Chapter Twenty-Six
Zella Mills - Plaza de Vulcan, Naguela
Raul's gaze lifted to the ceiling for the fourth time, a testament to his unease. Zella, sharing in the tension of the EnigmaCore trade, could easily discern his nervousness—it mirrored her own. Clutching her rifle with firm resolve, she had meticulously checked the scope's sights over and over, yet they pointed at nothing but crates—so far.
Encased within the confines of a compact office perched on the warehouse's top tier, she had the advantage of a strategic vantage point. A lone window offered an unobstructed panorama of the sprawling ground floor below. Positioned as she was, she could see anyone entering through the doors flanking the structure's opposing walls. The only door she couldn’t see was the fire escape positioned underneath her position. That, however, was an exit-only escape.
“Are the Xoprens running late, or what?” Joe Halili said over comms. He and Khloe were sitting in a vehicle positioned on a nearby hill so they could see the convoy of Xoprens arriving.
Zella spoke softly as she replied. “Guess we gotta be patient.”
“Remember, Z,” Khloe said. “Hold position until the Xoprens clear out. Raul can't walk out with that tech.”
Zella swallowed hard. The plan didn’t sit well with her. Khloe’s reasoning for wanting to snatch the tech was crystal clear. But she didn’t feel right snaking someone from her past. It had been her foster father, Dr. Calloway who first introduced Raul. Raul had been their weapons supplier in Brazil. Thanks to his care packages, Zella learned the intricacies of firearms. He’d provided opportunities to learn muzzle awareness, recoil anticipation, and even how different stances affect accuracy. Once learning the basics at a young age, she’d become so freakishly talented with firearms that she could break the rules whenever she wanted to. She added style, smarts, and agility to her technique. Those had been things she’d trained herself to do; but without access to Raul’s supply of weapons, who knows if there would have been so many opportunities to learn? Betraying him now felt like desecrating a hidden chapter of her history.
There was some hope. If Raul’s anxieties had been correct, perhaps another party would be coming for the EnigmaCore. Zella had played the scenario out in her mind a million times. Another team bursts in, rushing to snatch the prize. She’d be conveniently positioned to take them out with her rifle, but she’d purposely miss the shot. She’d let the thieves feel like they got away, only to track them down later. After that, the EnigmaCore was fair game. In this scenario, Raul would be disappointed in her for letting them get away, but at least she wouldn’t be the one to snake him.
Snatching the tech from the Xoprens was also a no-go. That was an enemy they couldn’t afford to make right now.
“Z!” Khloe called. “Look alive. The convoy is on its way.”
The sharp trill of Raul's phone cut through the tension like a knife. With a swift glance at the screen, he silenced it—no words exchanged—and gave a curt nod to an aide. The colossal vehicle bay door groaned to life, revealing a dance of headlights as several vehicles queued at the threshold. From her perch, Zella's eyes narrowed as she tracked a singular navy-blue van glide into the cavernous warehouse, halting mere feet from Raul's expectant stance. Raul’s men formed a protective crescent around him.
Zella positioned the rifle on its stand and readied herself to fire in case of an emergency. She watched through the scope as two men stepped out of the van. Raul and one of the Xopren’s approached each other and hugged like old friends. The collaboration between the Xoprens and Naguela on this project represented a moment that could change the global landscape. In which case, it made sense that there had to be such a forced display of camaraderie between the parties involved. In their minds, they were making history. The US would have their immortals, and the Xopren coalition would have its super intelligence system.
The Xopren man who hugged Raul sprouted a thick gray beard. He was ethnically Russian, while his associate was a Chinese-Xopren. The Chinese-Xopren strode purposefully to the van’s rear and swung open its doors. Two more Xoprens emerged from the back of the van, carrying an armored briefcase. One of the men was shackled to the briefcase, the metal cuffs a contrast to the sleek surface of the case. With deft movements, the Chinese-Xopren released the handcuffs and unlocked the briefcase. Once its contents were accessible, the Russian-Xopren presented the now-unfettered case to Raul with a gesture that bordered on ceremonial.
Raul placed the case on a nearby workstation and popped it open. Zella tensed her eyes through the scope, desperate to catch a glimpse of the tech. Her view was obscured by the shoulders of Raul and the Russian as they stood over the briefcase talking.
“What do you see, Z?” Joe asked.
Zella’s heart rate spiked. Invested in the moment, she had forgotten that she was on the line with Joe and Khloe. “They’re standing over the EnigmaCore talking,” she replied. “I can’t see it, but it’s inside an armored briefcase.”
“You’re not going to have any trouble carrying it, are you?” Khloe asked. “It may weigh you down, but we’ll be close by so you won’t have far to run.”
“Right.” Zella felt a lump in her throat. The memory of what happened with Zip in London was still fresh. Any deviation from Khloe’s plan was sure to set off a storm.
“It's all on you, Z. As soon as the Xopren’s leave, it’s showtime.”
The decisive moment unfolded shortly thereafter. Raul exchanged firm handshakes with the Xoprens, signaling the end of their accord. They withdrew to their van, leaving behind a single man—the one previously shackled to the briefcase—now unbound and standing with Raul’s Naguelean team.
Perhaps the Nagueleans borrowed him to help unlock the EnigmaCore’s full potential. The van turned around outside of the threshold, and soon it drove away, with the other vehicles tailing it.
“The Xopren’s left a man behind,” Zella said. “My guess is he’s staying to oversee the operation. You sure we shouldn’t hold off on snatching the tech? I mean, what if this guy flags the theft to the Xopren’s and they come for us?”
She braced to hear Khloe’s urge to proceed. Instead, she received sounds of distress and a terrifying plea. “Zella! Get out of there. NOW!” Khloe cried. “It's—”
A blast of piercing static filled Zella’s ears. “Khloe?” Zella called. “Joe? What’s going on?” The static was sensitive to her ears, forcing her to close the connection.
The lower level of the warehouse erupted. Bodies soared in the air and collapsed. The workstation careened across the floor in disarray, while Raul lunged for the briefcase amidst the turmoil. Cabinets toppled like dominos; their innards strewn across the slick surface of the PVC tiles. A blast — abrupt and ruthless — had visited Raul and his contingent.
Zella looked through her scope and saw two figures stepping to the center of the ground floor. They emerged from underneath her position, where the fire exit door was.
The Seers had arrived. Finnigan Watts strolled into the warehouse with the immortal that Zella had never seen before in the flesh.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Where is she?” Boomed the one with the imposing frame and dreadlocks. His voice thundering through the pandemonium, so forceful that it reached Zella through the sealed window. “Give her up and we won’t hurt you.”
Raul’s men were coming out of a dazed state, following the knockdown. Zella stealthily maneuvered the handle to crack open the upper segment of the horizontal window.
Their voices were too low to make out, but to Zella’s horror, Finnigan Watts looked up in her direction. “Masha! Up there,” he said, nudging the big guy on the arm.
SHIT! Zella remembered that Watts was sensitive to electronic signals. Her phone could have given her away. It didn’t matter now. Masha was ascending to her level. His every step was a drumbeat of impending doom, shaking loose flakes of rust from beneath the metal steps.
Zella darted across the room, positioning the rifle across a desk that was directly athwart the door. She could feel the vibrations of his approach. She had learned to trust her instincts on the battlefield, and they screamed at her now like an adrenaline-fueled chorus. But she stood her ground, her rifle now a cumbersome accessory in the close quarters that were fast approaching. There was a knife strapped to her calf, and a pistol lodged in the small of her back. She had options if the situation got too sticky.
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The sound of Masha bursting through the doorway was like an explosion. Zella's reflexes kicked into overdrive. She swung the rifle like a staff, aiming for his temple. She let one go into his frontal, hitting her mark.
And then she waited. Waited for his body to drop. Instead, a smile spread across Masha’s face. He raised his hand to his forehead and pulled the bullet fragment from it. The bullet clanged against the floor. “Got bulletproof plating beneath my skin in key spots,” he said. His deep, buttery voice had a deceptive calm to it. “Too bad my brother didn’t.”
Great! All I need is more freakish abilities from these fuckers. Zella thought. Plan B was to keep him talking long enough for her to retrieve her knife. She considered Masha’s words and noted the way he watched her with bitter hatred. “Look, Zip was revenge for what you guys did to my father. You brought it on yourselves,” she said, backing away from the rifle.
“This ain’t about Zip,” Masha said. “Zip chose to remain in this life. But my blood brother Jason did not get to choose. You took an innocent young man from his mother when you could have just came at me.”
Zella tilted her head. “Jason?”
For a big man, Masha launched himself across the room at an impressive speed. Zella ate a haymaker punch to her ribs that sent her slapping against the wall. The pain had her gasping. Masha rushed to her, leaving no time for recovery. She dived behind a stack of metal crates she’d seen earlier and pulled up her loose pant leg to retrieve the knife. Masha's rage-fueled huffs were the only tell she needed of his closing proximity. She launched herself from behind the crates and sliced at his hand when he reached to grab her. His blood stained the floor.
Their dance was violent and visceral—Zella's precision against Masha's raw power. She was a whisper of movement, a ghost barely touching the ground, while Masha was the rumbling echo of a thunderstorm tearing through the space. A moment came when Masha had her cornered, yet with sheer determination, she slipped through the broad gap between his legs.
Masha turned to face her. Watching her as she held the knife in her grip, waiting for his move. “Jade wasn’t kidding,” he said.
Zella’s eyes thinned.
*
Hubert Quinn - Calloway’s Lab, São Paulo, Brazil
The air was dense with the odor of chemical preservatives. They floated from the numerous specimens in liquid-filled jars lining the cold steel shelves. A side room was dominated by a complex array of bioreactors and gene sequencers, their screens a black void. Against one wall stood an incubation chamber, a macabre glass carousel filled with rows of cylindrical pods.
Quinn found a hologram cartridge in a metal locker in the incubation space. He re-entered the main room and strolled to the center where Dr. Calloway had a large Holovision station setup.
“Find something?” Jade asked. She was watching Marina sobbing on a steel chair, daring her to try something.
“This cartridge is part of a collection of recordings, it seems,” Quinn murmured. “The doctor has labeled it Genetic Traits. And it’s marked number seven of seven.” Quinn’s sharp and unyielding gaze descended on Marina. She twitched, sensing his eyes on her. “Would you happen to know where the doctor kept the other six recordings?”
Marina's gaze lifted slowly to meet his, her body trembling as if icy tendrils of fear had wrapped around her bones. She shook her head.
“Bullshit,” Jade said. “You were sleeping with him, and that means you knew all his secrets.”
“H-he used to tell me he w-would never store important records digitally,” Marina stammered. “And that he w-would never store all of his physical media in one place.”
“Where else did he keep them?” Jada asked. “Did he have other spots in Brazil?”
Marina shook her head.
Quinn took Marina’s chin between his fingers and forced her eyes on him. He applied pressure to her jaw. “Be specific when you give your answers. Your life depends on it now.” Marina mumbled something, so Quinn released her. “Start again.”
“Those holo tapes…h-he had them shipped all over the w-world to different labs and storage units. I’m sure no more of them exist in Brazil.”
“Not even at your place?” Jade asked.
“He demanded that I carry nothing home from the lab, in case of situations like these. Where people came calling about his work.”
Quinn smiled. “He was a smart man. But not very intelligent.” He made his way to the Holovsion control panel and switched it on. The room’s light dimmed, replaced by blue ambient lighting. A cerulean orb pulsed to life in the middle of the room. Quinn slid the cartridge inside the slot and hit the play button. The Holovision's Operating System responded, its voice disembodied and chilling in the stillness:
“Playing entry number one.”
The visage of Dr. Calloway materialized within the holographic globe, a specter born of light and shadow. His voice echoed through the room, infusing the air with a foreboding truth.
“It was thought that Subject Number Seven died from the Starfalite. Yet, anomalously, the substance's assimilation within her biology was protracted, granting her a resurgence from death's grasp. This means that her body healed itself after death and restored organ functionality. We stand at the precipice of a profound revelation.
“Further tests are needed to determine if this is a one-off deal, or whether this is a common trait across all the Starfalite subjects. The termination of the Starlight initiative, though a setback, inadvertently bequeathed me with a serendipitous opportunity. It’s fortunate that I could secure the body for further research after the program was scrapped. Perhaps I can learn far more about the other living Starfalite subjects by carrying out tests on Zella.”
Dr. Calloway’s image disappeared.
“Entry number one is complete. Playing entry number two,” the OS assistant announced.
Dr. Calloway’s image flickered back into existence with significantly more grays in his beard than in the first clip.
“After eight years, subject Zella Mills is displaying freakishly inhuman abilities. Zella has never once played table tennis in her life, yet today she played with an expert’s proficiency. Upon witnessing this, I had her play several other reflex-oriented games—throughout which she showed reflexes that bordered on the inhuman. We tried baseball, soccer, and badminton. In each session, she played with unnatural reactions. She, however, showed a severe lack of understanding of the rules despite being told them multiple times.
“This corroborates my hypothesis: The 'immortals,' as they come to be known, will each unfold their own tapestry of superhuman faculties, and Zella's extraordinary capabilities are beginning to surface. I can only guess that COG is aware of these abilities in the other subjects and is already grooming them. Now I must take Zella under my wing and further study the development of these abilities. First things first, an immediate cerebral scan on Zella is needed—I believe there is an underlying neurological divergence, perhaps ADHD or an autism spectrum condition.”
With that, Dr. Calloway's holographic presence vanished once more.
“Entry number two is complete. Playing entry number three.”
Once again Dr. Calloway shimmered inside the blue orb. His appearance betrayed little about the passage of time since the last recording.
The doctor cleared his throat, which set off a fit of phlegm-laden coughs. He cleared his throat once more before speaking.
“With years of trials behind us, I can finally give a definitive portrait of subject Zella Mills. In many strands, her fabric is interwoven with that of her immortal kin—her physical prowess outstripping that of an ordinary human, her regenerative capabilities remarkable. She has rapid regeneration, allowing her to heal at an unbelievable rate. I suspect her regenerative abilities could be superior to her kin.
“Yet, she diverges from her fellow Starfalite subjects, presenting a peculiar paradox. The specter of mortality looms; old age may yet claim her. Albeit, at a pace that mocks the passage of time known to us.
“And within her cells lurks a vulnerability. An Achilles' heel to the microscopic marauders of virus and disease. I believe illness could severely weaken her. This is unlike the immortals.
“Though her abilities resemble the other Starfalite subjects, she cannot technically be called an immortal. Zella is more vulnerable to death than the others, but her advanced healing and superhuman reflexes are her saving grace. I believe her resurrection to be the cause of those vulnerabilities.
“In my entries about the other subjects, I have noted my fears about their cognitive disobedience and how it could be a danger to humanity. Zella however, has provided a ray of hope. She has shown that we can nurture away this defect.
“I am, however, skeptical about COG’s intentions for the other subjects. If mismanaged, they could unintentionally create a tyrannical unit that oppresses the human race.
“Thus, I am compelled to form contingencies and safeguards. It pains me to say it, but Zella Mills could be the only countermeasure to their renegade wrath.”
A hand offered Dr. Calloway a napkin in the hologram. Grasping it, the doctor surrendered to a moment of raw humanity.
“Entry number three is complete. All entries have been played. Would you like to replay them?”
“You were right,” Jade exclaimed. “You were so right about her. She’s really one of us. I can’t believe it! One of those dead babies survived. How did no one at COG know this?”
Quinn shook his head. “Reflexes,” he murmured, ignoring Jade’s questioning. “Her reflexes bested Zip’s teleportation.” He turned away from the Holovision and glanced down at Marina. “That was your hand in that last recording, wasn’t it?” He asked. Marina shook her head. “Either you spill the contents of those missing tapes, or you take your last breaths.”
Marina broke down in tears. “P-please! I don’t know. I wasn’t here when he recorded them all. All I can tell you is what I know. Please don’t kill me.”
Quinn descended to Marina’s level, his posture relaxed, but the threat in his gaze undeniable. A disquieting smile unfurled across his lips. “No, I won’t take your life. You're far too precious an asset.” With a feigned tenderness, Quinn swept a damp lock of Marina's hair from her cheek. "You're the key to Zella Mills' leash. Your life ensures we can get her anywhere we need her." His gaze locked onto Marina with a predator’s intensity. The derangement in his eyes was a clear mirror of the cognitive disobedience that Dr. Calloway described.
-Mere Immortal is written by Gary Swift. If you see this on another website under another name, then someone has plagiarised it. Visit mereimmortal.com for official chapters. Subscribe to the Substack paid tier to support the creation of this project.
-This version of Mere Immortal is written in US English.