Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  In the midst of the chaotic depression, I heard a cough.

  “Celia!” shouted Tara.

  She was alive! Her eyes started to flicker, and she began to breathe.

  “Justin,” she gasped, “Vane!” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible.

  “Where?!” asked Vexin.

  “Celement,” she wheezed, shaking her head. “He took them.”

  Damn it. I didn’t want to believe it.

  “They’re worse than dead,” mumbled Vexin.

  “No,” I said adamantly, surprising myself. “We’re going to get them back. I don’t care if our preparation got cut short.”

  Everyone looked at me. I never spoke out like that, and remarkably, it felt good. I could sense the respect of the others layering upon me.

  “Mark’s right,” said Bollis, taking the reins, as per usual. “It’s time to put an end to all of this.”

  Celia tried to say something, but her words were lost in a deadly cough. Once she gathered her strength, she said, “We need Vane’s mission log. Primary.” She lay limp again, bolstered by Dodge’s arms.

  Bollis started dishing out orders. Vexin was sent to the Armory to gather supplies, Tara made her way to The Safe to make a first aid bundle, and I was to retrieve Vane’s mission log—in Primary. As soon as I heard the assignment, a chill ran through my bones.

  Bollis was already two steps ahead of me, opening the Liberty Vista tunnel door and prepping the antechamber. I assumed he had a good idea of what was going to happen. I pushed invading thoughts from my mind and pressed on to Primary.

  Something caught my attention before I passed through the door. A crumpled piece of paper lay on top of the elevator control post, held by a chunk of broken concrete. I trudged over to the strange message and ripped it from its place.

  You fail, Genesis. I will enjoy torturing the boy.

  I crushed the paper in my grip. The mockery sent me through the roof. Scribbled on a dirty piece of stationary, letting us know we weren’t worth any more trouble than that. Standing there in the hellish atmosphere, I felt something I wasn’t expecting. Everything terrible experience I had endured over the last month began to bloom. A corrupting, lustful desire to inflict harm upon Celement—upon GenoTec—began to flow from my body. But not because of my own anger. It was because of my yearning to save the members of Genesis. I wanted to give my own life for someone else. For the first time in my short existence, I was more concerned for another person than I was for myself. This wasn’t what I had felt with Tara. This was different. Every inch of my being wanted to do everything I could to fight for Justin and Vane. I threw Celement’s note to the ground, infused with a new kind of vigor.

  When the voices in my helmet became overbearing, I knew I had spent too much time in front of the elevator. I didn’t plan on showing them the note. For some reason, I felt like it was meant just for me. I put my new feelings into motion and jogged over to Primary.

  Primary hadn’t been touched, which bothered me. Celement didn’t want anything to do with Vane’s secrets? His trove of knowledge? Did he even know about Vane? He had to. Celement took him, after all. I couldn’t waste time thinking about it, so I chalked it up to GenoTec’s hasty retrieval. Maybe if they had Vane, the rest didn’t matter.

  I moved past the large table and approached Vane’s ominous door. This was the only part of the Underbed I had never seen. The door was locked tight, and with Aiya gone, I wasn’t exactly sure how I was to open this magical chamber. I looked around, seeking a switch, a release, or anything that would help me. I overturned shelves, knocked over boxes and miscellaneous junk. I knew time wasn’t on our side, and I became frantic.

  “Aiya!” I shouted in frustration. “Emergency protocol! Open the door to Vane’s office!”

  There had to be a way to stabilize her. Central was blown to pieces, but wasn’t Aiya linked to the entire Underbed? I looked around the room one last time. The Safe. If there was some kind of backup power system, it would be there.

  “Tara!” I said, “I need you to look for some kind of secondary system for Aiya. The door to Primary is locked. I need her.”

  “I’ll look,” she replied, sounding flustered.

  I waited impatiently, pacing the room, calibrating my rifle and trying to be productive.

  “Okay,” she said, “I found some kind of switch, but I’m not sure if this—”

  The lights flickered and the entire complex went black.

  “Crap,” she said.

  Everyone else started to chime in, wondering why their whole world had been plunged into intense darkness.

  But then, in a pillar of golden, gleaming luck, I heard the angelic voice respond to me.

  “Back up power systems recalibrating,” said Aiya, and the lights blinked on again.

  “Nice, Tara!” I walked back over to the door and asked Aiya again.

  “I cannot process your request,” she said, “Vane has secured his premises for his protection.”

  “Aiya,” I fumed, “GenoTec has compromised us! I don’t have time for your stupid games! I need the mission log!”

  “Mark, I cannot process your request. My system functionality does not allow access.”

  I dropped my head onto the cold metal of Vane’s impenetrable door and felt my world collapsing. We would have to do without the damn mission log then.

  “Underneath the betrayal,” said a hoarse voice through my communication device. My eyes perked open as I registered Celia’s odd remark. Suddenly, the door I was leaning on jolted and started to ascend.

  “Access granted,” said Aiya. I watched as the door of secrets opened before my eyes. I stood in awe for a moment, but then remembered why I was there.

  Primary’s inner sanctum wasn’t much different from other rooms in the Underbed. Solid concrete walls with thin strips of red paint, computer interfaces, mainframes, and . . . an array of at least twenty-five little monitors hanging from the back wall? I left my duties and approached the strange apparatus. My reflection looked back at me as I stared into the screens. What the hell did Vane use this for? I scanned the room, looking for any sign of something recognizable.

  “All right, everyone,” announced Bollis, “let’s get moving!”

  I was starting to get tired of the constant chatter in my ear.

  Another door stood to the right of the screens. I knew I should have left, but my hankering for answers carried me through the threshold.

  It was Vane’s room. The bed was made. The surfaces gleamed. There was no clutter or trash. Everything seemed normal—except for the circular elevator in the back corner. He had his own personal elevator? It must have been the reason he was always absent from the Underbed. Where would he go all the time?

  “Mark!” urged Bollis. “What’s taking you so long?”

  I left the question unanswered, and returned to the computer room. I found the mission log—a wireless flash drive—thanks to Celia’s directions. I snatched it from Vane’s desk, and rushed out into the fray once more.

  Everyone was gathered around the Liberty Vista doors, ready to go.

  “Can you walk okay?” asked Dodge, carefully holding Celia’s weight.

  “Yeah—er—I’m fine,” she managed to say.

  Tara was loading her lumbar pouches with medical supplies, while Vexin zipped up two canvas bags, filled to the brim with more weaponry. I looked over at Bollis, who was using an emergency terminal that folded out of the wall.

  “Aiya,” he said, loud enough that the rest of us could hear, “what kind of activity is going on up there?”

  “The Liberty Vista exit is secured; no signs of life within a two mile radius of the station. The captors have evaded my range of information, so I am unable to give their location. However, I assume they are on their way toward GenoTec Headquarters.”

  Bollis turned to our sorry group and said, “We’ve still got a job to do. Let’s show them we’re not messing around.”

  40

 
THREE YEARS AGO

  It was winter in Manhattan. Tiny snowflakes danced in front of Curtis Mundson’s nose and collected on his shoulders. He stood upon an ancient church balcony, overlooking a monolithic courtyard. The peaceful serenity calmed his stressed and overrun body. For once, he had time to enjoy what beauty was left in the world. He let out a silent breath, watching it drift into the air. His leg shook anxiously.

  Ryan was five minutes late.

  “Ryan,” he called into his two-way radio, “what’s going on?”

  Nothing but emptiness came from the handheld receiver.

  He grew nervous and started to look around. Things were quiet, and the sound of his shuffling footsteps echoed across the gray courtyard below. The crunch of snow underneath always made him cringe and sprout goose bumps.

  As he tensely observed the buildings in sight, the gift of Edge rose within him and he had to step aside. After retching, he noticed the flecks of deep crimson dyeing his woolen glove and the snowy banister. He cursed and got himself together again, looking back at the target.

  A large, gray structure was in view. With seven stories, it made a pretty sizeable representation to the other buildings around. The traffic was slow as people occasionally meandered in and out.

  But none of them were Ryan.

  “Ryan,” he almost shouted into the device, growing increasingly frustrated.

  They were already in over their heads. Today, they were pushing the limits.

  A flash of two black dots rushed into his peripherals. He focused in on two security guards running into the east entrance of the building; they were yelling something into their communication devices.

  Uh oh, he thought, as he unclipped the maroon bag at his feet, taking out the distraction.

  “Here goes nothin’,” he said under his breath, and twisted a knob on the board.

  The ground shook as a grand, orange-yellow plume of destruction came from across the street. A few seconds later, people started rushing out of the building. Geno Security was piling out of the glossy behemoths, trying to direct people and figure out what had happened.

  Perfect. He should have enough time now.

  “What the hell was that, Curtis?!” whispered a harsh voice from the other end of the radio. “I’m not finished!”

  Curtis quickly grasped the receiver and said, “I had to! They were coming in the building, probably looking for you. I couldn’t risk it. You gotta hurry.”

  A silent curse came from the other end. “All right, I think I can swing it. Just get into position.”

  “Good, then hurry. ‘Edgerton’ is back, and I’m out of ‘pods,” finished Curtis

  “Your nicknames are getting worse,” Ryan responded amiably.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Curtis clapped the radio to his belt and gathered the rest of his things. After slinging the bag over his shoulder, he tore down the stairs and exited the church building. He felt the brisk wind on his face as he walked through the back of the courtyard, rounded another corner, and made his stake on a park bench. A few seconds later, Ryan emerged from the south entrance and flashed a grin.

  It was a success.

  ——————

  “So what is this?” asked Curtis, shuffling through papers and taking a swig of some poorly-made hot chocolate.

  “All of the good stuff is on the flash drive; I’ve got it running here,” said Ryan, coming across the floor, hair slicked up like some greaser from the 1950’s. He still had most of his disguise on: deadly blue contacts, a scarred, fake ear, and a dress shirt and slacks.

  “You look stupid, get out of that,” chided Curtis, giving Ryan a bewildered look.

  “Shut up, look here,” he retaliated. Their banter was an active ingredient in their relationship.

  They were sitting in a fairly lit apartment. It was trashed with all sorts of junk. There were a couple of dusty couches, a coffee table that was cracked in four different places, and a giant bookcase, filled with nothing but miscellaneous papers. A widescreen Fuse hung from one of the corners of the room, facing the couches. Remnants of food were scattered throughout the dingy apartment, and it smelt like old, musty wood.

  Along the walls, on top of the coffee table, and cluttering the bar were various weapons. All were stolen, and all had plans to be put to use.

  “Okay, here we go,” said Ryan, gazing down at the interface unit he was holding. A fluorescent blue screen emitted itself from the handheld device. He flicked a few icons, and the same information showed up on the Fuse above.

  They sat there, gathering information and discussing possible solutions for the next couple of hours. It was getting dark and the light from the screen was beginning to bug their eyes. Bloodshot and weary, the two leisurely got up to move around and take a break.

  “Hey, did you see the ‘pods? I laid them out on the table,” called Ryan from the bathroom, scrubbing his face in the sink.

  “Yep,” Curtis returned, opening the fridge.

  A soft creak came from the living room.

  The fridge door remained open as Curtis slowly slipped up against the wall. His senses were ablaze. The water from the bathroom faucet ran like white noise, but he knew Ryan wasn’t washing anything anymore. Someone was in their apartment. Curtis pulled the handgun from the back of his jeans.

  As he inched his way closer, he saw the bathroom, with its door flung open. He could see Ryan’s reflection in the toothpaste spackled mirror. Ryan held his pistol at his leg, waiting for Curtis to make the first move. The blonde took a deep breath and closed his eyes, creating his split-second meditation—“dodging”, as Ryan called it.

  Curtis opened his eyes in a flash, and sprang out, revealing the living room.

  “I was wondering what took you so long,” said a raspy voice.

  “Get on the ground!” shouted Curtis, who was flanked by Ryan.

  The man before them was taut, holding one of their data chips in hand. He was tall, muscular, and held himself together with a prideful demeanor. He had lightning white hair, receding back. His outfit was some kind of stealth suit, made from a flexible metal material.

  “Who are you?!” asked Ryan.

  “Put down the weapons, please. I am unarmed.”

  Curtis didn’t take his eyes off the target as sweat began to trickle down his temple.

  “My name is Vane,” said the mysterious visitor. “And I have an offer for you two; an answer to all your questions.”

  41

  It was one week after the Underbed incident, and all I could do was sit and twiddle my thumbs.

  The red dot, formerly known as Erin Hansen, crossed my vision on the travel-sized Fuse. She was smack dab in the heart of Manhattan—not to mention having just infiltrated Geno Security. And now she was being pursued by soldiers—ones that weren’t wearing conspicuous metal suits. With Vax ruling the world and people more active than ever, GenoTec couldn’t afford to traipse around anymore. The game had changed, and I was so ready to be done playing.

  I was worried. If she was caught, it didn’t matter if this operation kept going—I wouldn’t. But I knew she was motivated beyond belief. This was the girl who dispatched Ames without a flinch. This was the girl who accepted the assignment without hesitation. This was Tara Tracer—the woman I loved.

  Wow, those were strong words.

  At least I think I did. I’ve never really loved anyone. I’ve had the thought for a while now, but it never really became apparent until the night after the Underbed went—well, under. I could still remember what it felt like to emerge from that tomb. I have to be careful when I think it, but I almost have to thank GenoTec. If we hadn’t had such a crappy day—filled with kidnappings and killings—then I don’t think Tara and I would have ever had that conversation we were saving. The conversation that had been replaying non-stop in my mind for the past five days.

  Ugh . . . but how could I ever thank GenoTec?

  I sighed and decided to think about my feelings some othe
r time. Besides, Celia was starting to notice that I wasn’t even watching the screen anymore.

  “Hey!” she yelled, startling me. She looked at me with wide eyes and shook her head, looking for an explanation.

  I didn’t want to give into her “mom” attitude. “Relax. She’s doing fine.”

  “Now you’re starting to sound like Dodge.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Dodge called from the other room, “Yeah, it’s cool how you guys talk about me when I’m not there!”

  Celia and I exchanged smirks just as Tara’s red dot disappeared.

  “What the hell?!” I exclaimed, slamming my chair back onto all fours and nearly pressing my face against the screen—a large grid of Manhattan.

  “Tara,” asked Celia, “what are you doing? What’s happened?”

  “They’re using the same tracking method as us—I have to go dark,” responded Tara from what seemed like the other end of the world.

  Celia and I both swore. Hell, “going dark” was only allowed in the movies.

  “Bollis and Vexin are still a few minutes away—can you . . . she’s not listening.” Celia got up and started to fiddle with the interface module.

  GenoTec had so many restrictions—down to the very wavelengths—that it was difficult to dance around them. We could have been viewing Tara from a satellite, but our resources were limited, especially now.

  I paced back to the other room, passed Dodge, and looked out the window. Ever since we had come topside, I had this sickening feeling that GenoTec was always two steps behind us. I checked that damn window like I had OCD or something.

  I listened to Celia inform Bollis and Vexin what had happened. It was the only thing comforting right now. As I let the words soothe my mental wounds, I observed our surroundings.

  After the Underbed incident, we came to the surface prepared to fight our way to GenoTec HQ, and eventually save Justin and Vane. Well . . . there we were, a week later, with no Justin or Vane. As Justin would say, “a fuggin’ week.” I hated thinking about it.