Enhanced

by Ben Brown

  “I must protest strongly!” Chester cut Dominic off, mid-sentence. “I cannot be a part of this. It is inhumane and unethical; therefore I must resign from my position immediately.” He turned to his friend. “Josh, do you agree with me?”

  Dominic’s gaze turned to Josh. The young scientist fidgeted on the spot.

  “Well, Josh, do you agree with Chester. Do you want to leave?”

  Josh looked at his friend, who now stood defiantly in front of Dominic. Josh was terrified; he had felt for some time that he and Chester wouldn’t leave here alive; now he was more certain of that than ever. He looked at his feet as he answered.

  “No, I wish to stay and conclude my research; leaving now would be premature.”

  Chester stared at his friend in disbelief. “Josh, this isn’t what we intended for our work. We wanted to help people; this was to be the greatest medical break-through of our times. Now it’s just a freak show.”

  Josh looked at his friend appealingly, as he begged in a low voice. “You can’t see what’s going to happen if you don’t stay. We’ve been friends for a long time, so please trust me … you need to stay and continue this work.”

  Chester stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t be a part of this, and I can’t be friends with you anymore. I’m goi …”

  Chester’s eyes widened to a frightening size. Both he and Josh looked slowly down to his chest. A large blade covered in blood protruded through his clean, white shirt. Chester’s eyes drifted back up to his friend; his friend returned his gaze in total horror as he dropped slowly to the floor.

  Dominic stepped over the young man’s body, the large knife still in his hand.

  “Now that I have sorted that problem out, do you have any issues?”

  Josh’s eyes settled on his friend. He shook his head and mumbled, “No Dominic, no problems. The clone will be ready for you whenever you need it.”

  “Good. Now clear up this mess.” Dominic smiled as he pointed to the corpse on the floor.

  Josh nodded silently, still terrified by what had just occurred.

  Dominic turned and headed back to the door. “Come, Jane, we still have much to do before my father’s arrival.”

  She, too, turned and left the room.

  Josh simply stood rooted to the spot as he stared at his dead friend. Then, like a flood overwhelming a dam, his tears and grief came; he crumpled to the floor and cried.

  As the door closed behind Dominic and Sinclair, the two could hear the man’s screams of grief. They looked at each other and smiled, cruelly.

  * * *

  Josh now realized that this would be his final fate too, unless he did something to stop it.

  Josh whispered into his dead friend’s ear, “I’ll make him pay for this, I promise. I’m sorry I let you down. You were right — this experiment must be stopped.” He closed his friend’s lifeless eyes and in that moment, Josh’s brilliant mind began to work on a way to foil Dominic, and reap revenge.

  25

  Dr. Skinner and Michael sat in silence as the plane drew closer to its destination. The two had been traveling together for almost two days, much of which, since the accident, had passed without incidence. In a matter of an hour, the small jet would touch down at the airfield where Dominic had landed less than a day earlier.

  “Doctor, do you think your son will sense a change in me?” Michael asked as he stared at his drink.

  “Who knows, my boy, maybe he will, but I think not,” Doc replied drowsily. “I think he will be so focused on me that little else will distract him.”

  It was the middle of the night and neither man had slept much over the past thirty-six hours.

  The pilot’s voice rang out over the intercom. “We have just received word from Dominic; he apologizes, but the chopper that normally delivers people to the base is unavailable. He has sent a car to meet you instead.”

  Michael slumped back in his seat as he let out a loud sigh.

  “Is there a problem, my boy?” Doc asked.

  “No — not really, it’s just — the chopper would get us to the base in an hour; by car, it will take more than four. It will be dirty and uncomfortable.”

  The old man laughed. “Just our luck — oh well, we still have an hour of relative comfort; we may as well make the most of it. I’m going to shut my eyes for a while.”

  With that, he fell almost instantly asleep.

  Michael was astounded by Doc’s stamina. He felt exhausted, so his traveling companion must be feeling far worse. He closed his eyes and drifted off.

  The vibration of the plane’s wheels hitting the dirt runway of the airfield woke the two men. As soon as the plane came to a complete stop, the pilot headed to the rear cabin to open the door for his passengers.

  They stood at the door, staring out into the enveloping darkness.

  “Michael, I’m down here — are you and the old bastard ready?”

  Michael recognized the voice that bellowed out around the silent airfield. The voice belonged to a man whom Michael disliked intensely.

  Patrick O’Brien stood next to an old beat-up Toyota Land Cruiser. In spite of the dark, he waved.

  O’Brien had been a long time member of the IRA, and in his time with the terrorist group, he had acquired the reputation of being one of their most ruthless assassins. What made the man so dangerous was his ability to go un-noticed. He was short and overweight, his sizable beer belly tugged at the buttons of his shirt; he looked out of shape and harmless. What little graying hair he did have on his balding head fell in greasy strands across his face. He also wore an old-fashioned pair of tortoise shell bi-focal glasses, which he adjusted constantly. The overall effect gave him the appearance of a hen-pecked office worker. So unassuming was his appearance, no one ever gave him a second look. Because of this, O’Brien could move in and out of places more or less unnoticed.

  After Sinn Fein became a recognized political force, the IRA all but disbanded, which left Patrick looking for a new job. Dominic stumbled across the Irishman when recruiting mercenaries; he’d worked for him ever since.

  Michael led the way down the steps, holding the old man by the elbow to ensure his safety. The steps were slippery from the early morning dew, and a fall might break an old man’s hip.

  O’Brien reached for the powerful spotlight, conveniently attached to the bull-bar at the front of the four-wheel drive; he turned it on and pointed it at the plane. Michael and Doc shielded their eyes as the bright beam of light dazzled them.

  “That thing is blinding us! Point it at the ground, you idiot!” Michael shouted, as he felt Doc sway slightly. He tightened his grip on the old man’s arm.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned by the old man’s unsteadiness.

  “I’m fine — thank you for your concern. It’s been a long flight and my legs are a little sore. Plus that damn light dazzled me.”

  “Are you sure, Doctor?”

  The old man nodded, and the two once again headed for the waiting car.

  As they arrived at the four-wheel drive, O’Brien held out his hand; he had a beaming smile, which annoyed Michael instantly. Michael had no time for the short fat man that stood before him. He knew men like him; men filled with hate had caused his parents’ deaths back in Ireland.

  “Good to see ya again, Michael; good to see another Irishman out here.”

  Michael looked at O’Brien’s hand, but didn’t shake it. Instead, he stared at him with all the contempt he could muster.

  O’Brien instantly turned on Doc. Grabbing him by the collar, he slammed the old man into the side of the car. “Come on, ya old bastard,” he yelled. “We need to get a move on.”

  Michael gripped O’Brien by the back of his neck and wrenched him off the old man, throwing him to the dirt. He landed on his face and slid along the gravel; finally his short, round body came to an unceremonious stop.

  “What der hell are ya playing at?” he shouted.

  “Skinner has been entrusted to me b
y Dominic and I have managed to get him all the way from the UK without a mark on him. Now, just a few hours from me delivering him, unharmed, you lay your filthy murdering hands on him. I warn you, touch him again, and you will never touch another thing.”

  Michael’s anger was clear to see, but O’Brien wasn’t easily intimidated.

  “Come on, what’re ya worried ‘bout? Ya know Dominic hates his old man, he’s probably going to put a bullet in his head as soon as he sees him.”

  “That may well be the case, but that’s up to Dominic to decide; until then, keep away from him.”

  “Come on, I thought we were all friends here.”

  The disgust and anger rose in Michael like bile. He stepped closer to the prostrate Irishman.

  “I will make this clear — you are not my friend! You are nothing more than murdering filth, which, if it were up to me, would be driven into the sea to perish.”

  O’Brien’s face turned red as he reached into his jacket feeling for his gun.

  “That would be a mistake on your part — do you really think you’re quicker than me? I suggest you get in the car and drive us to the village, keeping your mouth shut while you’re at it.”

  Michael moved a little closer to the chubby man; even in the dark O’Brien could make out the intensity on his face.

  O’Brien’s demeanor changed instantly. He knew Michael could kill him in a blink of an eye. He was nothing if not patient; no, he would bide his time — Michael could wait.

  The Irishman got to his feet and approached the two. “Okay. You’re der boss on this one; I’m sorry, I overstepped me mark — it won’t happen again.” He walked past them both and got in the car.

  Michael walked back to Doc. The old man stood by the car, dabbing at his bleeding mouth with his shirtsleeve.

  He took the old man gently by the shoulders. “Are you all right? I’m sorry about that fool; I’ll make sure he doesn’t come near you again.”

  “I’m fine, let’s just get a move on.”

  Michael nodded, and opened the door.

  O’Brien watched the pair through the wing mirror. He found Michael’s behavior odd — all of Dominic’s subjects hated this man as much as Dominic did, yet Michael seemed far too concerned with the old man’s well-being. Something didn’t add up.

  They got in the car and buckled their seat belts.

  “I have to call Dominic to let him know we’re on our way,” O’Brien said, as he dialed his mobile with one hand, and started the engine with the other. “Get ready for a long, rough ride, Mr. Skinner.”

  * * *

  As Sinclair and Dominic sat drinking Earl Grey tea on his veranda, she reflected on how ludicrous the scene would appear to anyone who wasn’t one of his subjects.

  After all, it was late in the night and so dark that, even with their enhanced vision, they could see very little. Nevertheless, the two sat drinking tea and eating Madeira cake, like two old colonial plantation owners.

  Sinclair nodded politely and agreed with Dominic’s criticisms of the state of English county cricket. When that tirade had finished, he started to talk at length about England’s chances in the Ashes.

  She stared at her cup wondering how much longer he would drone on. Though she had his nanites coursing through her veins, she didn’t hero worship him the way the other subjects did. She saw him more as someone who could help her to achieve her goals, and until those goals had been achieved, she would play the loyal subject. She returned her gaze to the talkative man beside her; once again, she smiled and nodded.

  Luckily, after a few minutes his phone rang; his berating of the English cricket team would have to wait.

  Sinclair struggled to hold in a sigh of relief as Dominic answered the call.

  “I see, very well — we’ll see you just after dawn. And, O’Brien, take good care of my guest; I want him in one piece.”

  “Your father has landed, I take it,” Sinclair said. She hoped this would kick-start Dominic back into action.

  “Yes, O’Brien will have him here just after dawn. Now, I think we simply must get back to work. I must say, it’s been delightful chatting with you about cricket; it’s one of my biggest passions. However, I feel you have delayed me for far too long.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just — I find our discussions so stimulating, I find it hard to pull myself away from them,” she said in a sweet voice, meant to flatter.

  “Not at all, my dear. I find most of the other subjects frightfully dull in comparison to you. I think it’s our good old English breeding.” Dominic smiled and led the way.

  As he turned his back on her, she made a face of disgust. She had come from a good family bloodline, not him.

  “Zac’s D.N.A code may hold some new secrets for us,” Dominic called over his shoulder as the two approached their destination.

  She suddenly felt a wave of exhilaration wash over her; this was it! Finally Dominic was about to start his experiments on Zac.

  26

  Dominic opened the door and entered the room which contained the two biggest threats to his success; Zac and Lea. He stood for a few moments and allowed the feeling of victory and euphoria to wash over him. These two had been the best his father could muster and he had crushed them with ease.

  A small Asian man tended to Lea’s drips and monitors; he turned to see who had entered the room.

  “Dominic, I pleased to see you,” Hien said in his version of what passed for English. “Both patients ready whenever you wish — you start testing.” He walked quickly towards Dominic; excited by the prospects of what was to follow.

  Dr Hien was Vietnamese, and in his late sixties. In the early years of his life, during the Vietnam War, he’d worked in the prison camps; his skills made him exceptionally good at extracting information from the prisoners. His combined use of brutality and surgical procedures made him one of the most sadistic interrogators the Vietcong ever had. However, the war years had been his heyday; in the years since he had fallen further and further into depravity.

  Dominic had discovered the old man languishing in a Vietnam prison, jailed for the torture, rape, and eventual murder of a sixteen year-old girl. His sentence was life imprisonment; somehow, Dominic managed to bribe local officials to gain his release. Now, Dr Hien had all the facilities and victims he could dream of. While he was un-enhanced and lacked the abilities of subjects, he still followed Dominic adoringly.

  “How is Lea?” Dominic asked.

  The old doctor turned and looked back at the woman who lay motionless in the bed. “She stable, I detect your nanites in blood stream — they no work against her. I no find what cause coma, all vitals normal and brain scan good. Yet, as see, coma keep on. Only real damage I find in eyes, she blind. Nanites join together, form solid mass. Her eyes now all metal.”

  Dominic approached her bed; he bent over her and gently opened her eyelid. A solid black metal sphere stared lifelessly back at him.

  He straightened and strolled towards his second prisoner, eyeing him with disdain. The man, who now sat shackled and unconscious, had come so close to derailing his plans. He stared at the bare chest of his adversary; it showed no signs of the bullets which had torn into his tissue and bone only a few hours earlier.

  “And what about this one, doctor?” Dominic asked with growing curiosity. He knew if he could unlock the secret to Zac’s regenerative healing ability, then he would have an invincible force. He would be unstoppable.

  “It is taking big sedative to keep him under. He receiving three hundred times normal dose; should make him dead, but no! Body building up resistance — I think twenty-four hours, sedative no longer work. Then unable sedate him.

  “Also, every incision, every cut I make on him heal instant. This wonder seems getting faster. Incision that take sixty seconds heal two hours ago, now take ten seconds — watch.”

  He picked up a large knife and walked over to the prisoner. He drew the blade slowly across the chest of his chained victim; a wide deep gas
h opened and blood began to pour from the wound. Within seconds of the blade leaving Zac’s skin the wound began to mesh back together. The blood, which had poured from the wound, began to be re-absorbed through the skin. In less than thirty seconds, the wound had resealed; two minutes later all signs of injury were gone.

  Sinclair stepped closer to the unconscious guinea pig; she bent down to take a closer look at the injured chest.

  “Amazing! Do you know how valuable this could be to us?” She straightened to look her leader in the eye. “If we could control him or isolate that ability, we would be unstoppable.”

  “I know, my dear, I know.” He turned to the old Asian. “Wake him!”

  Dr Hien seemed uneasy. “Think that unwise; this man have much power. Think we kill him while have chance.”

  Dominic turned on the old man and grabbed him by his shirt; he pulled his face to within an inch of his own. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again. This man is no threat to me.” He pointed at the restrained body that sat slumped in the chair. “Look at him, he is chained like an animal and I did that to him. I could finish his life in a blink of an eye if I wished it. However, I don’t wish it — I want him awake and I have ordered you to do it. Now move!”

  He threw the old man across the room.

  Hien landed hard on the floor as his face slammed into a chair, knocking out two of his teeth.

  He spat blood and teeth onto the floor as he struggled to his feet. “I mean no disrespect,” he apologized. “Just express concern … I do as you ask.” Hien’s swollen mouth distorted his words.

  The old man picked up a large syringe and filled it with a clear fluid, then quickly jammed it into the arm of his chained prisoner.

  “Turn his chair — I don’t want him to see our other guest in the bed,” Dominic said in a hushed voice.

  * * *

  Zac could hear voices, but to whom the voices belonged, he didn’t know. He couldn’t make out what they were saying; all the words blurred into one. He struggled to open his eyes; they felt like lead — it took all his strength to force them open. Eventually, he could make out the shapes of three people around him. However, he couldn’t discern who they were; he began opening and shutting his eyes wildly. Finally, he opened them as wide as he could in an effort to clear the haze.