by T. C. Edge
So, as Commander Wexley asked the question, Ragan quickly checked the scanner. Anything containing Chloe’s unique signature would now match up and appear red. So far, there was nothing. He saw only a sea of blue.
“Nothing yet, sir,” he said. “I’m going to have to make a judgement call here, and venture further into the…” He stopped abruptly, his attention caught.
“Ragan. Ragan, are you still there?”
Ragan didn’t answer immediately. Through the fog ahead, away near some distant dome, sprouting from the earth at the top of a great earthscraper below, the tiniest dot of red was beginning to bloom.
“Ragan! What’s going on over there? Answer me, goddamnit!”
The red signature grew stronger, drawing a smile onto Ragan’s lips.
“Sir, tell Doc to narrow his search for fixers and forgers to the northwest of my position,” he said.
There was a short delay, then Wexley spoke.
“You have a hit?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Ragan. “Looks like Miss Phantom headed for the centre of the city.”
Derik and Matt had had enough.
The last visit was sufficient to sever their interest in all of this entirely. Right now, weary and hungry and in dire need of their beds, the last thing they wanted to deal with with a damn insurance agent.
The only mercy was that the agent had marched in quickly and marched out just as fast. He’d swept through the door, spilled out a bunch of jargon that neither Derik nor Matt truly understood, and then left midway through a sentence.
They had, however, caught the gist of it. It sounded as though a review of security was going to be undertaken in the building. If a person of interest with a profile as hot as Miss Phantom’s could live here undetected for so long, something was surely up.
Whatever the case, it hardly mattered to them, aside from the likelihood that their workload would probably increase. And their salary would be unlikely to follow.
As the agent left the room, therefore, Derik and Matt engaged in a short grumbling contest, as if trying to outdo each other with their moaning. The day hadn’t gone as they’d wanted, ever since all the excitement of the previous night. Best case scenario was that Chloe would have been caught, and the two men would now be rich. And if that was the best, this was about the worst.
Or so they thought.
“Well, you never know,” said Derik, trying to instil a final shred of cheer into the day. “She may be caught still. You heard what the reporter said.”
“You heard, did you?” said Matt sardonically. “It didn’t look like you were listening. I’d say leering. Yeah, that’s the right word.”
Derik’s chubby cheeks flushed with anger.
“You serious? I’m trying to lighten things up and you start having a go?”
Matt shrugged. It appeared his tolerance for bullshit had been whittled away over the course of the many painful hours spent in this hot, dingy old office.
“Just kidding,” he managed to offer. “But yeah, I’m yet to be convinced we’re gonna see a dime of that reward money. It’s been, what, three years they’ve been after her? And zip. Nada. The girl’s gone, Derik. Best we can do is try to squeeze some dollars from our story. But, of course, we’ve already spilled the beans. Should have kept something back…”
The realisation hit Derik like a sledgehammer to the gut. His face took on a deeper shade of crimson.
“Damnit, you’re right,” he said. “It’s these reporters swarming the place. All their damn questions. We’ve just told our whole story for free…”
He grumbled. Matt did too. And still, it wasn’t even midday.
For a moment more, they continued their discussion, acting as both a cathartic release and a brainstorming session to see if they might be able to seek some silver lining from all of this.
In the end, they decided that they had more to tell of their story, Matt in particular, and that they’d only reveal it to the press for a price. The footage of Chloe’s escape, after all, would spread through the media, yet the actual exchange with Matt outside her room was something only he was aware of. He’d spoken about it all day, but there was scope for some added embellishment, even at this hour.
“You could spice it up a bit,” suggested Derik. “Add some drama. The press won’t even care if you’re, you know, lying or not. If you sell it, we can get something out of this debacle.”
Matt wasn’t quite as comfortable with the concept, but tentatively went along with the idea. And as it was being cemented, the door knocked once more.
The two men shared a final, scheming, look.
“Remember,” whispered Derik harshly, narrowing his eyes. “We keep our lips sealed until we strike a deal, OK?” Matt nodded. Then Derik turned to the door, and brightened his tone. “Come in,” he said.
The door opened up slowly, and the edges of the narrow corridor outside came into view, blocked off by a tall figure dressed in a suit as black as ink and with a long black cloak atop it. His hair matched their colour, dark as tar and sleekly arranged upon his head in a slicked-back style. He stepped inside and shut the door as slowly as he’d opened it. When he turned, he’d added a thin, unnatural smile to his pale visage.
Both Derik and Matt were silent as he came. They shared a glance, but didn’t speak. He looked nothing like those who’d come before. He certainly didn’t appear as a member of the press.
Derik, being the senior figure of the two security guards, decided to take the lead. As the man paced gently forward, Derik’s voice croaked out into the room, catching in his throat for some unknown reason.
“Are you…are you with the press?” he asked, sinking a little back into his chair.
The man’s eyes stayed on his for a disconcerting moment, and didn’t blink. Then he drew his smile a little higher and nodded, his words smooth and almost etherial.
“I am,” he said, his tone soft and light. “And I’m sure you have quite a tale to tell.”
Derik glanced at Matt once more.
“Um, yes, we do,” he said. “Which outlet are you with?”
“Outlet?” asked the tall man.
“Er, yes. Media outlet? Are you with the LA Post? The Times?”
It was a test. Both had come and gone already.
“Oh…no,” whispered the man. “I’m not with anyone you’d know.”
He stepped forward, closer to the table the two men sat behind. A sweep of cool air seemed to frost the place, sending a little shudder through the guards’ bodies. Both, though weary, were now alert.
Something just felt wrong.
“So, who are you, then?” asked Derik weakly, his voice seeming to quell inside him.
The man leaned in a little more. He was drawing closer to Matt in particular. His tongue slithered from between his pale lips, and his nostrils flared a touch as his eyes fluttered with a strange joy.
“Oh, I can smell her,” came his ghostly voice. “She’s strong on you.” He looked directly at Matt. “So very strong…”
Matt recoiled.
“I don’t…understand,” he murmured. “What are you talking about?”
The man pulled back again, stretching to his full height and drawing a long breath into his lungs. He blew it out slowly, and shook his head.
“Oh, my friend, you don’t need to understand. You don’t need to do anything.” He smiled.
And a silence fell.
It ended only when Derik’s voice wobbled back into the office.
“OK, I think that’s quite enough,” he said, trying to be assertive. “I don’t know how you got in here, but I don’t think you’re welcome.” He stood on short, shaking legs, as if to make his point. Yet neither his words, nor his actions, had any impact upon this strange, eerie man.
Their guest merely stood where he was, his dark, brooding eyes refusing to blink even once. They went to Derik and showed nothing, really, except a profound sense of confidence, of ease. It was a show of control and domi
nance that had Derik’s stance breaking down once more, his body falling back to his seat.
The man smiled again.
“You wish to know who I am?” came his cold whisper. “OK, I’ll indulge you. There’s no harm in doing so. My name is Mikel…and I am the last person you will ever see.”
Derik’s heart tightened, and his eyes coiled up. Matt, already breathing shallowly, drew back in his chair. Both men felt the urge to call out, but didn’t. They couldn’t. Something stayed their voices, something eternal and unnatural. Some force that held their tongues at bay.
Mikel watched on with pleasure at the sight. It was a reaction he always enjoyed. He could see it in their eyes. The fear. The panic. He cherished such moments.
So he drew it out, feeding on their terror, gently sliding a thin hand into his long black cloak. Drawing it back out, a knife came too, cruel and jagged and clasped between his long fingers. Derik and Matt’s eyes swam with terror as it was brandished, glinting under the light above.
He smiled once more, his eyes turning black. And along his top line of teeth, a change took place, two fangs growing and extending from his canines.
Matt’s eyes swelled further, and he shook his head.
“You’re…you’re a nano-vamp….” he managed to croak.
Mikel’s eyes stuck fast to the young man.
“Just a silly name,” he whispered. “Nothing but a silly name…”
He stepped forward, and Matt tried to scream and call out. He couldn’t. He was under Mikel’s spell now, locked down by the wonders in his augmented body, by the strange paralysing energy he could emit. It was a rare gift given by his creators, by the scientists who thought his kind up.
Yet he had more gifts.
Many more.
He took another pace, and saw the eyes of the men before him look only at his teeth. A crude gimmick, he thought, but an effective one too…
His tongue slipped over them, feeling the little openings in their ends. The passage for his true purpose, and the reason for his creation. Like the others, he’d been designed to hunt nanobot soldiers. And this crude mechanism was what kept him strong, feeding on the nanites by drawing their blood. Without it, he’d grow weak. It was all the motivation he ever needed to do what he was made for.
Oh, his creators had thought of everything…
Licking the fangs, his smile grew larger, and he reached up and slid a long finger over them.
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “These aren’t for you. They’re used only for special people. You have no need to fear them.”
He dipped his eyes and then lifted them again. And with them, came his knife, rising up before him.
“But this,” he went on, turning the blade to catch the light, “you do have to fear. It was unfortunate for you two to have spotted Miss Phantom. As we all know, she never leaves witnesses.”
His smile grew into a light cackle, and the odd paralysis upon Derik and Matt’s bodies eased up to allow them a shiver.
Mikel had reached the table. He began working around its edge, behind their backs.
“You see, gentlemen,” he hissed, moving beyond their sight. “That bounty on the Phantom’s head was always going to be mine. I’m afraid to say, you are loose ends. And loose ends are…unwanted.”
With those words, the knife came forward from behind. And in his panic, Derik began mumbling how he’d never even seen the girl. How it was Matt who would claim the reward for himself. How only his younger colleague needed to die.
His mumble was hardly legible, but Mikel seemed to understand.
“Well, that may be true,” he whispered, leaning down and hissing into Derik’s ear, “but it will not save you. Oh, Derik, what a coward you are. And that is a quality I so hate.”
His knife reached around and touched the skin of Derik’s neck, pressing and cutting and drawing blood. And with a little more pressure, and a sudden slash, a fountain of the stuff came gushing forth.
Mikel enjoyed the smell of it, even without the nanites within. He shut his eyes and drew in the odour, Derik’s body briefly writhing in his chair before gradually going still. Then, turning his gaze upon Matt, a frown dropped over Mikel’s eyes, and he let out a breath of disappointment.
The younger man appeared to have passed out in terror, denying Mikel the joy of his killing.
“Such a shame,” he whispered, stepping to Matt’s side. His eyes then worked up towards the door. “But I can delay no further.”
Seconds later, he’d seen to Matt’s end as well, the unconscious man now never to wake again. And as the floor of that office began to fill with blood, Mikel walked nonchalantly towards the door, opened it up, and slipped back out into the corridor.
12
“Chloe, wake up, there’s something you need to see.”
It was unusual for Chloe to be caught off-guard, even when sleeping. Remus was ever watchful, hovering above her, or simply scanning the environment from some cosy place, tucked up by her body.
Today, he seemed to have taken the day off, suggesting that they both felt quite safe there in Dax’s basement, despite the mighty manhunt for her going on outside.
“What…what’s going on?” she croaked, her nanites swift to engage and bring her straight back to full consciousness. It was another of her many augmentations that took her somewhere beyond normal human function. She could be in a deep sleep one minute, and wide awake a split second later, facing whatever threat might be coming her way.
Right now, there was no threat. Only the spectacled face of Dax, shaking her awake from the run down old bed in his back room.
“I’ve gotta show you something,” he said sternly. “And I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
She was up immediately, having slept fully dressed, flinging her rucksack on her back and following Dax into his office. Remus hovered after her, fluttering like a bird. Both were ready to go at a moment’s notice.
“So, first off,” began Dax, “I’ve got your identity all sorted out.” He gestured to his bottle of liquor, now almost empty. “It was a long night, as you can tell, but you’re all set to go.”
Chloe reached out and gave Dax a short hug. She wasn’t one for such things normally - after all, when you spend so much time alone, moments of even minor intimacy can start to feel unnatural - but on this occasion she did it without thinking.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said, trying to stress her gratitude by doubling up on the words. “You’re a life saver, Dax.”
Dax seemed equally surprised by the gesture as Chloe was.
“Er, no problem,” he mumbled, inching from her grip.
She let him go and smiled awkwardly.
“So what’s my new name?”
“Felicity Randall,” said Dax. “Born in San Fran with dual citizenship to both the NDSA and the WSA, so you can move around pretty freely. If you want to head to the Mid-States, you shouldn’t have much trouble with that either. I assume you’ll be going as far from here as possible?”
“Hadn’t really got that far to be honest,” admitted Chloe. “I just need to get out of LA first, then I’ll figure something out. So, Felicity. I…I like it, Dax. Thanks.”
“Well, thank the auto name generator,” smiled Dax. “He did all the work, really. But, anyway, I’ve got all the documents you’ll need right here,” he added, grabbing an envelope from the table and handing it to her. “It’s got your backstory, previous addresses, working history, I.D. cards, all the usual stuff. You know the drill - learn it off by heart, and you’ll be fine. For a while, at least.”
“For a while,” nodded Chloe. “Nothing lasts forever, does it Dax?”
“No…but what would be the fun in that?”
Chloe managed a small smile.
“OK, so what is it you needed to show me?”
“Ah, yes,” said Dax, moving quickly over to one of his many computer monitors.
Chloe followed him as he swiftly brought up a security feed of the lob
by at Sub-Tower 12. Within the atrium, a host of people were milling about.
He fast-forwarded through the footage for a few seconds before stopping at a certain frame. A few taps of his fingers brought the focus in on one particular man, zooming in on his face. Dax stepped a little to the side to allow Chloe a better look.
“Recognise him?” he asked.
Chloe noted the firm jaw, bright blue eyes, and perpetually resolute expression.
“Face rings a bell,” she said, peering in. “I think I had a run-in with him once before.”
“Well, it must have been a close one,” said Dax. “His name’s Ragan Hunt, and he’s a tracker working for the Central Intelligence Division over in New York. I managed to run a search and found a little about his operational history. The guy’s a former commando with the Panther Force, and now works deep cover. His main remit for the last couple of years has been in hunting you down, Chloe.”
“Panther Force,” mumbled Chloe. “They’re nanobot soldiers…”
“Right. And Ragan’s a particularly skilled one, extensively augmented like yourself.”
“But…you said he works in New York? How is he over here? Are the governments working together on this or something?”
“No, nothing like that. They’re still ultra competitive in getting to you first. I assume the CID got wind of your sighting and Agent Hunt was sent straight here to catch your scent. If I can configure a new identity for you overnight, those guys at the CID can do the same for their own agents, and much quicker I’d imagine. Anyway, I don’t know precisely what his capabilities are, but this guy’s got a great reputation as a tracker. The CID have some truly advanced tech at their disposal, so you really ought to get moving as soon as you can.”
As he spoke, he moved the feed on again, changing to another camera on the outside of the building. It showed Ragan Hunt in remote conversation with someone, wandering about as he spoke. Then, suddenly, he set his sights towards the northwest, before moving off at a brisk pace into the smog.