The Council isn’t the sort of organization most people retire from. Giving up that much influence over the world isn’t done lightly, and I don’t think most of us expect to live long enough that we’d actually prefer to. Professor Superior is the exception. Despite having been with the Council for nearly its entire lifetime, the very first recruit the founders ever brought in, he never had much interest in the world-ruling side of things. He just wanted the Council’s resources to work on his own projects. And once we ousted the Founders, he decided to retire, on the condition that he’d get to keep most of that access.
It was an easy concession to make, of course. And for the most part, his knowledge of the Council’s existence hasn’t been an issue. But I’m not meeting with him to ask whether he’s been plotting against us. The odds of that are miniscule. I’m meeting with him because Beringer was a supervillain around the same time that the Vitruvian was a hero, and he might have some insight into the inner workings of his mind.
We set Superior up in a nice house in a small town in Kansas, the kind of place he’ll be completely anonymous. Technically, ‘Eric Beringer’ is dead, so we set him up with a false identity, but I doubt that was even necessary. Nobody would come looking for him.
Were I entering via the front door, I suspect I’d attract some curious looks from the locals, even with my uniform hidden safely under my casual clothes. In a larger city, I can blend in well enough, but somewhere like this, I stick out like the only thumb that isn’t sore. Thankfully, the Professor has a translocation hub in the lab underneath his home, so I don’t have to risk any unwanted interactions with the great unwashed.
As is polite, I sent Eric a message before ‘locating over, so he’s waiting for me when I arrive, a warm smile on his lined face. The last two years have been kind to him, helping shake off the pallor cast by decades in prison, and then effectively trapped in Abyss by the Council’s founders. They claimed that it was to prevent anybody from realizing they’d faked his death, but I suspect it was instead to keep a close eye on him, and make sure he wasn’t building anything that might end the world, as he’d apparently once done in a previous timeline.
“Good to see you, Professor.”
“Likewise, Doctor,” Eric replies. We share a chuckle at that. Our respective titles possess precisely the same degree of legitimacy, as they were not bestowed upon us by an accredited university, but rather the College of Crime, an underworld institution that the ‘upper crust’ of supercriminals attend to hone their abilities. Father was one of the founders, while Eric was the very first Professor of Mad Science, the very same subject I received my doctorate in decades later. Many of the other students harbored resentment towards me for being a ‘legacy,’ but I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was there based on talent alone when I stole a nuclear warhead for my senior project. It still sits in my small trophy room at home, gathering dust. Despite the audacity of the heist, it was more for show, as I didn’t have the means or the interest in using it. Now, as a member of the Council, I possess the means to do far more damage, but still lack any reason to use them.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Or would you prefer to see what I’ve been working on?”
I did come here for a specific reason, but I find I can’t turn down Eric’s offer so easily. Despite his eccentricities, he’s a brilliant man, and I rarely walk away from a conversation with him without being inspired in some way or another.
“By all means, astound me,” I answer with ironic grandiosity. That seems to please him, and he turns to survey the lab, searching for something sufficiently impressive to show me. It’s rather different than the lab at Winters House, having been installed after we purchased the property for Eric, so it’s quite modern in most ways. Most of the big, bolted-down equipment is cutting-edge, either the latest you’ll see on the shelves, or things that aren’t even available commercially yet. But his actual tools are fairly antiquated. I suppose hammers and wrenches are what he’s used to working with, and far be it from me to criticize his methods considering the kind of results he produces.
Something catches Eric’s eye, and he ambles over, patting a sleek silver helmet proudly. It’s got wide holes to see through, rather than lenses, and a pair of thick antennae protruding from the top. Several wires extend from the back, connected to a wall outlet. Seeing something that reeks of mad science being charged like an ordinary smartphone feels incongruous, but I suppose there’s no reason it shouldn’t run on electricity like just about everything else. Nuclear fuel cells tend to be more efficient for long-term use, but obviously they come with downsides of their own.
“This was more of a pet project than anything,” he says. Then his eyes light up like he’s just realized that he made a joke. “Ah, no pun intended. You see, the neighbor’s dog has a particularly vile habit of defecating on my lawn, so I devised a tool to control its feeble mind. Now it leaves its fetid ‘presents’ on its owner’s bed instead.”
The mental image of Eric sitting in his living room, sipping coffee and remotely manipulating that poor dog to get his petty revenge on the neighbors makes me laugh out loud. Luckily, he isn’t the type to take offense to that- at least, not now that he’s properly medicated. Back in the day, I’m told such a thing could make him fly into a rage.
“I can see why your name is still spoken in hushed tones within the criminal underworld. Truly, your deviousness knows no bounds.”
“Hah! You mock me, boy, but with a mere thought, I could unleash the fearsome might of a Pomeranian upon you. Just as soon as this thing is finished charging.”
Chortling to himself, Eric gives the helmet another pat, then turns back to the rest of the lab. From what I understand, he tends to operate in a sort of cycle, beginning with a burst of high efficiency, followed by a slump where he lets projects collect dust, and bounces between various new ones trying to rekindle his creative spark, letting the lab accumulate clutter as a result. Then another burst of energy where he tidies things up and refocuses himself to one specific project, only to lose that drive and repeat the whole cycle all over again. Before he was medicated, he operated almost exclusively in that manic state, which resulted in some genuinely impressive creations, but also a great deal of chaos.
Right now, it looks like he’s in the second half of the cycle. Almost every available surface has some sort of half-finished trinket resting upon it, with countless clear plastic wrappers for the breath mints he compulsively consumes crammed in between them. As a result, it takes him a little while to find something else worth showing off. Finally, his eyes settle on something buried beneath a layer of junk, which he hastily clears off before displaying the device to me. It looks like a flat, brass disc with a number of irregularly-shaped orbs set into it, but when he presses a button in the side, it hums for a moment, then launches the orbs into the air, where they hang motionless. Another few seconds pass, then they light up, a holographic projection appearing around each of the orbs. It’s only then that I realize what this is- a map of the solar system. Once each of the orbs is active, it’s obvious they correspond to all eight planets, though the various minor celestial bodies aren’t represented. Slowly, they begin to move, seemingly replicating the true orbital and rotational speed of the planets they represent.
“It mirrors the actual position of each planet,” Eric explains. “I wanted them to display an accurate representation of their surfaces as well, but apparently setting up that many satellites would be too expensive.”
Indeed, the holographic displays seem to be on a short loop. I watch the roiling storms of Jupiter rage, then reset, then rage again. Being able to watch a solar flare as it happens would be impressive, but it’ll probably be a few more centuries before we’re at that point.
“It’s very pretty, but I’m not sure I see the point. We have holo-maps of the solar system already.”
“Oh, I just thought it would be a nice conversation piece. Like having a globe on your desk.”
“I see.”
Eric turns the device off, and each orb drops back down into its slot. For a moment he turns as if to look for something else to show off, but swiftly decides against it.
“Well, good as it is to see you, I have to ask. Is this a social call, or is it… business?”
“Business, I’m afraid.”
That provokes a sigh. Eric knows I’m not here to drag him back into active duty, so to speak, but the notion of discussing anything more serious than his latest gizmos seems to exhaust him.
“In that case, I’m going to have something to drink.”
Flicking the light switch on his way, Eric heads up the stairs and out of the lab. I follow close behind, though being forced to move at the pace of a man twice my age is somewhat frustrating. His lab doesn’t have a hidden entrance like mine, just a door with a DNA lock rather than a keyhole. On the other side is his modest kitchen, which doesn’t seem like it sees a great deal of use. The only real indication that he comes in here at all is the half-empty bag of breath mints sitting open on the countertop. Eric ignores them, and makes his way into the living room, fetching a bottle from the liquor cabinet. When he gestures to them, I shake my head, and he proceeds to pour himself a glass. Normally, I’d be inclined to join him, but I’ve already wasted enough time.
Holding the glass steady in one hand, Eric lowers himself into an armchair, while I seat myself on the couch, shrugging off my jacket and draping it behind me. Before speaking, Eric takes a drink and places the glass on the small table beside him. Next to the glass are a number of mechanical oddities that don’t seem to have any particular purpose other than looking interesting. Besides those, there aren’t many indications that this home is owned by a mad scientist. Ordinary appliances, uninspiring decor- virtually everything left the way it was when he moved in.
“Well, out with it.”
Eric isn’t exactly hostile, but his attitude is rather less warm now that he knows I only came because I needed something from him. I can’t fault him for that, but I also don’t exactly have the time to indulge his annoyance at the moment.
“The Vitruvian. You encountered him more than once. What can you tell me about him?”
That catches him by surprise, which is no shock to me. But Eric doesn’t inquire as to why I’m asking after a dead man. The details aren’t important to him, because the more he knows, the more he’ll find himself being drawn back into the Council’s machinations. Better to keep himself in the dark as much as possible.
“I suppose you aren’t looking for me to summarize his Wikipedia article.”
“No. I’m interested in what he was capable of. His tactics. That sort of thing.”
In other words, I’m asking how to beat him in a fight. Eric’s not stupid- he can probably guess why this might be of interest to me. But as much as I’m sure he’s curious how the Vitruvian could possibly be alive, he refrains from asking. I’m just glad I don’t have to explain it all to him.
“Well, the first thing you have to understand is that I didn’t face him often, and it was almost never a direct confrontation. He and his Vanguard operated mainly on the East Coast, while I was in Chicago. But your father came to me for assistance in dealing with them. Said he saw potential in my designs. Of course, I was still working for the mob, but his friend the Thresher worked out some sort of deal. They’d help out with something if I helped them with the Vanguard. I don’t remember the details.”
Listening to Eric’s rambling recollections makes me question whether he’s got anything useful at all, but I don’t interrupt. With any luck, he’s working towards a point.
“Anyways, the plan was never to fight him head-on. Your father knew better than that. No, what we were going to do was trick him. We staged a bank robbery, baited the Vanguard into following us into the vault, then locked them inside. Of course, that wouldn’t have kept them for long, which is why your father and I had come in disguised as contractors earlier in the week, and installed devices inside the vault that would transport the entire thing to a dimension outside of space and time. After a few hours, it’d come back, but in the meantime, we’d have robbed the rest of the city blind.”
This job sounds vaguely familiar, most likely because I read about it while researching Father’s criminal career.
“He found a way out?”
“Oh yes he did. You see, the Vitruvian’s powers didn’t work like yours or mine. He’s a builder, yes, but he doesn’t have the same limits we do. He creates living machinery. That armor of his was the main example, of course. Made Machina’s work look like a crude imitation. If it wasn’t already capable of doing whatever he needed, the armor would become capable. The only restraint was his own imagination.”
What Eric is describing sounds less like technology and more like magic, but I know better than to presume there’s a difference. To most people, the things he and I build are essentially witchcraft. What’s really concerning is the implication that what ordinary people are to Eric and I, we are to the Vitruvian.
“How is that possible? He can’t have just been generating arbitrary new components from nowhere, can he?”
Then again, how can someone who fires lasers from their eyes generate that energy? They draw on power sources from the storage dimension that Father discovered. Maybe the Vitruvian was doing the same, but with technology. But if that’s true, he’d be virtually unstoppable, and that doesn’t fit with what we knew about him. He was powerful, but not that powerful.
“How does any other living organism grow? You feed it, of course.”
“So his armor could… consume material to fuel itself?”
“Yes, but not just anything, mind you. It had to be processed materials, with components complex enough for him to use. In fact, I suspect that’s one of the factors that prevented him from becoming stronger than he was. Only so much technology for him to make use of, in those days.”
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That’s reassuring, at least. It does raise some questions about how he remained trapped in that other dimension for so long, with a planet-sized computer to harvest components from. Maybe his tech was incapable of doing so, because it would be equivalent to cannibalizing itself? Either way, it makes me glad that the standard protocol for a blackout cell is to prohibit anything more technologically advanced than a wooden chair from going in.
“So, if you starved him of materials to process, he wouldn’t be able to generate new technology?”
“In theory, I suppose,” Eric replies with a frown. “We were never able to test anything like that, I’m afraid. He always had a surplus to work with, and if necessary, he could disable certain functions and repurpose their components for something else. On several occasions, your father tried to infect his systems by feeding them devices designed deliberately to malfunction, but it never seemed to work. It defied logic- he could process a pay-phone and generate an antigravity matrix. Either he was converting the materials on an atomic level, or he was never actually using the components at all- they were just a price he had to pay.” He sighs, looking resigned. “I’ve had decades to think about it, and I still don’t understand how it worked any better than I did when I first saw it.”
Some meta-geniuses are capable of rigging together powerful weapons from mundane technology, but there’s always an underlying logic. Dismantling a vending machine and using the components to craft a shrapnel cannon is one thing. Virtually all of the materials you’d need are already there. But turning a vending machine into a directed energy weapon is virtually impossible, no matter how smart you are. If Eric or I wanted to build a laser, we’d need specialized materials- focusing lenses, fuel cells, and the like. But it sounds like that’s exactly what the Vitruvian was doing. And if he could do that, what’s to say he couldn’t have found a way to circumvent our signal jammers and coordinated these events from inside of his cell?
That, however, I was already fairly certain of. What I’m really interested in isn’t whether the Vitruvian could have done all this, but if he would have.
“Okay. What about his tactics? How did he operate?”
‘He was brilliant,” Eric replies, without a moment’s hesitation. “A born leader. The Vanguard was less a team and more a collective extension of his will. Of course, that’s likely why they didn’t last very long without him.”
Having respect for your enemies is the sort of old-fashioned thing I’ve come to expect from Eric, but this feels like it goes even beyond that. I suspect the pseudo-mythologization of the man has something to do with the fact that Eric could never figure out how his powers worked. That underlying mystery led him to build the man up in his mind, until he was some sort of larger-than-life figure. Even Father, who saw him as the one worthy foe he ever faced, didn’t go quite that far in describing him.
“I see. Were there any patterns you picked up on in the way he fought? Strengths or weaknesses?”
“He was always reactionary. Not in the political sense, but in that he was always coming after us, never for us. When we committed a crime, he’d be there, but if we were laying low, he’d leave us alone. And his priority was always on protecting people. In fact, that’s how we usually escaped- by making him choose between saving lives and stopping us.”
My mental image is of Eric dropping a comically large cartoon bomb behind him, and leaving the Vitruvian to defuse it while he ran away. The description does fit with how he acted in the debriefing, though. Total refusal to compromise his principles.
“So he didn’t believe in acceptable losses? Do you think he’d ever deliberately endanger anybody just to win a fight?”
Eric shakes his head firmly.
“Absolutely not. That went against everything he stood for.” He takes a drink, eyes distant. “Now, Atlas might have been a different story. Especially after he went independent, if what I saw on the TV in prison was any indication. The Vitruvian was always more concerned with building shields than swords, if you see my meaning. But Atlas wanted to get the job done by any means necessary.”
That piques my interest, but before I can ask Eric to elaborate, my implant sends me an alert. It’s urgent- Class Four. The Professor recognizes the sound and sighs.
“Duty calls?”
“So it seems,” I answer, standing up and pulling my jacket back on. “I’ll speak to you again soon.”
“Best of luck, Doctor Winters.”
----------------------------------------
The Council’s threat-rating system doesn’t require superhuman intellect to understand. It goes from one to five, and the higher the number, the worse the situation is. Anywhere between one and three is something we don’t need to handle directly. Four means it’s hands-on, but not as bad as five, which is reserved for potential world-ending threats. A rogue metahuman loose inside of a nuclear power plant isn’t apocalyptic, but it’s bad enough that I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving it in the hands of anyone else. Evidently, Network felt similarly, because when he got wind of what was happening, he came straight to us.
Axel also made the call to have the plant evacuated as quietly as possible, rather than sounding every available alarm. Normally, that would be a mistake, but in this case it was the right choice. This particular plant is about fifty miles north of a mid-sized town in Arkansas, and if they got word that they might be about to get an oversized serving of radioactive fallout for breakfast, it would cause a panic that I’d characterize as ‘counterproductive,’ to say the least. Not to mention that this plant is a part of Optimization Group’s broader nuclear power initiative, and if this attack was highly publicized, it would destroy years of work spent convincing the public that not every nuclear reactor is a Chernobyl waiting to happen. We’ll just have to make sure that isn’t true.
Unfortunately, ‘we’ in this case refers to Zero, Ulysses and I. Not exactly the three people I’d pick for a mission that might end in a nuclear detonation, considering none of us have a built-in resistance to radiation the way some of our colleagues do. Right now, though, we’re the only ones available. It would have been an insult to ask Zero if she was combat-ready, so rather than do so, I simply equipped myself with an environment suit and readied for deployment. With no translocation hub nearby, we were forced to take the plane, costing us precious time. However, the plant’s security measures are formidable, and thanks to the jet’s hypersonic capabilities, we’re on-site less than thirty minutes after the initial alert.
Sandra’s been unable to access security feeds from inside the plant, either because they’re not networked, or because something is interfering, which means we’re essentially going in blind, save for the information Network was able to provide. And that wasn’t much- just that a shirtless man walked into the plant after shrugging off the perimeter guards’ bullets, and shouted something about needing to ‘feed.’ That isn’t much to go off of, but my working theory is that we’re dealing with a dynakinetic, the kind who thinks a nuclear reactor core would make for a delicious afternoon snack. That limits the kind of weaponry that’ll be effective against him, if nothing else. No plasma shotgun for me today.
It doesn’t fail to cross my mind, as we cross the short distance from where Ulysses landed the plane to the plant’s entrance, that this is part of some larger scheme. It’s the third Class Four incident we’ve dealt with today. That doesn’t just happen. And the past week has been equally chaotic. Sandra and I already discussed a number of people that could be behind all of it, but there were no obvious answers to be found. This certainly doesn’t fit with my previous working theory, that the Vitruvian could somehow have orchestrated it all from his cell. Based on what Eric said, he wouldn’t risk a single innocent life, much less an entire town’s worth, just to get at us. And even Atlas, supposedly the more pragmatic member of the team, doesn’t seem like he’d ever go that far. Either way, once this is done, I’m going to personally upgrade the Vitruvian’s cell, and make sure that there’s no way he could be communicating with anyone on the outside.
When the evacuation order was given, the plant’s staff left in such a hurry that they didn’t bother to lock the doors. Of course, the front door had already been torn off its hinges, by the very same metahuman we’re here to stop. There’s nothing dangerous in the air yet, but all three of us are wearing full-body hazmat suits. Not the clunky exoskeleton model I wore through Father’s portal, of course. That was designed to protect against every possible environmental threat. Radiation, as dangerous as it is, remains a known quantity.
“Lai,” Ulysses says as we pass through the threshold. “Can you determine how far in he’s gotten?”
Zero shakes her head, an undercurrent of frustration in her voice.
“No. The whole plant operates on a closed system. Must have been worried about somebody trying to steal their precious secrets.”
“Very well. The two of you will proceed towards the reactor and head off our man. I’ll make my way to the control room and do what I can to prevent a meltdown, if he does manage to get inside.”
I don’t remember when Ulysses assumed operational control of this mission, but there’s no time to quarrel about that now. Besides, if any one of us is qualified to operate the controls of a nuclear reactor, it’s the man with the quantum supercomputer for a brain. When neither Sandra nor I offer an objection, he begins walking briskly in one direction, leaving us to go the other way. There are no signs pointing to the reactor, but Zero was able to acquire a blueprint on the way over, and the navigation program in my mask is now using it to map the most efficient route to our destination.
Something about the drab institutional gray of the power plant’s interior makes the entire mission feel strange. Despite the destructive potential contained within, it looks to all appearances like an ordinary, uninteresting workplace. Zero and I move with a certain sense of urgency, but we aren’t in a dead sprint, as that would exhaust us well before the actual confrontation. Instead, we’re forced to jog through the halls, a process made even more awkward by our baggy protective gear. Despite that, I do notice that Sandra is keeping pace with me easily, and I make a mental note to compliment her on that after we’re done here. Despite being at her deadliest behind a keyboard, she’s made a real effort to stay in good physical condition as well, for when a field deployment is unavoidable. Not that she’ll be fighting with her fists, but having solid stamina is important even when your main weapon is a hard-light construct.
“You learn anything useful from the Professor?”
Zero’s voice comes crisply through my earpiece, rather than being muffled by the gas mask she’s wearing.
“I’m not sure. But the Vitruvian is definitely more dangerous than we thought. We need to upgrade security around him. Maybe even see about removing his armor.”
“Even if it kills him?”
“I… I don’t know.”
She lets the subject drop after that. Probably trying to figure out who could be behind this incident, same as me. Unfortunately, until we know more, there isn’t much to do except speculate.
For fairly obvious security reasons, the reactor core is quite far from the plant’s front entrance. Alarms are already blaring throughout the entire facility, but every second that passes could be the one where the words ‘meltdown imminent’ become an accompaniment to the cacophony. It’s only when we pass the first set of blast doors, a jagged, gaping hole torn through them, that I get the sense we’re close. But that means the target is even closer.
“Winters, Lai. Have you reached the core yet?”
“We’re approaching it,” I reply tersely. “What are you doing?”
“Familiarizing myself with the controls,” Ulysses retorts. “Would you prefer I start pressing buttons at random and hope for the best?”
I’m tempted to not even dignify that with a response, but before I can decide, there’s a noise much further down the hallway. The unmistakable sound of tearing metal. It’s horrid, of course, but compared to further admonishment from Ulysses, it’s music to my ears. Zero glances at me, nods, and then starts running. As she goes, she activates her hard-light armor, projectors on the surface of her hazmat suit coming to life.
The original version of Sandra’s holo-armor had some serious limitations. It was fixed to a single, pre-programmed design, and if she wanted anything else, she’d have to get out her keyboard and code it mid-fight. That was before I joined the Council. With my help, she was able to upgrade the projectors using the same technology that allows me to summon any weapon in my arsenal with a thought. Now the projectors will generate anything she can think of, no physical interface necessary. Hard-light tech still has some serious drawbacks, like the fact that it offers zero protection against gas attacks, but it’s no longer quite so limited.
As I watch, Zero wraps a sleek suit of solid silver light around herself. It’s not as bulky as her usual model, but I realize the reason for that swiftly. The projection is complex enough to include internal machinery. That means, despite just being a hologram, the armor can hit harder than an ordinary human, not to mention move much faster. Sandra swiftly outpaces me, and I hurry behind, summing my own weapon of choice from the void. Energy weapons are straight out, since a dynakinetic would just absorb their output. Standard ballistics won’t fare much better, if he can simply absorb their kinetic energy. That leaves me with few options. Eventually, I settle on one, then start running after Zero.
Rounding a corner, I see a set of doors conveniently marked with the word ‘CORE,’ looking significantly heavier than the blast doors we already passed on the way here. Zero is halfway down the hall, and the target turns to face her, looking surprised. The details are hard to make out at this distance, but as I get closer, I can see the armor’s arms shift into a pair of blades. Clearly, Sandra intends to run him through, and end the threat immediately. Before she gets a chance, though, he thrusts both arms forward and unleashes an energy blast that throws her into the air. Skidding across the ground as she lands, Zero ends up a few feet away from me, and I rush over to make sure she’s alright. Hard-light isn’t as effective against energy weapons as it is against kinetics, but she gives no indication of being injured, just pushes herself back up to her feet, swearing under her breath.
“We might have tried the diplomatic approach first, no?”
“Does he look like he’s interested in negotiating to you?”
Indeed, our man has already turned his attention back to the door. Tearing it open doesn’t seem to be working, so he switches to pounding on it. More worrisome, he actually looks like he’s getting somewhere, each blow leaving a sizable dent in the metal. If we left him alone, he might exhaust his energy reserves before he could actually batter the door down, but I’m not willing to take that risk.
“Perhaps you’re right. Nevertheless, it’s worth a shot.”
Zero’s face isn’t visible beneath the armor, but I can picture her skeptical expression. She doesn’t argue, though, just shifts the suit into a sturdier form, one I’m sure could withstand another attack of the previous one’s caliber. Always good to have a backup plan.
“Who are you?”
Seemingly caught off guard by the question, the target pauses with his fist raised, and looks over his shoulder at me. He’s shirtless, bald, with a manic look in his eyes. No shoes, either, just a pair of blue jeans that look brand new.
“I… hunger…”
Though his voice is raised, it’s not quite a shout. More of a high-volume moan. Certainly not an ideal start, but talking seems to have stopped him from his assault upon the door.
“Why exactly are you here, then?”
“Must… feed…”
As he says that, his eyes turn bright red, and my pulse skyrockets. I don’t stop, though, just keep walking at the same unhurried pace. A reckless charge might set him off, but he doesn’t seem to have registered my slow approach as a threat.
“If you feed here, people could die. We can find a safer alternative.” No response. “Let us help you.”
Eyes still alight, he turns away without another word, and hits the door again. This time, the entire building shudders. He isn’t listening anymore, and I’m still too far away. There has to be another way to get his attention, and fast- that door won’t take many more hits. I draw my sidearm and fire, ignoring the horrified voice that knows better than to use a firearm anywhere near a nuclear reactor. As expected, the bullet hits him with all the force of a snowball, kinetic energy sapped, but it does get him to turn around.
“If you won’t stop, we’re going to have to stop you.”
It’s not entirely clear how much of what I’m saying is getting through, but the word ‘stop’ seems to aggravate him. He starts towards us, the desperate mania contorting into something that resembles rage.
“No stop! No!”
He unleashes another energy attack, but Zero steps in front of me, allowing it to strike her now-reinforced armor. It staggers her, but she stays standing, and that gives me enough time to hurl the grenade in my other hand. From behind Sandra, I watch it sail towards him, his eyes tracking it dumbly, but before he can react, it detonates. It’s not shrapnel that explodes outward, though. That would be no more effective than a bullet. This grenade contains gel. A special kind, that calcifies rapidly on contact with oxygen. Right now, our target, along with half the hallway, is covered in it. He struggles against it, but the gel hardens around him before he can get free.
Beneath the gel layer, I can see his body start to glow, like he’s charging up a burst attack that would shatter it. But before he can do that, Zero closes the gap and puts a hard-light blade to his neck. A swift stroke wouldn’t work- he’d absorb the energy. Instead, she has to slowly push the blade into his flesh, blood sliding off its frictionless hard-light surface. Once it’s done, the light in his eyes fades, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. One more crisis averted. One more—
“Winters? Come take a look at this.”
Sandra’s voice interrupts my train of thought, and turn back towards her, to find she’s holding up the severed head, stump pointed in my direction. She’s not the type to take any sort of perverse pleasure in violence, so it takes a moment for me to realize why she’s showing the ‘trophy’ to me. It’s not leaking blood as one might expect it to. There’s a little, but nowhere near the actual amount contained within the human head and neck. Nor are there any of the organs typically associated with that region of the body. Instead, there’s a mess of wires and circuitry spilling out.
“What—”
Before I can even finish expressing my confusion, Zero hurls the head to the ground and starts hacking away at the rest of the body, breaking the hardened gel and carving open its innards. It’s no less mechanical than the head was, a thin layer of real skin and blood on the surface to disguise the automaton’s true nature to us.
“I told you! Someone’s playing us. Are you watching right now? Huh? Because I’m gonna find you, and—”
“Stop. Don’t destroy it. We’ll need to examine the remains, see if we can figure out who sent it.”
Zero ceases her dismemberment of the machine, her heavy breathing filling my ears through our comms. My mind is still racing. This isn’t hard proof of a conspiracy- it could just be a machine designed to feed on energy, one whose creator lost control of it. But with everything else that’s been going on, I don’t particularly feel like assuming the best.
“Ulysses, what’s the status of the reactor? Are we clear to leave?”
No answer. I can hear Zero’s breath hitch.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!”
“What?”
“No vitals.”
“You mean his implant’s offline, or—”
“The other thing,” Sandra answers, unwilling or unable to make it more explicit than that. We start running. After a second, the nav system reactivates, this time guiding us to the control room. I’ve already got my plasma shotgun in hand. If whoever’s targeting us could have taken out Ulysses, there’s no sense in taking half measures.
Zero is close behind me at first. Then her armor shifts back into speed-mode, or whatever she calls the lightning-fast configuration she used earlier. By the time I fully register that, she’s far ahead of me.
“Wait.”
There’s a harsh scraping sound as she comes to an abrupt halt, tearing up the concrete floor as she brakes.
“What?”
“Don’t-” I pause, trying to catch my breath. “Don’t go rushing in. If they got him…”
There isn’t enough air in my lungs to finish the sentence, but she gets the idea. No second chances here. That means no unnecessary risks. She keeps pace with me, shifting the form of her armor every few seconds, like a nervous tic. By the time we reach the control room, she’s settled on a configuration with two additional arms, one of which has a whirring chainsaw blade, while the other sports a massive spiked bludgeon. The standard two are equipped with a pair of scimitar blades. Not something I’d want to face down in a dark alley, but against something that could have beaten Ulysses, I don’t know if it’ll be sufficient.
Whoever our foe is, he didn’t wait around in the control room to greet us. Instead, he left a present.
Before, when I realized that the android’s head didn’t have nearly enough blood in it, I was judging against my own clinical knowledge of the human body. Before me now is a reminder of exactly how much blood that is. Ulysses’ head sits on a metal spike in the middle of the room, the other end driven into the floor. Blood coats the walls, the control panel, the ground beneath our feet… I suppress the urge to vomit.
“My god.”
I’m not a pious man, but those are the only words that come to mind. Zero doesn’t say anything, just reaches for the sick display. I place a hand on the armor’s exterior, gently pulling her away.
“We don’t know if it’s been trapped.”
Precisely how that would be possible, I’m not certain, but I won’t put anything past whoever did this. Especially when I realize that the rest of his body is missing.
“His tracker. Can you—”
“Offline,” Zero replies hollowly. “They must have taken it.”
“Along with the rest of him. We need to go. Now.”
Sandra doesn’t say a word, just activates her implant and disappears. I linger for a moment, making sure to take a picture of the grisly scene, then follow.
Back at Abyss, there’s a few moments of silence as we remove our hazmat gear. I pull off my mask and meet Zero’s eyes. Neither of us can think of anything to say. Death has always been on the table for all of us, but this wasn’t a death in the line of duty. This was an assassination.
I activate my implant, broadcasting on the main line.
“Winters to all points. Return to Abyss immediately. Someone just started a war.”