by Jeremy Flagg
The doors opened, and the crowd froze. A collective gasp hushed their chanting as the first synthetic stepped out. Most returned to chanting while several marchers screamed obscenities at the machine. As four more emerged, the crowd grew nervous, backing away from the door.
Church bells in the distance struck eight.
Curfew.
The synthetics had once been clunky and moved like robots, gears grinding and hydraulics hissing to control their metallic limbs. In a cube farm somewhere else in the world, pilots controlled each of the monsters, helping them make choices. Then they plugged Dav5d into the synthetic network. Now their intelligence was far from artificial. A corrupted Child of Nostradamus with the mind of a living computer controlled thousands of soldiers.
Months ago, Conthan stalked these very streets, taking down one synthetic at a time. He thought he did it to exorcise demons conjured from murdering a man in cold blood. He had been an artist then, an idealist, looking at a broken world and hoping his work would wake a generation. He’d spend the rest of tonight debating if he recognized that naive kid from years ago.
Screams broke out as the robots held up their hands. Small compartments on their forearms shifted and out snapped small cannons. They’d mow down the crowd in seconds. If the humans offered resistance, they’d arm the shoulder lasers and slice through the remaining opposition.
“Dav5d,” he shouted.
The blank faces of all five robots tilted slightly. The crowd continued to scatter, clearing a direct path between the synthetics and Conthan. He owned his cockiness. The leather jacket and tattered jeans with a black t-shirt made him feel like a badass.
“We can do this one of…”
The first synthetic fired into the crowd. A man holding a sign collapsed..
“The hard way,” Conthan whispered. He had hoped somewhere in the empty eye sockets of the machines he’d catch a glimpse of his friend. The awkward man who taught him to use his powers.
It hadn’t been much more than a year since he discovered his ability to teleport. Defying the laws of physics, an unnatural ability granted to him by a fluke cosmic joke allowed him to rip through space, connecting two points. He found it difficult to remember the scared man who first opened a portal through space. Now? Now, even the machines should fear him.
They spread out, jumping off the steps. Bullets from one direction he could handle, but creating a dozen tiny portals remained beyond him. Dav5d knew him, his abilities, his weaknesses. Now the machines did as well. Conthan wasn’t fighting a robotic army, he was fighting the man who trained him.
He evolved.
The darkness he commanded, the blackness at the center of his being, enjoyed being released. A sense of euphoria rushed through his gut. A portal appeared behind the left flank and another behind the right. For a split second his mind was propelled from his body as he sought out the exits. On a rooftop behind him, two portals blinked into existence. Conthan didn’t flinch, his breathing rhythmic and his eyes focused on the three machines directly in front of him.
Only when Dwayne stepped through the portal and lightning crackled did the crowd stop running, captivated by the Child. The impact of ten billion watts hurled the machines into the air, their bodies smoldering as metal sheared and splintered. Conthan squinted at the bright light. He started a slow walk toward them.
“I didn’t come alone,” he shouted.
A figure stepped out of the black disc hovering in the air behind the right flank. Her body appeared drenched in blue light, sparks flying as she grabbed on to the skulls of two robots. From her bare chest up, her flesh vanished into the radiating heat, waves of blue fire consuming her arms and torso. Skits’s hands melted the metal in the machines. She dropped one and thrust her right hand into the torso of other, destroying its heart. Like a switch had been flipped, the blue light vanished, and the naked young girl flashed Conthan a smile before retreating into the portal.
In between blinks, the discs vanished. Didn’t fade, didn’t shrink, but one moment they were there and the next, nothing. Conthan continued walking. The closest robot’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Dav5d used to do the same thing.
“Dav5d, I know you’re in there.”
Synthetics weren’t meant to talk. Part of their eerie nature came from their lack of a mouth. Two eyes in a metal skull studied him. Conthan stopped. Dav5d knew only three synthetics weren’t enough. Opening portals in the middle of all three, essentially eviscerating them, would be Conthan’s next order of action. At least, that’s what Dav5d expected.
Two shots. Thunderous bangs sounded over the gasping and screams of protestors. Two of the synthetics exploded, their heads nothing more than gaping holes and torn apart wires. Conthan tried his best to not flinch from the firing rifle. In a world where laser-shooting robots had become the norm, there was irony in him utilizing an old school tactic like a sniper as a means to throw off the smartest man alive.
“Dav5d, we’re coming for you. We’re coming for Vanessa.”
The machine threw up its arm to fire across the twenty feet at Conthan. A small portal opened in the limb. Conthan grunted at the resistance he experienced when using his power in the middle of a solid object. Finally, sliced from its body, the arm fell to the ground.
“We’re coming for you, Jacob,” Conthan growled. Another portal opened in the center of the machine, enough to destroy the wires and CPU housed within. The plan had been for Conthan to teleport away, the message put out there so Jacob knew a group of the most powerful Children of Nostradamus were looking for a fight.
Conthan hadn’t realized how close the protestors had gathered. The crowd stood in amazement at the destruction caused in just a few seconds. There was a hush while the bravest of them inched forward, taking measure of the slain synthetics. He expected them to congratulate or thank him. There was a victory in saving the people from the robotic army.
“You’ve doomed us,” one man said.
“Go back where you came from,” another shouted.
The protestor closest to him prodded with his sign, jabbing Conthan in the shoulder. Backing away, Conthan attempted to put distance between himself and the irate crowd.
“You murdered the president,” cried a furious woman.
“Your kind made this happen,” a protestor said, waving to the synthetics’ corpses. “Don’t do us any more favors, you freak.”
Conthan didn’t have time to try and convince the crowd he saved their lives despite their fear. A portal opened to his side and five Children stepped out from the black disc. Dwayne didn’t hesitate letting the lightning rupture from his chest, slamming into the entranceway of the police station. The walls collapsed, and the doors went down under the debris. The uncanny display of power caused the protestors to freeze in place.
“We need to leave,” Alyssa said as she stared out into the crowd.
“You’re welcome,” Conthan shouted back at them.
Gretchen wrenched the sign used to attack him from the man’s hands and threw it on the ground. “Next time, we let them—”
Alyssa’s hand on her shoulder quieted Gretchen. As the crowd’s anger allowed them to take a collective step forward in anger, Conthan knew it was his cue to get them to safety. Fatigue set in as he struggled to close one portal and open another. If the fight had continued much longer, he’d have been useless, relying on his new family to finish decimating the station filled with synthetics.
He wanted to turn around and give the crowd a middle finger salute as he vanished into the cold darkness, but he resisted the urge to spit on the people they saved.
Look at me, all mature and shit, he thought to himself as he vanished into the void.
* * * * *
The beep of the heart monitor had a certain calming effect, lulling him like distant music. A dozen screens displayed individuals in bright white rooms. Jacob had a moment to ponder if this sense of omnipotence was the result of technology or the expansion of his telepathy.
Two men stared at the screen with an intensity that earned them a respectable salary. Neither had any idea he stood behind them, inspecting their diligence. A steady stream of imagery flooded Jacob’s mind as he closed his eyes. With a slight effort, his telepathy established a connection to both of the men and sifted through their thoughts and memories.
The Child housed in room number three functioned at 97.3% efficiency. David, the broken child, barely resembled a human being after the scientists integrated him into their computers. Jacob didn’t care; he only wanted to know of Vanessa. Neither man had any new relevant information regarding his prized possession. That is, until he saw her.
“Lillian.” He said her name like a curse.
The climb to power hadn’t proven difficult. With the power and wealth of Genesis Division behind him, he owned more politicians than not. Since his partnership with the former president, his business interests maintained a healthy advantage in the government.
Cecilia’s head combusting in the rose garden wasn’t the ending he expected, but it caused a media firestorm—media he owned. The Children of Nostradamus killed the president and with a civil war raging against the military on the west coast, he made a proposition to Congress. As their newest leader, he’d bless them and provide victory against a rogue military commander.
The bellowing from the congress floor had been deafening. Jacob reveled in his power as the room quieted. Without a single word, each person froze. Pushing at their minds, he dominated the remaining politicians. The members of the East Coast states who expressed disgust were adjusted.
The applause had been as much a victory of his abilities as the presidency. In the next few days, he turned them into puppets, leveraging their influence to open the door to the Oval Office. And once he reached the top, he started the media campaign declaring the General an enemy of the state, the very man who ordered the assassination of the former President of the United States. If that hadn’t been enough, Jacob added insinuations that the General colluded with Children.
Every politician supported his accusations. Jacob watched as the powerful minions at his side disseminated the information. Now, at the top, only the two colleagues stood relatively free of his influence. Dikeledi found the intensified level of anxiety in the populace like a drug. Lillian remained far more reserved concerning his newfound ambitions.
Like blips on a radar, the two nearby mentalists were easy to find. The sub-basement of the building could only be reached by the most faithful employees of Genesis Division. Screened via the FBI and by mental intrusion, techs able to access this floor were fewer than a hundred. As Jacob walked, his pace gave away his mood, and the scientists and techs turned away in terror of eliciting his wrath.
At the top of the steps near the shafted used to bring staff deep into the bowels of New York, he pressed his hand on a panel to the side of the door. On each side, men with demented upturned smiles, their teeth almost showing, stood ready to follow him inside. The scanner checked his fingerprints, analyzed the skin, and drew a drop of blood. Another panel opened, and red beam traced his face. Hydraulics hissed as the doors parted, revealing a twenty-foot hallway with sheer white walls.
The men, wearing bomber jackets, followed him without question. The door sealed behind them. In a room several feet away, he touched the mind of the security officer, forcing him to press a button that opened the elevator door. Only three people had the power to utilize this elevator.
He admired the Barren, his unquestioning puppets, prepared to take a bullet when the doors opened to the penthouse. Their lack of self, the sheer inability to think without direction, made them the perfect servants. He only wished his tougher subjects were as malleable as the homeless and wayward teens they subjected to the transformation.
The lift took seconds to reach the sixty-eighth floor. Decadent furnishings greeted him as the doors separated. He much preferred this modern environment above the Society’s former quarters. The brick townhouse where he had been trained had been expensive, but quaint by comparison. The richest organization in the world deserved more.
“Lillian.” The word from his mouth was almost as dire as the thought he projected toward the dining room where she ate breakfast.
The escorts remained stationed near the elevator as he stormed down the hall. One room after another passed by, each bigger than the last. Jacob imagined the rooms filled with New York’s elite, each person captivated by the luxury and expense. The decorator displayed the Society’s wealth in every piece of art hanging along the walls. Yes, he thought, they’d be envious.
Perfectly white carpets muffled his steps. The gray of his suit appeared dark in comparison. The traditional paintings on the wall disgusted him, a lack of talent with every brush stroke. With so few members of the Society seeing the interior of his house, he thought he should call his decorator again, this time to impress him and not them.
Lillian ignored him as he stepped into the dining room. The table capable of seating twenty stood between them. She chewed quietly, her eyes fixed on a screen projected to the side of her plate. Barriers erected around her thoughts kept him from intruding.
“Don’t act like— “
“I’m not acting,” she replied quickly. “I’m simply ignoring you.”
Nails bit into his palm as he clenched his fist. In the back of his mind, the whispers remained just beyond his comprehension. He imagined his hands gripping her neck, his thumbs massaging her windpipe as her eyes rolled back in her head. The delicious memory of strangling his father until the man’s limber body collapsed pushed to the forefront of his mind.
“Jacob?”
His eyes focused on Lillian in her ruby red dress. When he opened his palms, the small half-moons had dug deep enough to leave impressions. As quickly as the memory of his father appeared, it fled to the recesses of his mind. He tried to decipher if the memory was his own, or a projection of somebody nearby, perhaps Lillian herself? I never met my father, he thought to himself.
“What were you doing with the gargoyle?” Jacob demanded.
Now, she broke away from the screen. The muscles in her face relaxed, removing any visual cues that might betray her thoughts. Jacob wanted to laugh at her petty attempts to dodge him. Since his abilities spiked, he could tear down her mental blockade and storm through her thoughts with little effort.
Still, she played the game with him.
“She intrigues me. I wanted to see her for myself.”
“Vanessa is off limits,” he growled. “Even to you.”
“That Child has done nothing but cause us problems. You see her as some sort of conquest, Jacob. I am not getting in the way of your petty triumphs. I am fascinated with the first mentalist turned Child of Nostradamus.”
A knot in his stomach tightened while a chill ran along his spine, raising a shiver. The power at his fingertips spoke to him, sometimes literally. Years ago, he and his mentor would spend hours consumed in duels of telepathic might. Jacob understood the touch of another telepath, but the power, the voice, something felt different.
“What do you hope to accomplish with her?” she asked.
“Stand,” he commanded.
Lillian raised an eyebrow, but remained seated. When they first met, she had been nothing more than a junkie seeking her next fix. During detox, she welcomed his abilities, which eased her pain. Time after time he entered her mind, first to stop her hurting, then to strike the pleasure centers during sex. If she hadn’t been so willing at first, he might have found it difficult to enter her mind.
“Stand.” The word was just above a whisper. The force of his mind pushing the statement, shattered the wards protecting her mind. Determined to prove his superiority over the woman he smiled as she pushed back the chair and stood.
“Petty as always,” she said. “Now are you going to tell me why you’re so interested in the Child?”
“I want to see if we can utilize her abilities like we did her companion’s.”
“Bullshit.” She closed the distance between them, her heels making it possible to meet him eye to eye. “I spent just as much time in your head, Jacob. I can taste when you’re lying. Something about you has changed.”
She suspects. The throaty whisper swirled about his thoughts.
“You’ve always been a self-righteous, arrogant, condescending asshole. But”—she stared, her eyes refusing to blink while studying his face—“I can’t quite explain it.”
“My ambitions do not concern you,” he hissed.
“This company belongs to the four of us.” A crack in her armor, a slight exasperated sigh. “The three of us. Your ambition is going to bring it—”
Lillian grabbed the fork off the table. Wielding it like a weapon, she placed it against her own throat. Her valiant attempts to hide her emotions faltered. Jacob chuckled as she struggled to pull the fork away. With a single command, she’d be forced to bury it into the perfect, milky flesh of her neck.
“Am I making myself clear?” he asked.
Jacob gasped as the knife near her plate zipped across the table. The silver weapon hovered close enough that his eyelashes brushed against it as he blinked. Laughter rose from his belly. The woman didn’t resist her own death, but if she was going to perish, she’d do her best to take him down with her.
“This is why I keep you, Lillian. You’ve got panache.”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
The knife remained in the air as he brushed it aside with the back of a finger. Her hand relaxed, the fork falling from her gasp to the hardwood floor. “Do not concern yourself with Vanessa Morrigan. I have plans for her.”
“I do not trust you, Jacob.”