EVO Universe 1: The First

by Kipjo Ewers

  Agent Slater and his team briefly followed Dr. Zimmermann and his team before making their way to the mess hall. Ms. Barrett continued to follow the Director keeping stride with him all the way to debriefing room one. The sterile white walls, ceiling, and floor along with the dull chrome silver finishing on the doors they pass made their outfits pop out against the stark background. The only other color in the hallway was the surging blue motion sensor strip on each side of the walls and the textbook large black global surveillance cameras stationed in the ceiling down the end of each of the hallways. The Director and Ms. Barrett did not break stride as they neared the debriefing room doors, which part open with perfect precision allowing them to walk vigorously through. Waiting for them in the front of the colleague campus style set up with the immense theatre style video screen sat four individuals, three men and one woman.

  The midnight black military fatigues they wore could not be associated to any of the five US branches, nor any military force on the planet. No nametags, call signs, or badges of rank. The only symbol they sported were black embossed patches on the sleeves of their fatigue jackets; the symbol was of a Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull holding a scythe in his right hand, and a small skull in his left hand.

  From right to left a man in his mid-thirties sat sporting a sharp blonde crew cut attached to a well-groomed blonde beard with piercing blue eyes lazily flipping through the computer tablet in front of him reading the data. Next to him sat, a younger man in his late twenties with brown hair cut low into a Caesar style; clean-shaven with a very bad disposition, sporting shades in the darkened room, not a bit interested in the data on his tablet. Next to him sat a young woman in her mid-twenties with dirty blonde hair sitting Indian style with her tablet on her lap while balancing her jet-black stiletto boot knife on the back of her hand. Finally next to her was a man in his early thirties with fiery red hair, and a matching long beard playing Angry Birds on his tablet.

  Everyone came to somewhat of an attention, as the Director took the podium, pulling out his reading glasses from his jacket putting them on, and began to speak, “The files you have in front of you will outline the details of the target, in this debriefing we will be focusing on the essentials…”

  The theater size screen behind the Director came to life showing Sophia’s prison profile along with her picture.

  “Subject’s name is Sophia Dennison, married name was Matheson,” Director Rosen started off his debriefing, “Age thirty-four; she was convicted of the Capital murder of her husband and sentenced to death by lethal injection. The State of Texas executed her almost twelve hours ago. Seven minutes after she was pronounced dead, subject resurrected breaking through her bonds and taking out five correctional officers before being gunned down. After being pronounced officially dead for a second time subject resurrected two hours and fifteen minutes after her second death impervious to gunfire taking out between fifty to sixty armed correctional officers, local police, and SWAT destroying majority of the eighth floor of the prison before smashing through the wall dropping several stories into a parked squad car.”

  Rosen stopped to adjust his reading glasses before continuing, “She killed a correctional officer in the process of doing that. As she proceeded to run the yard, a high caliber bullet from the watchtower guard brought her down to one knee. She got back to her feet less than a minute after the initial hit. The same guard fired several of the same rounds into her proving ineffective. She then picked up and launched a police car with relative ease taking out the watchtower. She then ran the length of the yard, which is almost half the length of a football field in less than ten seconds before smashing through a concrete and stone security wall where she is now on the run. It is believed that the subject has been infected by the Evo Virus…”

  “How do you know it was the virus…?” the first man known as #1 asked.

  “Because we were able to test the sample of blood we acquired after she was “shot to death” inside of the prison,” the Director returned with stone cold irritation, “Please do not interrupt me again unless it’s with an intelligent question. Now as you can see based on the footage, subject displays the following superhuman abilities…strength allowing her to lift possibly several tons; smash through solid concrete and rip through pure steel with considerable easy, durability; she’s impervious to armor piercing rounds, all forms of blunt force injuries and falls that may prove fatal. Superhuman speed…top speed however is unknown to us. She also possesses regenerative healing which we believe not only heals her from wounds but gives her new abilities so that she cannot be injured the same way again. This ability seems to vary in recovery time depending on the injury. Prison records reveal before her “execution” her original height of five foot six inches, weighing in at one hundred and twenty-five pounds; however, the footage we have acquired suggests an alteration to her current physiology. We estimate her to be almost six feet tall with a weight of several hundred pounds.”

  The screen appeared to break up to smaller screens showing footage of Sophia either smashing through brick walls, or ripping off steel doors while correctional officers and SWAT fire round after round into her from various firearms, which prove completely ineffective in bringing her down. One footage was outside the courtyard which showed the side of the eighth floor exploding open as Sophia holding a correctional officer with a missing arm comes crashing down into a squad car almost creating a crater. She crawled out of the wreckage only to go down to one knee from what appeared to be a high caliber bullet. She rose again as similar rounds fired at her now bounce off her.

  She then grabbed a sheriff’s Dodge Charger squad car lifting it clumsily from the back end and launched it like a shot-put taking out the watchtower as the security guard stationed there jumped to safety to avoid the hit; the four individuals look at each other visibly concerned about how they’re supposed to deal with such an individual.

  “One more thing…almost four and a half years ago,” the Director remembered, “You all murdered her husband and framed her for it.”

  Normally that would be something that would not bother a couple of highly trained killers, if their target were a normal target.

  “Well…that’s good to know…,” said the man known as #4 with a sarcastic laugh.

  “So now that you’ve dropped the mother of nukes on us,” asked #1, “How do you expect us to kill her?”

  “I don’t expect you to kill her,” answered the Director, “I expect you to bring her in.”

  It was as if someone sucked the wind of the room, #3 let out a nervous laugh as she played with her long hair while picking at her boot with her knife. #4 puts his head down stroking his fire red beard, #2 just stared at the Director through dark shades that he has no business having on in such a dark room. #1 does not even look at the Director at this point as he flipped through Sophia’s profile on his tablet. #4 finally decided to raise his hand flailing it around as if he were in elementary school.

  The Director finally recognized him, “What is it?”

  “Just curious sir,” #4 innocently asked, “Us and what friggin army is supposed to bring in the bitch of steel carrying the mother of all grudges against us?”

  Director Rosen removed his glasses, and came off his podium to stand in front of #4. He looked down at him as if he were an ant he was about to step on, “My apologies…I’ve seem to have given off the impression that you all had either an opinion or choice in this matter. Do you need re-education?”

  #4 looked at Ms. Barrett and the tablet in her hand; as she raised an eyebrow, he swallowed hard.

  “No sir,” he shook his head.

  The Director turned his back to #4 going back to his podium, as the rest of his teammates gave him a dirty look for agitating the man.

  #4 returned the look in kind, “What? Fuck yawl lookin at?”

  “If we are done playing games let us make one thing clear,” the Director sternly delivered home to the team of four, “Sophia Dennison is more
valuable than all of you, and everyone else who has come before you…and just like you she is my property which I want back…like yesterday.”

  He then gave them a fatherly smile of reassurance, “But not to worry, as usual daddy has some toys that will put you on equal footing with her so that you can carry out your mission.”

  The screen went black, and then came on again with a wide view revealing four large metallic monstrosities in separate clear glass cylinders of unknown solution with various wires attached to them.

  #4 was the first to echo the team’s sentiment, “What the…?”

  “Biological Assault Mechs,” answered the Director, “B.A.Ms” for short, the perfect mixture of cybernetics and living tissue.”

  “Cyborgs?” the surprisingly silent man known as #2 asked.

  “Mechs,” reiterated the Director, “Instead of hydraulics and servos these machines move via genetically altered muscle, sinew, and a nervous system that is part organic and part cybernetic integrated with a near virtually indestructible metallic bone structure giving them not only exceptional superhuman strength and speed but superior agility and reflexes for their size. An operator via controls and a neural uplink commands them from within. You each will be fitted for an uplink and calibrated to each machine within the next eight hours; you will then have the next forty-eight hours to master each of your units before engaging the subject.”

  #4 held up his hand while asking his question not waiting for the Director to call him, “So when are these coming to a store near you for Christmas?”

  Surprisingly the Director answered him, “If you’re asking if these will be standard issue for the military, they won’t…our government can’t afford these. Not to mention the “ethical” retaliation we’d get if the public knew we created of such a machine.”

  “I don’t follow,” a now curious #1 asked.

  “In order for operator and machine to calibrate perfectly the organic material has to be first taken from the operator for altering and cloning,” explained the Director.

  The woman known as #3 narrowed her eyes as she thought she’d figured out what the Director was saying, “You mean…”

  He does not wait for her to wrap her brain around it, “The DNA used to grow the organic materials for each of these machines was taken from each of you…”

  Dead silence once again filled the room; it was hard to tell whether each member had a look of violation or fascination.

  Either way the look on the Director’s face showed he did not care, “Now if there are no further questions…prepare to be prepped for surgery in the next six hours…”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  September 3, 2008, 0830 AM, Armitage stood in the alleyway near the Goodwill, which was the first sighting of Dennison since she broke out of prison. There in the alley he looked at the drop-box that required a forklift to move, buried under a couple thousand pounds of steel from the emergency escape ladder that collapsed on it. It had been almost a day and a couple of hours since this all started, and this was another sign that the madness was far from ending. He left his agents and the local forensics team to taking pictures and collecting evidence outside, while he went in to see the full extent of the damage done inside the building.

  Inside was just as bad as the out with a huge gaping hole in the ceiling, a couple of clothing racks destroyed, and a floor with a small crater in it. Armitage now stood next to Mercer looking up at God’s blue sky through the very same hole.

  “Self-explanatory isn’t it?” he sighed

  “Yep,” reconfirmed Dustin,” Made her way to the roof with that unstable set up outside, punched a hole through so as not to trip any alarms, got cleaned up, clothes, something to eat, and broke into manager’s office, took the video tapes for the surveillance cameras, then broke into the safe taking some of the money.”

  Mark Armitage knit his brow, “Some?”

  “There’s still cash in the box,” Dustin scoffed in disbelief, “It looked like she counted it and took half…she left a written note to the manager apologizing for the damage…taking the money, and said she’d pay him back for it.”

  Mercer pulled out the letter in a sealed evidence Ziploc bag, which Armitage took giving a quick read.

  Mark then looked at his partner in total confusion, “She kills a CO in prison, breaks into here, yet leaves half the money and an apology note for the damage she’s done.”

  Dustin shook his head, “There’s no end to the weirdness man…figured she booked out of here when the ladder outside fell; that’s what prompted the locals to show up.”

  “Considering the ground that she covered so far,” Mark estimated, “She could be half way to Houston by now.”

  “She could also head to Mexico,” Dustin added.

  “Good point,” agreed Mark, “We’ll need to set up a grid from here to there, get some agents down there with the border patrol to try and keep her from going over.”

  Dustin knitted his brows at the “Keep her from going over part” of Mark’s sentence, “You did see that she lifted that drop-box outside by herself right?”

  “I’m trying to handle one problem at a time Dustin,” returned a frustrated Mark, “We need to find her. Figure out how do deal with the superhuman factor along the way.”

  Armitage spied a stocky elderly man with white silver hair and some silver horn rim spectacles in a light fall jacket with a checkered shirt underneath and khaki tan pants with a belt and suspender set up calmly walking around inspecting the damage.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  The man with the answer looked over to where Mark was pointing, “Manager of this store…Thomas Ward…” Dustin confirmed.

  Out of nowhere, Mercer’s phone rang; he looked at it and sent it to voicemail.

  “Is that Bethany?” Mark asked pryingly.

  Dustin grumbled, “Yeah, I’ll call her later.”

  “What’d I tell you about that shit?” Mark came out of nowhere lecturing him, “Answer your phone man.”

  “She’s just calling to bitch to me about my cholesterol!” yelled Dustin, “And about the kids! I’ll call her later!”

  “Call her now dammit!” Mark literally ordered him, “I’m going to talk to the owner, handle your business!”

  “Alright “ma”! Alright!” Dustin flared his arms as if he was talking to his actual mother.

  Mark stood there waiting until Dustin picked up his phone and called his wife back.

  He rolled his eyes as she answered, “Bethany? Yeah…what’s up? I had egg whites and an orange juice today; you want me to bring home a stool sample? Well that’s what you get for dick riding my ass! What?! Well call the plumber and tell him the toilet can’t take him to China!”

  Dustin mouthed the words, “I fucking told you!” as he continued to bicker with his wife.

  Mark Armitage walked over to Thomas Ward for the formal Federal Bureau assurance that they were on the job, with the promise of apprehending the fugitive eventually, etc., etc., etc.

  Mark introduced himself, “Mr. Ward…Special Agent in Charge Mark Armitage…”

  Mr. Ward extended his hand for a shake, “Nice to meet you Special Agent.”

  “Sorry about the damage to your store,” Armitage gave a textbook apology for situations like this, “And everything else.”

  Mr. Ward shrugged with a smile, “Well, you didn’t do this, and that’s what insurance is for.”

  “Still we’re in pursuit of the fugitive and should have her in due time,” Mark reassured, “May I ask if all of the cameras in this store work?”

  “As I told one of your Agents,” Mr. Ward confirmed, “Two are dummies…two are working…we don’t get a lot of thievery in these parts. I’d say you’re welcome to the tapes, but I heard the young lady took them.”

  “Thank you,” Mark nodded with appreciation, “Um…here’s my card, if you can think of anything, or need anything please call.”