by T. C. Edge
He didn’t answer immediately, but sent his eyes zipping quickly to the sky. Ragan followed them, and found Remus floating up there, sent forth by Chloe.
“Cute toy,” the young man said, smiling. “I’ve never seen a drone like that before…”
Was that…sarcasm?
“Quit your stalling,” grunted Maddox, looming a little closer. The length of his tether wasn’t as generous as Ragan’s. “You know about the MSA facility? How?”
Ragan was getting a bad feeling. There was something very wrong about this young man. Something…off.
But surely he couldn’t be…one of them, could he?
The man opened his lips, as if set to answer, before his eyes flicked to Ragan’s left. His brows tightened up a bit as Ragan turned and found Chloe stepping forward.
No, marching forward, her rifle lifted and ready to fire, finger all but pulling on the trigger.
“Get down!” she said, voice ringing out over the quiet.
And then, without warning, she fired a shot, right at the stranger’s head.
The bullet snapped, cracking the air, echoing across the open plains. Ragan turned immediately back around again, to find the stranger unharmed, unhit.
He’d cocked his head to one side just in time, avoiding the bullet, his grin seeming to have grown wider.
In a burst of speed, and incredible strength, he swept forwards, arms coming from around his back with a grinding, rip of metal. He took Ragan up in his arms, one hand gripping at his rifle and pulling it from his grasp, the other grabbing at Ragan’s neck. He held him there, Ragan’s back to the youth’s chest, his fingers closed so tight to his throat Ragan felt they might just crush his windpipe.
He glanced down at the man’s hand and saw that his wrist was still fastened in a single cuff. He had actually managed to tear the handcuffs apart, breaking the bond between them.
Impossible…
Within no more than a split second, the stranger had dodged a bullet, torn his cuffs, and taken Ragan into a chokehold. The others - Tanner, Maddox, and Chloe - had no time to react to all this, before Ragan was locked in place, blocking their line of fire.
Only now did Chloe call out, offering explanation for her sudden attack.
“He’s one of them!” she shouted. “He’s a synthetic!”
The news caused Tanner and Maddox to gasp softly, lungs emptying.
“Let him go!” Chloe went on. “Let him go now!”
She stepped forward, undaunted, though the young man - the young synthetic - merely turned Ragan’s body a little further towards her, blocking her line of sight.
“Hold it right there, Miss Phantom,” he said, impassively. “No sudden movements now. I mean you no harm.”
“You know my name?” Chloe bristled.
Ragan felt the man’s breath on his neck, laughing.
“Of course. Everyone knows your name.”
“He’s one of them?” grumbled Maddox, glancing over at Chloe. “How did you…”
“Remus,” Chloe said. “My drone.”
It required no explanation for Ragan, or Tanner, though it probably didn’t clear things up completely for Maddox. Remus, Ragan knew, would have been sent up there to scan the man. The results of that swift analysis had clearly been incriminating, exposing his true identity.
“He’s not normal…inside,” Chloe said, eyes narrow, rifle steady. “Now…let him go!” she growled again, dangerous.
Ragan heard the man chuckle lightly behind him. He tried to draw a breath, though the youth’s fingers were too tightly gripped to allow for easy airflow. He seemed to notice Ragan’s discomfort, easing up his grip. A long breath poured into Ragan’s lungs, flooding like water into a parched riverbed.
“I will let him go,” the man said carefully, “once you’ve lowered your weapons. If I wanted to come here and kill you, I’d have done so already. As I said, I am a friend. Now drop your weapons, and let’s talk.”
Ragan saw the others exchange glances, reluctant to relinquish their arms. After several long moments, however, Tanner gradually moved his rifle to his side. Chloe, seeing this, followed suit. Captain Maddox took a few extra moments, before snorting, his breath puffing in the cool air, and lowering the barrel of his gun.
“On the ground please,” said the man. “Toss them away.”
Another round of hesitations eventually ended in them obeying the instruction. Rifles were dropped to the earth, landing with soft thuds on the grass. Slowly, Ragan felt the fingers around his neck - synthetic fingers - begin to loosen further, before finally slipping away.
He fled as soon as he could, spinning off and turning on the young man. The synthetic stood there, surveying his four opponents, Ragan’s rifle in his grasp. He inspected it a moment, before frowning, as if questioning something. Then, with a sudden crack, he brought the rifle down on his knee, snapping it in half.
The two shards were flung either side of him, hands outstretched, cuffs still hanging around his wrists. It was a clear enough display, and sent a clear enough message - don’t try anything, because you won’t get the best of me.
Ragan noted movement behind the man, and lifted his eyes to find Nadia reappearing from the gloom. She came running with her rifle to her side, then quickly hauled it to her shoulder as she saw what was going on.
Ragan raised a hand.
“It’s all right, Nadia,” he said. “Lower your weapon.”
The stranger turned.
“Drop your weapon,” he corrected. “We’re all friends here.”
Nadia looked to Ragan for approval. He nodded, and she placed her rifle - reluctantly - on the ground.
“Find anything?” Ragan asked.
She shook her head, bewildered.
“Nothing. Er, what did I miss? I heard a gunshot…” Her eyes turned to the two halves of the rifle, lying in the grass either side of the stranger.
“He’s one of them,” hissed Chloe.
“Them?”
“A synthetic.”
Nadia’s eyes flashed wide, flicking between her companions. She looked down to her gun again, as if wishing to grab it, though didn’t make the move.
“It’s crisp out here,” came the young man’s voice, breath appearing as mist. He pulled his arms around himself, performing an artificial shudder. “Shall we get inside?”
He began walking towards the jets, entirely casual, as if just strolling lazily through the park. A handsome smile developed on his face, working around Ragan and his companions. They all stood, dumbfounded, not knowing exactly what to do.
Pick up their weapons, try to kill him? No, that would merely inspire a response, and he’d made it quite clear already that they were no match for him. Ragan’s mind turned back to the earlier chase through the Black House, to the man who’d just kept on coming, rebuffing all their attempts to stop or slow him. If this synthetic was the same - was he, in fact, the very same man? - they’d do well to stay calm and hear him out.
That seemed their only option at this point.
Ragan turned to his allies, gesturing for them to let the man through, though steer him towards the sparrow, rather than the falcon, where President Rashmore and the others were currently concealed. Ragan moved into step behind, Nadia hurrying up to join him.
“What the hell happened?” she hissed. “I’m gone two minutes, and…”
“It’s fine, Nadia,” Ragan said. “Everything’s…fine.”
“Fine! He’s a damn synthetic! He’ll kill us all soon as he gets the chance.”
Ragan stopped, holding back, as the man sauntered towards the sparrow, climbing aboard as Tanner, Maddox, and Chloe watched on anxious, though mystified by this sudden turn.
“He’s had a chance already,” Ragan said. “He could have taken us all out several times by now if he wanted. No…I think he really is here to talk.”
“About what?” hissed Nadia.
Ragan looked on, drawing a breath.
“He mentioned destroy
ing the facility before,” he said.
“Why! He’s a synthetic!”
Ragan shook his head. He didn’t know why.
But he was eager to find out.
111
Mikel stood inside a jet that was familiar to him.
No, it wasn’t the falcon that he’d spent several days bound up in with Ragan and his crew for company. It was another jet, an aircraft he’d seen only that very morning, when he’d attacked the mountain base in Colorado. The one that Colonel Slattery had used to escape. Right now, Mikel guessed, the man was in the falcon, parked next door.
He learned something else, something rather exciting, a moment later; the President himself was there too. He heard the whisper from Ragan’s voice, issued quietly to Tanner across the room. Likely, they’d have thought it impossible for Mikel to hear.
Previously, that might have been the case. Now, the word impossible had stretched out, adopting broad new boundaries.
“Go inform the President of what’s happening,” Ragan whispered, a good thirty feet away, lips all but touching Tanner’s ear. “And get the falcon ready to leave…just in case.”
Tanner drew back, looking like he wanted to object, but relented after a moment’s thought.
Thought was hard for the man, Mikel mused, trying not to smile too obviously. Clifton Tanner was dense as a boulder, his mind blunt as a well worn axe.
Tanner nodded eventually, though didn’t speak, and moved back towards the exit. Mikel watched on as he stepped down into the night, feeling conflicted by what he saw. Yes, the scarring on Tanner’s face was fairly prominent, and he had lost an eye, but he wasn’t exactly the grotesque monster that Mikel had intended when he’d torn that face apart. He’d evidently been stitched up quite well, his nanites doing the rest.
It was…disappointing to see, though not really of much concern. Mikel’s mind had switched to a certain extent, his desire to see this group destroyed, feasted on, murdered and maimed of less interest to him now.
In a way, he rather enjoyed seeing them all again, still doing battle, still fighting the good fight. Of course, he always considered himself superior to them in his nano-vamp form, but now any fight between them wouldn’t even be a challenge.
I’ve outgrown them, Mikel thought, regarding Ragan, Chloe, and Nadia as they conferred briefly in a huddle across the jet’s interior.
It was a strangely sombre thought.
He didn’t know the other man, though he appeared to be a Panther. Once, Mikel would have been intoxicated by the scents in this room, his urge to feed impossible to ignore. Now, there was…nothing. Nothing there at all.
There was no denying, however, that he did feel excited by this entire affair, if not by a craving for nanites. He’d expected, or at least hoped, to find Hunt out here, imagining that, perhaps, it was he to whom Wexley had sent the data upload. To find not only Hunt, but his entire crew here, however, was far more than Mikel could have asked for.
He watched them, making sure to keep that smile of his from soaring too high, keen to conceal his true identity from them for as long as possible. Yes, they’d figured out he was a synthetic quickly enough - he’d expected that - but beyond that, they appeared to have no idea that it was actually Mikel, their great enemy, lurking within this new shell.
He felt a thrill at that thought, though continued to wait patiently, wondering when he might come out with the grand reveal…
Not for a while, he warned himself, rebuking. Priority one is to destroy the facility. Don’t jeopardise that, Mikel.
He performed a slight nod, agreeing with his internal monologue, and blinked to find the others stepping towards him. Their eyes were all cast with a mixture of nerves and intrigue, not quite sure what to make of the situation.
Really, Mikel wasn’t entirely sure himself. He was winging it somewhat, he had to admit, the end goal clear enough, but the means of getting there…well, rather more obscure.
Ragan stepped forward, regarding Mikel with a narrow, curious, glare. No one had attempted to restrain him again, or even searched his person - not that they’d find anything; he’d discarded Wexley’s tracker in the nearby woods. Still, it was a clear enough sign that they were fully aware of his capabilities, and had agreed that a fight wouldn’t serve them.
That gave Mikel plenty of power. It was an intoxicating feeling.
“What is your name?” Ragan asked him, standing with his typically stiff posture.
Name, Mikel thought. What to call myself?
“Cal,” he said, voice flat. It was the first name, for some reason, that came to mind.
“Cal?” Ragan repeated.
“Well, Calvin, really. But my friends call me Cal. So, Cal. We are friends here, Ragan.”
Ragan’s eyes narrowed.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes, you’re almost as famous as Miss Phantom now,” said Mikel.
“Was I among your targets at the CID?” Ragan asked, frowning.
“Yes,” Mikel said.
“And…you were part of that strike team?”
Mikel nodded.
“Is Commander Wexley dead?”
Mikel nodded again.
“Did you…kill him?” Ragan asked.
His voice was growing in intensity with each new delivery. Mikel noticed the Panther stiffen to one side.
This time, Mikel shook his head. He saw no need to antagonise them by revealing that particular truth.
“And why, exactly, are you here?” Ragan asked, taking a breath. “I find it hard to believe that you’d wish to destroy the very facility where you were…created. Where your consciousness is stored. Who exactly are you? A spy?”
Yes, Mikel thought. A spy. I rather like that.
He nodded.
A murmur spilled from several mouths, questions rising on lips. Ragan lifted his hand, silencing those behind him.
“Who are you working for?” he asked.
They were growing more curious, this lot. More…eager.
Mikel studied them, one by one, a name flourishing in his head. Yes, he thought. Perfect.
“I…,” he started, delaying. He looked around the group for effect.
“If we’re to trust you, Cal,” Ragan said, leaning forward - the way he spoke the name made it evidently clear he knew it was a fake - “then you’re going to have to give us the full truth.”
He went silent, waiting. Mikel let the moment draw itself out, pushing the boundaries, luring them all in. He had them in the palm of his hand.
“A woman,” he finally said, “named Martha Mitchell.”
Several gasps filtered softly into the room. Nadia and Chloe shared a look at the back. Ragan’s eyes flared wider, then returned to normal, as if hiding the reaction. The Panther merely cocked a brow, the name clearly not meaning quite so much to him.
But to the others…yes, it meant a lot.
“Martha Mitchell,” Ragan repeated, his words a whisper. “Martha Mitchell is your employer? Martha Mitchell wants to destroy the facility?”
Mikel nodded, keeping his expression balanced, though he wanted to grin widely at all of this. The pieces were clicking together so nicely in his head. This might actually work…
“I assume, of course, that you’re aware that Martha Mitchell was the woman who sourced Professor Phantom’s research, and procured it for the MSA?” asked Ragan.
“Of course.”
“Then why, exactly, would she now seek to destroy it?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Ragan,” said Mikel.
Ragan went silent for a moment, thinking. His eyes stayed on Mikel, though dulled over for a second or two, before sharpening again.
“She did this for her daughter,” he said eventually, voice distant. “She never wanted the rest of all of this.”
“No, she didn’t,” said Mikel, his voice holding a calm authority, as if he really knew what he was talking about. Truthfully, this was something of a long shot, though he had faith
it would actually work. He’d got a strong sense back at the facility that Martha’s heart wasn’t in all of this. That her daughter was truly her only motivation.
And, if it fails? he asked himself. Well, no matter, I’ll just kill them all instead…
“And now Martha wants to make up for it?” asked Chloe from the back, stepping forwards. “Was this her plan all along? To steal the data, save her daughter, and then bring the facility down?”
Mikel looked over to her, nodding.
“Yes, exactly,” he said. “I have worked for her for a while, and she oversaw my procedure at the facility.” Well, that much was true, at least. “She was never committed to President Chase’s cause.”
“And you?” Chloe asked, bright blue eyes narrow and searching, reading him. “You said you were part of the strike team at the CID.”
“Yes, to maintain my cover, and the illusion that I was loyal.”
“But won’t they wonder why you’re not with them now?”
Damn. Good question.
“They will…consider me dead,” Mikel said, thinking fast. “Martha herself made sure I was a part of the team that struck at the CID. My orders were to seek help, ensure the location of the facility became known.”
“How did you find us out here?” This question came from Nadia, stepping closer as well. They were all looming in now, the questions coming quickly. Mikel had to slow this down or his stack of cards might crumble.
“I…tracked a unique code,” he said. “Linking to one of your wrist interfaces…”
Ragan sent a sharp glare at the Panther. So, it was his interface that Wexley sent the data upload to…
“You tracked a code?” said Chloe. “How did you get the code? What did you use to track it?” Her frown deepened. “And why would come here, anyway? Couldn’t you just send the coordinates of the facility’s location to the different governments, wait for them to strike?”
Her frown was deepening, the queries becoming difficult to bat away, like a baseball hitter beset by a dozen pitchers…
“Um…” he began, brain searching for answers.
Oddly, Ragan brought an end to the barrage, turning to Chloe to calm her tongue. He looked to his companions, one by one.