by Byrd, Daniel
“Die beste Verteidigung ist ein guter Angriff.”
“I don't know what the hell you just said, but sounds like fighting words,” Ra’Shaad threatened. “Sounds like I get to make some smoking holes.”
“Captain!” Maynard shouted in their ears. “The hospital is ahead! We have to act now!”
Davenport could make out the lights of the helipad. It was now or never. “Weapons free! Engage! Engage!”
“Jaguar, engaging!”
“Ninja, engaging!”
“Mutter, engaging.”
“Loudmouth, engaging!”
All four cried out, “Fox Two!” A barrage of missiles zoomed through the air between both squadrons. The sky lit up with explosions as the German squadron was engulfed in an inferno. Davenport didn't even bother to look for members of the Martin-Baker Fan Club. His eyes were trying to see through the rain of metal and flames for any signs of a lucky bastard who may have kept their wings after that storm of firepower. There it was. One plane was still airborne, trailing smoke and fire from the back, and losing altitude.
“Loudmouth, Fox Two!”
The last two Sidewinders were set loose on the prey. They weaved through the falling debris and sliced through the dark of night, carving a pathway to destruction. Davenport held his breath as they met their target, and the bird with clipped wings was now a fireball plunging from the sky. The light allowed him to discern something skyrocket from the blaze.
“Rest in peace.”
The German captain’s words clung to Davenport’s mind as Ra’Shaad shouted in his ears.
“Ah, shit! He dropped them before the plane went down! They're in fucking free fall!”
Davenport came to his senses. “How many?!”
“Two, sir!” Ra’Shaad responded. Davenport began to devise the dumbest idea in his head. What the fuck, he thought.
“Chase those fucking bombs! Shoot them out of the sky!”
“Sir, why though?!” Ra’Shaad argued.
“Captain!” Maynard shouted. “We’d risk hitting the hospital!”
He was right, but it was a matter of minimizing the damage at this point. Davenport realized he was out of missiles. “Fuck! Here goes something!” He threw the nose of the plane down and began a dive after the bombs. They weren’t even visible to his eyes, but the radar was picking up two objects. “Not on my fucking watch!”
The cover to the gun opened up on the F-15, and Davenport let all hell loose with the Vulcan. Within just a few seconds’ burst he’d expended all nine-hundred and forty rounds, and nothing happened.
“Fuck!”
***
“Stevens! Come on out!”
Ethan decided he had to answer for his sins. Nothing he could do now would make any of this better. Everyone in here was going to die by their hands, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change that. Hands shaking, he pushed himself up from the bed and began to walk into the hallway, when a concussive blast knocked him to the floor. He couldn’t get to his feet before the ceiling above began to collapse on top of him, and all was engulfed in flames.
***
That was a complete failure. The plane was still in a dive, and the hospital was coming up fast.
“Goddammit!” He pulled back on the control stick in a desperate attempt to level out before striking the building, but the explosions came before then. The plane rocked, and alarms started going off. Fuel pressure was gone, and the left wing was billowing smoke.
“Captain!” his entire crew cried out for him as he reached between his legs and grabbed the handle. Luck was on his side as the canopy blew out, and seconds later he was sailing up into the air over fire and flames as the plane streaked off to the south. The others flew by overhead and began to turn back. The parachute deployed, and Davenport was left drifting over the smoke and fire below.
“Captain!” Ra’Shaad shouted over the radio. “Can you hear me?!”
“I’m okay, Ninja…but the hospital…”
“When you get to the ground, find that fucker and beat his ass.”
Encouraging as the words were to his anger, Davenport forgot them almost immediately when the screams from below filled the air. He could see people spilling out of the building, and some figures limp on the ground as embers cascaded down upon the scene. It was the most hellish snow he’d ever seen, and it was all because he was too late. It was all his fault.
Chapter Twenty-Five - The Devil in the Details
Hamilton had made sure to awaken early, but then again early was subjective when you really didn't sleep much in the first place. Eventually he would just give out and sleep for days at a time, but that depended on how into his work he was. Still, after the events of the day before and the mental stress his own mind was putting him through, he slept pretty well nevertheless for three hours. At the moment he was the only person in the lab, which meant he had free reign on the music selection. That would have been the case had the lab not been wired to its own dedicated server instead of allowing open Internet access. There went his good mood.
No shutting me up this time.
“No, there isn't,” he relented. He didn't even have a smoke to spare himself.
Given any thought to the procedure last night? Oh, who am I kidding; you don't have to answer that question because I already know. Seriously, I didn't expect there to be someone like that.
Indeed, Hamilton hadn't expected it either, but there was no denying that Ruthven was a conscious deadman. He'd considered the possibility himself, and that kid who escorted him to Berlin mentioned someone else like it, but assumed that the sheer pain from the body shutting down would drive someone insane anyway. Ruthven appeared to be functioning rather well for a man who had been dead for quite some time.
Even Julia wasn't in that good of shape.
“Right. Still, it doesn't make sense. So much of him should be much worse. His eyes didn't appear to be deteriorating.”
Contacts and dye used in the eye? Then again that doesn't take care of his vision. No blood flow to the eye means being more blind than even you'll be in a couple of years.
“Well after the procedure he was taken to the freezer in the corner to preserve the body itself.”
Wouldn't explain his eyesight. Either he's very good at listening…well, they say hearing is the last thing to go. He did have a lot of escorts though…I’d say he's blind.
“Even I don't understand how he is capable of being practically alive, but his body is being cared for. I wonder just how long he's actually been dead. Underneath those bandages he's a decaying monstrosity.”
Why don't you ask him? What's honestly ever stopped you from doing anything?
Hamilton chuckled as he looked through Tuefel’s documents. “You're not wrong. Well in Tuefel’s notes on Julia here he mentions reinforcing her skeletal structure.”
Would the body need that? Technically the muscles are the issue. You know how durable bones are, even after death.
Hamilton stopped. “Are you…helping me?”
Hey, this is interesting. You and I both like a mystery.
“And a mystery this is. How do you suppose his brain is functioning enough, let alone the entire central nervous system?”
“Evan,” a voice to his right said, “I explained that to you back at the asylum.”
Hamilton rolled his eyes before turning his head to Henry King. Henry shrugged.
“Of course,” Hamilton replied, “how could I forget the horrors you all committed?”
“Evan, we've had this discussion.”
Hamilton grunted and went back to studying the work of the the demon. “We did, and I still stand by what I said. You were all idiots, and look at what you've done.”
“You were a part of that, you imbecile.” Hamilton didn't bother giving his attention to Edward, but the voice sounded like it uttered the next lines right into his ear. “Besides, are you implying that she was an idiot as well?”
“Moriarty, I would suggest no
t speaking to me, unless you would like me to test whether or not a figment of my imagination can be killed.”
Edward laughed behind his back, but Hamilton was too focused on the monitor to care.
“I did say you deserved to be in that institution, Evan, and not me,” King reminded him.
Hamilton gritted his teeth. “Don't call me that.”
“Why do you hate your name so much?” King inquired. Hamilton slammed his fists on the metal table, knocking over a few instruments.
“Because the only people to call me that are all dead! All of you! You were the only people to call me by my first name, and it only ever reminds me of how much I hate all of you!”
A softer voice spoke up. “Evan, that's not true.”
Hamilton looked to his right where Julia stood, white dress and as lovely as he remembered her from before Washington. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face. “I want to be left alone. Why is that so hard to understand?”
Yet another familiar yet unwelcome voice replied to his left. “Because you're missing the important details, Evan.” Hamilton shot a glare at Dr. Frank Tuefel, who was standing feet away with his hands behind his back, leaning forward as he inspected the screen. “Look more closely.”
Hamilton leaned forward and squinted, but there was nothing he hadn't already seen. Chemical makeups of the virus and equations that determined the rate of mutation filled the screen. Hamilton didn't really understand it all, and Tuefel was dead and yet still mocking him.
“Please, enlighten me, oh great Demon of Chemistry.”
Tuefel chuckled. “I cannot tell you what you should know.”
“Just fuck off and let me work. Isn't this what you wanted?”
Tuefel frowned and shook his head, but didn't answer the question. Hamilton turned and looked at the rest of the group. It was odd seeing all of Project Second Fall in the same room once again, but nothing near comforting. The expressions they wore were of disappointment. The only one that really hurt him was Julia’s.
“Remember, Evan,” Tuefel told him, “you doomed us all when you killed me.”
“You're only saying what I remember. I can't know what you mean if you're not the real you, and you're not. I don't know what the fuck any of you are, but none of you are real. You can't help me, and you sure as hell can’t change my mind, so leave!”
King stepped forward. “Hamilton, listen-”
“No! You listen!” Hamilton stepped up to Frank, only inches from jabbing his finger into something that may not have even been there. “I dealt with you bastards enough when I was on the team, and then again three months ago! Do you want to know why you're all dead? It's because I was right! You were all deranged fools for thinking you could get away with your shit, but I made it my mission to stop you, and not out of the kindness of my heart.” He eyed Tuefel. “I did it because I wanted to destroy everything you worked for! After seeing what you did to her,” Hamilton motioned to Julia as he continued his rant, “I felt much more than obligated! You took from me, so I took back! She was the only one who didn't deserve any of this, and that's because you manipulated her into being your puppet! You lied to us! You brought us down with you! Your stupid dream of ending war only ignited something far worse than humanity could even brace itself for! Project Preservation was nearly a failure, and now the world is falling to pieces because they don't have anything like it!” Hamilton and Tuefel stared each other down as Hamilton worked to compose himself. He finally spoke again once he could think clearly. “Frank, I didn't want to correct your mistakes. I'm not here to be a fucking hero. I'm here because I want to make sure I crush your legacy. It's nothing but a twisted vision of yours that went too far, and anyone that respects that deserves to die just as you three did.” Hamilton motioned to Edward and King too. “I don't want to be here. I want to be back home, in a lab doing whatever the hell I want to do, but instead I'm supposed to fix all of the world’s goddamn problems because idiots like Houseman think they have a hold over me. Here's the thing; I do things my way. You and no one else controls me. You're all just fakes that my mind is creating, right? Why, I don't really know, but I know that you're not here to help. If I'm supposed to feel any sense of guilt, then point me in the right direction, because I'm fucking lost. You're monsters. I'm not one of you. I'm better. Honestly, it's because of people like you that I wouldn't lean too far from just letting the world die, but if it means that you win in the end, then I can't do that.”
A silence stole over the room and held time still for what seemed like an eternity. Tuefel nodded, and turned to walk away from the group. Edward followed, sneering over his shoulder while King backed away from the spot. Julia gave Hamilton a grave expression before she too left. Hamilton turned his back, oblivious to how they would disappear, and apathetic. He was alone again.
Buddy, you've got a lot of problems up here.
Hamilton went back to his work on Tuefel’s notes. “The only problem I have is that I'm being distracted. I just need to bide some time while I figure out how to contact Houseman.”
Still think it's a good idea?
“It's all we have left at the moment.”
***
Dr. Hayter stopped just outside of the air lock to the lab, curious as to why the two mercenaries guarding the entrance were standing there nervously.
“What are you two doing?”
One of them turned to him, obvious confusion written across his face. “Sir, we've heard shouting coming from inside of there for the past few minutes.”
Sam squinted at the pair and approached the door. “What kind of shouting?”
“It sounds like someone is really angry with some people in there, but Dr. Hamilton is the only occupant.”
Dr. Hayter opened the door and stepped into the air lock. “Next time, alert me or Abzu. We'd hate for something to be bothering any of you. If you're that uncomfortable, I'd suggest requesting reassignment. The man is dangerous, after all.”
The mercs backed away as Dr. Hayter stepped into the air lock, the vents hissing around him. This was going to be an interesting morning.
***
Hamilton was still glued to the monitor when he heard the hissing of the air lock. The door to the lab opened, and Dr. Hayter stepped inside.
“Good morning, Dr. Hamilton.”
Hamilton nodded in his head in that direction, but refused to look away. “Same to you.”
“I hope you don't mind me asking, but the guards cowering outside heard a lot of noise from in here. Is everything okay?”
Want to tell the nice doctor about your mental breakdown?
Hamilton growled under his breath before addressing Hayter. “I can assure you that whatever they heard was probably just me angrily trying to decipher the work here. I'm an anatomist. These formulas may as well be ancient hieroglyphics.”
“Ah, the work of Dr. Frank Tuefel.” Hayter paced over towards the table and began cleaning the mess Hamilton had made in his tantrum. “I have to thank you for bringing it. With his notes we can finally reverse engineer his greatest work and move on with the plans.”
Hamilton peered over the monitor. “Reverse engineer? Are you not trying to replicate it in its entirety? What plans are you referring to, if I may ask?”
Hayter finished his cleaning before standing up straight and grinning at his new colleague. “That's for der Nekromant to explain. For now, I'm just here to aid you in any way I can.”
“Then you can aid me by telling me more about what this place is. Until then, I'm not sure I feel like trying to work on any of this.”
Hayter stood his ground and began chewing on his lip, when another voice answered Hamilton.
“It is…the fruit of many years…of labor.”
The raspy words came from Hamilton's left. He was surprised to see Ruthven standing and moving on his own after what he'd been through the previous evening. He'd been stuffed into a freezer in the back corner after they'd worked on his body.
H
ayter stepped around the table and put his hands together. “Ah, Ruthven! Good to see you among the living once more!”
“Save it,” Ruthven wheezed. He stepped closer to Hamilton, but bumped into a rolling table that went sliding across the floor before tipping over and spilling surgical equipment everywhere. Hayter moved to aid him, but Ruthven shoved him away while his other hand went to his head. He covered his eyes as he took another shaky step. “Dr. Hamilton, perhaps I can tell you what you want to know?”
The bandages weren't replaced on Ruthven’s chest, and the sight of the numerous stitches that had been undone and redone countless times actually sickened Hamilton. His eyes were glassy and blank, leading Hamilton to assume to the green before were in fact contacts after all. The man was a walking abomination. “What can you tell me?”
Besides how the fuck you're alive?
“I can tell you why you are here today.”
Hamilton scoffed at that. “I know why I'm here. You only wanted the data on Tuefel’s research, and now that you have it I'm no longer really of use. I can't solve it, after all. I'm honestly surprised you didn't just kill me in Berlin.”
Ruthven made a noise that barely passed as laughter and spoke slowly. “I understand your concern, but rest assured that you will not die. At least, not before I do. You have a long road ahead of you, Hamilton, and I think it is about time you learned the truth behind everything.”
Hayter stepped in and held a hand up. “Wait! Are you sure this is the time to be doing this?”
Ruthven kept his eyes concealed as he spoke. “Sam, I am going to be gone soon. It is time to groom my successor while I still can. He deserves to know, because when he does I am sure he will understand it all.”
Hayter still seemed concerned, but finally shed a smile and held his arms to Hamilton, as if offering him to the deadman. “He’s all yours.”
Hamilton was still finding it hard to stare at Ruthven and not vomit, and that was made more difficult as the remains of a man approached him. He must have had a lot to say, because Ruthven took a very deep breath. “Dr. Hamilton, you are not a dumb man by any means. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I grow tired of so many names over the years. Sometimes one seems much more suitable than even my own.” Ruthven gave a slight bow. “I am Vladimir Rhyzov, and I am the reason you are even standing here today.”