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Mendez swayed a little as he stood. His head still rang from the strike his captain had delivered in their fight before he had been caged.
“Steady now,” Harding said, sounding amused.
Mendez closed his eyes in an effort to regain his equilibrium. He had been dragged roughly from the makeshift prison not long after he’d been unceremoniously deposited there, still weak from the fight he’d had with his captain. Mendez grimaced. Fight was a generous description. It had been a beating. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a bare, small white room. It looked vaguely familiar. On one side a wall of monitors showed security footage from various parts of the facility. A large window overlooked another, brightly lit room. Mendez tensed as he saw Lilith in the centre of that room, on her knees, her head bowed. A row of seats faced the window. Dr Liu was sitting on one, bound and gagged like a kidnap victim. His dark, tearful eyes stared up, pleading for a rescue Mendez could not offer.
Harding waited for Mendez to get his bearings, leaning against a guardrail before the window. Standing off to the side was a small, lean man with receding pale brown hair and severe features. He wore a lab coat that hung oddly on his slender frame. Reinhert, Mendez guessed. Both remained silent until Mendez finally met Harding’s gaze. Harding broke the silence.
“You’d have saved yourself a lot of pain if you’d just come quietly. You’re lucky I didn’t break your jaw.”
Mendez shook his head. “Is that what happened to you, Harding? You just… complied?”
Shaking his head and smiling softly, Harding turned to look out of the observation window. Grindel pushed Mendez forward until he was standing beside the captain.
“Do you remember that time in —”
“Save the remembrances, Harding,” Mendez snapped. “You’ve poisoned the memories. Every single one.”
Harding sighed.
“It told you he was a waste of time,” Reinhert said.
“Be reasonable, Oliver,” Harding said, his tone mild. “We’re being offered an incredible chance here. We can make history, you and I. The first step to a perfect, unified humanity.”
“You don’t actually buy that shit do you?” Mendez asked. “Look around you, Harding. Does any of this look like perfection to you?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t understand how you, of all people, could abandon everything. And for what? Bigger biceps? Come the fuck on!”
Harding turned, lashing out with a hard strike into Mendez’ gut. Unprepared, Mendez fell to his hands and knees, gasping for the air that was suddenly forced out of his lungs.
“You have no idea,” Harding hissed in his ear. “You think yourself so much better? You are nothing. A flea. I am offering the chance to be so much more.”
“I would rather die,” Mendez growled back, still breathless.
Harding snorted. He stood and looked down at Mendez. He shook his head in a mockery of sadness. “That can be arranged.”
Two pairs of clawed hands lifted Mendez by his arms and dragged him from the room. Mendez didn’t bother to struggle. He was still trying to catch his breath.
He was dragged down dark corridors and a set of stairs before he heard the familiar hiss of a door opening. Bright white light flooded his vision, making his eyes sting. He was thrown unceremoniously onto the ground and the door hissed shut behind him. New hands touched him, but these were smaller, warm and gentle.
Mendez groaned and opened his eyes, looking up at Lilith.
“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” he greeted sardonically with a lop-sided grin. Lilith offered him a small smile. Only now did Mendez notice that she was bleeding. He frowned and reached up to the wound on her shoulder. She clasped his fingers in her hand before he could touch.
“They’re making you fight?” Mendez guessed. Lilith smiled sadly.
“Jesus Christ. Help me up.”
Lilith took Mendez’ hand and pulled him to his feet.
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There was no mistaking it. This was where the maniac had made camp. Sebastian stood at the edge of a small clearing which sat on a precipice, overlooking the valley below. He scanned the area. It looked abandoned, probably not more than a day ago. A lean-to sat at the eastern side of the clearing, near the enormous trunk of a tree whose canopy stretched too far up for Sebastian to admire at present. Beside it stood several crates of weapons and munitions. They were stacked so that a small shelf of the top protruded from the crates above. In the centre, a semi-circle of lit candles flickered in the dimming light of late afternoon.
Ignoring the buzz of biting insects swarming around his sweat-soaked brow, Sebastian cautiously approached. He froze, the hairs on his arms standing up when he stopped before the crates. It was a shrine; or as close to one as Sebastian had ever seen. The candles flickered around a small container that held a small amount of pale ash — incense from the smell of it. Beneath it sat a photograph.
“What the fuuuuuck?” Agent Connors breathed.
His hands shaking, he reached for the photo and picked it up. It was him, his first day of training at Tumnus, an unwitting hostage of The Department. He had been much more slender then, just a reed of a boy, but little else had changed. He had the same hair, the same lost, haunted look in his eyes. Across the image, written in blood, were the words Hello, Connors.
A shadow moved in the reflection of the photo. Uttering a curse, Sebastian twisted to the side and leant back to avoid… nothing.
Scowling, Sebastian straightened and turned to face Berkley, who stood impassively at the edge of the clearing, watching his last remaining student with a serene expression on his face.
There was a knife… there should have been a throwing knife.
Shaking his head to clear it of the nonsensical thought, Sebastian addressed his former instructor.
“Berkley.”
“Hello, pretty boy.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth. He hated being called that. Berkley had used it to try and embarrass Sebastian; the implication that his supposed beauty somehow interfered with his intelligence or his abilities. There was something in Berkley’s tone now, however, that gave Sebastian pause. There had been no malice, no vitriol behind the greeting. It sounded almost… warm.
Confused, Sebastian stared at his quarry. “I’m here to take you in,” he said at length.
Berkley laughed softly. “You’re not taking anyone in,” he said. It should have sounded like a threat, but the man’s tone was conversational.
Sebastian growled and raised his weapon, pointing it at Berkley. “Sir,” he said, firmly, “I’m here on behalf of the —”
“You’re not, you know.”
Sebastian’s scowl deepened. Smiling softly, Berkley walked to the northern edge of the clearing and gazed out over the jungle canopy of the valley below. The sun sank, the light becoming golden, and the shadows turning purple.
After a pause, Sebastian lowered his weapon and joined him. After a moment of peaceable silence, Sebastian said, “This isn’t right.”
“No?”
“This isn’t how it went down.” He shook his head, then raised his hand to clutch the side of it. A throbbing headache was forming.
“And how did it go down, pretty boy?”
“Don’t call me that,” Sebastian snapped. He paused, trying to recall what he seemed to know. “We… fought.” He turned and stared into the centre of the clearing where the fight had taken place. “I tried to shoot, but you were too fast. You broke my rifle over your knee. So we resorted to knives. You were good, as always. But…” Despite himself and the animosity he felt for the man at his side, he felt his chest squeeze. “A lucky opening. I got you in the end. Stabbed. Between the fourth and fifth rib.”
“That’s right,” Berkley said, still gazing over the valley. “It was good fight.”
“It was. I thought it would be my last. It almost was.”
“And yet you pulled through.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian muttered darkly. It hadn’t been him. If he’d had the option, he’d have let himself die; his last act being killing the man who had made him such an effective close combat specialist; such a skilled murderer. But the monster in him, the strange, twisted thing that lived in the unexplored regions of his psyche wouldn’t let him do it. It fought and clawed and struggled for its own life, dragging its host back from oblivion.
“And now?” Berkley asked.
Sebastian turned to him. “Now?” Even as the word left his mouth, memories of his fight with Harding slammed into him; hard enough to make him stumble back half a step. Straightening, Agent Connors placed a hand on his chest. There should be a sizable hole there now. Not here, in what must be his purgatory, but in the real world.
“I’m dead,” he said quietly.
“Are you?”
Sebastian looked up, irrationally annoyed at the contrary tone of Berkely’s gentle question.
“I was shot point blank in the chest. No one survives that. I’m pretty sure I’m dead.”
“If you’re dead, how are you imagining all this?”
Sebastian stared at Berkley. His instructor turned to him, the golden light striking his strawberry blond hair, creating an ethereal glow that made the man look downright angelic. The agent had no words. His usual ability for dry retorts had abandoned him.
“Your mission isn’t over, Agent Connors.”
“No,” Sebastian said. He took a step back and shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’ve done my job to the best of my ability. I was killed. I’m dead. I’m fucking dead. There’s nothing left for me to do. It’s time for me to rest.”
“There are civilians awaiting rescue, Connors.”
This pulled Sebastian up short. He opened his mouth to argue, but choked on the words. He wanted to say that they were not his responsibility anymore. He wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair. Had he not done enough? Did he not deserve to rest? The monster in him growled, demanding he deny the truth of his death, demanding he seek those trapped civilians and save them.
“Come here, Agent.”
Silent, Sebastian moved once again to Berkley’s side. For a moment they faced each other and then, in an uncharacteristic display of affection, Berkley placed his enormous, gnarled hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“It’s not yet time to sleep. You need to complete your mission.” Using nothing more than his fatherly touch, Berkley moved Sebastian until he faced the valley.
“I can’t,” Sebastian whispered. He closed his eyes. He was just so very tired. He opened his eyes and repeated, almost pleading, “I can’t.”
“If anyone can, Connors, it’s you. I’m proud of you,” he said, smiling gently. His grin broadened into something bright and cheeky. “Must’ve been some medicine.” He pushed, sending Agent Connors over the edge of the precipice.
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Sebastian gasped, drawing a deep, savage breath into aching lungs. He blinked, realising that his eyes were dry. They must have been open for some time. He blinked and breathed until he could no longer feel grit in his eyes and his lungs no longer burned for want of air.
Remaining quiet, Sebastian moved aching limbs, bringing his hands close to push himself off the floor. He sat a moment before searching his person. He still wore his tactical equipment. There was a hole in the front of his vest. It was still damp with his blood. Of the wound beneath it, however, there was little more than a small, round scar.
For a moment Sebastian just sat, his hand on his chest where the hole should be, staring out into nothing, trying to recall some memory that might explain how he was sat there, very much alive, after being blasted point blank in the chest. He scowled. There had been three injections, he recalled through the haze of his recent memories. The anti-viral, the medicine that was injected directly into the viral growth. But there had been another one; cold, injected into the muscle of his arm. Could that be the source of his new healing abilities? There was no time to ponder on it. Innocent people were in trouble. Something deep in his chest stirred. That beast of his had awoken. There were people in distress. He had the means to help them.
Of Lilith, Mendez and her father, Sebastian could find nothing in his surrounds that indicated their death. That meant they were likely alive. Were that true it meant they were being kept alive; probably to become experiments. The monster in Sebastian growled. They needed rescue, too.
He turned his mind back to the civilians. Each pocket of survivors he had managed to contact were hunkered down, waiting for his word, waiting for a rescue he had promised. He wouldn’t let them die here. He wouldn’t break his promise. Not this time. The monster shifted, and Sebastian felt it lend strength to his leaden limbs. Sighing, he rested the back of his head against the steel wall behind him.
“Yeah,” he whispered to the monster that lived in him. “I agree.”
Taking a deep breath, Sebastian struggled to his feet, using the wall as a support. He reached up instinctively to his fighting knife and found the sheath empty. A jolt ran through him. His knife.
“That fucker took my knife.”
Some things simply could not be forgiven. Snarling, Sebastian tottered forward, finding his stride quickly. He checked his equipment. He still wore the comms unit from the Department. He tested it.
“Mel, you there?”
Silence answered him. This could mean one of two things: either the equipment was wrecked in the fight or he was too far underground for it to make a difference. It didn’t matter. He’d been without support before now. The mission parameters had not changed. Bending to retrieve the weapons he had lost, Agent Connors moved like a panther down the hall. He and his monster uniting in a common goal for the first time.
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