PART II
Red Square, Central Moscow
Local time: 0400 hours
Sergeant Adam Staunt, newly appointed commanding officer of the freshly assembled elite group of special ops marines that made up Spectar Task Force 1, surveyed the sleeping city beneath them. The plane swerved in a grand arc, listing heavily as the men aboard made their final preparations for the dive.
Their entry into Russian airspace and direct flight to the Capital had so far gone without incident. An almost impossible fact that defied all military intuition Staunt had gained during his considerable years of service. But a fact nonetheless… Preston wasn’t full of shit after all, he mused, before pulling on his own dive gear and strapping on his helmet. The atmospheric chill at 500ft was unleashed into the plane’s fuselage as the rear of the plane hydraulically opened- like a mouth gaping. Two more aircraft were revealed, drifting in tandem behind the lead jet.
Efficiently and automatically, Staunt secured the payload to his chest- for the role of bearing the awkward burden to the ground he trusted only himself. The payload sagged unhelpfully and he had to haul it to the ramp in an undignified manner. As he had done over and over in the training exercises, he waited precisely 4 minutes and 30 seconds after the penultimate soldier to debark before plummeting into the dark void himself. The pre-emptive team of fifteen troops would have ample time to securing a perimeter at the landing site, allowing Staunt to arrive safely with the important package. Then the remaining two teams would chute in and secure the surrounding area.
Of course, none of this would be possible if, against all the odds, Preston hadn’t bought them a ticket into the Russian Capital. Normally, with a TF this size, any direct attempt to infiltrate the city would be suicide.
Staunt tugged at his cord, and effortlessly guided his chute onto the fluorescent X recently sprayed on the ground. In his night-vis, the wet paint still gleamed. Unbuckling the unconscious bulk of Jackson, he allowed him to be carried off by two of the marines.
‘Alright men,’ his voice hissed in the earpiece of every soldier present, and in the air above. ‘Let’s wrap this up and get back home! ASAP!’
The pin glided over the pages of the atlas, slowly but surely homing in on Greene’s location. Lara clutched her daughter’s hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Anya’s face, oblivious to the pages relentlessly turning, one after another.
Abruptly the page-turning ceased, the motion of the pin becoming more direct, more meaningful... Anton exclaimed. ‘What is it?’ Danielle said quickly.
‘She’s… She’s right here, in Moscow.’
They froze in anticipation, as Anya’s hand guided the pin to her direct location in the city. It hovered, millimetres from the surface, before plunging into the paper. When a breathless Anya removed her small hand, Anton saw the typeset beneath read: Kremlin Building- 1st Office.
‘What? What does it mean?’ Danielle brimmed with impatience, unable to interpret the foreign script.
‘She’s with the President.’ Anton began. ‘It finally makes sense, she’s the one blackmailing him. I knew there had to be reason.’
‘Elan is a powerful telepath,’ Danielle explained. ‘She could easily manipulate anyone, even Titov-’
She was cut off, as behind them Lara let out a frail gasp. ‘Anya…?’
They both spun to see Anya flop weakly into her mother’s arms. ‘What’s happened to her!’ she flashed angrily at Danielle, who stood there dumbly.
‘I…Elan, she…’
‘You never said she was a telepath!’
‘I didn’t know this could happen…’ Danielle stuttered.
Anton took over: ‘This is Greene’s doing, not Danielle’s, Lara. I promise you, I’ll make her undo what she did. But we have to move quickly, she’ll know we’re coming. Any word from Halogen?’
Lara overcame her anxiety for long enough to check her pager. ‘They’re sending operatives to bring us to new HQ. They’ll be here within the hour.’
Anton stood to his full height. ‘You stay with Anya, Fred will keep you both safe.’ Before she could object, he turned to address the teenager: ‘Danielle, can you get us to the Kremlin the way you travelled here?’
Danielle nodded with conviction, holding out her hand. ‘Keep the place in mind,’ she instructed her new ally. Anton just had time to give Lara one last reassuring glance, before they had disappeared in a flash of white.
The Kremlin Building, Central Moscow
No sooner had they materialised in the building, than Anton sharply dragged Danielle into a nearby alcove, clasping his hand firmly over her mouth. The girl just glimpsed the back of a young-looking man in a suit striding swiftly off down the corridor. The Russian left it several moments, before releasing Danielle and emerging from their hiding place. He led them off in the other direction to that of the man they had narrowly avoided.
‘Who was that?’
‘One of the men I supposedly killed,’ Anton grunted. ‘His name’s McArthur. He’s the head of the President’s security, but he’s a double agent. He set me up for the murder of a retired politician, by the name of Korolov.’
Danielle’s shorter legs struggled to keep up with Anton’s superior strides. ‘Why did they want this guy dead?’ She was asking out of more than just mere curiosity. Her recent experiences had inspired a resolve never to let her naivety allow others to manipulate her the way Elan had. With stakes this high, when you don’t know who to trust, every detail matters. Had Anton been privy to these thoughts, he would have wholeheartedly agreed.
‘He was hot on the trail of this conspiracy. They needed Korolov out of the picture without implicating themselves. I foolishly let McArthur con me into believing Korolov had kidnapped Anya.’ After hearing his story, Danielle couldn’t help but feel that fate had surely brought them together. They had both been exploited as pawns, but now it was they who would finally bring the curtain down on this duplicitous plot.
Anton’s unforgiving pace had just slowed sharply. ‘What’s going on?’
He held out his hand, to bring her to a halt. ‘Titov’s office is dead ahead, but there’ll be security. Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve?’
Danielle nodded, full of self-assurance. She grabbed his wrist, smiling. ‘They’ll never see us coming.’
But when they rounded the corner, Anton halted again, rather uncertainly. The huge black-polished doors were completely unmanned. ‘No guards,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Something’s not right…’
Danielle shrugged: ‘Whatever the situation, we’ve got to get Titov away from Elan, right?’
After a moment’s hesitation, the Russian nodded his affirmation. They advanced on the entrance to the office, Danielle laying her free hand upon the gold-plated door handle. She felt the lock resist, but an icy grip conjured from deep within her arsenal saw the entire mechanism freeze over and shatter in seconds. Drawing his trusted 9mm, Anton smashed his boot into newly-made hole in the reinforced wood, and the heavy doors swung open begrudgingly.
He moved into the room, instinctively covering all angles before making for the desk in the centre. The President sat relaxed in his chair, seemingly unperturbed by their intrusion.
‘Mr President, sir,’ he began, in an assured voice. ‘This is difficult to understand, but you are in serious danger. You have to come with us, right now!’
He shook his head: ‘No, no. That won’t do. I have important matters to attend to-’
‘Sir, there’s no time to lose. A dangerous individual in the building wishes you harm.’
Titov chuckled uncharacteristically. ‘I highly doubt anyone here is more of a threat than myself.’ He swivelled his chair casually, getting to his feet purposefully and walking to the window. He stared outside vacantly. ‘You’ve wasted a trip, I’m afraid.’
‘Mr President, I don’t understand-’ Anton’s voice cut out, as his hand shot to his throat. His chest began to heave urgently, lungs fighting to draw in breath that just would not come. Behind him, Danielle winced in panic, rushing to his side. What the hell was going on?
‘Hey! We’re here to protect you!’ she screamed desperately at the figure with his back to her. She flustered helplessly over Anton, as the heavy man staggered to his knees. ‘What’re you doing to him…?’
Her words trailed off, as the supposed President had turned and they locked eyes for the first time. Those irises: bright green. There could be no mistake…
‘Well, Danielle.’ Elan’s words emanated, disguised in the mock voice of the Vladimir Titov. ‘You certainly came further than I expected, but I’m afraid this is where the journey ends for you.’
While she spoke, Anton had gone a deep red colour, his eyes popping and glazing over as his body continued to be starved of oxygen. ‘Whatever your doing, Elan! Stop it now, you’ll kill him!’
‘That’s more or less the idea,’ he- that is, she- laughed ironically. ‘You were a worthy accomplice Danielle. You won’t believe me, but I truly had respect for you. Your heart is in the right place. In another world, we could have been great allies, done great things-’
‘Jacob sent me!’
She had blurted it out, without really thinking. But she saw it had a real impact on Elan, shocking her to speechlessness. Finally, something she had not anticipated…
‘He still loves you, Elan!’ Danielle spoke automatically, the words escaping her mouth almost before she’d thought of them. ‘He doesn’t want this! There’s still good in you, Elan. You don’t have to do this!’
Still dressed as the President, Elan shrugged dismissively. ‘You’re fourteen years too late, Danielle. I know he would hate me for this. But he’s long gone, and he never saw how bad it would become.’ Still there was an uncertainty in her voice, as she looked away ruefully. That split second’s distraction was all Danielle needed, as she cooked up as much telekinetic energy as she could muster and hurled it at her former mentor.
Caught off-guard, Elan was unable to avoid the attack, her stolen body hurtling backwards and crashing through one of the tall windows behind. Almost immediately, a man burst into the room, pistol drawn and ready to fire. But Danielle was ready for him, reversing the trajectory of the bullets. All three hit their target. The man she recognised as McArthur stopped in his tracks, a look of horror in his eyes. As soon as his body hit the hard floor, there came a loud gasp from Anton. He seemed to have recovered his breath, Danielle suddenly registering that the man she had just taken out was the cause of his suffocation.
Quickly, she reached Anton’s side and did her best to help him to his feet. He seemed a little weak-kneed but otherwise okay. ‘We’ve got to move-’
She had just begun to speak, when she caught a vivid flash of white-hot flames in the corner of her eye. Danielle just glimpsed Elan in her true form, eyes full of fury, hovering in the shattered window frame, before she propelled herself and Anton into the nearest wall.
Mayfield Law Firm, Manhattan
The girl hardly looked any older than when Mary had last seen her, during their briefest of encounters, seven years before. Her face was ghostly white, behind the looming barrel of a semi-automatic far too large for her trembling fingers.
‘You…you remember me?’ she stuttered, hesitating.
With great difficulty, Mary managed to shift into a sitting position, wincing at the pain- like glass shards splintering her abdomen. She wasn’t healing- at least, not as fast as usual. ‘I remember you, Hetty. You and your brother.’
‘My brother you left for dead at Harnex!’
‘Actually,’ Mary sighed, ‘I’m the only reason he’s still alive. No need to thank me.’
Hetty steadied her unconvincing grasp of the weapon, fumbling with the safety. She had never fired a gun before today: it was written all over her face. ‘Well, if you know who I am, you’ll know why I have to do this.’
Mary broke Hetty’s fierce stare, gazing past her in a bored manner. ‘Presumably out of some misguided sense of vengeance. You can kill it me if you wish, it won’t change anything. I’m dead either way.’
Hetty quickly disguised her look of confusion. ‘You killed my father!’ Her voice broke with emotion. ‘We were going to be a family again. We were doing great work, we were going to help people!’
Mary went to contest the accusation, but thought the better of it. If this girl had to die, she was better off oblivious to the role her beloved brother had played in their father’s demise. ‘Your sick father only wanted to help himself,’ she said calmly. ‘He was just like Lindet. You think they cooked up that regeneration formula to help people? How do you think I got my ability? Lindet injected me…only after he’d shot me, killing my unborn child-’
‘You’re lying!’
‘I wish I were,’ Mary said solemnly. ‘I was their guinea pig. They were using my blood to heal you father’s…affliction. I’ve seen your file, I know the ability their experiments gave you. As did Lindet…he knew you were the only way they could communicate, and finish the formula. They were just using you Hetty!’
‘No, I…’ Hetty gasped, the pistol shaking uncontrollably in her fragile grasp. ‘You’re twisting it, I know Lindet… I know my own father!’
‘Did Kent know him too?’ Mary retorted. She had grown tired of the confrontation, wishing it to end already ‘Well enough to know the world was a better place without him?’
‘Shut up! I won’t listen to any more of your lies!’ Hetty aimed the gun as best she could, setting the sight on Mary’s forehead. Composing herself, she willed her index finger to squeeze the trigger, just a little further…
CRACK!
The unprovoked burst emanated, not from the pistol, but from a different source. From behind Hetty, who was subsequently propelled into the adjacent wall. The poor girl’s neck was bent at an unforgiving angle, and Mary knew she was dead before she even hit the ground. It saddened her, and she wished she could have done something to prevent it. But she knew, in reality, she had been powerless to stop it.
Elan finally rounded the corner, advancing on feet that barely seemed to graze the floor.
‘Well, Mary. Here we are, at last.’
Her voice was composed as usual, but a look was on her face…a look Mary had never experienced before. It reeked of anger, betrayal…but there was something else too. Fear. She would never have believed it, if not for seeing it with her own eyes. Had things taken a turn? Had her precious plan finally begun to unravel? Witnessing this strong figure, normally so confident and self-assured, desperate and struggling to keep control, just like the rest of them- it sparked a deep satisfaction in Mary.
‘You saw this coming?’ Mary pondered. ‘Then why didn’t you stop me?’
Elan paused. ‘Yes, I saw the painting, like you did. But these things are always open to interpretation. I never truly believed you’d betray me, Mary, you were always so loyal.’
‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Mary said coolly, but her voice was hoarse. She was losing more blood every second. ‘I guess I have a conscience after all.’
Elan’s eyes bulged dangerously. ‘Monica really pulled a number on you. I thought you understood…Mary, this needs to happen. It must! We can’t go on living in fear, the way we have. The world has to change, they must be made to see…’
‘Not like this…’ Ever since Mary had been abandoned by the country she had devoted her life to protecting, she had lost all concept of allegiance. She had only seen the short term benefit in any decision, furthering her own or another’s agenda. But she could now see the short-sightedness of Elan’s plan, the sheer ignorance that motivated this maverick’s sense of purpose. Her self-acclaimed right to “do what needed to be done”.
‘Mary, I’m only going to ask you once.’ Elan conjured up a warning spark of blue-tinged lightning at her fingertips. ‘Where is Spectar? Tell me now!’
The former agent laughed meekly. ‘You really are helpless, aren’t you?’
Elan sank a jolt of electricity into Mary’s gaping bullet wounds. The woman cried out weakly in agony. But when the blue sparks ceased to course through her body, she only shook her head, a delirious grin planted on her features.
Mary, listen to me! I will end you, right here. I will leave you to bleed to death…
Mary laughed again, out loud.
Haven’t you figured it out yet? I don’t care anymore if I die. I should have died years ago…This ability’s been nothing but a terrible weight, keeping me chained in this damn world. Take it! I give it to you willingly. Set me free!
Elan gave no further warning; she stooped and violently clamped her fingers around Mary’s throat. An awful feeling, loss combined with manic dread, spread through her entire being. But, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. And she did feel free. She did feel pain, and it felt…magnificent. It felt natural, like breathing…which was becoming increasingly difficult. Despite the unmistakable feeling of her body, her internal organs, her brain function gradually shutting off…despite all this, Mary felt more alive than ever.
Still gasping for air, Anton struggled to his feet. Screams of both terror and psychotic rage assaulted his eardrums from every direction. The scene of violence and chaos they had barely escaped had been replaced with one of an even more ferocious magnitude. All around them, the streets of an almost unrecognisable city were strewn with overturned cars, their burned-out husks tarred by the unmistakable scorch marks of pyrokinetics. The unleashed elements of ice and earth, conjured by Neo Evolutionaries, punctured the asphalt and not a single ground-floor window in sight remained unbroken.
Anton observed wide-eyed as panicked citizens scrambled through the carnage, desperately seeking safety but completely exposed to the destruction that, like a hurricane, had infiltrated their home. The aerial pictures shown live on the Moscow news channels could not have prepared him for the reality of the situation before him. This was Manhattan, there could be no mistake. But it was a Manhattan like no one could ever have envisaged throughout history. And it had been brought about by a single person…
‘Follow me!'
The voice of Danielle broke through the static of commotion. He let her lead them away from the intersection, all the while ducking and weaving to avoid erratic bolts of electricity and the returning fire of the few NYPD officers who had the will to struggle on in a hopelessly one-sided fight.
They turned a corner to abruptly find themselves at an impasse. Twenty or so armoured police trucks had been stacked up, forming an insurmountable wall across both sidewalk and road. Presumably an attempt to barricade the remaining anti-NEO contingent in from behind. A makeshift pincer move by an alliance of disgruntled NEOs, out to finally oust their lifelong tormentors. On the other side of the blockade he could make out the excited voices of those that lay in wait, poised to bring the mountain of vehicles down in an avalanche of scrap metal upon their enemy.
Danielle tugged at his sleeve once more. ‘Come on, I know another way.’
She ducked into an almost invisible side-street that he certainly wouldn’t have noticed on his own. As he struggled to keep up with her agile young body through the network of back-alleys and courtyards, he got the impression she had grown up in this city, knowing these passages like the back of her hand. Where she was leading them, however, he could only guess. He didn’t ask, knowing it would only slow them down. This time, he was happy to let someone else make the decisions.
They halted briefly at an indistinct fire door of some beat-up old office building. Danielle shook her head, muttering to herself. ‘No one home.’ With barely a second thought, she set off again, at double her previous pace. Anton was obliged to flat-out sprint to keep up at points. After what felt like a mile-stretch of more maze-like alleyways, they seemed to reach their destination: a non-descript apartment complex with the backdoor hanging limply on one hinge, having already been kicked in. Or perhaps, by the look of this neighbourhood, it had been like that for some time.
Warily, Danielle stepped inside, disappearing into the unlit hallway. Unholstering his Gratz, Anton followed her closely behind. They came to a ground-floor apartment, Danielle rapping methodically on the paint-peeled door. Hushed voices emanated from inside, Anton could just make out a few words: ‘Was that the knock?’
‘I…how could anyone know we’re here?’
‘That was the knock, I fucking know it.’
Two voices, as far as he could tell. One male…gruff. The other female, young but authoritative. Danielle rapped the sequence loudly once more. A third voice, just on the other side of the door: ‘We don’t want any trouble, but we have a telekinetic, a distorter and a fucking witch doctor in here. And we’re not afraid to use them!’
‘Chloe? A witch doctor?’ Danielle scoffed in semi-amusement. ‘I guess I must have the wrong floor…’
There was a scuffle inside, the clink of a bolt and chain, and the door was flung open. Almost immediately Danielle was yanked inside, into the arms of a beaming young woman with dark mousy hair and bright eyes brimming with tears. One of the men, mid-twenties perhaps, ushered Anton inside, the door swinging gently shut of its own accord.
‘…we all thought you were dead!’ The woman was clasping Danielle’s small face in her palms, unwilling to let go. ‘I don’t understand…but you’re here, you’re safe. I won’t question the miracle.’
Anton noted the heavy hint of Spanish in her accent, along with her olive-coloured skin. Suddenly, he knew exactly who she was: Chloe Sanchez, ranking member of the militant rebel cell that operated under the moniker of The Firm. Although the American media did a stand-up job burying the numerous exploits of the group, branding them as terrorists and thugs when they could not simply sweep public events under the carpet, Russian intelligence knew all about the true nature of the Firm. They were a pro-NEO rights cell that acted inside and outside of the law…mostly outside admittedly. The Secret Service and Russian military had cooperated many times with factions of the cell during unofficial covert missions on US soil, although they had never been allowed into direct contact with elusive leader of the Firm: Monica Drake.
‘It was no miracle, Chloe.’ Danielle’s eyes were similarly welling up, but she did her best to quell her emotion. ‘I was saved…by Elan Greene.’
Chloe’s face turned pale. ‘Elan?! Are you serious? Does she know you’re here? Danielle, you cannot trust her!’ Both men were suddenly alert, their abilities ready at their fingertips if the need arise to use them.
‘I know that,’ Danielle went on calmly. ‘I learnt it the hard way. There isn’t time to explain everything now, but Elan used me to reverse that chemical-’
‘Spectar? We know she plans to release it Manhattan, I have teams searching as we speak-’
‘No!’ Danielle interjected. ‘Manhattan isn’t her target! She has fooled the government and even you into believing this. But her real target is not even in this country.’ She paused, directing her gaze towards Anton, ‘it’s in his.’
Finally, all three of them seemed to notice Anton’s presence in their hideout. ‘He’s cool,’ Danielle reassured them. ‘He helped me track Elan down in Moscow.’
‘Moscow…’ Chloe uttered, the gears whirring behind her bright electric eyes. ‘Preston’s Task Force… Spectar… Dear god!’ She exclaimed, spinning to face the heavy-set Latin American man who was half-guarding the window. ‘Jesus, Hex! You know what this means.’
He nodded, solemnly, offering no advice. Chloe cursed internally. Monica’s parting words echoed in her mind: ‘Elan Greene is extremely intelligent, armed and dangerous.’ There was no denying it, Elan had fooled them all, even Monica. The fact that her plan had reached the final stages of fruition proved that much. But now that they knew, they could thwart it. Surely there must be a way. If working under the tutelage of Monica had taught her anything, it was that there was always a way.
‘Danielle!’ she held the girl by the shoulders, this time out of urgency. ‘Can you still access Hannah’s ability?’ The girl nodded vigorously. ‘Good, we’re going to need to set up a live feed with the Pentagon.’
Arlington County, Virginia
With growing anticipation, Andrew Preston surveyed the holographic of his detail in Red Square. Triangulated by the still-airborne jets circling the city and transmitted the five thousand miles or more to their location, where it was projected onto the table surface in the centre of the room.
The members of the Defence Council stood around, seeming anxious and erratic. The Secretary himself frequently shot Preston foreboding glances, hissing in his ear aggressively, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Minister,’ when he got the chance. But the Second Minister remained calm. He knew exactly what his plan was and why, so far, it had worked. Half the room had expected the small fleet to be gunned down by anti-aircraft as soon as they entered Russian airspace. When the AAGs had failed to appear, the entire dynamic of the room had undergone a severe shift…in his favour.
‘Area secured and payload in position, sir,’ the voice of Sergeant Staunt emanated from the audio loop of the operations chamber. ‘Operation New Dawn is go. I repeat, New Dawn is go.’
Preston breathed in emphatically, before touching his finger unnecessarily to his ear and saying, ‘Okay, Sergeant. Activate the payload on my command: three, two…’
‘Mister Second Minister, sir!’
A female analyst stood up sharply from her position, and faced him uncertainly. ‘We have an unscheduled caller on Line 3. You may want to take this privately, sir…’
‘What are you…? I don’t have time for this, just feed them in.’
‘Sir, I really think-’
‘Do it!’
Reluctantly, the analyst made a sweeping gesture at her module, and a somewhat fuzzy audio line was transmitted through the speakers. The callers were using a scrambler: Preston recognised the reduced quality from his clandestine conversations with Titov.
‘Am I speaking to the Second Minister?’ A female voice, American but accented. Spanish perhaps, it was hard to tell on this line.
‘Amongst others,’ Preston spoke quickly. His confidence of before had dwindled, he had not anticipated this. ‘You have already forestalled a highly classified government operation. How did you even get on this line?’
‘We have our ways, Minister.’ The line crackled briefly. ‘My name is Chloe Isabella Sanchez, I am Acting Commander of the Firm. I believe I rank third on your government’s most wanted list, but considering one of those above me was recently murdered by the other, I guess I’m now second place. Gentlemen, I’ll get straight to the point…’
As soon as the caller had stated her name, the room had burst into frenzy, military officers barking at the analysts to get a trace on her location. Only Preston remained static, appearing calm.
‘…my sources dictate that your military detail is en route to Moscow, if not already on ground,’ Sanchez spoke swiftly and efficiently. ‘They carry with them a weaponised toxin known as Spectar, as well as a human- one of us- with the ability to spread this toxin airborne to a distance at which it would penetrate every home in the inner city. It is your belief that releasing this chemical will eliminate every individual of a Neo Evolutionary disposition in this range…’
Sanchez paused. Preston listened intently.
‘You are mistaken.’
Preston smiled to himself. Desperation. What was this but a last ditch attempt to save themselves? Their species? It did irk him somewhat that she had so much information, but that was but a technicality to be ironed out later. Like she had said, it was what they do. Did…
‘Oh yes?’ he said, giving nothing away. ‘And why would that be?’
‘The terrorist known as Greenfinch to you,’ Sanchez began, ‘goes by the true name of Elan Greene. She was a founder of this organisation, and a key instigator of its early development. As of fourteen years ago, she was disavowed and dropped off the map. Until now, not even we could find her. During that time, she made it her sole aim to bring down the establishment in place. To establish Neo Evolutionaries as the dominant species on the planet, by whatever means necessary. I think we both know what those means are, Minister. Like it or not, we are on the same side…’
‘We are aware of Greenfinch’s intentions, Miss Sanchez. And we are taking preventative measures-’
‘That is what you believe! What Greene would have you…’ Sanchez paused, her tone losing an edge of control. ‘You think this is your plan, Preston. But it is hers! Spectar is reversed. Greene engineered it so.’
‘I have a team of the best scientists in the world who tell me reversal is impossible.’
‘Your scientists do not possess the abilities of Elan Greene,’ Sanchez cut in. ‘You must listen to me, Minister! You are about to sanction the death of every ordinary human in the Russian Capital!’ She paused, breathing sharply. ‘Do you understand what I am telling you? You’re gonna start World War fucking Three!’
At this, every government head in the room turned to face Preston, eyes bulging with scrutiny. The minister himself stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixated on the hologram in the centre of the room. Then he glanced at the Secretary, shaking his head, smiling.
‘You have nothing, Sanchez. You’re finished, we have won. Cut this line.’
‘No! Preston, listen to me, we are trying to help…’
The line crackled and died. Preston ignored every pair of eyes in the room, still fixed intently upon him. He touched his finger to his earpiece once more, speaking clearly: ‘Sergeant Staunt, you hear me? Good. Arm the payload. We are go on Operation New Dawn.’
Chloe slumped heavy against the wall. The look in her eyes spelled out both their failure and the bleak future that they all faced. She said nothing.
‘What…?’ Danielle stammered, her face a picture of disbelief. ‘What next? It can’t be over…’
‘You heard him: we lose.’ Life had seeped from Chloe’s voice. ‘We all lose.’
The young girl faced each of them in turn, desperate for some contradiction. They offered her none. ‘This isn’t it…it can’t be.’ She repeated over and over. ‘There must be a way.’
… there is no other way.
She froze. Her hands trembled. ‘We have to show them!’
It took several seconds for anyone to react to her outburst. Hex glanced up, a puzzled frown on his features.
‘We have to show it,’ she said again. ‘Prove it.’
‘Prove what?’ Chloe finally took notice.
Glaring at her fiercely, Danielle said: ‘We have to show that Spectar can be reversed.’
The weight of her suggestion crashed into Chloe and the others. The young leader snapped to her feet, rounding on the teenager. ‘Are you crazy? Do you realise what you’re suggesting?’
‘It’s the only way.’ Danielle stood her ground. ‘You have to trust me.’
‘She’s right…’
Everyone turned to face Anton. Until now the Russian had not spoken a single word.
‘If they know it is possible, they’ll never risk the release-’
‘You don’t know that!’ Chloe raised her finger aggressively. ‘You would kill hundreds of thousands of people to save…’
‘To save the world,’ Danielle finished for her. ‘Chloe please, I was meant to do this. I know it.’
Turning to face to wall, Chloe placed her palms flat against it. Her head sagged.
‘Mi querida,’ Hex’s soothing Spanish flowed gently into her ears. ‘You said it yourself. Monica believed that if we had Spectar, we could stop Elan. This is what she meant.’
The anguish was unbearable. She knew that, no matter what anyone said, it was her call. Her decision. And no one would make it for her. In the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the battered metal case that contained…what? Their salvation? This destructive chemical, engineered for no purpose besides selective genocide. How could it be used for anything but terrible ends? But the situation stood before her, and it would not go away. She knew they had little time.
Finally, she turned slowly and nodded to Danielle. The slightest inclination of her head, but the girl knew immediately what it meant. ‘Okay, inject me, quickly!’
Kent wrenched open the case and ran forward, removing the long gun-shaped syringe and one of the blue vials that sat innocently in the protective foam. ‘Give it here,’ Anton barked at him. ‘I’ve done this many times.’
He grabbed the injection-device, reflexively snapping the vial into the cartridge chamber. He knelt, looking Danielle at eye-level. ‘You sure about this?’
She nodded bravely, then: ‘No, wait. You’re human! We have to…’
Before she could finish, Anton plunged the needle into her forearm and squeezed the trigger. Once removed, he looked her in the eye again. ‘It’s been a long time coming, my dear.’ There was no regret to found anywhere in his gaze. ‘Trust me.’
The girl blinked back tears, throwing her arms around the Russian’s neck. ‘Thank you so much. For helping me,’ she whispered softly in his ear.
‘Danielle!’ Chloe’s urgent voice broke through her emotion. ‘We don’t have long. We have to take it somewhere central. Do you understand me?’
Nodding frantically, Danielle held out her hand. Without hesitation, Chloe grasped it. They both took a last look at the occupants of the shabby room, before the white light enveloped them.
The pair emerged into the panic-stricken intersection that was Times Square. Even before the transportation had finished, Danielle could feel an unfamiliar sensation flooding her body, a pulsing in her veins. Unlike the beating of her heart, each pulse came back stronger, every time. Until they overlapped, and there were no more pulses, only a constant throbbing that shook her every muscle, every fibre of her being.
She collapsed to her knees, completely unaware of Chloe’s arms enveloped around her, the woman’s desperate murmurs of comfort totally drowned out by the deafening inside her own head. She was just as unaware of her own terrified screams. The throbbing spread across her torso, through her shoulders, down her arms. Like a seeping poison, it forged its deviant path all the way to the tips of her fingers.
And then, it came, crashing through her body like a tsunami. A shockwave. It burst out her chest, like a wild animal escaping from her ribcage. Chloe was gone. Everything around her was swept into the air by the blast. And next was silence…
‘Payload armed. Estimated time to detonation: T-minus 1 minute and 20 seconds.’ The robotic female voice recounted over. Preston sat, arms folded, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. He would be remembered for this. The man who had finally vanquished America’s global enemies, stabilised a world in turmoil…
‘…T-minus 60 seconds.’
There was a wave of unrest throughout the room, politicians shifted in their seats, conversing in frantic whispers. General Marsh listened intently to his earpiece, evidently being notified of some significant occurrence. For the second time, Preston felt uneasy. What the hell was going in this time? Sanchez could pull the wires on their grid all she wanted- even The Firm were powerless to stop this.
‘…T-minus 30 seconds.’
Without warning, the Secretary of Defence marched up to his chair and put a threatening hand on his shoulder blade. ‘Call of your troops, minister. Immediately!’
Preston jumped to his feet defiantly. ‘You can’t be serious! Mr Secretary, this is happening-’
‘Manhattan’s been hit. Every non-evolved citizen is deceased. There is no question that the toxin responsible is a reverse-engineered version of your Spectar. I’m pulling the plug, Preston.’
‘…T-minus 20 seconds.’
‘Sir… It’s a bluff, you have my word! There is no way anyone could have tampered-’
‘We cannot take that risk, sir.’ General Marsh appeared behind him. ‘We will use force if necessary. These men will only respond to your command.’ He touched his hand to his holster, meaningfully.
‘…T-minus 15, 14, 13…’
Defeated, Preston spoke clearly into his earphone: ‘You hear me, Staunt?’
‘Yessir,’ came the reply.
‘Abort detonation. Abort now!’
‘Sir, the payload doesn’t exactly have a manual override. We can’t just-’
Preston screamed: ‘Do what you have to! Abort detonation right now!’
‘Detonation in 5, 4…’
Two muffled gunshots were heard. The countdown ceased abruptly.
Epilogue: Neo Manhattan
6 weeks later
Halogen Headquarters, Location Unknown
‘I thought I’d find you here.’
Lara looked up startled, but relaxed as she saw the man that entered. The enigmatic Fred gestured the seat across the bed from her, ‘Mind if I…?’
‘By all means,’ said Lara, resting her head once more on the pillow next to her sleeping daughter’s.
‘Any sign of change?’ Fred’s voice was hopeful. Lara shook her head.
‘Doctor says it’s not physical,’ Lara murmured. ‘Says she could- should- wake up any time, nothing’s stopping her. But she doesn’t…’
Fred sighed heavily. ‘You know who did this.’ He sat forward, eying her over the tubes and wires that monitored Anya’s mental and physical state. ‘Our doctors here are some of the best, but she may need a different kind of help.’
At this, Lara lifted her head, scrutinising him carefully. ‘I will not risk damaging my daughter’s mind anymore.’ She said no more. They both sat in a measured silence for a few minutes. After a time, Fred got to his feet and made to leave.
‘I’m going to find him.’
Fred stopped mid-step. He half-turned, ‘We all want answers Lara. But we have to be patient.’
‘I’ve been patient,’ Lara retorted. ‘Patiently waiting…for what? She’s not going to wake up, not with me sitting here doing nothing!’
Fred came and rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Right now, we are reassessing, we are lying low. The situation over there, it is unpredictable, it is volatile… We are not in a position to do anything more than keep our ear to the ground and wait.’
Lara considered, he spoke sense. She pictured, for a second, the current state of affairs surrounding the American city. The island itself in quarantine. An isolation enforced from both sides of the Hudson river. The unthinkable reality ensued that a large chunk of the city had become occupied by solely Neo Evolutionary humans. An area where the establishment dare not set foot, a solid line that divided the ordinary from the unordinary, us and them. A line over which no government troops had so far dared cross. And with no military presence inside the quarantine, the outside world could only guess as to the internal activity of the new rogue state.
Six weeks ago, Lara had watched on with the rest of the world as the face of a 13 year old girl was plastered on the screen of every television, every tabloid front page, every website. The face of the single greatest mass-murderer on the planet. Just over 1.4 million people wiped out in a fragment of an instant, an eye blink. To erase so many existences in one sweeping act of unthinkable malice.
And the face of the same girl, Lara had seen for the first time just hours before. She had recognised her immediately. Responsibility for the attack had been claimed just minutes after by the Greenfinch Foundation, the same organisation responsible for the anarchy already engulfing the city. To the world, it had made perfect sense, a plot with a malign brilliance that could not be denied, only condemned…
A graceful twist of irony, to single-handedly create an independent NEO state, to instil anarchic rule within a city considered the epitome of capitalist dominance. But, whoever this Greenfinch was- this Elan- Lara suspected that her real endgame had not been this. Where the world stood in shock, America devastated by the worst loss of life on home soil in their country’s history, Lara felt that true disaster had been narrowly avoided. Armageddon avoided.
A few select individuals and organisations were also fully aware of this secret truth. And each of them had settled into an uneasy but natural alliance to try and keep it that way. It didn’t benefit anyone for humanity to know how close to the brink they had come. If not for the teenage girl branded as Public Enemy Number One, every city in Western civilisation would now fear a fate worse than Manhattan’s.
‘I can’t just wait for her to wake up,’ Lara’s eyes didn’t leave her sleeping daughter. Anya’s comatose form lay peacefully, the same lifeless expression on her face. ‘I will find the bitch responsible for this and make her undo it.’
‘If I cannot deter you,’ Fred offered, ‘then you will need help.’
He reached into his pocket and produced a business card, handing it to her. She inspected it: Mayfield in big bold letters was all that was printed. Turning it over, she noted a six-digit number scribbled hastily on the back: 245637.
‘We lost contact when we lost Korolov,’ Fred explained. ‘We assume they went ghost after the attack. But they’ll be in there somewhere, whatever the hell is going on in that place.’
Lara nodded, ‘I’ll find them.’
Memorizing the numbers, she pocketed the card. Fred’s words echoed in her mind: what just was happening in Manhattan? Little to no contact had been made with the outside world. Only a few military transports had been permitted to enter to clear the streets of the dead in return for food and medical drops. Every dealing with the government happened under the careful watch of the Greenfinch Foundation, numerous NEO thugs and criminals that had rallied to the cause. Every NEO on the island was faced with a choice. Live in fear. Or become it. Embrace the nightmare. And, in a place like that- without order, without accountability, with just pure chaos- the nightmare is very real.
If you’re in there Anton, she promised, if you’re alive. I’ll find you.
Arc Three: Nightmares
A floorboard creaked. Her foot, bare, eased up gently from it. The other foot carried her forward on tiptoe, her shredded skirt flapping silently about her knees. In the corner of her eye, in every shadow, every flicker of a silhouette, they clamoured to get at her. She could imagine their grovelling hands, their twisted limbs entangling and scrambling over one another in a perpetual attempt to get closer to her, to their prey. She could imagine, but she could not see them. No longer. They were held at bay. A soft blue light enveloped her field of vision, obscuring all in her periphery, all that may wish evil thoughts upon her. The previous ambassadors of her every waking moment, feeding on her own sick terror, and now she had a solution. A tangible solution. A sustainable means to keep her tormentors in check. And with it came more.
Thought. The simple gift of thought. Taken for granted by so many of those who possess it, the object coveted by those who have had it robbed from them. Bereft, for whatever reason, of rational thought. It was as if she had been reacquainted with a childhood friend, someone she had been unspeakably close to, but she had since forgotten even existed. It was a comfort. But it was also exciting and new. It opened up new possibilities. New feelings. The bursting of a dam so long keeping back the flood of emotions. Regret, sorrow. envy, shame, anger…
Yes, anger. And a burning desire for revenge. To cause pain on the person who had promised an end to her suffering, only to cast her aside like nothing, once she had outlived her usefulness. And she would stop at nothing, until she had exacted her own form of justice on that person. She had the means with which to inflict it.
She entered the bedroom and tiptoed to the centre. For a while she stood, processing the sight before her. The walls were overloaded with photos, newspaper clippings, endless notes in illegible handwriting- islands of information anchored by tacks and interconnected by a maze of string. The spider’s web extended entirely over the far wall, two great strands invading the adjacent walls. Leading? Nowhere, she suspected. Dead ends. The long erased footprints on a trail gone cold.
In the centre she recognised the subject of the investigation. Next to the photograph, were scrawled in capital letters: LAST KNOWN IMAGE. Something quite a way down on of the spindles caught her eye, and she moved silently along the wall to inspect. An old-looking file page, an employee file it resembled. For a company, a name she recognised: Mayfield Law. The name of the employee she did not recognise, nor his picture. But in the blank space underneath the text had been written: lover? A big curling question mark, full of suggestion. And more recently: father to child? Underlined once, then again emphatically.
She had been so engrossed, the sudden presence behind her took her completely off-guard. A hand clamped over her mouth, and the cold barrel of a pistol pressed into the back of her neck. She went to scream, then thought better of it.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ The voice ruthless, unforgiving. Merciless now. ‘You give me one good reason, and I won’t blow your brains out.’
She struggled to release herself, only managing to free her mouth. ‘I’ve not come here to hurt you, Sarah.’ She gasped. ‘I came because we can be of help to each other.’
Sarah Winters cackled, sending her captive sprawling on the floor. ‘Oh yeah, I need the help of a pathological lunatic who mentally tortured me into submitting to ghost of the man I loved? You must be as crazy as they say, Wendy.’
‘I know I damaged you,’ Wendy pleaded. ‘But I have come to my senses. I can see clearly now. I know what needs to happen.’
‘What needs to happen, Wendy, is you need to go home. Before I change my mind-’
‘She has to pay,’ Wendy cut in. ‘Elan has to pay. For everything she’s done…to all of us. Together we can make her pay.’
‘You and me?’ Sarah looked at her amused. ‘You’re not serious.’
Wendy got to her feet, keeping her distance. ‘You found a way to get to her.’
It was a statement, not a question. Sarah eyed her suspiciously, but nodded nonetheless.
‘To make her pay for the death of your sister,’ Wendy went on, ‘my sister…’
She moved to the wall and plucked the file page she had inspected previously.
‘Her child,’ she said, calmly tearing the paper in two. ‘Elan’s child. I know where to find them.’ She tore the paper again. And again. Wendy let the pieces flutter gently to the floor, landing harmlessly by her grimy feet. ‘And together we will drag them, kicking and screaming, and make her watch as we rip them apart.’
TO BE CONTINUED…
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thanks for reading btw!