor to the showers.

  Damian stopped her before she could enter them, cautioning, “You’d best not be alone here today. The other Agents are already jealous of your rank; they won’t hesitate to pay you back for hurting one of your own.”

  “He attacked me,” Liane said stubbornly.

  “Nevertheless, no sense in tempting fate.” Damian looked to the distant elevators, saying, “My place is close. You can get cleaned up there.”

  Liane considered arguing, but in the end decided that it was pointless. Sighing, she settled her bag on her shoulder and said, “Lead the way.”

  A car carried them to one of the larger skyscrapers in the center of the city. Liane had never been to Damian’s residence before; during her training he had lived with her in the dormitories, and he had only moved into a place of his own three years previously. His flat was on the top floor, and they had to take a private elevator to reach it. As soon as the doors opened Liane walked through them, her eyes drifting with interest over the space.

  The flat was far larger than hers, the floor a bronzed, polished marble and the walls almost completely black. To her right was a kitchen that looked just as untouched as hers, while ahead was a wide, open living room with high ceilings and plush, dark red carpet underfoot. Liane wandered through it, sweeping a hand over the back of the leather couch. There was very little furniture otherwise, and even fewer signs of a human presence. Other than the massive bookshelf, of course, which was filled to bursting with antique, leather-bound volumes. Across the room, an entire wall of windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Liane walked towards the sight, looking across the expanse of the city to the distant ruins.

  Behind her, Damian flipped a switch and light flared to life in several chandeliers made of twisting, colorful glass. He gestured down a hallway, saying, “The bathroom is over there. I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

  Liane went where he had pointed, finding a darkened bathroom. She turned on the lights, but the black walls and tile just seemed to absorb it rather than reflect it. Closing the door behind her, she let her bag fall to the floor and then leaned her hands on either side of the sink, her head falling forward.

  The fight was catching up with her, both the physical aches and pains as well as the disturbing realization that another Agent wanted to do her harm. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was the first to trouble Liane. Her thoughts strayed to Seth, to his angry accusation that maybe she belonged in the Agency.

  I do, she thought ferociously. Pushing away from the sink, she headed to the large, glass-enclosed shower. She stayed under the water for longer than necessary, filling the room with steam and heat. When she emerged, there was a folded shirt and pants on the counter. Liane dried her hair before putting them on. They fit loosely, and she had to roll up the black sleeves of the shirt in order to use her hands. She noted that between the soap and the clothes, the scent of Damian almost threatened to engulf her. Taking a breath, she returned to the living room and her Handler.

  Damian was standing by the windows with two wine glasses. He handed one to her, saying, “Just one glass. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

  Liane looked moodily out of the window at the city, asking, “Does it matter?”

  “You know it does,” he chided. “But you deserve to enjoy your victory, small though it may be.”

  “You call that a victory?” she asked, more to herself than to him. “I brought down a bully and will have to watch my back for months because of it. Where’s the victory in that?”

  “You won,” Damian observed, glancing over at her approvingly. “You proved yourself the strongest yet again.”

  Liane left the window to sit on the couch, her glass clutched in both hands. She stared down at it, asking with a note of desperation, “Is that what you think I should do with my life? Fight to be the strongest?”

  Damian walked over, sitting down beside her and leaning back. “For now. Not always, though. One day you’ll have a new role to play.”

  Liane set aside her untouched glass and drew up her legs, her arms encircling them as she asked tonelessly, “What role is that?”

  He smiled to himself, as if sharing in a private joke, before saying, “I think we’ll leave that discussion for when the day arrives. Better to keep your thoughts on the present where they belong.” When Liane just sat frowning, he said insistently, “I’m going to need you, Liane. Can I count on your help when the time comes?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She raised her head, turning her mismatched eyes to him. “I need to tell you that you were right; I was distracted.”

  Damian’s gaze seemed to burn as he demanded, “Who is he?”

  “It was something, not someone,” she said with a shake of her head. “But you don’t need to worry. It’s over now. I have my priorities in order.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded, conviction in her voice as she answered, “Everything is going to be like it was.”

  Damian didn’t seem entirely convinced, asking, “And where do you stand?”

  Liane looked over at him, her face solemn. “With you. Always with you. That’s how it must be, isn’t it?”

  He searched her face for a moment, then a slow, confident smile spread across his face. He moved closer, sliding a hand along her jaw and leaning forward to capture her mouth with his. Liane turned, lowering her tucked legs and grasping his head, pulling him towards her. Wanting to want him; wanting to forget. Damian made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his knee sliding between her legs as he moved even closer. Kissing her over and over, whispering things she didn’t understand. His left hand was braced on the couch arm behind her, while his right trailed down to slide under her shirt, smoothing over her stomach. Liane closed her eyes, feeling and smelling and ta
sting him all around her. She was drowning and she didn’t care, just so long as she could feel something . . .

  Damian leaned into her, and her aching back pressed against the couch arm. She gave a soft hiss of pain against his mouth, and Damian drew back with a frown.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, her breath ragged.

  “You didn’t tell me you were injured,” he said, still frowning.

  “Because it’s nothing.”

  “Turn around,” he ordered, pulling free of her. Liane did so grudgingly, feeling him lift up her shirt and applying light pressure to where the latissimus dorsi muscle met her spine. Liane winced again, and he murmured, “I should have had you checked by the medics before we left.”

  “It will be healed by morning,” she said, turning to face him and saying bluntly, “Keep kissing me.”

  Damian gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. “We’re going to fix that back, and then go to dinner.”

  Her face fell in frustration, and Damian leaned in, brushing a single, gentle kiss against the corner of her mouth. He stayed there, murmuring, “There’s no hurry. We’ve waited four years already. One night is hardly going to kill us.”

  He made her lie face-down on the living room carpet, sitting next to her and using a miniscule needle to inject the muscle with a relaxant. He then used a hand-held tissue regenerator on it, the machine making a low hum as pulsing waves moved deeply through her muscles. The treatment made Liane drowsy and heavy, and she nearly fell asleep on the floor before Damian reminded her, “Dinner first, and then you can rest.”

  Sleepily, she asked, “Alone?”

  “For tonight, yes,” he said, pulling down her shirt and helping her up. His dark eyes were slightly guarded as he explained, “I have a meeting late tonight.” She had just opened her mouth to ask more when Damian added, “It’s classified, so I can’t tell you any more than that. Besides, you need time to heal properly.” He drifted away, already bringing his phone to his ear as he said, “There’s a new sushi restaurant that just opened. I’ll let the stylists know to expect us.”