“All war is based on deception.” – Sun Tzu
Prologue
August 12, 1993
4:31 am Eastern Time
Somewhere in Independence Port:
“This was supposed to be a simple job, Mook! It’s not like you was goin into Port Oakes to whack a Marcone, This was just shakin’ down some rich guy!”
Guido Verandi circled the other man, his arms gesturing wildly as he spit vitriolic accusations one after the other. The man being berated looked as though he had been beaten by an angry mob. His body was slumped half in and half out of a metal folding chair, his amateurly bandaged head hanging off his right shoulder like the drooping head of a rag doll. Two pools of blood grew towards each other on the concrete floor below, one from the slow drip off his bleeding head, one from the trickle coming off his left hand. What was once no doubt an expensive pinstriped suit now hung off his body in bloody shreds and ribbons.
“Dis… dis was no… simple… job… Mooch…” The gangster struggled for air between words. One of his lungs had been punctured, and was leaking with a wheezing noise that punctuated his labored breathing.
“It don’t get any more simple, Tommy!” Verandi swung his arms out wildly and came back with a motion that looked like he was going to slap the man, but stopped himself short. “You had a whole FREAKIN’ squad of goons wit you! What did I send, like twenty guys out there! What the HELL happened?!”
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6:05 am Eastern Time
Paragon Channel 6 Morning News
“Our top story this morning, on the 6 year anniversary of the safe return of his son after a lengthy kidnapping ordeal, tragedy strikes again at the home of billionaire shipping magnate Howard Drake. We go now live to the scene with Rachel Thomas. Rachel…”
“…As you can see here, J.W., the entire estate has been cordoned off with police tape, illustrating the size and scope of the crime scene here outside the Drake home.
“Although we do not yet know what exactly happened _inside_ the Drake home in the early morning hours today, we can speculate as to the carnage just by observing the scene here outside the lavish mansion just a few minutes north of Independence Port.
As you can see directly behind me, the most obvious evidence sits here in the Olympic track-length driveway outside the home; several burned out vehicles that are still being worked on by Paragon City fire crews. In addition, what you probably can’t see behind me are the numerous yellow police markers peppered across the grounds of the estate, marking the locations of what our aerial cameras have identified as bullets and shell casings scattered throughout the surrounding yard.”
“As reported earlier by Paragon News 6, Drake and his wife Melinda were airlifted from the scene to Bell Medical Center in nearby Independence Port around 3am, however, tragically, both Howard and Melinda Drake were pronounced dead on arrival. The extent of their injuries is still not being released but sources close to this reporter say both Drakes appeared to have suffered severe blunt force trauma as well as multiple gunshot wounds.”
“We’re being told that Police have taken the apparent sole survivor of the attack, 16 year old David Drake, into protective custody. It is still unclear how the Drake’s son managed to escape this horrible tragedy. Back to you, J.W.”
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Somewhere in Independence Port:
“We… weren’t… the only guys… goin’ for Drake…”
“Who else, Tommy? Marcones?” Guido continued to walk circling around from behind the man in the chair, pounding his fists together as he fumed.
“Yeah… them too…but not… just… “
A punctuated gurgle erupted from the mook’s throat as he arched his back and sat straight up in the chair. Verandi turned, a shocked look sweeping across his face as he fixated on the button-man’s eyes. The hitman’s eyes were bulged, and his right arm swung frantically up towards his chest, his fingers twitching towards his neck. A half second later, his body shot upwards toward the ceiling, neck first, his head snapping at an unnatural angle as his limbs jerked once before flopping down and coming to rest pointed back towards the ground.
“What the hell…” Verandi whispered to himself, recoiling at the sight of the man hanging seemingly in midair. As he approached him, he began to make out a razor thin line that seemed to run directly up from the unnatural crick in his goon’s neck, disappearing upwards to the warehouse rafters 20 feet overhead. As he leaned in closer, tilting his head upwards, he could make out the almost invisible tension wire wrapped tightly around the man’s neck.
Verandi, still in shock at the sight before him, spun around quickly at the sound of footsteps behind him, drawing the pistol from his waistband as he turned to face the figure approaching him. As the man drew closer and came out of the shadows, Verandi recognized his face.
“You? What in the hell is THIS!?” Verandi pointed back at his hanging goon without taking his eyes or gun off the man walking towards him.
“The garrote is an ancient weapon, Mr. Verandi. One, I think, with particular significance to men of your line of work.” The man spoke with a pronounced English accent, though Verandi wasn’t smart enough to distinguish the dialect. “As you can appreciate, sometimes the old ways are best.”
“It’s a little late to pay up now, buddy. Oh wait I get it, now that your boss shows up at Bell in a body bag, you figure you’re gonna need a new job? I gotta say, I don’t appreciate the insult, comin’ into my place of business with…”
“You have no idea against whom you have committed this offense, Mr Verandi.”
“What are you talkin’ about, limey? Your boss paid his dues for six years and when the payments stopped we had to make sure our agreement was still understood. I didn’t send my boys to whack him, I sent them to COLLECT!”
“I see that I need to clarify something for you. Your arrangement was not with Mr Drake, it was with my employer, who has chosen to create a new arrangement, one that no longer involves you. We have various methods of dealing with various arrangements, and although Mr. Drake is dead, your ‘organization’ has provided an unknowing but useful service to us. I have come to render a final payment to you.”
“Final payment? I don’t get it… what’s goin’ on here!?”
“In this warehouse, you have an upstairs office, with a wall safe that uses the combination 42-15-75. In the safe you will find an unmarked black briefcase containing the sum of ten million dollars US currency.”
“Ten million, holy… If you’re tryin’ to pay me off or something…”
“Simply consider this a… ‘separation agreement’. I want you to understand something very important, Mr. Verandi, something that I’m sure a man of your disposition will understand. This is the last time anyone in your employ shall ever raise a hand against the Drake family. Not overtly, not covertly. It is also the last time the events of today shall be spoken of, anywhere, with anyone. If you do, we will know. You should know, of course, that our people are everywhere… even in your own ‘safe’ houses.”
As if on cue, a single dark figure dropped from the rafters, landing his feet gracefully on the ground and lowering into a crouched position in a single fluid movement, without making so much as a sound.
“Who the hell are you, anyways?!”
“Someone who is trying very hard to help you help yourself, Mr Verandi.”
“Ok, ok, you made your point. I’m no dummy. As long as I’m alive runnin’ this Family, that Drake kid don’t get so much as a hair on his head blown the wrong way.”
“On the contrary, it’s quite the other way. As long as the surviving Drake continues to be left alone, you will continue to live. As long as this event goes forgotten, you will continue to live. Remember these conditions well, Mr Verandi. For I assure you, we will not forget.”
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Chapter 1
August 12, 1993
10:00 am Eastern Time
Somewhere on Peregrine Island
It was a standard Malta interrogation room. White floors, white walls, a single security camera in one corner of the ceiling. A single white table and metal folding chair. Dr John Stephens sighed as he walked in and sat down in the chair.
The rooms were designed to control the stimuli experienced by an interrogation subject, to reduce the variables to zero and provide a blank slate for the interrogator to do their work, but they also provided something the Malta Directors needed for other purposes: a secure room with a direct satellite video feed that could be used for remote conferencing on demand.
As Dr Stephens took his seat, he heard a soft mechanical sound and looked up as the lens of the security camera zoomed and focused. A few seconds later he heard a familiar, albeit computer-scrambled voice piped into the room.
“Very impressive, Dr. Stephens. I don’t know if I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen the footage myself.”
“Thank you, Director. We’ve been working with neurological mental chronometry and mimetic behavioral modification for quite some time now, but this subject appears to have a particular… aptitude… for the skills we’ve uploaded.”
“Now that worries me a bit. You say you’re sure there’s no meta-human influence in the DNA? We must be certain; you know the politics of this as well as I do. The rest of the board will have nothing to do with this project, regardless of how well the outcome, if there’s any whiff that you’re using a ‘meta' to pad your numbers.”
“Absolutely not, Director. We went to great lengths in the initial vetting process when the subject was first acquired. It’s simply natural ability, which we have heavily augmented through our neurological override process.”
“Good. As you know, your full report is due to me by the end of the day; however, I have a very important meeting that’s come up this afternoon and I’d like to be able to offer a preview of the results of your field test.”
“Absolutely, sir. I would categorize it as a full phase-2 success. The subject showed perfect start-up on the verbal keyphrase, which means the behavior modification has held up and the nanotech implant is working at 100%. I’m not one to brag, sir, but, well… the execution phase was overwhelmingly positive. Looking at some of the numbers we’re getting back from dissecting the field contact footage, I’d place the actual reflex modification around 40% above best in class.”
“40%? That’s quite a bit lower than what I was expecting to hear.”
“Keep in mind that is 40% _above_ what the top 5% of our other active duty agents test at. We’ve estimated the theoretical limit of this type of behavior modification around 45%, without any other training or technological enhancements. I’d say the results are quite good.”
“That’s not going to be good enough for the board, Doctor.”
“Director… sir, this test subject evaded multiple sources of gunfire and single-handedly subdued at least a dozen armed hostiles at melee range, in the middle of a firefight.”
“You don’t get it, Stephens. Your subject dodged conventional bullets fired by humans. And sloppy ones at that. I need to be able to tell the board that your finished product will stand toe-to-toe with supers. That’s SUPER with an ‘S’ on the end. Multiple metas, Doctor. That means lasers and energy weapons and elemental powers and psionics. You don’t see many metas out there using Glocks, do you?”
“No, Director. I… I’m not sure what you’re asking, sir…”
“I’m not doing any asking, Dr. Stephens, I’m telling. And what I’m telling you, is that your ‘subject’ needs a bit more, shall we say, ‘finishing’, before I’m ready to present the full results to the board. Lucky for you, I’ve already anticipated this additional phase of training.”
“Director…sir?”
“I’ve made arrangements for the ‘transfer’ of your test subject into the hands of someone more… experienced… in what we’re trying to accomplish here. As of right now, you are relieved of test subject #134, Doctor Stephens. Congratulations, and thank you for your work in preparing the subject for phase 3.”
Director 5 watched the video feed as Dr Stephens got up out of the chair and exited the room through the single metal door to the left of the table. He smiled to himself as he thought about his special ‘project’. He had taken a tremendous personal gamble with this whole project, the operation that had unfolded this morning being only one portion of the whole. He silently congratulated himself, salivating at the position this would put him in on the board once he delivered the finished product. This was his edge, his Mona Lisa, his masterpiece. Director 11, the longstanding dark ops ‘king’ among the board, was about to get unseated, he thought to himself, and he wouldn’t even know what hit him.
Suddenly one of the lines on his screen lit up green with the notice of an incoming secure call. Director 5 had to give it to these guys, they were punctual. Before taking the call, he had to remind himself how far off the reservation he was with this one. This required extra delicateness.
- - -
“The subject is ready for pick up. Do we still have an understanding of the arrangement?” Director 5 opened the call curtly and spoke in code out of habit. Even with a secure line, he knew one could never be sure that any conversation was truly private.
“Of course.” Despite the voice scrambling software, the man on the other end of the line could not hide his accent. His dialect sounded vaguely Slavic, and although he had first introduced himself as ‘Mr. Gold’, Director 5 had taken to subconsciously referring to him as ‘the Russian’.
“And you’re absolutely certain he will come to you on his own? With the behavioral control software we’ve embedded, it’s certainly within our power to make him deliver himself to you.”
“I wonder, ‘Director’” the Russian said with a measure of contempt, “do you not understand that this is indeed your weakness, and the reason you have contacted my employer to finish this product for you?”
“So you add insult to injury now that I am in no position to protest?”
“I only point out what should be obvious to someone with as much experience in the company of the illuminated, Director. All those who knowingly join our fraternity are motivated by something. For some it is greed; others desire power, some are zealots, and for a few it is the desire for secret knowledge and brotherhood in the world’s least known and therefore most effective organization of covert operators…”
The last words stung the Director, both because it was an insult to Malta, and more importantly, because he knew it was not an exaggeration.
“…but the best motivation I have found, Director, is a very simple one: Revenge.”
“And what’s your motivation in all this? It can’t possibly be the money or we’d never have spoken a second time.”
The Russian’s laughter echoed metallically on the other end. “Our motivations are our business, Director, but it should not be difficult to understand my employer’s interest in what might be possible with this partnership.”
“Just don’t go trying to remove that circuit in his head. It’s taken me almost 20 years to perfect that technology and it’s still just a prototype, but if I so much as catch one whiff of that thing on the black market, I wont stop until I’ve got your head on my desk.”
Again the Russian’s end of the line erupted in unsettling computer-distorted laughter.
“Firstly, it is unwise to threaten someone of whom you know so little, especially when you are operating without the full resources of your organization behind you. Does it surprise you to know that we are aware that you do not have the consent of your fellow Directors? Although I would be happy to discuss our arrangement with one of them, say, your Director 11?”
Director 5 kept silent. Knowledge of the Directors and their numbers was one of the most guarded secrets in the Malta Council. The Russian had revealed this information purposefully, a demonstration of power and a reminder that there were double agents, even inside Malta.
“I did not think so. Secondly, my friend, I would hardly refer to what you have accomplished technologically as being ‘perfected’. In any case, this device is obsolete for my employer’s purposes. Sometimes, my friend, the old ways are best.”
“Enough, you’ve made your point. When will I have my finished product?”
“How do your people say, ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’? The old ways also take time. We will contact you when our work is completed.”
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...and now a special bonus installment for Mother's Day evening...
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Chapter 2
6 years later
September 20, 1999
Unknown Location
It had been a long road to get here, literally and figuratively, as he sat silently lost in his own thoughts. There wasnt anything else to do, after all. He certainly couldnt enjoy the scenery of the drive, if there was any. The black hood, its eyes triple-reinforced to further darken the view from inside, had been placed over his head long before getting in the first car, before being ushered up steps and onto the plane, before getting in the second car, and still itched as badly now as he felt the ride transition from what had been a smooth highway cruise, to the low uncomfortable rumble of a dirt road.
This was it, after years of waiting, making decisions and choosing actions that would move him towards the goal. Finally it seemed, hed come across an opportunity to get what he wanted. 6 years ago he was a boy, alone and afraid of what lay ahead of him. Today he was a man, ready for the path he had chosen.
As the car slowed, he heard what sounded like a rusty gate swinging open outside the car. His heart began pounding as he realized that all the training hed tried to do on his own, the weightlifting, the track and rugby, the black belt and black eyes that had led to this point, would mean nothing beyond that gate.
These men were professional killers. This would be the real test. And he was willing to endure all of it to get his chance.
The car moved forward again for about a half minute before it stopped and the door next to him opened. He felt a hand grab him gruffly by the back of his coat and yank him from the car, shoving him to the ground. He grunted loudly as the air was forced from his lungs by the sudden impact, and rolled over onto his back before hearing the car door slam shut. He heard the engine rev slightly as the car shifted into gear and drove off.
Total darkness was replaced by semi-darkness as the hood brusquely came off his face. His eyes adjusted slowly to the moonlit pine forest around him as he stared directly up at the sky. The air felt warm, a hint of salt and balminess in it. Although he had lost all track of time, he figured almost a full day had passed since beginning his journey.
He could feel someones eyes on him long before his vision had adjusted, and as he looked up his suspicions were validated as a circle of dark figures stood around him. They were dressed in black from head to toe, like dark shadows, a tunnel of opacity that framed the starlit sky above.
One of the shadows started to bend down, and he thought he was about to be picked up when a hand came down like a hammer to his forehead. As the stars above blurred and drifted into blackness, he felt hands on him on all sides, picking him up, carrying him off.
- - -
When he finally woke up, or more accurately, regained consciousness, David Drake was seated in a metal chair, his hands and feet zip-tied to the arms and legs of the chair. He looked down around him and saw the chair anchored to the floor by thick metal chains on all four legs.
The walls of the room were stark white, blasted with bright fluorescent lights from overhead, which buzzed loudly and flickered frequently enough to make him wonder why they hadnt simply installed a strobe light. Looking up into the upper left corner, where the ceiling and two walls joined, he saw a single security camera that stared directly back at him. Suddenly a voice spoke:
Are you aware, Mr Drake, of what you have gotten yourself involved in? The voice, although loud, piped in from some unknown speaker that added a bit of audio feedback to it, did not sound ominous, as David had expected. The speaker, a man, sounded calm and dispassionate, as though he was simply reading a script from a page.
Drake looked down, then back up at the camera, then back around the room.
Despite what this setup may suggest, we are not capable of reading your mind. You will need to please verbalize your answers.
I thought this was the bus to Disney World. Is this Space Moun
? Before he could finish the sentence, David felt a shot of electricity hit him up both arms and across the back like a baseball bat. It was brief, but painful enough that it completely knocked the will to fight out of him.
As you can see, the chains are not just for décor. We have broken many men stronger than you in that chair. I would suggest you simply answer my questions so we can get on to business.
Fine. Im here to learn how to kill people. From the looks of it, Ive come to the right place.
The task of killing a person is not difficult enough that it needs to be learned. Animals in the wild do it all the time with no training whatsoever. It is simply instinct. Why have you come to us?
The people I want to kill are animals all right, but theyre predators. A man needs special skills to hunt a predator.
You already have special skills, Mr Drake. I understand you already have a black belt in muay thai and are making significant progress in jiu-jitsu. Thats quite an accomplishment at your age.
Enough with the games! Davids will had come back to him as his patience wore thin. You know exactly why Im here. I want justice for my family!
Justice is the business of law enforcement and the courts, Mr Drake. Again, I question if you truly understand what it is that youve gotten yourself into. If you want to become a policeman, there is an academy for that.
Davids hands gripped the arms of the chair hard enough that his knuckles grew white. He thought back to the inconsolable rage he had felt as an orphaned teenager, about the police and all their help. He knew all too well from his cooperation in the investigation into his parents death, that wasnt going to lead to success. An arrest wasnt the outcome he wanted anyways.
See, thats the problem
the police never did find out what happened that night. I have no memory of it, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how many shrinks I go to, I cant get it back. They keep telling me Ive blacked it out, my subconscious protecting my conscious mind. I want revenge, but first I need answers. I need the truth.
Now, the speaker paused, now, we are getting somewhere, Mr Drake.
David relaxed his arms and breathed a heavy sigh. So lets get on with it then.
Very well. I am compelled to remind you, as I do all our
initiates
that knowing the truth will not simplify things for you in the ways you desire. Quite the opposite, in fact. You will find your new enlightenment to be immensely more complex than you could have previously imagined. You will question that which you thought to be absolute truth, and it will destroy your most unshakable assumptions about what is right, and what is wrong...
...There are many secrets in this world, but to entrust you with this, is to forever set you on a different path.
Go on then. Im ready.
Mr Drake, as you know from your college studies, certain academics, who are largely viewed as being on the fringe of political science, believe that the world is ruled from behind the scenes by a conspiratorial elite; a small secretive super-class of business leaders, financiers, politicos and militarists, all steering the worlds civil societies toward a new world order, one world government.
As the majority of the public suspects, this is fiction; however, it is only a half truth because of a technicality. There is a subtle nuance that is largely lost on these academics.
Super rich upper-class families with old money and old genealogies are indeed responsible for founding and financing Arachnos, Bohemian Club, Cosa Nostra, Knives of Artemis, Malta Group, Skull and Bones, Trilateral Commission, Yakuza and other numberless think tanks, private clubs, criminal organizations and covert paramilitary groups. They are all very real, and they exert considerable influence over world affairs.
The nuance that is overlooked is that this is not a unified conspiracy. These organizations are not, by any stretch of the imagination, on friendly terms. They do not have aligned goals. The men and women who run these organizations are warlords and super-criminals. They are jackals, blood profiteers of the human race, and they are all vying for the same limited amounts of wealth, power, and control.
This is a sad state of affairs, and more specifically, the reason that you are sitting in that chair today, an orphan.
Drake could feel his blood starting to boil, his heart racing in his chest as he curled his fingers into fists. When the words finally came, they came out in a hushed, barely audible, guttural utterance. All I need to know is a name.
That information will not be helpful to you now, but will reveal itself in time. But in order to prepare you, we will grant you your first request, and more. Tomorrow will begin your journey. Tonight, you will rest.
At that, the room went pitch black. David felt a sudden sharp pain in his forearm, and seconds later, his mind went dark.
A little head start on the weekend with an extended chapter...
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Chapter 3
September 1999
Unknown Location
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In the weeks and months following my arrival, they were true to their word. Of course, I still wasnt sure who they were. Throughout the entire time I stayed in their camp I never saw a single one of their faces. I never attempted to learn any of their names, for the same reason I never attempted to find a way outside the boundaries of the camp. I figured it was pointless and likely to result in being killed. One thing that was certain, my assumptions about the nature of my training had been shattered on day one.
I thought I was going to be hazed mercilessly in an attempt to be broken, so they could build me back up, molded into their desired image. There was none of that for the first 2 months. Although there was an intense physical regimen, their primary approach, at least at first, was academic.
The first weapon was knowledge.
- - -
So it is said, if you know your enemies and know yourself, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss. If you only know yourself, but not your opponent, you may win or may lose. If you know neither yourself nor your enemy, you will always endanger yourself. The words of Sun Tzu still hold true today, though many have forgotten, as reliance on technology has replaced skill and cunning.
As your limited studies in the martial arts have taught you, Mr. Drake, it is an exponential degree of difficulty to engage each additional foe you face
So how do you face foes which are numberless? How do you engage unfathomable odds, and how do you meet power for power when some who walk among men, are like gods?
Think on this, for it is simultaneously the problem and the solution.
If you were to describe the perfect enemy, Mr. Drake, your most fearsome opponent, what characteristics would they have? The answer is legion; they would be someone who was unbeatable in a straight fight, an aggressive and malicious foe with unlimited resources and unhindered by loss, unable to be threatened, always seeming to know more than you and always several steps ahead of you at every turn.
Most importantly, this foe would be invisible, a specter, stalking you from the shadows, someone who you could never quite see firsthand. They would be elusive and mysterious, a bogeyman and a wraith, appearing in your weakest moments to terrorize you, disappearing when you had returned to a position of strength.
The shadow of their presence would keep you awake at night, and when you finally drifted to sleep, they would haunt you in nightmares.
- - -
I would need to become a devil. Something horrifying and fearsome; powerful and elemental; everywhere and yet nowhere; a malevolent force in the minds of my opponents.
It didnt take long to see that they were practitioners of what they preached. It was evident why their effect was both fearsome and confusing. They practiced a strange approach in how they taught me to apply strategy, if it could be called that. Much of what I learned could be best described as learning to direct chaos.
- - -
You have heard the expression, best laid plans
often go awry. A single step in any direction towards conflict sets in motion forces that quickly become unpredictable. Small defects that are present at the beginning will quickly spiral away from your control. Warfare unleashes the chaos model, Mr. Drake. This is the problem for the strategist, but it is also the advantage of the saboteur.
Strategy is not merely calculating a series of actions. Rather, it requires developing a multitude of contingencies with quick responses to changing conditions. Planning works in a controlled environment, but in a changing environment, competing plans collide, creating unexpected situations that can be used to the opportunists advantage.
Superior strategy, Mr Drake, comes not only from planning, but in knowing your enemies and their plans, and introducing subtle wrinkles, in the right places, at the right times, in ways that cannot be detected, to alter the enemys plans. What will present itself to them as chaos will produce opportunities for you, through decisive action, to crush them.
If this is done correctly, with the appropriate amount of deception, the result will appear to them as though they have been overwhelmed by forces beyond their understanding.
- - -
This lesson was expanded out to infinity over the months in their camp. They taught me how to uncover the plans of my enemies, how to introduce deception, disinformation, and defects into the opponents strategies, and distract and confuse through the use of red-herrings. I learned how to turn my enemies own people against them, through cultivation of double agents, infiltration of their ranks, and impersonation of their leaders. I learned how to recognize opportunity, and respond with decisive force.
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November 1999
The last 8 months were what I had anticipated when I first arrived: intense, brutal, repetitive training for every conceivable hostile encounter. To call it combat training would have only encompassed a portion of the physical and mental hell that was leveled at me.
I experienced what it was like to be tortured, to understand various psychological and physical means to break someones will; I was subjected to psycho-emotional shock techniques and drug-induced hallucinations in order to learn to react under the conditions of extreme stress, poisoning, and mental assault.
I learned through patience and agility how to blend into the environment, hide in plain sight, and move silently, undetected. This same patience and agility was used to improvise escape from a variety of imprisonment scenarios and restraint devices.
And I learned to fight. I learned every kata and fighting form of every martial art that I knew existed, several I had never heard of, and a handful that had no name at all. Every week a new fighting form was introduced, and at the end of every week, the fifth day was fight day. It began at dawn, and ended at sundown with me passing out cold.
On those days, I fought an ever increasing number of enemy combatants in open-ended skirmishes that were a fast-evolving struggle between being hunted, and being the hunter. The only way to find respite was to find a way to deceive or evade the trainers.
I had no idea how many attackers were deployed against me, and because their camouflage and skill allowed them to vanish at will, it was difficult to tell how many were actually involved in any given scenario. The numbers would vary, but by the fifth week I had counted almost two dozen opponents in a single encounter, using various melee and ranged weapons in an attempt to subdue me. Being subdued resulted in one of two options: torture or escape. I became very good at escape.
The most interesting part of the training was what happened on the sixth and seventh days. These were rest days, I was told, and they offered me a variety of luxuries to provide the relaxation and recuperation that my body needed to withstand the onslaught of the upcoming week, but that wasnt the interesting part.
The interesting part was the meditation.
On the relaxation days, they did about 4 hours a day of meditation exercises that involved what seemed like a type of hypnotherapy, that they called mental chronometry. Their explanation was that this was designed to relax and sharpen the power of my mind, but by the seventh week they told me what it was really about:
Dodging bullets.
- - -
Human response time, Mr. Drake, is the sum of two inputs; reaction time, plus movement time. Your ability to identify and react to a stimulus to employ a specific defensive move or to seize an opportunity for delivering a decisive strike is primarily limited not physically, but rather mentally.
If one, having already trained to the peak of human agility, could condition their mind to reduce the time between recognition and action, they would possess an insurmountable advantage in combat at any range, against any number of attackers, regardless of the weapons employed. This is the reason we have not bothered to teach you the use of firearms.
Possessing an advantage such as this would render firearms, and perhaps even lasers and the super powers of meta-humans, as irrelevant. One cannot be hurt, if one cannot be hit. It would also make them an unnecessary encumbrance in the hands of one who is able to appear from nowhere, close striking distances at will, and vanish without a trace.
You already have natural agility and superior reflexes, a gift that was given to you by fortune in this life, which we are cultivating and focusing through training. Average reaction time for someone your age is around 180 milliseconds. Your reaction time is already being measured in the 90 millisecond range.
By the end of your training, we expect your reaction time to be less than 30 milliseconds.
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June 2000
My host had been right about me; I hadnt known what I was getting myself into. Now, at the end of all the training, I understood. They didnt train people to become professional killers, they trained them to become invisible, secret weapons. Strategists gathering information, seeding lies and deception, directing all sorts of devilry without a hint of their presence, and striking deathblows from the shadows when necessary. I was now one of them, a malevolent specter, an agent of
I didnt know what.
At the end of it all, as I found myself seated once again in the stark white room with the malfunctioning fluorescent lights, I realized that I had been so blinded by ambition and rage, so eager to get what I wanted, that I had no idea what price I would pay, and to whom I would pay it, for the skills I now possessed.
Which one of their so-called think tanks, private clubs, criminal organizations and covert paramilitary groups had I joined, exactly?
- - -
As promised, Mr Drake, we have entrusted you with many tools that will serve your interests, as well as our own. You are now prepared to learn another set of secrets, which Im sure you will find most useful in the coming months.
As you well know, Paragon City has for years been a haven for a number of unscrupulous organizations, including Cosa Nostra, or as they are known locally, the Family. Organized crime, like any business, deals in many goods and services that must be transported both in and out of the cities in which they operate. The loose security surrounding sea ports makes marine shipping ideal for this.
For many years, the Mooks and Marcones had fairly evenly split most of the mid-level shipping companies between their payrolls, and so the final battleground, the score that would push one or the other to take the controlling share of Paragon, was Drake shipping. Your father held out for years, standing firm on his principles, until finally one of the family bosses, tired of being scorned so repeatedly in their attempts to persuade him, finally got bold enough to gain his attention by taking the one thing in the world he cared about more than his money.
What they took, was you, young master Drake.
- - -
As the voice spoke, I could feel my mind wandering into a sort of dreamlike state; I had felt this before, a sort of heightened awareness that was a side effect of the meditation. My conscious mind was delving into the subconscious, looking for something long since forgotten.
- - -
You were abducted and held for ransom. Several weeks later, after all other tactics had failed, a payment was made and you were returned to your family. As your keenly attuned intuition is now revealing to you, that was not the last time these Mafioso would bring woe to the house of Drake.
- - -
I could see it now in my minds eye. Late at night, I heard voices in the hallway downstairs. My father, telling my mother to go back to bed. Deep, belligerent, angry words directed at my father.
I snuck out of bed, quietly opening my bedroom door, sliding into the darkened hallway, down the stairs. Peering from around the corner, my father catching a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye, returning the stares of the mobsters that lined both sides of our entryway. My father sending away our staff, our butler hurriedly leaving the room. I ran down the hall to join him at his side. I could feel the eyes of each of them on me, like hyenas sizing up a young impala. My father pulled me in close
whispering
saying something
something I barely heard
and then darkness again.
- - -
Your mind has allowed you to see what is needed, to follow the path you have chosen.
Chapter 4
June 5, 2000
9:30am Eastern Time
Somewhere on Peregrine Island
Director 5 wrung his hands, taking intermittent pauses to clench his fists individually. He was beyond edgy. The deal had always been to let this thing go dark for a few years, but after the first 2 years had passed with seemingly no action, he had started to get worried. He had already been having the subject tailed everywhere and seriously considered grabbing him up. It wasnt until the subject started his freshman year of college that he realized what the Russian was doing.
Malta agents tailing the kid had started reporting that they suspected they were being watched. They had noticed subtle nuances in the behavior among the subjects professors, guidance counselors, even fellow students; behavior that indicated clandestine training. He realized the choices the subject was making, and had been making for 2 years were actually the result of subtle influence of the Russian and whatever agents worked for him. They were leading him down a path, letting him develop muscle mass and basic fighting skills before subjecting him to the brutality of whatever else they had planned.
So the Director chose to let it ride, watching the subject closely as he grew stronger and faster throughout his college years. Only a year ago, did they finally lose track of him. He had to assume that the subject had been picked up, but he had no way of validating it.
But now, the more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. The arrogance of it all; dont call us, well call you. It was entirely redundant; he had no way of knowing how to proactively contact the Russian anyways.
Worse than that, he had no idea what kind of archaic voodoo was being inflicted on his precious little marvel, and he couldnt afford to lose the investment hed already made in this one. He just hoped they were being careful with his technology. If they broke the subject, perhaps at least the chip could be salvaged and they could try again.
No, he thought, this was it, all or nothing. The board would not have the patience for a second try.
In any case, the waiting had caused him more than a massive case of anxiety. It had caused him to question whether he had examined every possible contingency on this whole project. If the subject didnt yield the results he was looking for, how would he explain the billions of dollars that had been sunk into his division? The other Directors, thankfully, had no knowledge of exactly what was going on in his shop, but they all saw the collective P&L, and the question would have to be answered at some point. That point was coming sooner rather than later, and the date of their next board meeting was only a few weeks away.
For that reason, he had built an additional contingency into the project, which, over the past 4 years, was finally near completion. He had taken a much more hands-on approach over the last 6 months, spending an inordinate amount of time either on the phone or, despite his better judgment, in person, at the Peregrine Island facility. It was uncustomary for Directors to visit the actual brick and mortar Malta facilities; mostly it was in the interest of keeping their identities concealed, but these were exceptional circumstances.
Director 5 had assigned two other research department heads to Dr Stephens project. Only one of those department heads actually existed. The other was a cover identity for himself, so he could visit the facilities in person and examine projects firsthand from time to time, as was the case this morning. Dressed in a white lab coat, with a badge that read Dr. William Tyson, VP Quality Design, he would be able to inspect the progress to date.
Dr Stephens had been logging major overtime for the last three months finishing the updated concept for project Ethereal Falcon, which Stephens had, for ease of communication, shortened to simply EtherFalcon. If they got subject #134 back, they could integrate the two components into one system, but if not, they would still have the suit.
Good morning, John. So, where are we at today? Director 5 addressed Dr Stephens informally to bolster his cover. Although he had been separated from direct field operations for the last 15 years, he had retained the skills of a professional liar without losing a step.
Hey Bill. Its been a long haul but I actually think we might be close to a working production design. Ive worked out all the major bugs except for the cape release. Honestly I thought that would be the easiest part but its turning out to be quite a pain in the butt. Are you sure we have to put a cape on this thing?
Yeah, Directors orders.
Ok, Im sorry, I get the whole falcon thing, but what kind of moron insists on a winged helmet and cape for a combat suit? The wings on the helmet make it look like its going to fly off the guys head!
I guess its just part of the aesthetic. Director 5 had to suppress his ego. He had designed the look of the suit himself, a sort of futuristic samurai armor, something to intimidate and strike terror into Maltas enemies. He hated it when his underlings couldnt see his vision. You know, the head looks kind of like a falcon, but the wings make it look sort of sinister and
I mean
you know
ok I guess I can see your point, the Director is kind of a moron.
Ill be so glad when this is finished and I can actually see my family again. Directors been driving us like pack animals these past 3 months, I wonder what the rush is?
I dont know but
the Director paused as he felt his phone vibrating in his coat pocket. He picked it up and turned it, careful to keep the screen pointed away from Dr Stephens, and immediately noticed the green light indicating a secure blocked incoming call. Speak of the devil, its Captain Idiot himself. Let me head to the conference room and take this, Ill be right back. Maybe I can get him to give up on the cape.
Director 5 hurried out of the lab area and out into the hallway. He pressed the screen to accept the call, and in a hushed voice, simply answered, Go.
So good to see that you are still accepting my calls, my friend. The growl of the Russians synthesized voice boomed through the phone as Director 5 pawed at the screen to turn the volume down.
I was beginning to wonder if youd run off with my property. I was getting ready to send out some of our boys to look for you. Director 5 was trying not to sound worried, but he knew it didnt matter if the Russian picked up on his anxiety or not.
This would be futile, and lucky for you, unnecessary. I am calling with good news for you, comrade. Your little boy scout is almost ready to make eagle. The Directors heart skipped a beat, wondering if the Russians comment was a veiled reference to his projects codename.
Uh, thats fantastic, just great
When can you send it over?
Ah, tsk tsk Director. I said almost ready. This one needs to pass his final merit badge before we put our seal of approval on him. Give me one month, and I will deliver him to you.
Thats not going to work, I need the finished product in my hand in 1 week. This has dragged on 6 years, Mr Gold. Ive paid you a lot of money for this and I need this project operational in 7 days.
I cannot promise that. You knew the timelines. One month. That is the arrangement. Take it or leave it.
Director 5 fumed. He was in no position to press the negotiation further. Hell, if the Russian chose not to hand him over now, there was nothing he could do. Two weeks, Mr Gold, that is as long as I can afford to wait.
One month. Goodbye.
Chapter 5
June 10, 2000
Paragon City
I awoke on June 10, 2000 the same way I had awoken on September 21st of the previous year. Exhausted, disoriented, feeling the aftereffects of a powerful sedative, and completely unaware of where I was or how I had gotten there.
The sound of a familiar voice quickly began to answer that question for me.
“A very good morning to you, master David. I trust you enjoyed sleeping in after your long journey?”
Despite the pain I was in, I couldn’t help but smile. Charles’ cockney English dialect always seemed to make his words sound happy to me. It suddenly occurred to me that he represented the second generation of his family in service of the second generation of my family.
Charles had been in my family’s employ for over 30 years, and his father for the 40 years prior. To call him our butler anymore was inaccurate; since my parents’ deaths he had become my chief of staff, taking over the management of all our domestic staff, and acting as my personal assistant, managing my affairs, making sure I attended everything that was expected of the son of Howard Drake, and providing guidance and therapeutic wisdom in the absence of my father and mother.
I let out a groan as I righted myself in bed. My head was still throbbing from the effects of the tranquilizer. As my senses adjusted, I could smell something… freshly cooked eggs and bacon. Looking around the room I saw a banquet dolly that had been rolled over near the seating area of the bedroom.
“Charles, how did I get here?”
“Your friends delivered you shortly before 3am this morning, sir. You looked as though you had enjoyed a supremely festive night on the town; a young man celebrating his glorious return, having satisfied his wanderlust, I expect?”
Before I left, I had used the story that I was taking some time to bum my way across Europe after college; to see the sights, meet interesting people, and avoid the pressures that would preoccupy me once I assumed control of the family businesses. It was a convenient excuse that would also explain why I never called or wrote.
Not that it mattered, mind you. Between Charles managing the household staff, and our board of directors who certainly didn’t need the advice of a wet-eared brat, the family’s interests were well taken care of. Plus, who wouldn’t believe the story of a rich kid celebrating his college graduation by traipsing across southern Europe. The convenient illusions provided by the lifestyle of an heir to vast fortunes.
“It was most gracious of them to go to the effort of returning you themselves. It saved me quite the trouble of your usual retrieval process.”
“Did you talk to any of them? Did you recognize them?”
“Good gracious master David, I lost track of ‘who’s who’ among your friends long ago. It was a group of them, five or six I think. They arrived in a large black SUV, a Cadillac I believe. You appeared to have quite enjoyed your evening, being, how would you say, ‘out of your element’. Two of them helped you up to your room before departing.”
“Could you pick them out of a…” I caught myself, realizing that it would only arouse suspicion to continue the questioning. It would be pointless anyways; they would have covered their tracks and had at least an eight hour head start on me. It didn’t matter who they were, after all, I was now one of ‘them’.
“…I’m sorry, sir? Pick them out of what, master David?”
“Nothing, Charles, never mind. Hey, thanks for the breakfast, I think I’m going to take it in the office. I have some catching up to do.”
“Very good sir, although I believe at this hour it’s called ‘brunch’. Enjoy.”
It was Saturday, a relief to me since there would be virtually no potential for interruption. By Monday though, the word would have spread that I was back home, and the expectations would begin to pile up. Despite the capable hands doing the actual steering of my family’s business, there were always photo ops and meetings and other intolerable necessities that I had become accustomed to in my role as the face of the company. It would be even worse in the coming months, since I was to accept an official position at the upcoming annual meeting in January. But then again, I could use that. I needed time to research and get up to speed, but not on the business of my company.
I needed to find out who gave the order to execute my parents. And I needed to do it discreetly.
- - - - - - - - -
In researching my enemy, it didn’t take long to finally settle on the best source of the type of information I was looking for. Organized crime depended on the shipping industry to move their goods and services around. It would be a fitting weapon to use this knowledge against them; the same reason my family was targeted in the first place. The goods and services they moved around included, but were not limited to, drugs, weapons, and ‘entertainment’. The entertainment was the most intriguing to me, because what I soon learned from scouting the mob-run escort services was that although the mid and low level guys were definitely dipping their pen in the company ink, the bosses were puritans. If a consigliere wanted professional companionship, and they frequently did, they outsourced it.
There were a number of outlets available for this if you knew the right contacts, but the big Dons mostly ordered from a newer, relatively small boutique shop out of the Rogue Islands. Over the course of my surveillance, I found out why. This shop’s client list contained some of the biggest names in Paragon City; business leaders, politicians, and celebrities whose images would be destroyed if anyone knew they were frequent flyers.
The Mafia didn’t care about that aspect, but they used this particular escort service for the same reason: they were extremely discreet. The big bosses needed to know their dirty laundry wasn’t going to get aired out by some call girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
After a week of using every bit of spare time I had tailing their girls, I had noticed something else. Something that I wanted to confirm, but it would take a bold move to do it.
I would need to pay their boss a visit.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 6
June 16, 2000
Independence Port
As the Hacker-Craft runabout approached the 68 meter luxury motor yacht she had christened as Katana, the tall young woman with long pale blonde hair turned off the main deck and walked inside the cabin, past her 2 oversized guards and into her office on the elevated upper level. She adjusted her white pantsuit and buttoned the single button on her jacket while peering out the long panorama window on the side on which the tendering craft had docked, watching her visitor closely as he boarded the ship.
He was dressed in typical business attire, a two-button black pinstripe suit, expensive by the look of the cut, his dark black hair tousled by the brisk wind in the port. Her guards wanded him down with the metal detector before having him extend his arms for a second pat-down, and finally ushered him up to the office door.
This was by far the most intriguing appointment that had been made with her in a while.
Come in, she said, standing as the guards led him into the room. Its a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Drake. She extended a hand, which he shook firmly before sitting down in one of the leather chairs on the other side of her desk.
The pleasure is mine, Miss Masada. Please, call me David. Mr. Drake was my father.
Yes, it seems that Paragon Citys prodigal son has returned to take over the empire. I have to say, David, she said, slyly emphasizing his name, I thought it was going to be a few more years before our paths crossed. You know, after youd had a few years of the pressures of executive lifestyle and a few unsuccessful relationships under your belt. Then again, a man of your upbringing has probably had his share of both of those already, no?
He laughed, a slight smirk crossing his face. His eyes glanced up and away, as though he was trying to think of something to retort.
She continued, Youll forgive my forwardness, but why _are_ you here anyways? Its never too early to start an account, I suppose, but Im trying to understand why a man like you young, rich, good looking - why David Drake would be darkening my door?
His eyes shifted, reacting as though something had been confirmed for him. The smirk turned into a knowing smile as he chuckled to himself before responding.
Ive been away a while, the city has changed quite a bit. Im looking for someone who can show me whats new and shiny in Paragon.
Her bright blue eyes narrowed as she leaned forward in her chair and continued her evaluation of her guest. There are literally millions of beautiful girls in this town whom Im sure would be more than willing to show you whats new and shiny for free, David. I know youve been gone a long time, but some things _are_ still free around here.
Oh, I know. Im not looking for just any girl, though. What I need is a woman who can hold a conversation. Someone whos been to interesting places, met interesting people, and has interesting things to say. The way he said the last interesting started setting off silent alarms in her head. This conversation was going somewhere she wasnt sure she wanted it to go. What he said next threw her off guard completely.
Ive got to hand it to you, youve got a good front
he paused as his eyes roamed a bit before he continued, smiling,
if I could give you some professional advice, though, I think you might want to diversify your cover a little, you know, some dummy corporations, maybe some other types of legitimate side businesses to throw the trail off anyone who might be suspicious.
Excuse me? Suspicious? Her defenses were now fully engaged.
Suspicious of what I already know. This yacht is way too much bling, even for someone with as much new business as you. It didnt hit me right away; at first, I thought maybe a few of your high request girls had some training, you know, just for their own protection, but the more I saw, the more I recognized something below the surface. Now, sitting here with you, watching the subtle way you carry yourself, and that lovely pair youre hiding under your blazer, Im sure of it.
She crossed her arms in awe of the contempt of her guest. Are you referring to
?
Im referring to that set of custom cutlery youre trying to conceal under your jacket. Youre an operator, Masada. A silent professional. From the size of those daggers, probably Hand of Artemis, or at least trained by them. Im willing to bet some or all of your girls are, too. Its quite the honey trap youre running here. Good choice of cover, by the way, oldest profession in the world.
She shook her head in disbelief, and couldnt help but let out a stifled laugh. Although the origin of Masadas lethality and her girls training was slightly more exotic than Artemis, he had her operation pegged. Somehow, he had managed to unravel what she had successfully hidden from her clients, the police, even the more notable super groups in the city. Her cover blown, she relaxed back into the chair. Sometimes, David, the old ways are best.
Suddenly something shifted in him. His eyes started to roll back in his head before he caught himself, his hands gripping the sides of the leather chair he was sitting in. He seemed to wince a bit before coming back to the conversation. She wasnt entirely sure what had happened, but for the first time in a long time, she was genuinely concerned about where this might end. She was on high alert and was ready to get him off her yacht as quickly as possible, by any means necessary.
Enough games, Drake. What do you want?
She could tell he was still shaking off whatever had almost overcome him a second earlier as he responded. Im looking for information. Something one of your girls might have overheard about a hit that was put out on my parents seven years ago.
He lowered his voice slightly, not in volume but in tone, and it took on a menacing quality. His dark brown eyes became slivers, guarded by his brow as he leaned forward and tilted his head down, the way a predator does when its getting ready to strike. I have information that leads me to believe the Family is responsible for their deaths, but I cant just go around indiscriminately busting heads. I need to do this quietly.
Looking into his eyes as he stared back at her, she realized there was no sinister intent directed at her, this was years of bottled rage coming out. Despite the unspoken threat of blackmail, she realized this could help her two ways. First, obviously he would owe her for the help, and it was always good to have rich friends who owed you. Secondly, she now knew that he had some kind of special skills up his sleeve, though she wasnt quite sure what. With some of the other jobs she would be trying to get in the future, it couldnt hurt to have someone with whom to share information networks.
She smiled and sat back in her chair, feeling sure of herself now that she had a plan. That information would be compartmentalized; even the Family would have to keep a job like that on the down-low. It would be high up, my guess is either Emil Marcone or Guido the Mooch Verandi. Both are regular clients and I have a couple girls that they request frequently. But, from one professional apparently to another, you know that my reputation depends on my discretion. I dont care how rich you are or what score you have to settle with them; if I have you talking to my girls and somehow it gets out that Im trading on secrets, my bling as you put it, goes bust.
Then I guess this is the end of our short-lived relationship.
But, she quickly interjected, It wouldnt be outside of the usual business practices for me to ask some questions of my girls, see what they might know. It will at least help narrow down your options. That is, assuming we have an understanding that this is simply a favor; a little welcome home gift, from one professional to another.
A smile crept across his face. Understood.
Just do me the favor in return, and make sure this doesnt get back to me, all right? I just set up shop here, itd be a shame if I had to shut it all down over some rich kid with a death wish.
The smile vanished. Yeah, I got it. He handed her a slip of paper with a number on it. Thats a secure line. Call me when you know something.
- - - - - - - - -
June 20, 2000
David Drake was just finishing his dinner, which he had become accustomed to taking in his office over the past week as he continued to examine contingencies and alternate approaches to his problem. Suddenly the STU-III phone on the other side of his desk elicited a low pitched beeping. He swiveled his chair quickly and looked at the phones caller identification, which showed a blocked number. It didnt matter; he knew who the caller was. He had been impatiently waiting for this call for the past 4 days.
David picked up the receiver and pressed a small red button on his phone, which flashed 3 times before finally lighting up bright red. After waiting several seconds and hearing the secure line click on, he heard a familiar feminine voice on the other end of the line.
My girls had some interesting things to say about your problem. On the one hand, my Marcone girls had plenty to say. Sounds like the events of that night are something of a matter of infamy around the docks. A couple of the higher level guys had some of their enforcers sent to the house that night after getting tipped that the Mooks were doing a shakedown. They had been trying to buy your dad for years and the thought that the Mooks had beat them to it sent them over the edge. Funny thing is, none of those guys they sent ever came back, and nobody knows why. That was the end of it for them; their boys getting swallowed up by the night with no survivors created all sorts of superstition about it and plus, they knew they couldnt get to you with the security detail the cops put on you after that.
Now my Mook girls, and this is where the really interesting part starts, they didnt have anything to say whatsoever. None of Moochs men have said one peep about a shakedown or even sending guys to the house. In my experience, when nobodys talking, its because theres something somebody high up doesnt want talked about. If I were you, Id pay Guido Verandi a visit.
Drake could feel his blood pressure rising in anticipation. He had what he needed. Now it was time to tidy up the loose ends and get to the real work. Understood. Youve been more than accommodating, Masada. I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful partnership.
She squirmed a bit in her chair on the other end of the line. She didnt like the sound of that. This was _her_ plan. This was supposed to be _her_ leverage on the naïve billionaire with a death wish. She needed to make sure he understood who was in control here.
This is no partnership, David, this is a business investment on my part. You owe me for this. Now, Drake, you listen to me and listen well
if you burn me on this
she stopped mid-sentence to collect herself. What Im saying is, dont make me regret letting you off my yacht without removing your tongue. If I so much as get a hint that this is going to come back to me, I will not hesitate half a second to bring a few of my more interesting girls up to that little chalet of yours and pay you a visit youll never forget.
Miss Masada, please, theres no need to make this uncivilized. You know Im not going to burn you, for the same reason youre not going to burn me on my plans for Mr. Guido Verandi. Im sure youre familiar with the term Mutually Assured Destruction? At this point, we work together, or we both go down together. You know I have more than enough money to make that happen; but have you stopped to ask yourself, how was it possible that I was able to blow past your cover in the one short week that Id been back in Paragon? Have you asked yourself, where exactly did David Drake spend the last 9 months of his life?.
She thought for a moment, and realized there was no use arguing. Point taken, Drake. You stick to your end of the sandbox and Ill stick to mine.
Understood. Now if youll excuse me, I have work to do.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Tuesday July 4, 2000
10:47 pm
Independence Port
I knew youd come back! I knew youd come for me! I swear I havent told anyone! Guido Verandi was hysterical already. It made the masked figure all the more certain of his choice to take the mobster without drugging him. Raw fear was good for interrogation; with hallucinogens and sedatives the subject would have trouble with the questions. This way, he could use the mobsters own fear to squeeze the trigger on his adrenaline, which would keep him nice and lucid.
It had been a surprisingly easy grab, although it was difficult to know how much of that was fortune and how much was planning. He had executed it perfectly; identifying the opportunity, the day, time and restaurant, posing as a busboy, injecting the bumetanide into the mob boss steak to make the trip to the restroom inevitable, coming out of the stall behind him and throwing the hammer punch to the back of his head, zipping him up into the body bag, throwing a few black industrial sized garbage bags over the top and carrying him right out the back door.
He had worried a bit about him waking up in the back of the van on the way to their destination, but he was out cold right up until the cool evening wind in the port slapped him across the face as he was pulled from the bag and hung upside down, dangling from the hook of an industrial shipping crane in the northwest corner of Independence Port, as the red, white, and blue flares against the dark moonless sky signaling the beginning of the Independence Day fireworks display could be seen off in the distance down in the southern end of the harbor.
But even that wasnt what had sent the Mooch into his current frenzied state. The mobster had first acted like being hung upside down at that height was no big deal at all. A little dangle over the water and you expect that to scare me? had been his response. Hed been defiant right up until the dark masked figure, crouching on the edge of the crane, just arms length from the Mafioso, had lit a flare of his own right next to the mobsters head and dropped it down to the water below.
Guido Verandi had watched the single red flare as it approached the surface of the water and, as if in slow motion, saw a large dark shadow begin to take form under the surface.
As the flare splashed down and sunk, his face changed from defiance to horror as the head and tentacles of Lusca appeared in a dim, luminescent blood red hue.
The man in black took out a small spray bottle, reached out to grab the upside-down Don by the throat, pulled him in close, and proceeded to spray down his face with what smelled like a mixture of chum water and rotting meat. Gagging and squinting his eyes, Guido watched as the figure unscrewed the top of the spray bottle and dropped it down to the water below just as he had done with the flare, before uttering the first words the mob boss had heard him say throughout the entire process:
Dinner time.
Now, dangling free above the water, swaying back and forth as the wind and occasional brush of the tip of the monstrous octopus tentacles slapped at his face, he was over the edge. The dark figure had let this go on for about two full minutes, the boom of fireworks providing the background beats to the soundtrack of the mobsters screams as the sky lit up red, blue, green, orange, each lending a soft glow to the monster below as it thrashed and squirmed, reaching upwards and trying to grab hold of the bait being dangled above it.
Finally the dark figure, shouting over the thrashing roar of the waves below, spoke:
You murdered Howard Drake. Why?!
I swear to God I didnt touch em! None of my boys did! It was a shakedown not a hit! We didnt do nothin, I swear, I swear!!!
You sent men to the house the night he was killed! WHY!?
NO! I CANT TELL NOBODY! You know I cant tell you! Is this a TEST?! I told your boss Id never tell nobody, and I AINT TOLD NOBODY!
ANSWER ME, MOOCH!
I knew youd come back for me! Im tellin you, I kept my promise not to touch the kid! Hes back in town and I aint touched him! I know not to mess with him, I swear to God! Oh God, get me down!
What are you talking about, come back for you?! The dark figure leaned in and grabbed Guido Verandi by the collar, pulling him up and away from the flailing tips of Luscas tentacles, bringing him in close, both so the mobster could focus his thoughts, and so he could hear him over the roar of the foaming water below as the giant octopus lashed around in a frenzy.
He said you would come for me!! I knew you were coming back!!
WHO?!
You know
your boss
the English guy!! Drakes butler!! The morning after the shakedown he shows up, kills my one guy that escaped, and tells me hes got a new deal for me! Gives me a briefcase full of money and says if I ever talk about any of it, hell send a guy to come for me! Thats why youre here, right?! Oh God I said too much didnt I?! I SWEAR, I AINT TOLD NOBODY!!
As Verandis shouting turned into a sort of uncontrolled gurgling sob, David Drake just stared back through his balaclava in disbelief. His head was spinning; was Guido lying to him? If he was telling the truth, which he could only believe he was, given the extreme stress conditions he was under right now, he could only come to one conclusion. But it was an unfathomable idea to him; could Charles have set up his parents? It was a scenario he hadnt even thought of.
Then an even worse thought crept into his mind. Charles alone wouldnt have been enough to put that kind of fear into a hardened criminal like Verandi. There had to be another reason. He had to have another backer or partner, some group powerful enough to orchestrate a hit on his parents using the mafia as an asset.
There was one way to find out the truth. Charles.
His mind drifting back to the present, he watched as the sobbing mob boss swayed back and forth at the mercy of the wind, just out of reach of the monsters tentacles. This new information didnt absolve Guido Verandi. It only meant the rabbit hole went deeper into the conspiracy surrounding his parents deaths. He grabbed the metal of the crane arm above him and in a single move, swung up and around, twisting his feet over into a backflip and landing in a crouched position at the top of the crane, stepping left and down to get to the ladder.
Wait, youre LEAVING me here?! Get me down! I told you, I didnt tell nobody! I mean
YOU CANT!!
Have a good evening, Mr. Verandi. I know you didnt get to finish your steak, but Im sure youll enjoy the sushi.
NO!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 7
Tuesday July 4, 2000
11:43 pm
Drake Residence, just north of Independence Port
Even before the lessons he had undergone at the hands of his mysterious trainers, Drake was a master at breaking and entering, sneaking in and out undetected. He had done it thousands of times as an overprotected child of wealthy parents, sneaking past the security system and out of his home to meet up with his friends for all sorts of nighttime mischief, repeating it in reverse in the early morning hours before his parents awoke. Tonight he was faced with the same task, but under much different circumstances.
Over the course of the drive from the port, paranoia had taken full hold of him. He had no idea what role Charles had played in his parents death; at best he was a sellout, and at worst, a mastermind planning and executing the hit. If there was one thing his exhaustive training over the past year had taught him, it was that over-preparedness was underrated.
After all, it wasnt paranoia if people really were out to get you.
For that reason he had driven the last 10 miles with the lights off and killed the engine of the van about a mile away from the estate, making the final approach on foot. He had been thankful for the drive; it had given him time to repress his anger and formulate his strategy. Now, under complete darkness, he moved silently using the landscape as cover. From underbrush, to trees, moving at a pace that would have seemed impossible to him just a few months ago, he ran a zig-zag line up the expanse of the countryside just south of the Drake mansion, finally scaling the 15 foot high brick outer wall that protected the southern perimeter of the estate.
He was careful to remember the pattern of the tree-mounted security cameras, but had given up on the idea that simply avoiding detection on the way in would provide him any measure of surprise. He knew that Charles would quite probably be expecting him, and so he had given up the most important aspect of strategic surprise; furthermore, there were a few things he would need to consider, in order to at least salvage a tactical surprise.
After the death of Davids parents, at the urging of PPD, Charles had sought out a privately contracted protection firm to implement a layered security approach that far exceeded the typical estate security measures of a gate with 2 guards. The first layer was the wall. The second layer was the dogs. The final layer was the guards.
The Drake estate kept a kennel on site that had been integrated into the guardhouse at the rear of the estate, and housed a mix of about a dozen hounds. The mixture of breeds varied over the years as the dogs were retired and new ones were brought in, but the typical blend was mostly German Shepherds and Dobermans. The dogs were the lynchpin of the outer ring of security; at any given time of day or night there were at least 4 teams consisting of 2 dogs and 2 guards that patrolled the grounds in irregular patterns. Most of the guards had previous special-forces experience, a few were surveillance experts, and all were armed to the teeth by the standards of any executive protection team. Tonight, none of that would matter.
David dropped prone behind the base of a large oak tree that would obscure the sight path of the closest security camera. Reaching into the small satchel attached to his belt in the back, he extracted a pair of compact binoculars and moved them up to his eyes. He scanned the yard all the way up to the house, then left and right, and a silent alarm starting going off in his head. The house had a few lights on, as was normal, but what was disturbing to him was the yard. Nothing whatsoever was moving in the yard, no dogs, no guards. There should have been at least two, if not three guard teams in his field of view on this side of the house. Panning up into the trees, he checked the locations of the security cams, and his breathing paused.
The cams werent moving either.
His mind was already reeling with possibilities trying to process the first piece of information about Charles. David had to stop himself and slow down his thinking to evaluate this latest twist. No camera movement, no dogs, no guards; the sum total of this equation was one of two things. The guards were expecting his arrival and had set a trap somewhere else, or they had been disabled. Both possibilities wreaked havoc on his mind. If they were expecting him, they would be concentrated away from their typical routes, and he could no longer rely on the set of information he had operated on up to this point about their field of vision and ability to detect him approaching. They would either be wholly concentrated on a defensive strategy and have Charles bunkered down somewhere in the house, or they could be spotting him from completely different sight lines and he might already be sitting in the kill box. If they had been disabled, then he still had no choice but to anticipate something far worse once he got inside the house.
It took him only a few seconds to lock in his next best course of action and commit to it. Testing his newly formed theory that in either scenario, the house was likely to be the last stand for whatever this was all culminating to, he replaced the binoculars in his waist sachel, leaped up, and began a dead sprint straight for the guardhouse on the northeast corner of the mansion.
Upon reaching the guardhouse, David slid in low on his knees to duck under the windows and took a position on one of the corners. Extracting a small telescoping mirror from his satchel, he moved it into position so he could see in the window nearest him. Nothing moving. Not only that, everything inside the guardhouse was switched off. No monitors, no security cams; everything was blind. For a second, he considered going in and killing the power to the house, but that would only serve to alert anyone inside that he had arrived, and give up any tactical surprise he had hoped to salvage. No, the best way in now, he thought, was to simply enter the house and find Charles, if he was even there. From the looks of things in the guardhouse, David wondered if Charles had simply taken off. Again he thought, only one way to find out.
Continuing along the side of the guardhouse in a low crouch, David snuck along the wall below the window line until he reached a mid point of the southern face of the house, where one of the rain gutters ran down the wall. Checking his periphery and all the way up to the corners of the roof, then back out to the yard around, finally satisfied that this was as much cover as he was going to get, David grasped the rain gutter on the crossbars that held it to the wall, and with both hands began pulling himself up the side of the house. Within 20 seconds he had scaled two stories up and began sliding his hands and toes out into crevices along the brick façade, moving horizontally along the wall until he arrived at the side of his childhood bedroom window. Pulling out the telescoping mirror he angled it so he could see inside the room. Again, nothing; total darkness.
Placing the mirror back in his satchel, he reached down to a small holster on his left leg and pulled out a tactical knife. Moving the knife in his left hand down to the window frame, he jimmied the thin blade between the frames and slid the window lock open. He then slid the knife down to the bottom frame of the window, sliding it in and jimmying the window open, then sliding his whole hand down to pull the window all the way open. He moved quickly through the open window into the bedroom and pulled it down closed from the inside.
The room was completely dark except for a thin stream of dim light coming in through the barely-cracked-open door to the hallway. Moving stealthily in a crouched position past the bed and over to the door, he used the telescoping mirror again to peek out into the hallway. Nothing. The hallway lights were dimmed, as they were every night. As he began slowly opening the bedroom door, he heard the familiar sound of low hushed voices, bare flat echoes through the hallway, coming from down the stairs, muffled versions of the original sounds that still bore some of the hollow bounce of reverberation off the marble tile of the lower entryway. The sound triggered a thought that snapped into his mind, sending him into a sort of eerie half-flashback
Voices from the entryway. Just like the night mom and dad were murdered.
He felt a cold chill shoot from the back of his neck down his spine as his subconscious mind fought to overtake his consciousness in the moment. He had felt this before, at his meeting on the yacht with Masada, and it was nearly overcoming him now. Fighting it, he was only barely successful, until he reasoned that his conscious will wanted the same thing now. Moving slowly through the doorway, he slid with his back to the inside wall, down the hallway, down the stairs, until he arrived on the corner of the hallway that led down to the mansions main entryway.
So good of you to join us tonight, master Drake. It seems youve found yourself returning to all the old familiar places. Charles voice pierced the air as David continued to fight against the antagonistic rogue thoughts of his subconscious.
Using the telescoping mirror, he angled it down to the very bottom of the hallway corner and peered down the hallway. Charles stood in the middle of the entryway; at least a dozen guards dressed in tactical gear surrounded him out in a tight semicircle. These clearly werent his executive protection team. There was something different, more ominous about these men. Obviously professional soldiers of some kind, they wore darker blue, almost black fatigues, and each one wore a battle helmet with green tinted goggles over the balaclava that covered the rest of their face.
None of them appeared to be carrying any conventional weapons; the gear they carried looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Standing in a ready-position, each one was holding what appeared to be a flamethrower, some kind of backpack mounted long-gun that had a bright glimmer of light coming off the end of it. The light was different though, not the typical warmth of a flame; it was a bright cool blue, and seemed to spark like electricity.
Whoever they were, he was going to have to disable them to get to Charles; that is, if he could manage to maintain control of his own body, which was becoming increasingly difficult to do, the closer he got to the entryway. There was something buried in his subconscious that was linked to these sights and sounds, something that would not be dismissed. Something battling against him, trying to take over through intermittent flashes of images in Davids minds eye, alternating his view from the present to the past, the night of his parents murders, as he had stood in this same hallway as a boy approaching his father surrounded by mobsters.
Id say it looks like youve made some new friends, Charles, except I dont think theres anything new to you about those jack-booted thugs. Drake thought if he could keep him talking, it might give him time to formulate a plan to charge the entryway. That is, if he could manage to get control of whatever was trying to take over his mind.
Then youve spoken with our mutual acquaintance, it would seem? Charles response was deadpan; void of any malice, seeming simply to be stating a fact in the form of a question.
I have, and you should know, he did plenty of talking. Although you must have put some kind of fear into him, apparently he was more afraid of me. You should take that as a lesson, Charles. Ive made some new friends myself, and Ive got a few new tricks up my sleeve too.
David had mounted up enough willpower to formulate a plan, but he would have to be fast. He would need to get into the entryway close enough to Charles that it would create a crossfire situation that the soldiers would not want to engage whatever those electricity rifles were. He could take them at melee range, and they would lose. He just needed to silence his mind long enough to make the distance to them.
Yes, master Drake, Im sure you are eager to put these new tricks that you speak of, to the test. You shall have your chance soon, sir, but not here. There is a time and a place for everything, and now, here, is neither...
As Charles paused, David seized his opportunity and bolted around the corner at full tilt sprint and cleared half the distance before the soldiers could react to his move. As they shouted and fumbled to aim their rifles up, David took a fast double step up, and kicked off the opposite wall as the first bright blue arcs of electric current cleared the end of the soldiers rifles. Charles barely had time to drop to the ground as Drake dove forward, dodging under the arc of electricity, clearing half the remaining distance, executing a forward roll and then springing back into the air, throwing his left leg out into a spinning roundhouse that landed squarely on the jaw of the closest soldier on the front end of what had now become a ragged semicircle of guards.
Sappers, open fire! one of the soldiers shouted as the rest of them scrambled, firing wildly, bright arcs of electricity flashing into the air, crackling and hissing as they snapped out from the ends of their strange looking weapons. Charles scrambled to the ground back behind the circle, just barely moving aside from the unconscious falling body of the soldier David had connected with.
David was moving, faster than the soldiers could keep up with, and had already knocked out two more of the guards, one with a rabbit gut punch that had doubled him over, the second with a side crane kick that sent the man flying across the room to the opposite wall, his weapons electric arc abruptly flashing once into the ceiling as he lost consciousness. The remaining soldiers, their numbers declining rapidly, were trying to reform their ranks into two groups as their lone attacker had breached melee range and was now taking them on two and three at a time.
The one who had given the fire order grabbed Charles by the back of the coat and retreated the farthest, backing all the way into one corner of the entryway and shouting into a radio transmitter: Sierra, Delta Five, heavy contact, we need support NOW!
On that cue suddenly the low rapid thumping of helicopter rotors could be heard rapidly descending outside the estate just before the massive windows surrounding the entryway began shattering inward. More tactical support troops began dropping in on rappelling ropes in twos and threes, hurrying to ready their sapping rifles as David continued to take down man after man with a devastating flurry of punches, kicks, and moves so fast he was starting to simply appear as a blur to the soldiers.
Drake leaped out of the way of one of the sappers shots as the soldier standing next to him lit up with a flash of electricity before slumping to the ground. Diving forward, he rolled through the open lane, between the groups of soldiers that had just arrived through the windows, coming up into the corner where the operations commander had retreated with Charles. David delivered a quick left-handed smash to the commanding officers face and grabbed Charles by the collar, quickly spinning him around and standing him up in a choke hold, as a human shield between the remaining soldiers and himself. In a single swift move, David flicked open the tactical knife he still held in his opposing hand, and spun it blade-backwards while he moved it to Charles throat.
The soldiers took ready-aim positions and moved slowly again forming a loose semi-circle around their target. The barely audible whine of their gear powering up could be heard as the roar of helicopter engines and rotor blades that thumped through the open windows and reverberated off the marble tile in the entryway began to die down as the helicopters outside circled away from the estate.
Before you die, and I tear the rest of this room apart, David spoke slowly from behind Charles right ear, I want to know WHY?!
Charles squirmed, his neck moving just enough for him to take in air to respond. I want you to remember something, Master Drake. Something that will be important to you where you are going. Remember, Charles said, now in almost a whisper, his oxygen supply running out, that sometimes, the old ways are best.
All the willpower David had been summoning to maintain control of his faculties suddenly broke as he felt a shockwave of nausea radiate from the base of his skull, down through his heart, through his chest, and out to his hands and feet. It was like he imagined a near death experience would be his conscious mind seeming to leave his body, watching the scene continue to unfold from the third person, his awareness now outside his physical body. As his mind slipped away, he felt his arms go limp, and he dropped to his knees. The last thing his present consciousness saw was Charles spinning out of his grasp, and a dozen bright blue streams of electricity snapping out at him from the ends of the soldiers rifles
- - -
That night. This room. Dad, why are these men here? What do they want?
Dont worry son. Leaning in close, I can feel his warm breath on the side of my neck. He was unmoved, unafraid. Like he had been waiting for this moment.
Whispering something to me.
Sometimes, the old ways are best.
Im suddenly losing consciousness but still aware, I can see it now unfolding. That phrase, triggering something primal, embedded. A key unlocking a beast inside me. I had my hand at the first mobsters head before they knew I was moving. My other hand coming up, grabbing his face and both hands spinning. He dropped to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.
Theyre raising their guns but not fast enough, and now Im moving from man to man, fists a blur that Im only barely aware of. My mind is disconnected from my body.
I am a piece of hardware, executing a program.
That program is death.
Gunfire. Theyre shooting but not aiming. At least, not well enough to hit me. Most of them have fallen by the time the front door bursts open, wafting in the smell of something burning from outside. A dozen more men on the way in, but these look different. They are soldiers; I do not know them, but I feel compelled, something in the program that says I cannot attack them.
The muffled chirps and hissing sounds of suppressed automatic weapons pierce the air around me as I reflexively drop to the floor, implementing the next protocol of the program. The soldiers sweep through the room, not saying a word, then proceeding down the hallway, through the rest of the house. Its less than a few seconds before the entryway is silent again.
Nothing moves. Everything is dead except me.
My father lies in a pool of blood.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 8
Another bolt of lightning surges through my body. Feels like Ive been hit by a wall.
My mind jolts back, awakened to an embedded memory. Remembering this for the first time since it happened.
I am ten years old.
The middle of the night. Im awakened by a hand over my mouth. A needle in my neck. Dark hood pulled over my face. Losing consciousness. Im being shoved into some kind of large sack. Complete darkness.
Im being carried from my room, I think out the window. Feels like Im floating straight down. I cant struggle, under the influence of something. Ive been drugged.
I awake to the feeling of tubes attached to my arms. Strapped to a chair. Trying to regain consciousness but still fighting something powerful. Back of my head is throbbing. Searing pain behind my ear. Eyes are open. A tunnel. With a light as bright as the sun coming at me.
No. Not a tunnel.
A mask.
Fastened to my head. Something projecting light directly into my eyes. Voices in the background. Trying to make out the words. Cant breathe.
Doctor Stephens
Doctor Stephens
- - - - - - - - - -
Wednesday July 5, 2000
4:18am
Peregrine Island
Doctor Stephens!
Director 5 boomed as he entered the small room that looked equal parts science lab and hospital operating room. The Director was dressed in full battle fatigues, complete with a black beret and a black mask that covered his face from the nose down. It was the typical uniform of a Malta tactical operations commander, a disguise he had chosen out of the necessity of having operational command of the demonstration that was about to take place that morning.
The demonstration begins in less than two hours, I need a status update on the subject.
Dr Stephens stood to the side, his face only a few inches away from one of the many workstation monitors, looking clearly concerned. Behind him, laid out on a gurney, hooked up to several fluid bags and every machine in the room, was a disheveled looking and unconscious David Drake. The Director leaned in and could smell the faint odor of something burnt.
Dr Stephens turned away from the monitor to face the man dressed as his operations commander for the facility. Well sir, at present our subject is nonfunctional, which although it sounds bad, is a drastic improvement over his initial condition. Weve been able to get his vitals back to 50%, and he is continuing to improve, but I dont think hell be in any condition for a demonstration in the next 24 hours. Sir with all due respect, you should have consulted me prior to the pick-up, I would have advised you that you had too many sappers.
Stephens, your subject disabled an entire black ops squad it took both secondary Quick Response teams to take him down. Id say we almost didnt have enough sappers. The Director knew Stephens was right, but the nature of the pickup necessitated the teams he had put into play. He didnt have any margin left for chances. Today was non-negotiable. There _would_ be a demonstration.
The purpose of the sappers was to neutralize him, but with all those beams hitting him at once, it ended up frying his nervous system. He was clinically dead when he arrived three hours ago, sir. Im doing the best I can, but you have to realize these are not ideal conditions for a performance demonstration.
How many ops have you run? Oh, right, ZERO. Dont question my orders, Doctor, I report to the Director, not you. Your subject killed or injured over a dozen of my best men, so I hope you can still manage to control him with whatever tech youre using.
At this point, I wouldnt worry about control, commander. Im more worried that hes too exhausted to stand. If his physical condition doesnt improve significantly, it could turn your demonstration into an execution. Stephens enunciated his final word in an effort to get his point across.
You just do your job and Ill do mine, Doctor. Get him prepped and have him suited up, on-stage at oh-six-hundred. Im leaving to brief the Director and prep the demo teams.
Director 5 about-faced and rounded the corner, silently cursing himself for waiting so long to grab the subject. In retrospect, he probably should have just ignored the Russians timeline demands and picked the kid up as soon as he got back into town. The only thing stopping him was his inherent fear of what the Russian might have done after his deal was broken; then again, what was worse, being at the mercy of the other Directors for failing to deliver on the project, or breaking a deal with a lethal business partner? Six of one, half a dozen of the other, he supposed.
Storming upstairs and into the control booth, Director 5 took an assessment of the situation. There was no way to call off the demonstration now; too much of his career aspirations, indeed his very life, depended on the outcome of this project. He had stalled for too long already, and the Directors had demanded to see the fruits of the billions of dollars that had been funneled into the program. The secure video feed would be going live in just over ninety minutes, and he needed this thing to work.
- - -
5:00 am
Control Booth
Director 5 was startled by the control booth door swinging open and a disheveled looking Dr Stephens bobbling his way in. Adjusting his glasses, Dr Stephens made his way over to the empty chair next to him, sat down, and began to initiate the startup sequences for each of the various pieces of video monitoring equipment and computer arrays in the booth. With the 6 display widescreens sparking to life and flashing their startup protocols, he breathed a heavy sigh before looking over to Director 5.
Commander, forgive me for not acknowledging you but I am trying to make your demonstration happen, and I think we can do it. Our subject finally woke up about fifteen minutes ago after I gave him two direct shots of adrenaline. It wasnt pretty, but a couple of the other technicians helped me get him stabilized. Right now theyve got him in the ready room getting suited up as we speak. They should be wheeling him out into the staging hangar in about 30 minutes if all goes well.
Director 5 stifled a smile. It was the best news hed had in the last six months, but he didnt want to jinx it with a premature celebration. Please tell me the chip is still intact.
Sir its fine, we scanned it when he came in right after we got his pulse back and we had no trouble keying it up after he regained consciousness. Between that and the adrenaline, weve got him nice and stable for now, hovering around 70% recovery. I need some time to get everything set up in here, but everything will be fully prepped within the next hour.
Excellent, good work Stephens. Im going to head down to brief the strike teams. Radio me if anything changes. Ill be back in the hangar right before start time.
- - -
5:30am
Briefing Room
Alright men, Im going to give this to you straight up, so listen close. Director 5 marched around the front of the briefing room like a little general. He relished this part; the nervous adrenaline-fueled anticipation of an operation. He needed to make sure each of his soldiers was in the right frame of mind for what was about to happen next.
This project is the result of over 14 years of research and labor to complete this one finished production weapon. Notice that I said weapon and not soldier. When you see this thing, you will be tempted to think of it as a man. That would be a mistake. You will not be going up against a man. You are going up against a piece of hardware, designed to execute tactical threat response programming at high speed, with precision. This is a six foot two inch, two hundred fifteen pound tactical nightmare, wearing two billion dollars worth of Impervium-coated tech assets that make him the human equivalent of a stealth fighter jet.
Thats not even the fun part. The fun part is, you lucky bastards have the unique problem of helping me demonstrate its effectiveness with equal parts deadly force and professional restraint. We need to show this thing off at full pace and give the bosses a demonstration of how bad-*** this thing is, throwing everything we have at it so they dont think were sandbagging them; however, your mission will also fail to sell, if you destroy our new weapon in the process. Any questions?
Sir, whats our weapons load?
Standard heavy assault. I have tactical command, which I will initiate from the hangar before heading up to the control booth. Anything else?
Who will be controlling the tango, sir?
That would be the project lead, Dr Stephens, monitored by myself from the control room. Anything else?
Silence.
Good. Alpha team, get in position in the staging area. Bravo, Charlie, Delta, you guys are on hold in the green room for my mark on ambushes 1, 2, and 3. Look alive, men. Hoo-ah.
Hoo-ah!
- - -
5:59am
Staging Hangar
The staging area was an aircraft hangar inside the Malta facility, which had been cleared out and rebuilt into a large urban warfare center complete with small and medium sized buildings, and even a few mock skyscrapers that pushed up and into the ceiling a hundred yards up.
Director Five looked up to the control booth at the other end of the hangar. He could barely make out Dr Stephens on the other side of the glass. Waiting patiently, finally the red LED on the underside of the booth lit up, indicating that the live video feed had started transmitting. That was his cue.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the board of Directors, it is my pleasure to begin the meeting today with this demonstration. As you know, this research cell has been disproportionately funded among our global operations programs, and despite the many breakthroughs we have provided the organization, our results so far have not been commensurate with our spending.
A voice came piped into the speaker system in the hangar, computerized to disguise the speaker, but he could tell from the familiar vocal inflections that it was Director 11. Director 5 has certainly spent a lot of our money, commander. This has gone on quite long enough, and we demand to see some results.
Yes, sir. Director 5 smiled to himself in anticipation of the show he was about to put on for them. Soon they would see him in all his magnificent genius.
Today, I am here to show you what your money and patience have bought.
Director 5 paused before continuing, As you know, over the years we have made numerous technological advances in hard-target strike capability; our Kronos Titan and the Damocles Warfare Satellite, to name just two. As we compete in the super powered arms race with meta-humans, these tools have given us increasingly superior firepower for increasingly difficult targets. However, there is a significant liability to each of these advanced weapons systems. They are big, they are bulky, and they unleash significant collateral damage, making them unsuitable in covert operations where discretion is needed.
Continue, the modulated voice of Director 11 responded.
Directors, as you know, our organization depends on secrecy, and these weapons, powerful as they are, are primarily useful as doomsday devices to end protracted conflicts. Protecting secrecy means keeping our operations clandestine, unseen, out of the view of governments, militaries, and certainly out of the public eye. The long term success of Malta depends on our ability to conduct operations quietly, and interdict potential conflicts before they swell to a scale where these weapons are needed...
We have built enough broadswords. What we really need is a scalpel.
With that, a platform overhead began to slowly descend downward from the ceiling. The platform was draped on all sides by black canvas.
This project, this weapon, is that scalpel we have needed, Director 5 continued, smiling to himself at the drama of it all.
Our modern conflict is conducted primarily in urban settings, among the populace. The shock and awe of our strike teams and mechanized units are outweighed by visibility and publicity. It has exposed us to unnecessary risk for the last time.
This next generation of urban warfare platform is every bit the technological edge that our current forces enjoy; but in a package that can be deployed rapidly, bypass security systems to infiltrate hardened targets, employ dynamic strategic process algorithms to locate its target and defeat enemy countermeasures, and assassinate, demolish, retrieve, or incapacitate the targeted asset depending on the need. Best of all, it does all this completely undetected, invisible even in heavily populated areas, even in broad daylight.
It is the ideal weapon of our current war, capable of unleashing havoc deep behind enemy lines, and vanishing without a trace. Zero footprint and zero collateral damage.
A deep clank echoed through the hangar as the platform finally reached the ground. Director 5 reached up to grab the black cloth that draped over the platform.
Ladies and Gentlemen, today it is my great honor to present to you, for your consideration: The EtherFalcon.
Director 5 yanked down on the cloth and it billowed down, revealing an empty platform.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Recovery Room
One hour prior
Finally, youre awake. I was worried I was going to have to give you a third hit of mainline adrenaline. This is going to be a slightly different layout than original spec but thereve been some software improvements that we had to integrate over the years. I dont have time to give you the full rundown so heres the quick and dirty version.
The subject grunted and struggled violently against his restraints. Where the hell am I and whats going on?
Youre in a high security Malta facility offshore of Peregrine Island. Youve been waiting a long time for this, Drake. Its complicated, but suffice it to say that, your mind has already shown you what is necessary to follow the path you have chosen.
A look of shock and recognition washed over David Drakes face. His eyes were still trying to focus under the intense light bathing them from the masks HUD, but he knew he recognized the voice.
YOU! You SICK son of a
Hey, listen up kid, I know youre still in the process of piecing this together. Im going to help you out with what you need to know for the next sixty minutes.
Your vision probably feels messed up right now. We upgraded the Heads-Up-Display to higher resolution and its being projected directly onto your corneal membrane. Its been a while since youve had this on, so itll probably burn a little, but its safe. We also fixed the rear-view aspect; what youre actually seeing is 3 dimensional bifocal overlay, both front and rear view, right eye is your twelve-o-clock, left eye is your six-o-clock. Itll mess you up for a bit but youre going to need to be able to see 360 degrees, and once you get used to it youll be fine.
Helmet, forearms and shins are Impervium, in case you cant move fast enough they should deflect anything but a direct hit, but I wouldnt test that too much. Rest of the suit is Kevlar weave, but again, best bet, just dont get hit.
Belt has sixteen ampules all the way around, top and bottom are split so thats thirty-two containers. Top row are micro concussion flash-bangs with a three second fuse. Bottom row are incendiaries, three second fuse. Buckle has two buttons, stealth on the left, gravity reversal on the right. Since this is your first run, I wouldnt try flying quite yet.
Your HUD is going to map out everything in your environment within a quarter mile. If you want answers to your questions, youll find them in the control booth.
One last thing
People keep telling you about the old ways. Let me tell you something
Sometimes the old ways are just the past...
That phrase triggered something in his subconscious. David felt something click in his mind, as though he had finally figured out the answer to a riddle. For the first time in many years, he felt in full control of his mind.
Think about that, it ought to keep your mind straight from now on. Youve been through hell, kid. Youre going to have to take control of the wheel now. I just hope youre ready for this.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 9
Peregrine Island
6:06 am
You mean to tell me we built something our own sensors cant pick up?! Why the hell is there no tracking device on the suit?!
Director 5 had scrambled back up to the control booth after the curtain had been pulled down to reveal nothing. With the live video feed still rolling, he had to improvise, and had done so by passing it off as a full simulation of the weapons stealth capabilities. He had immediately sent in both Alpha and Bravo strike teams to hunt it down. They were currently in the process of searching the area surrounding the platform while he berated Dr Stephens in the control booth, who was cycling through every sensor array they could in an attempt to locate the EtherFalcon.
Staring back at them through the other panels on the bottom of the display, were the shadowed silhouettes of the other Directors. Although he controlled the video feed the Directors saw, Director 5 could practically feel their collective gaze crawling up the back of his neck.
Sir unfortunately thats correct. The suit does have a tracking mechanism on it but its gone dark.
How is that possible?!
Well, there are two options. It could be malfunctioning, or
Or what?
Or
he could have shut it off, sir.
As Dr. Stephens completed his sentence, suddenly the lights in the hangar went completely dark. This was only a minor inconvenience for the strike teams, who quickly equipped their night vision goggles. The psychological impact, however, was definitely felt.
The radio in the booth squawked as team leader alpha reported in, Alpha to Overwatch, weve gone dark down here, is that intentional, over?
Alpha, uh, thats affirmative, your plan does not change. This is part of the demonstration, resume search, over. Director 5 could feel the sweat beginning to soak through his uniform. He was overheating, but he dared not remove any of his disguise. If this thing continued to go south, he still had deniability to the board and anonymity to everyone in the facility. Something in his mind connected and he realized that was exactly what he had better start doing - building a contingency plan for getting out of here.
Glancing over at Dr Stephens, he decided on his course of action. It would take some time to get the Damocles satellite into precise geosynchronous orbit over their location, time that he hoped he still had. Moving to the terminal to his right, he entered his password and began hurriedly typing in commands to activate the satellites guidance system. Once activated, he typed in the coordinates of the facility, completed the action, and closed out the program. He turned his chair back to face the main display and looked over to see Dr Stephens staring at him.
He had seen the whole thing.
Director 5 was about to say something when suddenly the staccato of automatic weapons erupted through the live radio feed, followed by a single word shouted into the radio from Bravo team leader:
Contact!
Stephens and the Director both fixated on the top middle monitor as Stephens quickly operated the controls and cycled through the various camera views. Finally he found them. They were on the third floor of one of the mock skyscrapers. The images were bathed in grayish green as the cameras were now operating solely in night vision mode. It was an angled down view of one of the office rooms, and from the irregular positioning of the hunkered down soldiers, it appeared bravo team had been ambushed.
The darkness was punctuated by several quick flashes that intermittently blinded the camera view. Flash bangs. The Director could see the men pulling their heads down in reaction to them, the brief but intense flares of light wreaking havoc on the soldiers night vision through their goggles. Stephens panned the camera a bit and what they saw sent a chill down the Directors spine. Immediately following each of the flashes, there was something moving. Fast. It had the telltale signs of a bent-light silhouette, moving from cover to cover, advancing on the pinned down bravo team. The men were doing their best to provide suppression fire, but they were shooting in all the wrong directions.
The radio squawked again; Bravo this is Alpha team, closing on your position. Were coming up the back, well be at your six in fifteen seconds.
As you can see, Directors, the EtherFalcon is an impressive weapon, able to move about undetected, and engage multiple strike teams. Director 5 narrated the scene into a microphone that extended out from the control console in front of him. So far this was working out for what he wanted his audience to see, but he could feel he was walking a thin line between control and chaos.
The control room monitor directly to the left switched views as Dr Stephens manned the controls, focusing in on Alpha team coming up a side stairwell, just below the floor that Bravo team was engaged on. They should be up through that door, Stephens said, pointing to a door that was back and to the right of Bravo teams position by about twenty yards. The periodic flashes, punctuated by gunfire, continued as they watched the alpha team approaching the doorway, stopping briefly before breaching the door. Stephens and the Director moved their eyes back to the top middle screen and watched the door behind Bravo team blown open as the eight man team poured into the room single file, each man pointing his weapon in a different direction in a perfect room entry sweep.
Just as Alpha team was moving to take up cover positions around the back part of the room, a small object appeared to be lobbed from off-screen into the gap space between the two raid teams. The object bounced once behind Bravo team and just as the men were turning to try to identify it, the object erupted in a ball of fire that surged out and covered the floor and walls with bright dancing flames. Heavy black smoke began filling the room as the men struggled to remove their night vision goggles, which had instantly become a liability to them.
Then, simultaneously, they all saw it. Standing in the middle of the room, a dark cloak draped down almost to the floor from its back, the amber glow of the flames dancing off the sharply angled silver impervium plates on the figures shins, forearms, shoulders, and all the way up to the sharp tips of the winged, angular helm that framed the figures head into a demonic silhouette against the warm flickering backlighting of the flames scattered around the room. The figures eyes seemed to glow, unnaturally bright slivers under the low triangular cowl plate that came down the front of the helmet. The rest of the costume was a dark blue, almost black, highlighted with silver wing designs down the sides of the legs, circling up across the chest, with the silver head of a bird of prey emblazoned on the chest. He stood between the two strike teams, arms at his sides, like a duelist ready to draw.
Fear gripped the soldiers, momentarily stalling their situational awareness as they took in the menacing figure standing before them. It took half a second before their wits came back to them and Alpha leader shouted,
FIRE!
Wait, no! Director 5 shouted into his control radio but it was too late. The two men in the control room watched the screen in disbelief as bright asterisk-shaped muzzle flashes erupted on either side of the screen, as both Bravo and Alpha teams proceeded to unload their weapons in the direction of the figure between them. It was like watching a double firing squad; two teams of soldiers with little to no cover, faced directly at each other in close quarters, unleashing one long string of automatic fire at each other.
The space where the figure had stood became a blur. It appeared that something was still there, but moving so fast it appeared simply as a dark smudge in the center of the screen. Shouts could be heard, then groans, as men went down, peppered with bullets from their fellow soldiers across the room on both sides. The blur began to move around the room, seeming to jump from place to place, leaving behind it a mess of falling bodies.
Finally, half a minute after the gunfire started, the room was quiet. Nothing moved, except the bright flicker of a few flames still going from the earlier incendiary explosion. The room crawled with shadows in odd places, appearing to be moving closer to the camera. Dr Stephens and the Director jumped in their chairs as the figure reappeared suddenly, facing directly into the camera with piercing white eyes in stark contrast to the shadow cast on the masked face underneath.
Uh, as you can see, Directors, this weapon is highly adaptable, able to improvise and, uh, completely disable two eight man strike teams, Director 5 almost stuttered into the console microphone, trying to catch his breath after witnessing two of his most battle-hardened strike teams tear each other apart. What Director 5 saw next on the screen unnerved him to his core.
The figure stared directly into the camera, its white eyes gleaming devilishly, smiled, and mouthed Im coming for you next.
Shutting off the microphone momentarily, he looked over at Dr Stephens. That will do, Dr Stephens, I think weve shown enough demonstration. We need to shut him down right now.
Impressive demonstration, commander, came the computerized voice through the console speakers as Director 11s video screen lit up to indicate the speaker, your weapon appears more than capable of your claims. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of its handlers.
Excuse me? Director 5 said with a puzzled tone.
Turn on channel 6. Your weapon may be able to operate clandestinely, but apparently _you_ cannot, Director 5.
The Director bristled, having just been made in front of Dr Stephens by his fellow Director. He quickly flipped one of the monitors to channel 6, and let out an audible groan, his head dropping in defeat.
Paragon 6 Morning News was running the video feed from the facility, the same one that was being beamed via satellite to the other Directors. Someone had piggybacked their signal. A blonde female reporter sat in the foreground of the frame narrating:
An anonymous tip has notified us that Paragon Police Departments Malta task force has been dispatched with several SWAT teams, along with the national guard, to coordinates just off Peregrine Island, believed to be the origin of this satellite feed
Damn it Stephens, how did they get our satellite feed?! Director 5 punched the console in anger. Kill the feeds, all of them. Ill deal with the Directors later. Right now we need to deal with this immediate situation. And for Gods sake, shut down the EtherFalcon!
Sir, okay, I just, I dont know how this happened
I just need a minute to key in the lockdown code. Stephens struggled to compose himself and began hammering away on the keyboard on the console.
Director 5 gave up any further illusion of his deception of his subordinates, and yelled into the control radio, Charlie and Delta teams, get up to the control booth NOW! I want both teams outside the entryway NOTHING GETS IN HERE, do you understand me?! This is your DIRECTOR 5 speaking!
Holy crap, sir, yes sir! came the response back over the radio.
Did that psycho death machine just mouth that it was coming to get me?! How in the hell is that possible, Stephens?!
Sir, there is a problem. Ive lost communication with the device.
What?
Its
not responding to the kill switch commands. Its been overridden, or reprogrammed, or something
I dont know how, I just know
I cant shut him off. Stephens was visibly disturbed, shaking as the words came out.
The Director felt his heart sink in his chest. This was a total nightmare, the worst possible outcome. How could this have happened? All the years of research, decades of organized deception and planning. Hed been at least double-crossed, maybe triple-crossed. The Russian. This was his doing. Something he did while they had the subject must have overridden the control chip. He would have his revenge, but first things first.
You saw me code up the Damocles earlier? Bring it up on screen 3! The Director watched as Dr Stephens keyed up screen 3. The screen quickly jumped to the red image of a satellite, with a series of numbers and specifications showing its position.
Its in position above our location sir.
How long until the particle beam is charged?
Sir?
I deeply regret this Dr Stephens, but I have no other choice. I have to bury this thing.
Approximately thirty seconds remaining until full charge, sir.
Ok. We just have to hold out half a minute longer.
But what about the strike teams?!
They will die as heroes in the service of their Director.
There was a sudden squawk on the radio. Charlie and Delta teams, checking in sir. We have secured the lift access point. Nothing gets up there unless it goes past us.
Excellent. Dont take any chances, men. You see anything, and I mean anything moving, open fire in that direction.
Roger that sir.
Fifteen seconds, whispered Dr Stephens.
Director 5 pulled out a small black box from his tactical belt and spoke quickly into it, Damocles 5, transport two. The box began to hum as thin strands of light began emanating off the box, twisting as they surrounded the Director and Dr Stephens. The director looked back at screen three, showing the final countdown until the readout read zero. As the triptych of images on the screen changed from red to green, he keyed in the final sequence and hit enter.
Suddenly the ceiling above the control room exploded downward, sending plaster particles raining down on the two men. The EtherFalcon dropped down into the booth as the air began to hum and vibrate. Director 5 could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he looked directly into the eyes of the fiend he had created.
Its too late! he shouted over the roaring vibration of the building being shaken to pieces.
The light around the box had become more intense, but it was nothing compared to the sudden blast of searing white light that could be seen through the control booth window, a beam fifty feet wide and growing, ripping its way through the top of the hangar and sending up a shockwave cloud of energy that was quickly advancing towards the control booth.
Dr Stephens didnt hesitate, grabbing the box out of the Directors hand as the EtherFalcon executed a devastating crane kick that sent the Director flying sideways, crashing through the control booth window.
Perhaps for you, Comrade, Stephens shouted as a look of shock washed over the Directors face as he plummeted.
Dr Stephens and the EtherFalcon watched as Director 5 drifted out the window into the hangar, swallowed up halfway down by the searing cloud of white hot death as it swept quickly towards the booth and enveloped them
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Epilogue
Vindication was a fickle thing for me. It was certainly a poor descriptor of what I felt as Dr Stephens walked me through the inner corridors of the Malta Damocles satellite weapon, 500 kilometers above the ruins of the facility. It was difficult, after all, to feel pain or anger or thoughts of vengeance on behalf of those you believed to be innocent, after finding out that they were largely responsible for their own deaths.
My father was a shrewd businessman long before he was a Malta financier. To me he had always been the model dad. Always there for me, a driving force for my character and sense of self. I always had a sense that he was preparing me to take over the family enterprise. In a way, it still held true. It just wasnt exactly the family business I was expecting.
Malta approached him soon after the death of his father. At first, it was a symbiotic relationship that allowed him to expand his businesses to a number of industries and run up a personal fortune well beyond the means of his legitimate enterprises, while financing what he believed to be a force for the greater good. After all, there were threats emerging that even the governments of the world seemed ill-suited to handle. There needed to be someone out there with a big enough stick to keep all the thugs of the world in check.
But as he grew older, he began to realize that the organization he had placed his trust in, had in fact deceived him. Malta wasnt part of the solution, they were the problem itself. They were one of many protagonists in an endless campaign of overt militarism and clandestine war between secret societies. He saw the collateral damage to the public at large; wars, famine and plagues, stock market booms and busts, political upheaval, global terrorism, organized criminal activities, assassination and murders, and the list went on.
So, he designed a way out.
He found a group of like-minded people inside Malta; people who had signed up for the same reason he had, and slowly began bleeding the insides of Malta cell 5 dry. He pillaged the ranks, recruiting some of the best operatives and technicians as double agents within their own organization, creating his own private sleeper cell. It was his insurance policy, making sure he had a way to leave, and to accomplish his personal quest after his departure.
When my father finally resigned, Director 5 was furious and immediately put a plan in motion to tie up the loose ends. Kidnapping me was the first part of that plan, creating a red herring by brokering a proposal that convinced the Family that my father had finally given in to their threats and demands for access to his shipping business. Malta handled all the details, the kidnapping, the ransom demands, and after my safe return, they made the insurance payments to Guido Verandi behind my fathers back. The only problem was, my father had learned of the Directors plan a week ahead of time from Charles, who was to broker the deal. Knowing there was no way to stop the plan once it was in motion, he set up his own counterplan, using his covert assets within the cell to influence the Director to use me as a test subject in their little science project during the time I was under their care. He would use their own plans and weapon against them.
He used the 6 years after my return to build his own program, setting up his network of spies and double agents as a mysterious organization that eventually gained Director 5s attention. It was Dr Stephens, posing as the Russian, who ultimately put the final pieces of the plan together, brokering the deal to finish training their weapon. It was my father who chose the day of his own death, entrusting the fate of his son to the surrogate family he had created in hopes of bringing down the monster he had helped finance, and giving me the tools I would need to carry out the legacy he wanted.
Now, standing in the control room of the satellite weapon that had cut off the head of Malta cell 5, I realized that this was more than vindication.
It was my inheritance.
One of the monitors in the satellites War Room was still tuned to the news feed from Channel 6 News. They were running the video that had been leaked from the Malta demonstration as background to the live footage of a female investigative reporter standing on the Peregrine Island docks reporting at the scene outside the blast radius. The satellite weapon had done exactly what it was designed to do; it had annihilated the entire facility and literally leveled the island it had stood on. The only evidence of what had happened was now captured in the digital night vision security video playing over and over on every news channel on the eastern seaboard.
I smiled as I watched the video, and pondered the terror it would strike. From the numberless criminal organizations and covert paramilitary groups, to the warlords and super-criminals and blood profiteers of the human race, all the way down to the common street thugs that plagued the innocents of Paragon City.
I pictured every last one of them staring into those devilish, glowing eyes, wondering who, or what, is this EtherFalcon?
It was my message to them:
Im coming for you next.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Thanks to everyone who stayed with me, I know it was a bit of a long journey, but like I said up front, I hope you were entertained.
See you in-game.
EtherFalcon
Hiya Paragonners.
Wow, who knew, huh? And I thought heroes like him just came fully formed from a mail order service somewhere.
Very nice work Falcon.
JWB
Writer of In-Game fiction: Just Completed: My Summer Vacation. My older things are now being archived at Fanfiction.net http://www.fanfiction.net/~jwbullfrog until I come up with a better solution.
*claps*
"Goodbye, Jean-Luc. I'm gonna miss you... you had such potential. But then again, all good things must come to an end..." -- Q
I've been contemplating my own work of fiction for a while so hopefully this entertains someone other than just myself. I finally got inspired enough to post by JWB's recent work with the Epitaph storyline.
Fair warning up front that what started with an origin story in mind, ended up getting expanded to the work which I will be posting here. The intent is to post a chapter (or two) at the end of each week, until it's complete.
Thanks to all of protector's writers (you know who you are) for all your great works which inspired me to finally post this, and here's to many more stories to come. I hope that I can provide even just a faint sliver of what you've provided to the protector forums.
With that said... let's get started.