For the next several minutes, Emerald was watching cameras, directing the others as they moved through the floors. She could see men using short-range radios; just like her own, they were able to get a very limited amount of speech through at short range, but their attempts to use cell phones were leading to desperate anger. Several times she tried to warn them about incoming guards or ambushes... but every time, Eyeball was on top of it; guards were corpses as soon as they came around the corner, a single quick rifle shot seeming to be fired even before they started.
ESP. Definitely ESP. God, an expert gunman who could see around corners was even scarier than she'd thought.
Only one of the stairwells was intact for the bottom floors; and none of them were still in place on her floor. Everyone who was a threat to her, was already handled. And as they worked their way up the floors, it was difficult to imagine anything being a threat to those two. A few times Eyeball had Butcher pull the shield and take the first steps; or lead with that massive blade; but nothing stopped them, and no-one survived them.
There was only one man left in the office still alive and awake; standing on the floor below her, in a massive office whose wall was one of the windows. Whoever he was, he had a handgun on his desk, and was opening up a freezer of some sort; a faint wisp of fog could be seen emerging as he slid it open. Huh.
"Eyeball, this is Emerald. If you go right at this last stairway, there's just the one guy left. Use caution, he's pulling something out of a cooler... possibly a biological agent of some sort."
***
Well, fuck. He'd seen that helmet on the video where that dumbass quarterback died. That was supposed to be Eyeball; that guy who killed Lightning. Doctor Everett Wayson had gone through quite a bit in his life; attempted hostile takeovers, long spats with the DoD and various governors and mayors, a few attempts to get him thrown in prison; but he had six metas on staff for security purposes, all pulling down ridiculous paychecks. Two of them were at home asleep, and four of them were dead. And these weren't pushovers. Elite. amazing people who'd scared the hell out of him.
He pulled the syringe out of the cooler, examining it for a moment as he glanced at the cameras. They were on his floor. Heading his way. This Reflex stuff killed most of the people who used it... and for the ones it didn't, it was highly addictive, and caused terrible long-term damage to the liver and kidneys. Even a little alcohol in your system and you'd go into a thirty second berserk rage that left you and anyone nearby very, very dead.
Hopefully the latest version was a bit better; the people in the lab had made promises, and he was going to run another batch of human trials any day now.... if he lived through this.
As the cameras showed the two figures coming around the last corner, into the hallway leading to his office... he jammed the syringe into his arm, injecting the icy liquid. At first, all he felt was pain. Terrible, burning pain, spreading down his arm, through his chest... when it reached his head, however... the world seemed to freeze.
***
"Clone, this is Eyeball. Mopping up the last occupant. Shoot the cameras facing out, then bring in the trucks. Time to start the looting."
Jason approached the office door. CEO Everett Wayson, a massive gold-embossed plaque by the door. He frowned... Raised his rifle... he could see it. As soon as he opened that door, there'd be a blur of movement, and everything would go black. IED? No. If he dropped a shroud grenade, he'd be fine.
Timing things properly with the blur of movement in his mind's eye, Jason pulled the pin on the shroud grenade, and right before it went off... opened the door.
The heat of the detonation burned his glove, but didn't reach his hand beneath, as the expanding cloud of various types of see-through shrapnel spread through the air... and a figure briefly appeared, slamming into the door, and dropping to the floor with a loud, agonized groan.
He looked... ordinary. Tall, reasonable healthy, wearing a suit, well-done hair... and one arm as well as both legs broken. He was... twitching, on the floor. "Mister Wayson, I presume?"
Despite what was clearly a truly ridiculous amount of pain, he growled out a response. "Thats... Doctor... Wayson."
Jason shook his head, rifle aimed down at the man... but he seemed to just be spasming in pain. No healing, no getting back up; just lying there. "Interesting. Ten seconds ago, you were a mid-grade speedster. Now, the arm you've got left is slower than mine. I take it you injected something."
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"Fuck... you."
Jason pressed a rifle against one broken knee, and pushed down; eliciting another groan of pain. "Look. If you don't know who I am... I'm Eyeball. All comms are out. No alarms, no cell phones. Nobody's coming to rescue you until the cell jammer burns out or we leave and take it with us. I don't give a flying fuck about witnesses, there's probably like two hundred cameras I walked by. I kill who I need to, no more, no less. You help me out, give me a few passwords and a bit of info? Me and my friends leave. I'm the only one you see, and the ambulance shows up to get you fixed. What did you use?"
".... Experimental drug. Called Reflex. Made from synthesized speedster-grade adrenaline and, well. Its complicated. Addictive. Can kill you. Makes your reflexes incredible for about ten to thirty seconds."
"You make it here?"
"....Yes."
"And where do you keep it?"
***
"Check the passwords I gave you, make sure the encryption is bypassed. If so, go ahead and pull the drives." Down in the server room, two Clones had started to pull hard drives from the servers, neatly stacking them in a carrying case... and stopped, at the radio signal. One gave an exasperated shake of his head, and outside, another Clone lifted a laptop and a few cables, running into the building.
These people, always changing and moving the plan around in the middle of an operation. They were supposed to pull all the hard drives out, and just crack them later. Why bother with this password nonsense.
"I've got the CEO here in his office. If the passwords I give you are wrong, we can get the real ones out of him; but best be sure we aren't actively wiping the drives with the wrong code before we leave."
Oh. Competent nonsense. Still a waste of time; any encryption can be cracked, with time; but not as much of one.
"And if you haven't already, bring all the ice chests you have, and the dry ice. That freezer next to the server room is packed with experimental drugs meant for combat purposes, and a piece of the brain of some dead speedster they're studying to try to make super-drugs."
..Clone was definitely going to need a sample of that. Even if they killed him, there were always a few of him to spare... "Got it, Eyeball." This... would be fun.
***
"Okay, so. We've got your pride and joy, Reflex. We've got a drug for bone cancer that has shown a fair amount of success. I'll be leaving copies of those files, by the way, and at least a few samples. And... a limited utility 'miracle cure'? How can it be a miracle cure if its limited utility."
Wayson; now propped up against his desk, and with bandages wrapped around his broken limbs to stop the bleeding; gave an exasperated sigh. "One of my security guys was a regenerator. If I give you a blood sample from him, you've got a super immune system, like crazy good, for about half an hour. No healing bullet wounds in seconds or anything, but it can stop all sorts of things in their tracks. But... if you've got a different blood type than him? It kills you. Fast. Bad. The white blood cells might as well be acid in your veins. A single ounce would kill a grown man in minutes, and he'd hurt bad the whole time."
Jason nodded thoughtfully. "Ahhh. Useful because it can heal someone, less useful because it can only heal certain people. Good to know. This true for all the regenerators?"
"No. Just some... all of em work differently. If we could get one of each blood type, that did work, though, and synthesize em..."
"...Unfortunately, Emerald had to kill your regenerator. Don't suppose his corpse would be worth anything for research purposes."
Wayson gave a long, disappointed sigh. "Fuck. I liked Will. No... once it starts to rot, its done. His bone marrow could be incredibly useful, but... would have to freeze him, quick... way quicker than I'll have anyone out here to do it, assuming I live through this."
Jason lifted his radio. "Hey, Butcher. Force your way up through that busted staircase and grab the corpse of the guy Emerald had to burn. Stick him in the freezer."
He turned, walking to the door, and glanced back. "Don't get me wrong. I know full well you killed people for your experiments to make that Reflex stuff. And if you keep pulling that sort of bullshit, I'll probably come back and kill you someday. But the rest... could be useful to all sorts of people. I'll make sure you have all the samples and data you need to keep going."
He smiled back at the broken figure... oh. Yeah, the helmet. Maybe he could make an LED screen to display emojis on it or some such bullshit? But see-through? Maybe cameras on the...
Eyeball absently considered various possible modifications to his helmet as he headed down the stairs. When he reached the lobby, he ran into the Clones; two holding umbrellas, seamlessly protecting others loading stacks of laptops and equipment. More loading ice chests into the freezer truck. Most importantly for him though....
He walked over to the GigaFac, running his hand along the smooth metal surface. "Oh, you and me are going to make such beautiful toys."
Only one of the Clones heard his comment.... but all of them gave a quick head-shake in amusement at Eyeball's reaction to the device. Granted, it was a nice piece of equipment.
***
Hours later, with the band of criminals long gone, millions of dollars worth of equipment ranging from computers and hard drives to valuable medicines and weaponry long since vanished, Security consultant William Harrick blinked his eyes open, and shivered as he looked around. What the fuck was he doing in the freezer? And why were most of his clothes missing?
And... what the fuck had happened to the boss? He slowly pulled to his feet, hearing sirens sounding outside the building, approaching, but was mostly concerned about the broken figure lying unconscious on the floor beside him; completely oblivious of the half-dozen syringes that fell away from his side as he tried to piece together what had caused all this devastation.