by Robert Lyons
“Perhaps this would be an opportune time to get them used to fighting the monsters, wouldn’t it? Last time I checked, you HAWKs are not keeping up your quota of killing off the Chromas. The rate of Chroma attacks is increasing! You’ll need all the help you can get,” Hemlock growled.
Jim glanced ahead to see that the pilot’s helmet was turned to look back at him.
“Jim, I know what you’re thinking, but please keep it to yourself.” Evan cautioned.
“Oi did not mean any disrespect, Hemlock. Dare are better opportunities ter train against the Chroma than nigh. Dis is more complicated than yer tink!”
The screen above Jim’s head began to blink.
As his eyes swept across the display, his grin dropped into a wide-eyed stare.
“Shit!” Evan shouted as he glanced at the same feed on a screen located next to the flight controls.
A green dot represented a friendly wearing an Aeonian Armor System. The group of green dots was slowly advancing when the one that was overlaid with orange, indicating an armor system that was dealt a significant amount of damage, suddenly vanished. This disappearance could only mean one thing.
“Evan! Get us back ter de drop point! Let’s not make it take donkey years!” Jim shouted, taking note that the yellow dot was closing in on the other green dots. Without warning, the yellow dot expanded to over twice its size. The size of the enemy signature was directly related to its body’s output power. A red-eyed Chroma was not capable of putting out that much power.
So it’s not a red eye? How did the poorpil disguise itself?!
“Sitrep on the data extraction status, Night Hawk 2!” Hemlock thundered.
“Tell yer men ter git ‘ere as fast as possable! We are gonna need al’ of de guns we can get!” Jim fired back, spit flying out of his mouth.
“You don’t give me the orders!”
“Sure look it!”
Hemlock paused for a moment. “I’ll make sure my men never train under you. You’re reckless. The UN will be hearing about your lack of discipline,” Hemlock said in a low voice.
“Tell ‘em Oi said top o’ the mornin’!” Jim clicked off of his microphone.
The situation turned into a race against time.
When the facility was condemned a few months ago was the last time Jim had a run in with a purple eye. A red class was formidable, but a purple class was exponentially dangerous than the lesser, crimson-eyed cousin.
That was when a strange feeling hit Jim.
The whole day started off inexplicably odd, but the most striking event was what happened during the late morning. At the time, Jim resorted to blaming it on his restless sleep from the night before. Now that he was in the situation, that uneasy feeling was starting to make sense as the cards were falling into place. Considering the group that was down there fighting this threat meant that Zoe was present, as well.
Zoe was alwus set for anythin’… Jim thought.
Can’t guarantee anything, might as well bring out the big guns! Zoe’s customary phrase echoed in the back of Jim’s mind.
That odd feeling struck him when he walked by the weapons depot right after the group left for the recovery mission. He remembered glancing inside, looking at all the weapons for a brief moment.
Jim realized that was what was off.
Jim muttered to himself, grabbing a hold of the triggers on the M134 mini gun. “She didn’t take dat weapon … did she?”
PHASE 04
Unforeseen Consequences
March 17th, 2037. Local Time; 15:00
Southern Nevada Region
1.
“Why?” A broken voice wheezed from the darkness. “Why can’t you remember me?!”
Zayde Maddox’s eyes opened in alarm, spotting the familiar white ceiling of his one-bedroom apartment. Inhaling sharply, he launched himself up into a seated position. After taking a couple of breaths to recover, he turned to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Zayde got in only a couple hours of sleep since the previous early morning shift.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Zayde cast off his blanket and swung his feet over the edge, touching the floor next to his bed. As he stood up, the wall opposite the foot of his bed came to life, the white surface melting away to reveal a giant display. It was a standard feature that came with the apartment he was renting. The image Zayde selected for the wall to project was a high-resolution picture of a waterfall. The magnificent blue water that was pooled up and ready to spill over the rock cliff cast its glow all around his room.
A sense of calm washed over the troubled young man.
The recurring dream that played within the crevices of his mind always started at the same point. Endowed with a pair of feathered wings, he floated above a smaller version of earth. A frisson rattled his bones as the harmonious song stimulated his ears.
Last night, he decided to stretch his hand toward the dark oblivion beyond. Zayde discovered that his reach was limited. Trapped behind an invisible barrier, the feeling of being boxed in washed a wave of panic over him. The only saving grace was the music he heard for the past two years that could ease the sensation of being entombed.
Without warning, she suddenly appeared.
Zayde couldn’t discern her glowing face from the rest of her bright cyan body, but her mere presence brought him peace, somehow. The angel-like figure floated above him with her magnificent wings outstretched. Was it accurate to call her angel-like? He could recall two horn-like structures jutting out of her skull. Unlike Zayde, she was free to do as she pleased, as she wasn’t imprisoned behind the transparent blockade.
The harmonious song from before suddenly distorted, rapidly morphing from a pleasant tune to that of a lamenting uproar. An oppressive pressure began to circumnavigate Zayde’s body, crushing every square inch of him.
The female’s form rapidly morphed as she grew into a roaring dragon. The immensity of the beast was overwhelming as her giant maw opened wide. She broke past the blockade and slammed her jaws shut around the now dwarfed young man.
Blinking out of memory lane, Zayde turned away from the wall-sized monitor and headed toward the open space that was both the living room and the kitchen.
The apartment was nothing to brag about. It was a place that fit in the tight budget for the time being while Zayde adjusted to living on his own. It was sparsely decorated and had an air of hollowness; the warm “home feeling” could never be found in a place like this.
Zayde looked at the clock located on the wall. There was still some time before the concert so that he could cram some food down.
Before the young man made his way over to the kitchen, he crossed in front of a full-body mirror that was hung on the wall nearby. He was more or less of a lean muscle build. That considered, he could not conceive how he was able to do the amount of damage he did when he had to step in to save one of his friends from a bad situation.
He held up his hands, studying the scars on his knuckles from the event that occurred over half a year ago. He could still hear the bones breaking and the screaming of the person reverberating in the back of his mind.
Where the hell did that crazy strength come from … or maybe that was just a fluke? Naw, who am I kidding? That was no mistake.
The phone in Zayde’s pocket began to vibrate.
It was a message from his friend. The notification was blinking insistently on the screen, relentlessly coercing him to take action.
Hey, Zayde! Were you able to pull some strings to get the girlfriend and me some VIP treatment at the concert?
Wade, a friend from the high school that Zayde graduated from, sent him the text. Wade wasn’t asking for a handout, he wasn’t that kind of person. Zayde knew the harmless intent of his friend’s enquiry.
Sorry man. Just be happy I got you those tickets to get in at all.
Zayde typed up the message and sent it before slipping the phone back into his pocket. Thinking back on it, Zayde brooded, knowing that he should have never me
ntioned that he was invited by some of the performing artists who were showing up to the concert. Now he had to be the bad guy who turned his friends down.
Once Zayde relocated his food and drink to a small table, he whipped his phone back out and opened up his social media applications. His finger lazily slipped across the device as he weeded through the normal, everyday bullshit of drama and politics that filled the palm-sized screen.
A small block of news that was wedged in between all of the drama-laden posts caught his eye. It was one of the many thousands of articles written about the creatures that seemingly came out of a horror movie to devour humanity.
“Chroma attack occurred on the East Coast. Four left dead, HAWK intervention contained the threat from causing further damage,” Zayde read the title of the article out loud before setting his phone down and sighing, staring at the black TV screen. There was a second article right below the first one. This particular news piece was informing readers that the Red Tigers, a highly active group of Chroma, had finally disappeared from the eastern portion of the Himalayan Mountains, allowing the People’s Republic of China to take a breath of relief.
The bloodthirsty color-eyed creatures were infamous for making a meal out of humans. The only difference apart from any other large-bodied predator was that the Chroma shared an anatomy and intelligence comparable to that of humans. In some fields, they even outclassed Homo sapiens.
“Four people died … and the Red Tigers disappeared? Shit. How much longer can the HAWK keep us safe?” Zayde began to contemplate, knowing just about as much as any person who witnessed the forced unveiling of the HAWK program a couple years ago because of the earth-shattering event known as “The Cataclysm.” It was the momentous episode when the world finally learned that humanity no longer had absolute control over the earth. There was something far more menacing clawing its way out of the shadows and rushing for the top of the food chain.
“Whatever. Everyone dies. Some people get lucky with the painless deaths,” the young man mumbled to himself, finishing up the sandwich. It was bland, just like the world around him. Every aspect of life had grown to be a bother, irritating him in one form or another with the exception of one thing.
Music.
Zayde sat down on his bed, looking up at the display wall. The surface that projected the picture of the waterfall shifted as he pulled up an application to be used with the touch pad that was relocated on his lap. A dark-gray window pulled up after he launched the music composer program.
An image featuring a collage of musical instruments flew in all directions until the screen he was looking for was brought forefront. It was the window that held the “master track,” a space that compiled the collective effort Zayde sank into this project for so long.
His finger trembled slightly as the cursor floated above the “play” button.
Zayde knew what this track was supposed to sound like; he was the one who had orchestrated the seven different instruments to play in harmony, after all. This very track of music was the same piece trapped inside of his head, stuck on repeat for the past two years.
The composer paused, taking a deep breath.
His finger pressed on the touch pad, triggering the cursor to roll across the notes.
Soft music began to play through the small surround sound system hooked up to the display. Zayde’s ears drank it all in as he sighed again, this time out of relief instead of discomfort. His mind’s window opened up, allowing the mental breeze to clear out the buildup of chaos smothering him for the past six months.
Playing the song he arranged was the most effective method to reach a state of peace, but all too soon, Zayde’s brief smile turned to a scowl. Even with this tune within his reach, the frustration still clung to him like a curse. This was the one means of escape from the heartache, but even the music wasn’t one hundred percent effective. The piece he had been working on for so long was the very same music Zayde was hearing over and over in that repetitive dream. The project was initiated after the dream kept repeating for two months without missing a single night.
The lone obstacle the musician was running into was that the instruments that produced the music in his dreams were instruments he wasn’t sure even existed. Thus, he had to supplement with what was available.
“Can’t even have that, I guess.” Zayde paused the track, shutting down the wall display and walking over to his closet.
One day, I will find a way to bring that music into real life.
It was a borderline obsession that had overtaken Zayde’s being. It was far beyond just a song. It was trying to speak to him, but Zayde couldn’t understand the words yet.
As Zayde headed out the door, he could feel his face tighten from grimacing. The sun outside was still bright and bothering his sleep-deprived eyes. The sound of birds singing and children playing intruded his ears uninvited.
Zayde grumbled as he left his house, trudging over to where his car was parked. The only place he felt he could truly be himself was behind the door he had just locked and the local studio’s sound booth where he was sponsored to produce his music. The rest of the world only succeeded in making him angry.
Smirking, Zayde thought of how he was going to have to interact with some people along the way while he was at the concert. However, for a person who hated other humans to the degree that he did, Zayde was more than eager to receive their attention when he laid down the beats. Their cries of excitement in response to his music were enough to carry him through thick and thin. In short, Zayde Maddox was exceptionally particular about his crowds. Slowly accepting that he had become a walking paradox somewhere along the way, Zayde nonchalantly shrugged off the naysayers who would point out his character flaws.
The phone vibrated in his pocket again. Feeling the agitation flaring up, he extracted the device. What else could Wade want? The screen displayed the message.
Hey, hot stuff! Where are we meeting up? I want to show you around to my friends. Also, there’s gonna be some hard stuff being passed around. I know you are not into that, but please don’t act like a disappointed father.
The phone was slipped into his pocket without an answer being sent back.
There was no written rule forcing Zayde to answer her right away. Sydney Coyle was his significant other and also Zayde’s contact to connecting to some celebrities in the music industry. However, Sydney had gotten a little too carried away the other day and left Zayde in a bad mood, since he had to watch over like a babysitter because she was taking “under the influence” to new depths. He figured he could make her sweat for a little bit by not answering.
I wonder … what else I could do to be pettier? Zayde grinned as he climbed into his car.
2.
1 hour later…
By the time Wade Hightower and his girlfriend Jessica Woodrow found an open spot in the parking lot, the influx of attendees heading toward the concert hall had diminished. After he’d finally secured an unoccupied spot what seemed miles away from the venue, Jessica reached for the handle and opened the car door.
“You sure about this, Wade? Knowing you, this concert’s not really your taste…”
Wade slammed the car door shut. “Babe, if I didn’t know what this was about, I’d still be home playing videogames.”
“You do have a point, there.” Jessica nodded, twisting her mouth in contemplation. “I just thought it was weird for you to be into electronic music out of nowhere, that’s all.”
A single crease appeared across Wade’s brow as he took a couple of steps in the direction of the entrance, seemingly abandoning his girlfriend. Jessica, on the other hand, quickly recognized his behavior and hastily followed up behind his heels.
“Was it something I said?”
“If you really want to know, we’re here because it was easy to get a hold of some tickets.”
“Easy to get tickets? What are you on about?” Jessica raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
“The tickets I got for us wer
e free.”
“Free? How’d you manage that?”
“A friend of mine gave them to me — as a present!” Wade’s voice was slipping an octave higher as he tried to think of another subject to talk about. Jessica, on the other hand, was just slightly faster to catch on.
“This wouldn’t happen to be one of your friends that I know? A certain someone … we won’t name names … but he crashed on our couch for two weeks.”
“Yeah, it’s Zayde. So what? He got us some tickets, and we’re late for the event he got us into! Don’t you think that’s kind of messed up, making us late and all?”
“Hmm?” Jessica tilted her head slightly, as though she were caught off-guard. “How exactly is us being late my fault?”
“You know why.” Wade shot her a cheesy grin. “Not going to name any names … but someone wanted some more sweet lovin’ and lost track of time.”
“It takes two,” Jessica fired back without missing a beat.
“Touché…” Wade sighed, his mind somewhat preoccupied with some heavy thoughts. He wanted this evening to be special, one that the two of them would not readily forget.
Jessica quickly glanced behind her. Situational awareness saved lives. Approximately six months in the past, she learned that it never hurt to survey her surroundings.
Yet, out of all the horrific events that could occur at a concert, getting attacked was the lowest reported incident that happened in previous years. That was more than likely because an overwhelming portion of the audience was too high on hallucinogens to do anything other than party on and get trashed.
That’s everyone’s reason to be here. I mean—drugs are nowhere near as restricted as they used to be, so why not use them in public? There’s no fear of any repercussions like there used to be. Most of what used to be hard stuff is regulated now.
“The ambiance here is has to be one of a kind,” Jessica spoke out loud this time. “It would be hard to get this anywhere else. Party animals will be party animals.”
Wade stopped walking, turning his head to look at his lover with a sidelong stare. “That might be the case with others, but we are not here for that. Don’t worry about what other people are doing.”