Uprising

by Justin Kemppainen

  ******

  Rick and his soldiers hadn't done much since Victor and Elijah disappeared into the elevator, and they were starting to get edgy. Rick himself thought that the pair's behavior was very strange, and the idea of continuing to hold an enemy position for no specific reason bothered him more and more.

  Everyone perked up as a loud, high-pitched scream and a heavy thud echoed through the hallway, coming from the main lobby.

  He looked at Jonathon. "What the hell was that?" His cohort shrugged. To his sentries watching that direction, he shouted, "What do you see?"

  One squinted through a rifle scope, and after a moment, he reported, "Nothing. Far doors are still slightly ajar, but I can't see much else. I don't think it's enemy troops, sir."

  Rick furrowed his brow. "What about the scream?"

  "Beats me, sir, but it definitely came from in there."

  Screw this, Rick thought. "All right, you three; let's check it out. Move!" Jonathon, Rick, and two others moved ahead, the remaining uninjured and wounded staying to watch the elevator. They advanced low with their weapons shouldered.

  Rick threw open the door and swung around into the room. "Good God…" he breathed, lowering his weapon. The weird thing that Kaylee spent so much time with, Malcolm, was standing next to the reception desk holding the fat guy informant up by his collar. Malcolm had lost his hat, somehow, and the long white hair lay tangled around his shoulders. The left side of his bluish-gray face was coated with sticky, red blood, but Rick couldn't see a wound to go with it.

  Malcolm's eyes were filled with anger and hate as they bored into Dunlevy, who looked more than a little worse for the wear. He and Jonathon flanked the desk, the other two circling around behind near the front.

  From where he was, Rick could see that the fat man was bruised and battered. His suit was rumpled, dirty, and torn in several places. He bled from small scratches on his face and hands, and tears streamed down his cheeks. His right arm hung limply in an awkward position and was bent unnaturally at the wrist. Rick winced to realize that it was dislocated, broken, and God knows what else. Seeing Rick arrive, Dunlevy turned his head and weakly whimpered, "Help me… please…"

  Malcolm was growling some kind of indistinct phrase. He was speaking, but it was too harsh to figure out exactly what he was saying. Rick thought he caught the words, "Killed him," but he wasn't sure.

  "Malcolm!" Rick shouted, shouldering his rifle. "Put the guy down!"

  Malcolm's angry glare swiveled towards Rick, and he shuddered under its threatening intensity. Shit, he thought, tightening his grip on the weapon. "Just take it easy," he said in his best reassuring tone. "Let him go, and we'll talk about this." He gave a couple of hand signals, and his men continued flanking around the desk.

  "No!" Malcolm hissed. He threw Dunlevy down onto the marble desk top. The round man flopped limply and let out a cry of pain but offered no resistance to his assailant. He lay helpless and coughing weakly.

  All right, that's it, Rick thought. "Back away, Malcolm, or I'm going to fill you full of holes. I don't know why you've gone so batshit crazy, but I'm not going to let you kill this guy."

  Malcolm didn't appear to listen; he stepped closer to Dunlevy and placed one hand around the man's wide throat. "Dammit, Malcolm!" Rick yelled. "Back off! I'm not kidding here!"

  The door behind Malcolm burst open, and Kaylee stumbled out. "Malcolm!" she yelled. "What are you doing?! Stop!"

  Rick did a double take. "Kaylee? What the hell?"

  Malcolm spared a half-glance but gave no response or acknowledgement of Kaylee's presence or Rick's shout. His grip tightened on Dunlevy's throat, and the round man gurgled and flailed as his lungs struggled to pull in air. His hand closed on the scarf covering Malcolm's face. He pulled, freeing one of the ends and loosening the garment.

  Attention returning, Rick disregarded Kaylee's presence for the moment, "All right, that's it!" he shouted. "You were warned! Fi-"

  Rick was interrupted when the door flew open once more, and an individual in a white lab coat, reedy with thinning hair, spilled into the room, out of breath. He gave a bewildered glance around the room, looking at the few soldiers aiming at the figure.

  Who the hell is this guy now? Rick wondered, tightening his grip on his weapon. All of his men still aimed at Malcolm who continued to squeeze the life out of the poor, weakly-struggling man.

  "Marcus, stop!" the man yelled

  Malcolm flinched. Everyone could hear Dunlevy gasping for breath as Malcolm relaxed his grip. The soldiers aiming exchanged confused glances with each other. Malcolm hung his head and closed his eyes, as though ashamed.

  Kaylee spun around. "Who the hell is Marcus?" Good question, Rick thought.

  "I am." Malcolm hissed. He shook his head. "I… wasss."

  "What?" Kaylee asked, puzzled. "Is that your real name?"

  Malcolm, Marcus, or whoever he was, spoke again, "I… rrememmber." He looked around the room, slowly. His gaze fixed on the newcomer. "Mmichaelss."

  "That's right Marcus."

  Rick cut in, "Wait, who the hell is who, here?"

  Malcolm spoke up. "Mmy name… isss…"

  "Citizen Marcus Coleman. My predecessor," the man apparently named Michaels interrupted, tossing the small square nametag forward. Marred and almost illegible, it bore the remnants of the creature's former name. He shook his head. "He's supposed to be dead."

  "Wait," Kaylee said. "he's a Citizen?"

  "Not any longer," Michaels said. "He was murdered three months ago. By him." He pointed at Dunlevy, who rolled off the table, rubbing his neck.

  Rick frowned gazing at the clearly not-dead, not-quite man. "Murdered? I hate to ask the obvious, but-"

  Michaels shook his head. "Technology outside of our understanding, containing remarkable regenerative properties. Marcus' body was burned beyond recognition when he was killed. He must have been regenerated based upon set programming. Although," Michaels smirked, "I am curious to know how effective the brain tissue and memory regeneration fared. Marcus?"

  Malcolm whirled around, and his slanted eyes glowered at Michaels.

  "I rremmember…" He turned towards Dunlevy, who gasped and tried to run again. Malcolm's arm shot out and grabbed him by the collar; he dragged the man back towards him. "Youu…killed him. You killed Marcuss…"

  Michaels smirked again. "What do you know, Arthur, it turns out your sins have come to revisit you. And so soon."

  Dunlevy put his hands together, pleading. "Marcus, please! I-I had no other choice. If Lange or Wresh had discovered what you were working on they would have taken it for themselves and killed you anyway!"

  Malcolm lashed out his arm and struck Dunlevy, clipping him on the side of the head. Dunlevy dropped to the ground with a pathetic cry and threw up his arms to fend off further attacks. "Please, Marcus!" he screamed. "Have mercy!"

  A guttural growl escaped from the strange creature, and he hissed. "Marrcuss iss dead…" He reached down towards Dunlevy.

  The front lobby doors shattered inward, flinging shrapnel in a wide arc into the room. Michaels ran for cover behind a column, bumping into Kaylee and dragging them both to the ground behind it as debris pelted the room. Malcolm was propelled into the desk by the force of the blast. His midsection rammed into the hard marble top, and he crumpled to the ground next to Dunlevy, who screeched as shards of the metal door sliced into his body. People clad in black rushed in after the explosion, firing weapons.

  One of Rick's men flanking Malcolm to the left nearest to the door fell immediately either from the concussion or shrapnel, propelled to the ground with fatal wounds. The other was cut down by the subsequent fire, no cover within reach. Rick himself dove behind the desk, deafening sounds of gunfire roaring in the room. Jonathon rolled behind the pillar off to Rick's left, looking at his boss to signal return fire. Rick held up a halting hand, mouthing 'wait.'

  There's no point in trying, we'd just get killed, Rick thought. His mind raced, trying desp
erately to summon up some idea to get out of the mess. Next to him on the floor was still the body of the receptionist he'd killed earlier. The glassy stare continued to observe the ceiling, and his skin had turned an ashy tone.

  "Cease fire!" he heard a yell, off to his right. "Please, don't shoot!"

  Rick glanced over. Without poking his head out too far, he saw the Citizen Michaels guy cowering behind the pillar, shouting and waving his arm out. Kaylee was facedown in front of him, unmoving. Rick felt a shiver and a twinge of dread, but he didn't see any blood or injury. God, please be just faking, he hoped.