–February 5, Undisclosed Location, 4:58 PM–
Wilson looked at his watch, wondering why he had been pulled from a training session with the rest of Zeta squad. The small briefing room was bare, except for three chairs, a small table, and a map of the world, covered in red and blue pins. Wilson walked over to the map, running his fingers through his beard as he examined several of the more notorious locations that had been red-tagged. Two locations caught his attention; Moscow was in the middle of a messy battle between government loyalists and a communist uprising, and the city of Meridiana had been weathering a near-constant assault from infiltrators, shock troops of an unknown type, and various other examples of danger for the last three years.
Wilson sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, but he reopened them almost instantly when he heard the door to the room open, then shut after a few seconds. Turning around, Wilson paused for a few seconds, then grinned widely. Standing in front of him, and looking quite put out by her enforced recuperation, Sel seemed to be quite ready and willing to tear a strip out of somebody. However, before she could say anything, she was nearly smothered in a joint-creaking hug that drove all the air out of her lungs. Struggling for a second, Sel jabbed two fingers into a soft spot just underneath Wilson’s right arm, causing him to yelp in pain and jump back.
"Got ya. Now, care to tell me why your showing on the training field was so bloody miserable? I’ve seen better from a retarded squirrel."
Wilson frowned, looking at his superior. "Jeez, right into the shredding mood, aren’t we? Well, I’ll have you know that as soon as everyone hears that you’re up and about their performance will improve greatly."
Sel grinned, shaking her head. "Yeah, And I’m the Queen of Spain. Well, anyhow, this isn’t a pleasure visit. You have to go to two places while I finish healing."
Wilson sat down in one of the chairs, perking up an eyebrow at the mention of travel. "Do I need the gear for this? I’ve always hated that armour you like to inflict on us all the time. Damn stuff itches, and it’s a bit tight in some spots."
Sel laughed, then shook her head. "No, at least not for the first part. You’re heading to Ouroborous first. I want you to check in with everyone, and at least say hi to your goddaughter. You’ve been away for far too long, and she’s beginning to wonder if you still haven’t forgiven her for the honey incident."
Wilson pretended to glower at his old friend, then shrugged. "You do realize how difficult it is to get honey out of one’s own beard, don’t you?" He paused for a moment, not willing to interrupt Sel as she cracked up, and he let her laugh for a few minutes. "Thanks. Gives me all the reason to not want to go."
Sel, still chuckling, shook her head. "Not likely. After the little reunion, you’re heading down to Meridiana with Zeta team."
Wilson, hearing the one word he dreaded more than anything, leaned back in his seat and groaned melodramatically. "Zeta? You want me to keep a handle on your personal trouble squad, in a city known for more mayhem in a week than Iraq gets in a year? I’m wondering if you took a knock to the head in Russia."
Sel smiled wickedly, but didn’t respond for a few seconds. When she finally spoke again, it was with the razor-edged cadence of a person used to having their slightest command obeyed to almost instantly. "Do you think that it was a request? The city actually called up the head office and asked, so you are going to pry your head out of your arse and get into that city by the first week of March! If you have any questions, you can forward them to the garbage can."
Wilson nodded, realizing that pressing the issue was a good way to get hurt. Instead, he stood up, smiled, nodded again, then turned and left the small room. Outside, away from the volatile temper that his best friend had, he broke into a childlike chuckle of glee, then ran off towards the locker room.
–March 7, Angel Park, Meridiana. 12:20 PM–
Early spring in Meridiana was a beautiful sight, and one tourists would pay dearly to see, even without the possible risk of being killed by the random violence that often took over much of the city. The most popular part of the city, Angel Park, was known more for its picturesque beauty than its gunbattles. Currently, a mustachioed man, looking to be in his very late forties, was sitting peacefully on a bench in the park, muttering under his breath as he flipped through a magazine. As such, he was completely taken by surprise when a familiar voice reached out and made him take notice of his surroundings.
"Hello Tony. How are you today?" The speaker, a rather youthful-looking woman wearing a pair of torn-up jeans and a ratty denim jacket, sat down beside the man, managing to unwrap a ham and cheese sandwich before she received a reply.
"Hang on a second, Syb. This...this... fool created a calculation that declares a nonexistent particle might have a chance of existing. There’s a better chance of my uncle being a unicorn. Could you let me clear up this problem before somebody devotes a few billion euros to trying to find it?" Tony continued to write notes in the margin of the article as he spoke, pausing only long enough to review notes made on previous pages.
Syb, having become accustomed to such oddities from her longtime friend, only shrugged and started to eat her sandwich, pausing only when she heard a wicked-sounding chuckle coming from Tony’s direction. "Well, it looks like I’m going to have to get the esteemed Doctor Zacharias another M-80."
Dr. Zack, having caught the joke almost instantly, chuckled ruefully, then wagged a finger at his companion. "My dear friend, that’s just too funny. Were you the one who convinced those students to draw that caricature?"
Syb smiled, but shook her head. "No, I did not sic the students on you, though I did find it to be a very good representation of what you do to all those researchers. What did you do to it?"
"I framed it. It’s part of my hallway’s more interesting pictorials, not including the one I have of spindle-snoot with a Christmas ornament dangling from the end of it."
Syb broke out into a fit of most unladylike giggles, only recovering after nearly five minutes. "Really? I still wonder how you managed to get a photo of him when he was plastered, but I’d rather not guess."
Dr. Zack grinned, chuckling to himself as he pretended to stroke a beard, hamming it up a bit for his friend. "I have my friends in his camp."
That statement earned him a punch in the arm, causing the doctor to wince, and convincing Syb to apologize for accidentally hurting her friend. "Sorry. But you convinced Mel to take that picture, didn’t you? I wonder what incentive you used to get the old guy to take it."
Dr. Zack only chuckled, but stopped when Syb deliberately cracked the knuckles on her right hand. "Sorry, but all I did was allow him to sate his curiosity of Poe. He did the rest, and on his own initiative, I might add." He then turned to his friend, and, grinning, couldn’t help the loaded question he asked next. "So, what brings you to seek me out? Lucas toasted already?"
Syb blushed, causing Dr. Zack to chortle in glee at getting his friend’s goat. Instead of speaking, however, she pulled a news clipping from her denim jacket, passing it over to Dr. Zack as she mentally composed herself. It took a few minutes for Dr. Zack to finish reading the article, which left him frowning. "This is not what I’d call good news, considering that it is in the news."
"Really? How do you figure that Tony?"
Dr. Zack leaned back on the bench, blowing a frustrated sigh out through his walrus moustache. "Well, if you’re a member of a covert-operations group dedicated to fighting the good fight, would you want your very presence advertised in the daily newspaper? If someone opposed to their goals gets a hold of this, you can bet dollars to rubles that something very bad will be coming down the pipes."
Syb nodded, thinking about what would happen if Jose got wind of the prospect of a team of elite troops hired just to remove his presence from the city. "Hmm. You’re right. It would be messy. Maybe we should head over to city hall tomorrow. Apparently, the mayor’s going to personally greet the commander of the team that’s been brought in. At least it’s better than nothing."
Dr. Zack tugged on his moustache for a few seconds, obviously thinking about the possible outcomes of such an idea. Eventually he shrugged, then nodded. "Well, I don’t see any reason not to. Just try not to wear your night clothes, as it does make people have second glances at you."
Syb grinned, stretching her arms in front of her body. "Why not? There’s nothing to hate."
Dr. Zack smiled as he stood up, collecting pen, magazine and clipping without so much as a second glance. "Why not? Maybe because I don’t want people to assume you’re some streetwalker propositioning a rather distinguished man of advancing years. Besides, you’d probably melt. The temperature’s supposed to be a scorcher tomorrow, and that black suit of yours will probably have you swimming in sweat in less than an hour."
"Gee, thanks Tony. I’ll see you tomorrow." Syb watched Dr. Zack leave, then leaned back, closed her eyes, and was rudely disturbed by a loud thump right beside her. Sniffing the air twice, she caught the acrid tint of sustenance, mixed with the lighter tint of sweaty teenager. There was only one teenager who was both altered and had the audacity to bother anybody during the day, so Syb didn’t have to open her eyes to make a positive identification. "Well, if it isn’t the esteemed Miss Kreubens. Have you completed your homework for English Literature yet, Mikae?"
Mikae Kreubens, delinquent teenager, genetically altered killing machine, and general pain in the backside snorted rudely, then looked at her much older ‘ally’. "More like wishing you didn’t give us so damn much cra- er... um... I mean, why’d you make us read two chapters of the Canterbury Tales for Monday? Even Dr. Zack isn’t that stringent."
Syb grinned and looked at the teenager. "Because the two chapters are the shortest chapters in the entire book, and I have a pop quiz ready and waiting for you on Monday. That’s why. Now stop whining about something that you’d probably have finished in an hour anyhow. Besides, I could have done worse. There is an option for a ten-thousand word essay in the final exam, you know."
Mikae, solidly defeated, pouted for a second or two, then swept her unkempt, shoulder-length hair away from her eyes, letting the icy blue gaze settle on a too-curious child. The child, pinned by the solid and slightly unnerving gaze, fled a few seconds later. "Yeah, I know. Still, can’t you cut some slack? I mean, what with the midnight crime-fighting, the crappy math substitute, and Lucas’ bio class, I just can’t keep up."
Syb looked at Mikae, a smirk playing over her lips. "Crime-fighting? Last I checked, you were still grounded for the last stunt you pulled."
Mikae frowned, flipping the dirty finger at Syb. "Rub it in, will ya? I’ve only been grounded for like, forever, and it’s boring."
Syb chuckled, ignoring the aggrieved expression on Mikae’s face. "Well, considering that your strength is comparable to a small freight train, why don’t you help your mom rearrange the furniture or something?"
"I have. A dozen times. It’d be more productive to make a statuette out of the dryer lint that keeps on cropping up everywhere." Mikae sighed, exasperated at everything that had happened to her since she had been ‘tinkered with’ by Dr. Von Reichter.
Syb, remembering the ‘bad old days’ of her own delinquent youth, considered Miake to be a lot luckier than she could possibly know. Instead, she merely looked up at the slightly cloudy skies. "Did you read the newspaper today?"
Mikae frowned. "Yep. As soon as that team gets here, we’ll be lucky if we’re only up to our necks in shit. Better than our ears by far."
Syb had to laugh at the teen’s descriptive bent, looking at the much younger person for a few seconds. "I would put it in slightly less offensive terms, but yes, that’s probably going to happen. Naturally, as soon as everything goes down, we can expect our supply of freshies to drop like an anvil."
Mikae nodded, grimacing. "And we both know that if that happens, we’re up the creek without a paddle. Anyhow, I’d like to meet these grunts, especially as they’re cutting into our turf."
Syb couldn’t help but laugh, causing Mikae to frown in confusion. "Our turf, Mikae? You haven’t decided on any turf except for a two-block radius around your house. Usually you’re two blocks behind me, and besides, we have a regular supply, despite the fact that it tastes... off."
Mikae chuckled, nodded, and stood up, stretching her arms behind her back as she did so. "Yep. The stuff tastes like anything from engine grease to my mom’s cooking, so there’s room for improvement."
Syb, trying hard not to laugh, pointed at Mikae’s left arm, where her shirt had ridden up. The movement of the fabric had revealed a black tattoo on the teen’s arm, though a casual onlooker would have no idea what the visible ‘X-2' meant. Mikae looked at her arm, frowned, and yanked her sleeve over the offending code, lowering her arm as she did so. "Hmph. Stupid shirt. Well, I think I’m going to go and beat the crap out of Lori for trying to steal my jacket."
Syb stood up when Mikae did so, making the short teen fume for a few seconds. "Have you ever wondered on the reason why you keep getting grounded? Maybe it’s because you keep fighting with Lori."
Mikae stood there for a second, rubbing her chin with a finger as she thought about it. "Naaahhh. She deserves it. Should’ve learned by now not to jack my stuff. Besides, everyone knows that I’m the only person who wears a bomber jacket to school."
Syb nodded, then turned and began to walk away. "Well, I’ll be seeing you around, kid. Don’t forget to pay attention in class."
Mikae’s response was a long, drawn-out raspberry.
–Imperial Hotel, 6:27 PM–
"Hey, kids! Look at our home away from home!"
"I’d rather not. What did this place drop out of, the Sphinx’s nose?"
"Probably. Holy sh- look at the size of that roach!"
Wilson, smiling as he unlimbered his impressive bulk from the confines of the armoured SUV, looked at the four heavily armed and armoured vehicles that had stopped at the somewhat run-down hotel. Actually, run-down was paying it a compliment, as the building looked like it had to rise a few notches to even be remotely considered a flophouse. The nearest APC, having disgorged its ‘cargo’ of four tired, cramped, and extremely cranky adults, trundled down the street for about fifty yards before pulling into a parking lot that was empty of everything except weeds and several stripped-down carcasses of old cars.
Wilson seriously doubted that anybody would be stupid enough to try to steal anything from the quartet of sinister-looking vehicles, though it would likely be entertaining if one tried. As he walked over to where Zeta squad had decided to congregate, the complaints about the resident population of roaches the size of small dogs suddenly intensified. The loudest complainer, a short blonde woman wearing a battered army jacket and cargo pants, pointed at one rather sizeable roach that was standing up on its rear legs, hissing at her. "Jeez Will, you really know how to pick out the fun spots. This place looks to be in worse condition than Beirut, and they didn’t have bugs that try to chew on you."
Wilson chuckled, seconds before walking over to the offending insect and booting it into the nearest wall, crushing the thing’s exoskeleton and letting the massive bug thrash messily in its own entrails. Within seconds a half-dozen other roaches, all the same size, swarmed out of an alley, tearing their mortally-wounded comrade into pieces. "Okay, so the resident pets are out of hand. You do realize that we have some pretty high-power exterminating gear, and we have free reign over this place."
The blonde, grimacing, pointed at the building, which did look like it was slowly sagging into itself. "I can guess why. This place looks like it was slated for destruction before I was born. If you want us to go in there, you’re out of your mind."
Wilson grinned evilly, making pitchforking motions with his empty hands. "I’m not crazy, just misinformed, Jenny. Besides, do you really want the boss chick breathing down your neck? She could melt asbestos underwear to your butt without trying. Seeing as I’m her right hand, you piss me off, you’ve pissed her off."
Jenny grinned, though she was a few degrees more pale than usual, and flipped the nasty finger at Wilson. "Yeah? I always thought you could stack ice cubes on her head without them melting. Besides, why pollute her with mention of right hands? You do realize that yours’d happily chew itself off of your arm if it could find a way."
Wilson gasped dramatically, hamming it up for the rest of the squad, who were well-versed in the fairly unique antics of the co-commanders. "You mean... I’m coyote ugly?"
"You got it." Jenny grinned ferally, slinging her heavy duffel bag onto one shoulder as she looked at Wilson.
"That’s not what you said all the way here. I bet the entire plane heard what you were saying." Wilson grinned wickedly, then nimbly dodged the swung duffel that tried to whack him. Jenny continued to use her not-too deadly weapon for a few more swings, much to the amusement of the rest of the team, but she finally calmed down.
After a few more seconds, Wilson grinned and pointed into the hotel, which was rewarded with a general groan of disgust. He pointed again, and the team, muttering, slowly entered the dilapidated building which, to their collective surprise, was nowhere near half as bad as the outside led them to believe.
–Jose’s Mansion, 7:30 PM–
Jose was completely, utterly and irrevocably pissed. The source of the bad news, having been shredded and scattered all over the office, leered at him from six different parts of the room, though the newspaper really didn’t have much choice in its expressions. Then again, he did have the choice of ignoring the newspaper in favour of the internet or tv.
A techno, wearing a blood-spattered lab coat, entered Jose’s office, and, looking somewhat nervous, he spoke loudly and clearly. "Sir? Your commands for the alteration of the cybernetically upgraded Fixed Ideas was completed an hour ago."
Jose’s anger faded quickly, and he swivelled, staring at the techno. "And? What’s the status?"
The techno bit his lip, not wanting to disclose the truth, but he finally did so after a few seconds."Number five underwent a psychotic episode and had to be terminated with extreme prejudice. All the others accepted the sub-dermal armour grafts, but only one and three accepted the skeletal grafts. None accepted the reflex accelerator."
Jose nodded, thinking for a few seconds, then smiled slightly. "Good. At the least, we’ll have less losses from friendly fire. I’ll look in on them soon. Now, why did the reflex accelerator fail?"
The techno wrung his hands, sweating slightly. "We don’t know. As far as I can tell, the actual modules failed to initialize, and so were totally destroyed."
Jose frowned, then turned and left his office. Walking to the basement laboratory, he smiled when he saw the four unmoving hulks lying on angled slabs of metal. The muscles in their arms, torsos and legs were unnaturally lumpy and bulged oddly, which were side effects of the implantation of the inch-thick metal plates that had been bonded to the Ideas’ very flesh.
Jose stood at the feet of one such subject, noting that it was sleeping rather peacefully while a nutrient solution was fed into it through an IV shunt. Examining the slumbering giant, Jose cackled wickedly, knowing what the newest creations could do.
–Oroborous, Near Ottawa. 8:20 PM–
"Good night Grandma!" The chorus of young voices followed the matronly woman as she closed the door to the bedroom, and was soon replaced by whisperings and giggles inside the room. Slowly, each of the voices dropped off, and in ten minutes each and every child in the room was asleep.
‘Grandma’, as she had been known for the last twenty years, was just pushing the mid-seventies mark on the calendar, though she looked fifteen years younger. Still tall, though carrying some rather unrepentant surplus bulk, she was the perfect image of a household matron; apple-cheeked, smiling always, and a fair degree of discipline, often measured out with a wooden spoon.
Walking slowly, she headed down the stairs to the first floor of the old building, then, dodging two kittens, a cat, and a hyperactive puppy, she finally found her husband, who was lying on the couch in front of the TV, pretending to snore. "Oh, do stop that. You can fool the children left, right and centre, but I know you. Now, let me sit down, unless you want new ankles."
"I’d rather not, but I suppose you’ll insist." The old man, thinner than his wife, but no less distinguished, sat up with some difficulty, though he didn’t complain. The woman smiled and sat down beside him, leaning over so he could rest an arm across her shoulders.
"So, what did they break today, John?" John, sighing, shook his head slowly.
"Just about everything. I’ve had to fix two wagons, a toy boat, and my favourite fishing rod. So, were they a hassle to cook for?" Gudrun smiled, shaking her head.
"No. So, did you hear the news about Sel? She’s supposed to come here in a few weeks."
John looked at his wife of fifty years, smiling lopsidedly. "Well, that’s one good thing. I think everyone will like seeing her again, especially the new kids."
Gudrun nodded, then grabbed the remote for the TV, causing John to cry out in dismay.