Uprising

by Justin Kemppainen

  Chapter 37: Fall of the Mighty

  Gregory Michaels snorted and woke, slumped in the heavy leather chair. His eyes slid open to the darkness, the collar of his shirt still slightly damp from the spill of tears.

  He sat up and immediately winced from the sharp pain in his neck. He rubbed his eyes and took a glance at his watch. Sighing, he reached over and flicked the light on his desk. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden brightness. After a moment, he peeked through to catch the time.

  Michaels winced again, this time from the realization that, instead of a brief nap, he had slept in the chair again for far too long, and the hour was growing late. As he contemplated his departure, the evening's prior events rushed back and hit him. A wave of sorrow struck him again as the image of Claudia's vacant eyes passed through his thoughts.

  With a heavy sigh, he slumped back into the chair to resume his brooding. After a few minutes of this, his eyelids started to droop once more. A stray thought skittered its way into his gloom, and it sparked a curiosity in him. As long as I'm here, I might as well check the entries. It'll keep my mind off of… He didn't let the thought finish.

  Michaels flipped up the lid of his computer terminal, waiting a moment for the dark screen to awaken itself, to see if there were any more video journal entries. There couldn't possibly be very much more, considering that the previous one had come only shortly before the man had been killed.

  The file which had come up after the odd desktop change with the skull, labeled 'mlc-worried,' was still open. A sliver of ice tumbled down his back when he saw the timestamp. It was dated the very day Coleman died.

  Hand trembling, he guided the cursor and clicked the play button. The image of Coleman looked even worse than last time, as though he hadn't slept in days. His voice lacked any enthusiasm or luster. Coleman looked like a man resigned to a terrible fate.

  "It has been a while since the last entry, but nothing of consequence has occurred. It took me a great deal of time to get this blasted machine functioning properly again after the incident with the skull, and I still can't quite remove the programming; it seems irrevocably linked to the previous record." Coleman sighed on screen. "I almost believed at first that someone was playing a trick on me, but I saw the same message scrawled on the wall in my quarters." He reached under his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Destroy it…"

  "How can they know? Who can they be?" he finally asked the camera. "I've... I've told no one." Coleman shook his head. "I am afraid that something might happen; these threats weigh heavily on my mind." He gave a bitter laugh. "I haven't slept in days. I lie awake at night, listening for the sounds of an intruder." He ran his fingers through his graying hair, obviously distracted and lost in thought.

  Finally, he focused back upon the camera. "These entries were for my personal records, easier for me to conceal. Yet, as the time passes, I fear the worst. I don't know who else could be watching this, but if someone has found it, then I must be already dead. I don't know who it was, but I assume their reason must be the sample and the miraculous organisms found within. Whether they want it for themselves or destroyed, I cannot say."

  Coleman suddenly let out a laugh. "Listen to me… have I truly become so melodramatic?" His smile faded, weariness once again spreading across his face. "After the threat and the tampering with my documents, I have taken extra steps to encrypt and code these certain files, including this one. After it finishes, it will be the last of the series. To you, dear viewer, I applaud your tenacity and intelligence." Michaels felt the slight beam of pride mixed with contempt. Of course I figured it out you old fool, he thought.

  "The sample is safe for the moment; no one will be able to…" Coleman trailed off at this point. His mouth hung open slightly, and confusion filled his eyes. "Wha- what's going on here? What is this?"

  Michaels didn't know what to make of the sudden stop, but before he could speculate too much. Another voice played in the recording.

  "I'm so sorry to contact you like this, old friend." The voice was full of sadness, and it seemed to have a profound effect on Coleman, whose face grew whiter with growing apprehension. "You have not listened to reason."

  Who is that? Michaels wondered, feeling that the voice was far too obvious to not be recognized. He was still not quite being able to put his finger on it, distracted by the message and unnerved by Coleman's terrified and confused expression.

  "You were warned." There was a sad chuckle, and suddenly Michaels knew. Dunlevy! Citizen Arthur Dunlevy's voice, completely devoid of its joviality and exuberance sounded low and flat, listless. He continued. "You should have destroyed it. Technology of that caliber does not belong in a world like ours," he said, with tension mounting. "Just think of what Lange would do if he ever found out! Or Julian! It is inconceivable that you, dear Marcus, could be so short-sighted in this matter."

  Coleman downcast his eyes, and Michaels felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. There is nothing wrong with what he did, Michaels thought. The discovery alone far outweighs any risk.

  Yet Coleman said nothing, appearing ashamed. Michaels guessed that it was a recording and not a live feed, as it didn't sound like a direct conversation. Dunlevy plowed onward with his speaking, unheeding of Coleman's obvious discomfort.

  "…for this reason that I decided action needed to be taken." Coleman's head snapped up. "I have placed," Dunlevy cleared his throat, "an incendiary device in your office." Coleman's eyes widened in fear, and his body tensed, as if to spring.

  "Don't move!" Dunlevy shouted, and Coleman froze in his seat. "The device has been activated and will detonate if you rise!" Another sad chuckle. "I suppose it's possible you already did and can't hear the rest of this message."

  Fear and something terrible seeped into Coleman's face and body. Hopelessness, Michaels thought. Finally, he felt pity for the man, confined just before his moment of death to listen to the voice of his executor explaining why his death was just and necessary.

  "I tried; I truly did. You have to understand me. I did not want to do this, but you left me no choice. Our world is not ready for immortality, especially when evil men control the lives of thousands." Dunlevy's tone radiated regret. "…I am sorry, old friend, but this is the only way. Goodbye."

  Citizen Marcus Coleman's eyes widened, and he took in a sharp breath before the screen filled with an orange blossom of fire. The conflagration blazed for a few seconds, and Michaels could hear the sounds of high-pitched, agonized screaming as Coleman died, wreathed in flames. Michaels shivered, wincing at the horrific sights and sounds, which abruptly cut out as the screen went black, the file ending.

  It took Michaels several minutes to reconcile what he just saw. It had seemed obvious before, with the explosion and the sketchy circumstances, that Coleman had been murdered. Everyone had just assumed that Lange or Wresh had something to do with it. Coleman had been a thorn in the side of both men for a while, so his death must not have bothered either of them enough to warrant any investigation; they each likely assumed the other was responsible.

  But Dunlevy? Michaels thought. It almost seems impossible that the bumbling fool could be capable of such an act. Michaels turned his thoughts back to days prior, when Dunlevy had hauled him from the very chair he sat in and slammed him against the wall. He absentmindedly touched his collar where the man's large fist had grasped him.

  In spite of the late hour, he felt a surge of energy. He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the office, pondering how best to deal with the situation. He knew that Dunlevy could no longer be trusted, but how could he be dealt with? Tell Lange or Wresh? Would they even do anything about it? Gottfried, perhaps. He seems concerned with security and not personal gain. I think.

  Michaels paced for a moment longer before relaxing into his chair once again. The revelation of Coleman's death awoke his mind and set his paranoia into overdrive. Will he try for me next? Michaels wondered. There isn't a reason for it, bu
t now I, too, know about the project. If Arthur finds out that I know, what will he do?

  The question remained present in his mind, but one realization struck Michaels as being the most reasonable answer: if he wanted to be truly safe and secure, he would have to eliminate the impending threat that Dunlevy represented.