Operation_Endgame

by Pip Ballantine

  Jekyll thought he was being clever. Perhaps that cost Wellington a pawn, but hardly a revelation. "Yes," he said, granting out that admission. Perhaps it would convince Jekyll this was a sudden realisation. "I often wondered about it."

  "I did not agree with his choice to take Lily from you. It is important for a boy to have his mother in his life. Essential, really."

  Wellington’s eyes never left the doctor. It had not been Jekyll’s idea, but he had done nothing to stop it either. A bit too quick to defend your rook there, old boy. "Knowing my father as I did, I could see you serving as his moral compass."

  "In so many ways. You have no idea."

  "But at the Water Palace, you said something about my father lacking vision, about how he could not see beyond his commission to the House of Usher."

  "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur..." Jekyll recollected in a dry whisper before releasing a gruff, dry laugh. "Your father was a vain man. He and I were going to accomplish great things with you, but he could not see beyond this..." Jekyll motioned with a single hand to the air, his gaze somehow looking beyond the cellar walls, "... this empire of your Queen's. It was all about what he could give back to Queen and Empire. What you were? Far greater than that."

  "What was I?"

  "Evolution, my dear boy. You were to be the next step. For us all."

  So there it was, out in the open. He and Eliza had not revealed his involvement in this whole sordid affair, but now Sound knew. He couldn’t see the Director’s expression behind the mirror, but he knew it would be angry.

  He had left his Queen undefended, and Jekyll saw it because his expression had given it away. The doctor clucked his tongue. "Oh, no, no, no. Dear Wellington, did you not tell your colleagues about your intimate involvement in my little experiment?" Jekyll now held the advantage, and he pressed it. "You were such a grand subject too. I did hope, though, that you would see what we were trying to achieve..."

  "Which was?"

  "Man is, at his core, savage, but often caught up in social morals, appearances, and civilities. Yet when are we the most alive? When we take the life of a creature on the hunt? When we are taking a woman, ascending into manhood? When we kill our fellow man on the battlefield? We are creatures of death, of chaos, and of pain. I discovered this in my own work before your father and I focused our attentions on you; and I once struggled to separate the two—man and monster, or what I believed to be man and monster."

  "You don't think they should be separated?"

  "Never! They should be embraced, but it took me so long to do so. You were instrumental in that, my dear boy."

  Wellington shot a glance at the mirror. "You call me that, and yet you look no different from when I knew you in my childhood. I would dare say you look even younger than me presently."

  "A convenient side effect of the serum—one I had hoped got embedded in you; but alas, it was not. I had hoped our Manifest Destiny would be born in you." He gave a wry smile as he spread his arms wide. "Because there are advantages to concentrated treatments, as your queen and I discovered."

  "But those toxins—"

  "Treatments," Jekyll corrected, a slight edge in his words coming to the surface.

  Careful. Are you sure you wish to expose your King in such a fashion after making such progress? "The House of Usher seemed rather keen on tapping into that serum you fashioned for Her Majesty and the Prime Minister. Perhaps this is why the House is so obsessed with bringing me in to their ranks."

  "Well now, Wellington, you are the key to the serum, after all. Oh, the things they would accomplish with a few hundred of you."

  Now the King was flanked. So why did this strike him as too easy? Wellington stayed stock still.

  Jekyll shrugged. "Of course there are some side effects. For example, I have limited control. The physical transformation and its wild bloodlust do vex me. That was the problem with the Maestro’s serum when he tried to create his own super soldiers. Too concentrated a dosage."

  Something about hearing the Maestro’s name, the sudden image of his Grey Ghosts rampaging the lower East End in those incredible armoured suits, threw a switch in his head. "You’ve been trying to replicate the serum. The Duke of Sussex. Queen Victoria. All those people in your ledger. This was never about control. You were conducting a lab experiment, just on a grander scale. You’ve been working to replicate my childhood!"

  "Oh for God’s sake, do not be so melodramatic," he scolded. "I am attempting to replicate the results your father and I achieved in a shorter span of time. Arthur and I both recognised the difficulties in having our evolution being a womb-to-the-grave process, and this has been quite the challenge, I assure you." Jekyll shot him a wide grin. "And this is what has eluded Usher for all these decades."

  Wellington leaned back in his chair. Something was dreadfully wrong. All this time, he thought himself manoeuvring for a final checkmate in this back and forth with the doctor, but Jekyll was all too accommodating.

  "So why did you want to speak with me?" he managed to choke out.

  "Simple enough. I wanted to extend the invitation for you to join me." He patted the pocket of his waistcoat and shook his head. "Well, I would check the time; but I know we have both been here for quite a spell. It is high time you and I set forth to finish what Arthur and I put into motion so many decades ago." He shrugged his shoulders and gave a soft chuckle. "Do you think that my intent was simply to rampage through Europe, indulging my own personal desires? That little cypher was merely an indication of what I intend to do if you say ‘no’ and deny what is, by right, ours."

  The cold returned, and this time he swore he could see his breath as he asked, "What are you intending to do?"

  "We have a few more things to finish, you and I, and I have no intention of stopping until we take up the mantle of power that is rightfully ours."

  Wellington was on his feet, the chill under his skin now replaced with a wildfire triggered by the man’s games. He went blind with rage, especially with Jekyll’s laughter, but a sense of clarity washed over him, even as Wellington picked up his chair and jammed it underneath the doorknob. It rattled, followed moments later by a pounding from the other side. It didn’t matter; it sounded a thousand leagues away.

  He did not know how he found himself standing in front of Jekyll. Time was now occurring in wild, erratic flashes of consciousness. The doctor still laughed—at himself, Wellington, or their current situation, that was uncertain. He kept on laughing right up until the moment Wellington grabbed him by the hair and drove his face into the table.

  The pounding at the door got louder.

  Figures moved frantically on the other side of the mirror.

  Jekyll had admitted to him the truth. Even if Wellington had known it all along he needed him to say it.

  The doctor laughed as blood poured down his face. "You gave such a grand performance at the Water Palace. I think you have potential still to unlock."

  Wellington threw Jekyll’s face into the table again. Even with the broken nose and blood dripping from a split lip, Jekyll kept laughing. He would not stop.

  "Ooh, that one had a bit of vim and vigour to it." Jekyll spat, and a bloody tooth bounced off the tip of his shoe. "You’re beginning to surrender to that nature Arthur and I cooked up. Why are you wasting my time and yours? Go on! Show me!"

  "I want nothing to do with this!" Wellington roared.

  Darkness crept from the edges of his sight. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He tried to take a deep breath, but his chest was unreasonably tight. Jekyll would not stop.

  "Stop lying, Wellington!" the mad doctor bellowed back. "You crave this. It makes you realise you're alive. I watched you in India. You were exquisite, why? You embraced it. You embraced it because all this—the Ministry, your archives, that precious darling colonial of yours—are nothing but distractions! I will remove them all until it is only you, me, and the future!"

  Everything snapped into a hard, crisp focus. Wellington did not feel a ru
sh of blood, his frantic heartbeat, or his ragged breathing. Only blissful solitude, this exhilarating clarity, and the bloody monster before him mattered.

  "Yes. That’s my boy! We will burn the world to the ground until we are the only ones standing. We are the future!"

  Jekyll would be true to his word. He would wipe out everyone close to him, then turn to the innocent, just as he had done in Europe.

  When Jekyll smiled at him, a trickle of blood poured from the split in his flesh. "Your father would be so very proud."

  The ghost of Arthur Books whispered to him, My son...

  He would not stop.

  Wellington’s hands shot forward and slapped against the laughing man’s head. His wild laughter ceased as Wellington twisted. There was a distinct crunch and then the silence returned. Only for a moment.

  Jekyll slumped against the table, then crumpled at Wellington’s feet.

  A wheezing grew louder in his ears, and it was indeed himself. Every breath hurt. The world teetered underneath him, but he righted himself after a few steps. Bracing himself against the table as he took in another breath. A third. And another. He might as well have just run a marathon. He needed to rest. A drink would be nice as well.

  He looked around, his gaze stopping at the limp form sprawled and bleeding out across the floor.

  He waited. No clever whisper from beyond the grave. Capital.

  Nodding, Wellington pulled himself free from the table, removed the chair from the door, and took a few steps back.

  The door flew open, and Sound was the first through, followed by Eliza and Henrietta.

  Eliza. His calm. His centre. His world.

  "I’m free," Wellington whispered. The declaration earned him a strangled gasp from her. "I'm finally free."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edison Takes a Chance

  Jekyll was overdue, and for a man that sometimes appeared to be made of clockwork that was unusual. Edison could set his watch by Jekyll coming by to check on his prized possession.

  Yet it had been well over a week, and still no word. At the least, there should have been an æthermissive.

  His eyes wandered over to the Shocker he had modified. Every day, a part of him expected the Shocker to become aware of what it was doing, of what it was transmitting. The small box magnetically attached to the automaton’s brain continued to use its host as a transmitter. The signal went out at intervals, even going silent on the day Edison knew Jekyll would appear. He wondered, was there anyone out there listening? There had to be! I am Thomas Edison after all.

  The Shockers continued to keep watch over him, their eyes switching from green to yellow whenever he drew too close. Edison kept his movements were deliberate, clean, and slow. There would be no mistaking a hostile overture towards them. He paused before one of the Shockers, and for the first time he noticed how well it was doing its job. When he first designed them for the Pinkertons, the intent was to create an automaton with a sole purpose of seizure and personal protection. However, Edison believed they could do so much more. They wouldn’t be just enforcers; they would serve as the deterrence.

  A smile cracked across Edison’s face. "You outdid yourself, Thomas," he whispered to himself.

  The spark jumping from the yellow eyes of the Shocker caused Edison start. He caught his breath, placing his own hand against his chest. Perhaps he had outdone himself, but that didn’t mean the Shockers weren't irritatingly sensitive. While there were plenty of moving parts in an automaton, Shockers could break down if you looked at them funny.

  Turning back to look at the Shocker he had just addressed, Edison froze. The Shocker’s eyes were dark. No light at all. He looked at the one behind it and saw the same. The two standing by the windows were just like their metallic brothers.

  Daring step closer, he peered into the dark slits where its eyes would be. Nothing indicated that power was flowing. This was not a sleep mode that Edison designed, nor was it some sort of stealth mode. They were indoors, and it wasn’t needed.

  He dared to touch the metal chest of the Shocker, just for a moment, with the tips of his fingers. The exterior was not hot, nor was it charged with electricity. Putting his hand back on the chest, he leaned into the creation, pressing an ear to the Shocker. While his hearing was problematic on the best of days, the vibrations trembled through his skin. His fingertips and his ear told him nothing. The machine was silent all the way through.

  He glanced around the room. This could be just another test from Jekyll. That man loved to play games, especially when bored. Edison had become his favourite plaything.

  "I suppose the punishment will be worth the crime," Edison said to himself, giving the Shocker a light push.

  With a great clatter, the Shocker fell to the wooden floor. It lay prone and made no effort whatsoever to get up. Edison, his heart racing harder than a winning horse at the Derby, waited for the others to move in. They did nothing.

  Before he could make for his room, and throw a bag together in order to escape, he caught the sound of the doors locks disengaging. Frantically he looked around the room for anything that would work as a weapon. If Jekyll were to find him surrounded by "dead" Shockers, Edison could only imagine his rage.

  The coat rack was the only thing not secured to the floor, and sturdy enough to take down an opponent... but Jekyll?

  Edison swung the furniture at the person who entered. The rack was heavy, heavier than he first thought it would be; and his attack ended with him stumbling over the rack which had landed against the floor with a dull thud.

  Who he saw standing before him was not who he expected. Two other men joined the stranger, all dressed uniformly; long black coats, black gloves, black cravats, and top hats. Their eyes fell on Edison, but their expressions didn’t change. Much like their fashion, they were uniform.

  Anything this bland, anything this regimented, had to be a government. United States, French, it didn’t matter. He was being rescued.

  "Thank God," sighed Edison, allowing the coat rack to clatter at his feet . "You got my signal."

  "Mr Edison? Mr Thomas Alva Edison?" asked the closest gentleman.

  "Who do you think I am? Fucking George Westinghouse?" barked Edison. "You’ve been looking for me, I presume, ever since I went missing—nearly a year now? I would assume, if one of America’s brightest suddenly goes missing, you would at least have the decency to know what I damn well look like!"

  True, this was the government he was dealing with, and their capacity for thought and deduction would not necessarily be at his standards; but this was ridiculous.

  "I assume President Cleveland sent you," Edison said.

  The three men looked at one another, confused, as well as amused.

  "President Cleveland? Of the United States of America? Hiring the Pinkertons to come and find me?” Good Lord, these men were morons! “Alright, if you are not government operatives and not Pinkertons, you are—what—specialised bounty hunters? You are intelligent enough to understand a radio signal I presume?"

  "Mr Edison," a voice from behind agents spoke, loudly enough that even Edison’s deafness would not miss a thing, "words cannot even begin to describe what a pleasure it is to make your company."

  The phantom that walked into Edison’s parlour should not have done so. This was a dead man. The inventor had not been present at his execution, but he had read the papers. He knew all about this ingenious madman. The Murder Hotel—barbaric, twisted, and immoral as it had been—was an engineering marvel. Edison had a rather unpopular opinion among his peers about it all. He thought the murder hotel in Chicago should have been preserved. An astounding amount of thought, planning, and innovation which was worthy of investigation.

  "You’re supposed to be dead," Edison managed to say.

  "Yes, I get that a lot. We have never met, but I’ve admired your work for years." he said, holding out his hand, " Dr Henry Howard Holmes, at your service."

  "I sincerely doubt that," Edison returne
d. "I take it, this is not a rescue."

  "That depends on how you look at it," Holmes said, his grin almost that of an old friend. "I understand you worked for my organisation once before."

  Edison frowned. "I’ve worked with a lot of organisations in the past."

  "Yes, you have, but how many ask you to send California into the sea?"

  "You are with the House of Usher?" Edison asked, his voice dry.

  "Yes, but since you last worked on that particular project, there has been a change in leadership."

  Edison’s shock ebbed away. He now looked at the killer standing before him with an air of shrewdness. "I take it I’m looking at it, then?"

  "That you are," Holmes said, with a slight bow.

  "You received my signal?"

  "Quite clever," Holmes said, strolling over to the prone Shockers that Edison now wished were in full operational order. Jekyll had told him if anyone were to attempt a rescue operation, they would experience the full wrath of the Shockers. "We stumbled upon the signal quite by happenstance, but then again, when you pick up a signal that reads ‘CQD Edison’ and the signal is originating from a landlocked section of Paris, it was simply a matter of time—if not a race against factions—to find the source."

  "With my own government looking for me, do you really think Usher will simply be able to spirit me away and no one notice?" he said, through a dry throat.

  Homes turned, his smile turning into a slight chuckle. " Jekyll has deprived you of newspapers, hasn’t he?"

  The man did not appear hurried at the least. It would not have surprised Edison if Holmes had taken a seat and asked him to brew up a cup of coffee. He looked completely and utterly at ease.

  Edison motioned to the Shockers standing still around them all. "And exactly how did you manage to short out all the Shockers in the house?"

  "Ah, yes, quite the innovation." Holmes turned to Edison, his pride obvious. "I knew of a device that I challenged my Usher clankertons to create. Something called an electromagnetic pulse. We detonated it before coming in here. Knowing your propensity for weaponising electricity, I wanted to rest assured no electric countermeasures were waiting for us. Granted, not only are the Shockers inoperative, but so are any and all electric devices within this building. Rather ingenious, this silent weapon. The only way you know it has done its work is that anything electric becomes a paperweight."