GodMode

by O. K. Mills

  Trevor’s bowels chose this moment to relieve themselves, creating a trickling sound as his fluids splashed down from the tabletop and hit the floor like drops of rain. If Silas was amused or annoyed, his expression did not betray either emotion.

  “But you … you said I had a choice!” Trevor cried out.

  “He is right, Mr. Arata. I did say that, did I not? Fear not, Mr. Thorn, I am a man of my word.”

  Silas removed a loose thread from his suit jacket and flicked it away before reseating himself on the chair. He smoothed out his well-manicured goatee before speaking again.

  “Your leg is option one. Option two may be more to your liking, however. Instead of your leg, we can take one of your eyes. Personally, I find that to be the less attractive option. Yes, you would still be able to see in the remaining eye, maintain the ability to walk, et cetera, but you’ve already lost your hand; why not balance it out with the leg?”

  Trevor shuddered. Silas chuckled and held up his hands.

  “Listen, that is simply one man’s opinion; ultimately, the choice is yours.”

  At that moment, a chime from the wall panels abruptly rang out, and a voice filled the room via intercom.

  ~~ Mr. Silas, your 2:00 pm appointment has arrived and is here in the lobby. Would you like me to have him wait in your office? ~~

  “No, please send Mr. Pike here to the laboratory.”

  Another chime sounded before the wall panel fell silent. They could hear the faint noise of a door opening down a long hallway followed by the click-clack of approaching footfalls that grew louder as they came nearer. No words were spoken as the men awaited the arrival of the new guest.

  A tall and extremely well-dressed man entered. He wore a tailored, navy blue, pinstriped suit sporting a traveler’s seam with cuffed trousers. His burgundy shoes boasted a shine so brilliant that dust respectfully avoided settling on them. His hair was dark, curly and flawless. His sun-kissed skin suggested that if he didn’t actually live in a warm climate, he probably visited one frequently. The ease with which his clothes complemented him indicated a body that had seen numerous hours inside a gym. He removed his tinted glasses and placed them inside his breast pocket before interlacing his fingers and assessing the room.

  “Mr. Arata, Mr. Thorn, allow me to present Marshall Pike.”

  Silas gestured to each person as he introduced them. Pike quietly sighed upon seeing Thorn restrained to a table in a pool of his own urine.

  “When did you move to the Wilson building,” Pike asked absently as he surveyed the scene.

  “We have facilities all over the world and have been in this one for some time. This headquarters allows us to hide in plain sight. It is also in the power center of the world, mere steps from the south lawn of the White House,” said Silas.

  “The perfect front.”

  Silas agreed with a smile.

  “I do like how you’ve decorated the place. Very sterile.”

  “I believe strongly in cleanliness, Mr. Pike.”

  “You always did enjoy this evil villain nonsense, Damien,” Pike chuckled as he walked over to the table and rattled one of the chains. “I told you about sending boys in to do a man’s job.”

  “Your price was unreasonable,” replied Silas.

  “You get what you pay for,” Pike laughed, letting the chain he held fall and jangle loudly as it collided with the metal legs of the table.

  Forming a grin, Silas locked eyes with Pike. The men stared at one another for several moments for an impromptu test of wills. Though neither blinked, Silas spoke first, unexpectedly breaking the silence with a question.

  “Leg or eye, Mr. Pike?”

  “Not sure I follow, Damien?”

  “I have given Mr. Thorn here a choice to atone for failing me, but I am interested to know what you would choose. Would you live without your leg or without one of your eyes?”

  In a single blinding motion Marshall Pike revealed a Ruger P90 and shot Trevor Thorn twice in his left eye and then emptied the remainder of his clip into his leg.

  “I would choose to live without continuing this waste of time. Now, can we get down to business?”

  Silas shook his head “no” to Arata who had quietly aimed his own Smith & Wesson 625 revolver at the back of Pike’s head. He holstered the weapon.

  “Mr. Arata, we do not have enough plastic for two corpses. Please get to the work of cleaning this room of the remains of Mr. Thorn while Mr. Pike and I adjourn to my office to continue our discussion.”

  Silas exited the laboratory. Pike started to follow but paused to give Arata a look that said, if you ever pull a gun on me again…, and then followed. The men walked in silence until they found themselves back in the lobby area.

  “I was under the impression that you had been here before. Is this your first time in the nation’s capital, Mr. Pike?” asked Silas.

  “No, but admittedly, it’s been a while since I have been in DC. I hardly recognized Georgia Avenue.”

  There were two lobbies in the Janus headquarters. The first was the main lobby of the Wilson building that the public got to see. The second was the one that very few even knew existed.

  It was entirely white with no visible edges on any wall. When the elevators parted to allow entry, a large reception area housing a sizable white desk greeted any visitors. The desk spanned the width of the wall it sat in front of and about one third of the breadth. Blonde parquet wood, which reflected a row of recessed lighting housed in the ceiling, comprised the floor. Behind the reception area, embossed into the wall, was a logo made up of a combination of the clubs suit of playing cards and the opposite staring faces of the Roman god Janus cropped inside it.

  “Janus?” Pike asked as the two men stood at the elevator waiting for it to arrive.

  “Someone knows their history. Yes, that is Janus, the Roman god of beginnings and transitions.”

  “And the clubs?”

  “When this organization was being formed we called it ‘Project Janus.’ Eventually, that was changed to ‘Project January’ for a variety of reasons, one of course being that January is derived from the word ‘Janus.’”

  “The other being that it was January at the time?” Pike asked.

  “Actually, it was November, though it would make for a much more entertaining story if it had been. The clubs was born out of the classified nickname the project was given. We called it the ‘January Club,’ and the moniker stuck.”

  Once the elevator chimed its arrival, they stepped in. Silas held his gloves out to Pike so he could place both his hands on the two panels near the doors. A retinal scanner checked his eye as well. Once completed, Silas held out his hand to have Pike hand him back his gloves.

  “Do you know what this organization does, Mr. Pike?”

  “Chains its employees to metal tables and threatens to sever their limbs?”

  Silas smiled and chuckled to himself.

  “I do hope you are as effective as you are amusing, Mr. Pike. Our organization is the black ops of black ops. Most of our personnel are recruited from tier one military branches of the Special Forces divisions: Navy SEALs, Delta Force, and so on. We also recruit from the CIA, FBI and occasionally even local law enforcement if we feel there is potential worth molding.”

  “You are completely classified, funded entirely by special interest groups and philanthropists, and often carry out missions that either other branches get the credit for or no one ever hears about. I’d ask how you managed to get the President on board with something like this, but you’d never tell me.”

  “You assume correctly, Mr. Pike. There is something I will tell you that even Washington does not know, however, but certainly not because I wish to.”

  “I don’t care what you have or haven’t told Washington. I draw the line at abducting nine-year-old children, Damien.”

  “Mr. Pike, if you had even a shred of moral fiber, you would not be standing in this elevator. You are here because, above all else, you love m
oney. I happen to have an abundance of wealth if you are agreeable to leading this extraction effort.”

  The elevator stopped after ascending for what seemed forever. They exited into a hallway whose walls had been converted into an aquarium. Schools of vibrant koi fish swam back and forth, providing a colorful backdrop on their saunter to Silas’ office.

  “You aren’t just a man with money, Damien. You are the wielder of a small cadre of elite-level soldiers. Your group did the Hussein extraction, am I right?”

  “We also did Bin-Laden while SEAL Team Six took the bows, but I see your point as well as your inquiry. If I have all of that, then why do I need you?”

  Marshall Pike stopped at the double doors at the end of the hallway and shrugged in agreement.

  Silas only smirked and went in. Pike chuckled to himself and followed after.

  Dark, rich espresso furniture blended tastefully with beige hardwood floors, ambient lighting, and various unique artworks from affluent countries around the world. Silas stepped around his executive desk and eased his thin frame into a supple leather chair while gesturing to one of two guest chairs for Pike to make himself comfortable. Once both men were seated, Silas continued the conversation.

  “How many private missions have you completed, Mr. Pike?”

  “Here in the United States or abroad? Oh, and do you mean for our government or for others?”

  Silas grinned.

  “And how many months did you spend detained in that prison camp in Afghanistan?”

  “Thirteen. But that was actually the point of that particular mission. I was there to kill a man who had been captured and who was feeding secrets to the enemy to save his life.”

  “And did you succeed in killing the man?”

  “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I hadn’t, Damien. You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “You have answered it yourself, Mr. Pike. You are a man who has a reputation for getting results. Furthermore, you are a man who can keep secrets. What I am not yet certain of is, are you a man who will do these two things for me?”

  “This must be some little girl, Damien. Why is she so important?” asked Pike.

  Silas put his fingers together into the shape of a steeple and locked eyes with Pike. He seemed to heavily weigh the words that would come out of his mouth.

  “I must have your answer if I am to go any further into my explanation. Are you going to work for me on this assignment, or shall I have you escorted out?”

  “My answer depends on yours, Damien. The cost for my services hasn’t changed. Do you agree to that?”

  “Mr. Pike, if you are successful on this endeavor, then money will be the least of your concerns.”

  “Then it would seem that we are aligned, Damien.”

  “Excellent. Now then, are you at all familiar with the term ‘God Mode,’ Mr. Pike?”

  “I can’t say that I am. What is it?”

  Silas leaned forward and took on a very serious tone.

  “The God Mode is most often defined as the untrained power of God embodied within a human being. This gift lies dormant in all of us, and the means of awakening it are as unique as the ways in which it manifests itself. Do you follow me so far?”

  Pike raised his eyebrows and snickered.

  “Sometimes, people have entirely too much money,” Pike muttered to himself but loud enough for Silas to hear.

  “Damien, are you seriously trying to hire me to kidnap a nine-year-old girl because you think she has powers? That’s not really what we’re doing, is it?”

  “We cannot begin this way,” Silas sighed. He went to one of the panels on the far wall in his office near a large television. He gently pressed the wood, which popped open to reveal a refrigerator. He took out a can of soda and returned to his seat. Pike sighed and shrugged. Silas held his index finger to his lips in a shushing fashion, closed his eyes and pointed at the can.

  Pike watched in astonishment as the can collapsed in on itself of seemingly its own accord. Aluminum folded backwards inch by inch until the contents of the can spilled out into a puddle on Silas’ desk. A downward motion of his hand made the can crush itself flat as if someone had stepped on it.

  Pike sat dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed. The show was not yet completed however. Silas gestured to a coffee mug at the end of his desk, and it slid over to his open hand. He then flicked his wrist like a conductor’s wand to make the puddle of soda to spring to life and fill the mug to the brim.

  Silas wiped off a trickle of blood that oozed out of his left nostril before speaking again.

  “That … Mr. Pike,” Silas gasped, barely getting the words out, “is … the … God Mode.” He sipped some of the soda as he dabbed the several beads of sweat on his forehead. “It is the power of a god harnessed by a man, assuming that the man can wield it.”

  Pike sat with his mouth agape. Silas leered, knowing now he could continue with a true believer sitting across from him.

  “The obvious question is how did you do that?” asked Pike.

  “Come, I have more to show you.”

  The two men returned to the elevator to descend into a level deep below the second lobby area. When the doors parted, large gray tanks filled with human bodies, each emitting smoke and making hissing noises, and the cold greeted them. Like a tourist looking wide-eyed at tall structures all around, Pike slowly followed Silas.

  “Some in our organization believe that Jesus Christ himself was a wielder of the God Mode power. It certainly makes scientific sense. Inexplicable power lying dormant in an otherwise normal man, brought forth after his baptism. Others believe Samson was also a wielder of this power. How else could a single man have laid waste to 1,000 other men in a single battle using only the jawbone of an ass?”

  “You don’t sound convinced of either,” said Pike.

  “I am not. But I am sentimental, Mr. Pike. I still like to believe that there is something greater than you or me in the universe. The potential power exists in every one of us from the moment we are born, but lies dormant until something causes it to manifest itself. In most, it never materializes because the proper stimulating scenario never presents itself.”

  “And others?”

  “For the privileged few fortunate enough to realize their gifts, their potential is limited only to the extent to which they stimulate their power.”

  Pike took a look at the bodies incased in the freezing chambers surrounding them.

  “And these?”

  “There have been 12 confirmed manifestations of the God Mode in the last century. Eight of those cases are with you in this room,” Silas explained while walking before the chambers, acting like some sort of tour guide.

  “The man in this chamber was the first that I discovered. His name is Walter Virgil. His manifestation of God Mode is telekinesis. He was 75 years old when his abilities manifested. I believe the temperature was 67 degrees, it was cloudy and exactly 1:17 pm on the East coast. At that moment he slipped and fell down a flight of exactly 37 stairs. When he was released from the hospital, he could move objects with his mind.”

  “Perhaps he always could?” Pike responded.

  “That’s exactly my point, Mr. Pike. Haven’t you been listening? The power is in all of us. The trick is getting it to manifest, and the conditions necessary for them to do so may be conditions one never experiences. They are as unique as snowflakes.”

  “That explains why there’ve only been 12 in the last 100 years,” said Pike.

  “Indeed.”

  “Interesting that he has the same ability that you have,” Pike observed.

  Silas smiled and adjusted his cufflinks.

  “We actually do not.”

  “What are you talking about? You crushed that can with just your mind. Is that not telekinesis?”

  “It is, Mr. Pike, but that does not make it the manifestation of my gift. My talent is the power to take others’ abilities. I took a small portion of his gift.”

&n
bsp; “Enough to crush a soda can.”

  “Enough to almost die from crushing a soda can. I can absorb the abilities of others, but at great cost.”

  “Is that why all of these people are here in freezing chambers? Being kept alive until you can figure out a way to take their powers?”

  “Not exactly. I could take all of their abilities now if I wished. Wished to die, that is. I was in a coma for three weeks the day I took the smallest portion of Virgil’s powers, and my nose bleeds every time I use it.”

  “So basically all of these human popsicles are useless to you, at least for now. I’m guessing this is why that girl is so important?”

  “I am going to enjoy working with you, Mr. Pike. I do not have to explain things to you twice. Yes, she is essential. Young Brynn James’ manifestation of God Mode is miraculous healing.”

  “I get it. You get her, take her power and suddenly you have the ability to wield all of these abilities without the fear of dying.”

  “Assuming that our calculations are correct, most certainly. If I absorb her power, with time and training, I could sustain being the host of the abilities of every person in this room.”

  “You would be like a god, Damien.”

  “No, Mr. Pike. Not like a god. I would be god.”

  Marshall Pike took it all in as his personal moment of clarity continued taking shape.

  “Well, that explains why you need me. If word were to get back to our government that its personal bank for its off-the-book missions was secretly trying to turn himself into the Messiah…”

  Silas smiled, held his index finger to his lips and then continued his tour.

  “Teleportation, super-human strength, invulnerability, pyrokinesis—the powers you see in this room are without limit. The girl is the key.”

  “If she is so important and secrecy is paramount, then why didn’t you call me from the beginning?”

  “I did, Mr. Pike, you might recall. I simply refused your initial asking price, a mistake I am now rectifying.”

  Pike took a look around the room.

  “We both know I don’t really have a choice anymore, now do I?”