I feel like a new man.
I smile, feeling hopeful for once that I can actually make it out of this mess alive. Without half my body feeling numb and dead, my thoughts return to a more stable state as the emotions I was holding back since the torture began now finally have space in my brain to be processed.
I push myself off the floor to enter a standing position. Although I’m too tall to stand up completely straight, being on my feet again without constantly battling the overwhelming desire to crumble to the floor is refreshing.
With the short burst of euphoria, my confidence skyrockets. That is until a massive explosion knocks my body against one of the walls inside the box. A pain rockets through my back as the wind is knocked out of me. I am unable to tell due to the darkness what is happening, but with the gunfire and loud noises outside not letting up, I know I am still in the thick of it.
This box is a death trap.
I need to get out.
I do the first obvious thing one would do when trying to escape a closed box, which is opening the door. The second I jab my body against the same wall of the crate that locked behind me, my skinny body ricochets off it. The next obvious thing to do in my mind is punching the goddam life out of the lock until it bursts off.
I punch the thing once. Then a second time. Then a third time, until I am confident my knuckles are bleeding. No doubt the wooden structure will permanently scar my knuckles, but the pain of the neurons in my fingers pleading me to stop screwing them over is nothing compared to the pain of having my legs split in half.
Great job, Sam. You failed to not hurt yourself yet again.
I feel like slapping myself when I finally realize what I should have done from the very beginning. I tap the Chimera Cube, not knowing in the slightest what I want it to produce but knowing every solution in the world lies inside of it.
“Impossible knife.” I’ve been thinking so fast that when the words echo off the walls of the box, I finally know what first popped into my mind. With the Chimera Cube being the only real asset I have to take down Li, I have gotten into the habit of being reactionary. Not thinking through my words until after I have said them, and not thinking about what impact the new objects I am birthing into the world will have until after they are permanent members of the universe.
I double-tap the cube and grab the knife from the air. Its blade glows even in the absence of any light reflecting off it. If I mess up and let the blade touch my skin, it will easily slice down to my bone. But with the sticky, yet smooth grip of the knife wrapped firmly by my hand, there is no chance that I screw this up.
Li will never get to me.
At least that’s what I tell myself. Deep down inside I don’t believe it. Deep down inside I am scared shitless, but if I pretend to be confident and unbeatable, maybe that will actually come true.
I zip the Chimera Cube into its bag and put on my wingsuit and bullet-proof armor. The zipper of the wingsuit uncomfortably rubs against my nose, but having some slight discomfort and a weird-looking rash on my face when this thing is off is the least of my worries. I need to get the hell out of this box and somehow use the gliding abilities of this wingsuit to land safely on the ground.
Once I’m there, I have no idea what I will do.
That’s a problem for a later version of me. First I have to make sure a slightly older version of my battered self exists.
All right, time to jump.
After too many traumatic experiences to count that have involved me falling, my fear of heights is gradually decreasing. But as I put the straps of the backpack around my shoulders and dig the edge of the impossible knife into the crate, the familiar fervent horde of butterflies eats away at my insides.
The crate jolts again midair. I have to twist my wrist to ensure that the knife still stays on its path slicing along the perimeter of the crate. My body slams into the wall of the box, my left shoulder dealing with the brunt of the impact. The drone above suddenly feels like it has stopped moving, and I can’t help but wonder whether this is the moment President Li has been waiting for.
The claws may be readying to finally let go of the box.
This might be the moment we free-fall.
In one smooth motion I slice down through the wooden crate, to the side, and then back up to carve a makeshift five-foot-tall triangle into the crate. For the first time in my life I feel like one of those weed-loving, cat-obsessed painters who gets high and waves their paintbrush around aimlessly, supposedly creating abstract art. Okay, maybe that is not a specific kind of person, but that was exactly what one of my mom’s old best friends was like when I would visit her house as a kid.
I smile as I imagine the darkness in front of me instead being one of her paintings full of shades of orange, red, and purple that are supposed to form a sunset but instead bleed together into an ugly brown. I’m not kidding when I say they always looked like shit.
Imagining that gives me some sort of sick satisfaction when I drop the knife, letting the handle ping against the floor, and kick the crate as hard as I can. The ultra-thin line of light that protrudes from the cut the impossible knife made into the crate turns into a massive hole as the light from the moon floods in.
A powerful blast of wind blows against my face as the world outside of this death box comes into view. With the thin black fabric coating my eyes, the world feels like it has a permanent black and white filter applied to it.
I expect to see the openness of the night sky and the lights of the city and wispy clouds hanging above it far below.
Instead, the entire skyline of Beijing is in view in front of me and the clouds still hover thousands of feet above me. I step towards the edge to attempt and jump out of the crate and land safely on the ground. But only a moment later shockwaves are sent through my body as the box lands on a slab of cement.
I would jump out now, but the people waiting to welcome me don’t seem friendly. A half a dozen machine guns are pointed at me only feet away from my head, the soldiers decked out in camouflage protective gear from head to toe not being shy about aggressively stepping into the crate.
It’s too late for me to command the Chimera Cube to somehow get me out of this mess alive. They don’t even have to tell me to put my hands up before two people grab both my arms and pin them behind my back.
They won.
Chapter 5
“You fucking bastard.” I shake my head, my tone somewhere between a sassy, disgruntled teen and disappointed spouse.
I should have suspected this.
I should have known they would torture me for hours just for shits and giggles. I zip the Chimera Cube back into my bag, the wave of green light that coursed over the cube seconds ago fading as Jake and Ai grab the syringes from the air. They are sprawled out on the metal grating walkway in the sewer, both of their bodies looking on the verge of passing out from the endless amounts of pain they have had to endure over the last few hours.
Good thing the Chimera Cube's internal wound repair will heal them instantly.
“We thought you were one of the operatives,” Drew says and smiles, showing off his chipped front teeth and thin film of yellow plaque that coats his teeth. Just seeing his gray, wispy hair and wrinkles sunken into his skin sends chills down my spine.
I never thought I would see this man again, and now that I have to stare into his cold, dark eyes, part of me can’t help but want to run.
Jake and Ai stab the syringes into their arms at the same time, both of them wearing the same exact clothes that we left for Gyurtog in.
Jake drops the syringe onto the floor as an expression of relief overwhelms his face. Ai soon follows, her hand grazing over her leg as the syringe rolls off her lap and slides through the grating down into the rapidly moving waters below.
“You don’t tie up people you are paying to work for you into a corner and force them to stare down at the ground without moving for hours on end.” As soon as I say the words, I realize that that’s exactly wha
t he does. This isn’t a normal corporation, and they certainly don’t have to follow any regulations.
This is the Syndicate of Truth—they do whatever the fuck they want.
“You’re right.” Drew reaches into his pocket and pulls out a mint-sized tablet as both Jake and Ai clumsily stand up like a baby moving from a crawl to a standing position to take their first steps. Their bodies are in shock, and from the bewildered expression on Ai's face, she is as terrified as she is happy.
I watch carefully as Drew places the tablet in his mouth and swallows it with his spit in one gulp. From the satisfied expression that crosses his face after he swallows the tablet, thinking that it is a mint would be wishful thinking.
In the brief pause that takes place during Drew’s “medication” time, Ai stares at him, the same disgusted and fearful expression that has been plastered on her face the entire day more intense than ever when staring at this man. Meanwhile, Justin looks down at the metal grating below, pretending not to recognize what is happening, while Jake’s mind is already lost examining the graffiti that coats the walls.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I spit back at him. My conscience is warning me to be more cautious with this man. After all, the Syndicate chose to save my life even after killing Charles. I know they saw every stab wound I drove into his body, and I know that they won’t let anyone get away with killing one of their brothers.
I am still waiting for my punishment.
“I’m sorry for the mishap.” Drew speaks slowly, emphasizing each syllable. Goose bumps line every inch of my skin despite the hot air that infests the sewer causing beads of sweat to trickle down the sides of my face.
It turns out that the siege upon the capitol building wasn’t one of President Li’s messed-up plans. It was all the working of the Syndicate of Truth, especially Drew Fallon, who is Jake’s uncle and the brother of Bradley Pickering—the only other man who knew about the Chimera Cube. Bradley was the man my father killed in fear that he would use the cube for his own personal gain to the detriment of the masses.
And his brother is the man who saved me, Jake, and Ai from being horrifically killed by President Li. He worked in coordination with the rén in Hong Kong, and the council of the Syndicate to devise a last-ditch backup plan just in case things went to shit with Charles’s plan to explode the entire capitol building.
That’s why all the other masked men, along with Justin and Drew, went on an entirely different aircraft from Gyurtog to Beijing. They were preparing to gather together the resources needed to break into the capitol building, kill everyone in sight inside, and then escort us safely to their position atop one of the residential buildings in the slums of Beijing.
The reason none of the buildings went up in flames is because Drew recruited those same members of the rén to operate anti-aircraft missiles that they continuously shot at the Chinese military to keep them distracted and unable to shoot down our boxes floating through the night sky, disguised to look exactly like delivery drones shipping a package to a penthouse on Billionaire’s Row.
Of course, no one warned us about this plan ahead of time, which made a traumatic experience that much more terrible as alien abduction somehow became the sweet alternative that entered my mind in that screwed-up scenario.
We eventually made it safely to the aircraft, but it didn’t become apparent to me until we had traveled past the skyline of Beijing and deep out into the suburbs that the group of people forcing me to strip out of my bullet-proof armor and wingsuit and holding up a gun to my head were hired by the Syndicate.
And it took hours more of enduring their painful punches to my gut and attempts at confiscating my bag from me until we arrived at our destination: a random empty lot in the middle of downtown Hong Kong. And once I exited the aircraft, guns still held to my head, things got even more confusing upon seeing the scaffolding of the half-completed building in the lot next to us and the foundation for another building only feet away from us, the entire lot covered in dirt and weeds and surrounded by skyscrapers that are in shambles.
No one was there to welcome us upon landing in Hong Kong, the beeps of the car horns several blocks away the closest thing to a hello that we got upon touching down.
The masked figures covered in protective gear forced me forward to a manhole cemented into the ground. I had no option but to climb down a flimsy, rust-covered metal ladder and descend into the blackness that had no visible end. Jake and Ai practically fell down the entire way with minimal support coming from the operatives that were tasked with getting us here safely in the first place.
Now, I am at the bottom of that endless dark pit standing on an equally flimsy metal grating with a river of sewage flowing beneath my feet. Justin is holding up a powerful lantern that has enough intensity to light up the dozens of colorful graffiti on the rounded cement walls of the massive sewage tunnel we are in.
In an odd way, being around the shit of tens of thousands of people has a mystical feeling to it. If I ignore the terrible stench that threatens to murder every hair in my nostrils, it is possible to trick myself into thinking that we are standing above a river beneath the Earth surrounded by endless works of art that uniquely tell the story of the human species.
But then once I realize that I’m standing above thousands of gallons of shit rapidly flowing beneath me, any romantic vibe to the tunnel is lost. My mind returns back to reality, away from the horrid visions of the past few hours, and focuses on the three figures standing in front of me.
Justin, Kamala, and Drew—the three members of the Syndicate tasked with ensuring that the Chinese government falls by year’s end.
Drew smiles, his body seeming to siphon energy away from the river of shit and funnel it into himself.
I can’t help but be furious at Drew.
He tried to kill me nearly a dozen times. He almost forced me to kill my father, and then, after failing in that objective, he nearly dangled my body from a helicopter and threw me thousands of feet into the ocean.
And now he is standing in front of me, smiling because he, along with the council of the Syndicate who wanted me dead, decided to save my life.
“That wasn’t a mishap,” I spit back at him. My voice echoes through the tunnel, carrying hundreds of yards through the dark, wide passageway.
“We didn’t know whether you were one of the operatives or not, so we couldn’t take any chances.” Drew steps forward, his voice softer as he pretends to show genuine concern for my plight.
This man has no idea the hell they put me through.
The bruises and scrapes still line my body, and although the Chimera Cube can make those go away in seconds, I won’t let that pain go without payback.
“That is such bullshit. They choked me several times, punched me to the point that I was coughing out blood, and did everything they could to take this away from me.” I hold up my bag in my hands, not afraid to hold it right in his face just to show him the thing I will never let him have.
He knows what’s inside. Everyone does.
And that’s partially due to my own fault because I said exactly what this thing is capable of while they were watching me on video—I know I’m an idiot.
But in the moment, it felt I had to either spill the truth or die.
I chose to reveal the secrets about the Chimera Cube, but I still will never share its powers with anyone but Jake. It’s our mission to continue the legacies of our fathers—not Drew’s and not the Syndicate of Truth.
But I might not be able to live without their help.
I might have to be friends with the devil in order to defeat a man and an empire even worse than this corrupt, power-hungry secret organization of wealthy.
“They didn’t do any of that to me,” Jake says. “Ai and I were in a separate room in the plane the entire time. We had no idea if you made it out alive. But then again we were too busy feeling like we were dying because of what Li did to our legs to get up and investigate.”
“Yeah, I can't even comprehend what is going on right now. Are my legs seriously okay? This can't even be true. This can't be real,” Ai says, glancing suspiciously at Drew. When she looks at me, her eyes seem to peer through me like I'm a ghost. She thought I was dead too. "What is going on and why are we here? I'm starting to feel like everything is just one terrible nightmare." To say she doesn’t trust the situation is an understatement, but I can still see the pale color to her skin. She is in shock after seeing her entire family dead.
She should be dead too. And sometimes being the only one to survive is as much a blessing as it is a curse.
"To answer your concerns, Sam, we had a miscommunication with the people tasked with escorting you here. We told them to torture and kill all the operatives, we were able to communicate with them just in time to let you go because you are a friend of the Syndicate." Kamala speaks up, her thick black hair glowing in the white light reflecting off Justin's lantern. I vaguely remember seeing her at the Syndicate induction ceremony nearly a year ago. She was one of only a handful of females in an organization of five hundred.
It's that way by design, though. The founding brothers never envisioned any women being welcomed into the brotherhood, and over a hundred years later, the ones who are accepted in are welcomed into the Syndicate for a specific purpose.
I can't even imagine why Kamala was sponsored by one of the brothers to join, but if she's here right now, it can't be for anything good.
"I understand," I respond, easily translating what goes unspoken in her statement. What Kamala really means to say is that all the operatives are dead and that I deserve to be dead too. What she means to say is that torturing me for hours was the Syndicate's way of showing me that they are the ones who make the deals around here.
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