Pandora 13
I
It Had To Be Me
Sixteen year old James Barden awoke with a start. He was drenched in a profuse, cold, sweat, though he could feel the searing temperature of his own body quite clearly. He waited for his heart to stop pounding, and tried to force his eyes to stay open. Fatigue took him entirely and his head swam.
He struggled to his feet, took a couple of tentative steps, then met his carpeted floor with a heavy thud. Horrified, as he gasped for air, he stared at his hands in disbelief. Before his very eyes, James' hands seemed to be changing. They looked distorted, and unnatural. A ripple seemed to flow across his skin, and for a brief moment, James could swear his skin was made of metal.
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"Get him on Terazine, fast." A male voice demanded. "200 CCs. I want progress reports every ten minutes. Have cardiac on standby."
James could feel himself being wheeled on a stretcher. He could see white lights passing overhead, but found himself quite unable to move. The stretcher had been equipped with leather restraints! He tried to speak, but found himself capable of only indistinct grunting sounds.
"His pulse is dropping!" A nurse exclaimed. She swiftly connected an IV to his wrist, and checked the attached monitor. His vital signs continued to fluctuate, seemingly at random. The nurse turned to her superior as they walked, totally baffled.
"Notify ER. One patient incoming. Young male, approximately fifteen to eighteen. Clear theatre eight. We'll need Doctor Hassan for this one."
Moments later, James' stretcher shouldered aside the double doors to the operating theatre. Here stood four men in labcoats, all equipped with breath masks and eye protection. James could see medical instruments laid out, and extensive monitoring equipment. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the terror he felt inside. He was certain he would die.
At approximately 8:13pm, on June 26th, at Songbird Memorial Hospital, he was right.
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"Are you sure you want to do this, Doc?" A young female, clad in flowing cargos, fishnet shirt, and black denim vest, adorned with myriad chains and studs, inquired. Her concern was noted in Dr. Anton Rubius' face. Rubius was an aging man of hawklike stature, and firm conviction. His proper nature was accented by a sleek, brown suit, and fine leather shoes. Even his eye movements were precise; calculated. He stroked his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, and nodded.
"I'm certain it's a new level of progress in the mutations, Denise. The data recorded during Mr. Barden's supposed death defies all medical knowledge, history, and reason. There has to be a connection."
Denise Richmond, who had been raised under Rubius' tutelage, hung on his arm. Her neatly black-lined eyes studied the body with a mixture of repulsion, sorrow, and hope.
"I hope you're right. I mean, really. Swiping medical supplies for us kids is one thing, but bodysnatching.."
Dr. Rubius cut her off with a glance.
"I know, Denise. But we can't leave him here. Even if he is dead, the knowledge we'll gain from him is priceless. He may be the key to unlocking the secret of the mutations."
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James Barden opened his eyes. How much time had passed, since his attack? Hours? Days? Had he lapsed into a coma? It certainly felt like it. He checked his pulse, and swallowed hard. He didn't have one.
"What the hell is happening to me?" he fumed, flailing against his restraints. This didn't make sense. He could no longer feel the rush of blood through his veins, nor the beating of his heart in his chest. His lungs only filled with air when he willed them to; the involuntary regulation of respiration was no longer present.
Vampire. The word stuck in his head, accompanied by visions of blood-sucking legions of the damned. He imagined himself being burned by holy water, and turned by the sight of a crucifix. He was still delirious -babbling and mumbling about the undead- when the door opened.
"You're not a vampire, Mr. Barden," a soft, pleasant, female voice assured him. It was Denise, although by this time, she'd opted for a more suitable attire. She wore a white nurse's uniform, and carried a tray of assorted medical supplies and equipment. She smiled softly and began to sing a quiet tune. As she approached, James could feel an overwhelming sense of serenity wash over him. She seemed quite relaxed by the time she found his side, as did he.
"What's happening to me?" James repeated.
"Don't worry, Mr. Barden. Dr. Rubius is the best. If he can't figure it out, he'll know somebody who can. For now, I just have to run some tests."
James frowned, nonplussed, and let his head fall back to the hospital pillow. He felt defeated, even by his own body. There was still a sensation of pain, at least. That seemed to suggest that he was still alive, even though he couldn't be sure of what that meant anymore.
Denise attended him with a careful and steady hand, as taught by Dr. Rubius. For years, she had studied to become a nurse, and James was her first patient. She felt confident, but she took no risks. She couldn't decide if it was her desire to impress her master, to save the young boy, or to prove her own skills, that gave her the drive to perform, but perform she did.
"Well?" Dr. Rubius asked, as she exited the room. Denise shook her head.
"It defies all logic," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders in defeat. She handed him a clipboard containing the results of her tests, and continued as he scanned it. "No pulse, intermittent breathing, and zero organ activity. EEG is totally flat. He's dead in every way you can be dead."
Rubius glanced up from the paperwork, peering over the rim of his bifocals, through the one-way glass at James.
"You might try telling him that."
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II
Friends In High Places
Victor Lawrence folded his hands neatly in front of him as his guest scrambled to excuse her recent failures. He regarded her with rapt attention, forever maintaining the closest approximation of feigned interest one could imagine. He was dashing; dark, slick, hair, crisp black suit, and sharp features. His was a foreboding presence, even as he wore that paralyzing smile. His steel grey eyes seemed to bore into hers, as if to mine the information directly from her brain.
The blonde girl fidgeted in her seat as she recounted the tale, searching for any point of interest that could lend her support. It was Jessica Malone; a college dropout who, by rights, had no place sitting in front of Megadyne Corporation's Chief Executive Officer. Her tight shorts, and tiny blouse were not enough to distract the man; he waited like a hunting hawk perched above a lake, waiting for his catch.
"The bottom line, Ms. Malone," he interjected, never once wavering in his deadly gaze. "Is that you failed to accomplish your mission. Megadyne is a multinational capable of burying insects like you with the smallest of efforts. You should be more careful which of its toes you step on."
"But they were there!" Jessica protested. A thin wisp of smoke trailed lazily from the hems of her shorts. She ignored the flash of heat in her body, more out of fear than anything else, but Victor knew.
"Yes, I know." He said bitterly, gently pushing back his rolling chair to stand. "It is the curse of every father to bear at least one disobedient son; of every master to teach one unruly student."
Jessica nodded, although she didn't entirely understand. Victor turned away from her to gaze out of his enormous picture window.
"Rubius and his band of misfits have nothing but a few glimpses into a jumble of false leads, dead ends, and cold trails. And shortly, they won't even have that to look forward to."
"Even as we speak, Megadyne's latest development is being pushed into full swing. The only thing we need now is the public's support."
"Then it doesn't matter?" Jessica inquired, her voice barely a squeak.
"Of course it does, my dear," was Victor's reply. "As a direct result of your sloppy form, I've got to mobilize a cleanup effort. There are palms to grease, stories to tell, and documents to burn. All because you-" He turned abruptly, halfway, to face her, pointing an index finger. "Couldn't follow instructions. If I didn't need the support of multiple age ranges, you'd have been dealt with already."
Jessica swallowed hard, and sank lower in her chair. The heat in her body had subsided, replaced by the cold chill of fear.
"Yes sir," she peeped obediently.
Victor sighed, and thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ms. Malone. I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself." He crossed the room, and gently placed a finger on the newspaper on his desk, indicating an article on a recent, unexplained, death. "Bring him to me."
Jessica left the office without another word. Victor composed himself and pressed a button on his intercom.
"Yes?"
"Ms. Crane, cancel my two o'clock. I've an errand to run."
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Jessica's panicked footfalls faded into a confident stride, once she attained a reasonable distance from the corporate offices. She made her way toward the Commercial District; soon the glossy skyscrapers, and towering business offices gave way to side-of-the-road food stands, and electronics shops. It was here that she felt most at home.
"Bus fare?" she asked of a passing man. He pulled his grey longcoat closer around his body and quickened his pace. Jessica followed, pouting as best she could. "It's hours by foot!" she moaned. "My mom will kill me if I don't get home on time!"
The man pressed on, purposely ignorant of her pleas. In her attempts to pace the man, Jessica ran headlong into a young man in a suit. The opportunity was not lost on her; Jessica slipped her hand inside his jacket and deftly withdrew a slender leather wallet. She'd placed the palm of her other hand on his chest; a ruse meant to assure him of her concern.
"I'm so sorry!" she gasped. The man waved her off with a smile, and continued on his way. Jessica ducked into the alley to examine her most recent catch.
"Not bad," she murmured. "Paper
and plastic." She giggled and tossed the empty husk into a waste bin, pocketing the take. With fresh finances, her job would be a little easier.
Jessica found a map near the center of sector eight. It didn't take her long to plot a course to the Medical District. The trail had gone cold at Songbird Memorial, and so that was where she needed to be.
"I'll show him," she rasped.
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Victor Lawrence slipped on a luxurious black longcoat, and withdrew from its inside pocket a pair of sleek, mirrored, shades. He made a final check of his belongings before leaving the office, which consisted of a brief pat-down of his clothes. At each point of contact, he identified the items within his pockets by touch. Keys, wallet, personal defense equipment, passcards...
The office door locked behind him with an audible click, which forced a smile from his lips. Everything was so clean, and precise, in his offices. Megadyne had been good to him, indeed, and he would see to it that the company could offer its benefits to every citizen...even if that meant a little dirty pool toward the competition.
His driver knew the way, even before Victor opened the glossy black door. He started the curvy sedan, and made his way toward the Science District, as according to his employer's previously planned engagement.
"Dr. Strauss is expecting you," the man said. He was gruff, unshaven, with tousled dirty brown hair, and just a bit too much excess 'round the middle. Victor said nothing.
"I did a little checking, boss," the driver continued. "We got a few snoops from the government in one of our regional branches the other day. Somethin' about EPA, and human testing."
At that, Victor raised an eyebrow.
"And what of it?" he asked neutrally. The driver only smiled. Victor returned the smile; a devilish, devious grin.
"Good," he said firmly. "Nice to know we've still got friends in high places."
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III
The Stuff Screams Are Made Of
Jeremiah Cole leaned heavily on a computer station. His long, brown, bushy beard hid his lips, but his eyes betrayed a look of stern skepticism as he met Dr. Rubius' gaze. Cole was adorned with motorcycle leathers and blue denim, a heavy tow chain for a belt, and various accessories which gave him the look of a man no one really wished to trifle with. For one, the man was built like a brick wall; his biceps measured the same as an average man's thigh. Dr. Rubius took a deep breath and repeated himself.
"It's true," he stated firmly. "James Barden is medically dead. His body does not any longer function at all." He paused for a moment of reflection, then added: "At least...not in the traditional sense."
The massive biker chuckled bitterly. "What other sense is there?"
Dr. Rubius silenced his pessimism with a stern gaze, and redirected his attentions to a microscope.
"Have a look, Mr. Cole."
Jeremiah was uncertain, but he pushed off of the workstation and sauntered over to the science station. He slowly placed his eyes against the equipment and refocused its lenses. A small skin sample came into view, and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Looks fine to me," he said gruffly. Dr. Rubius changed the magnification with an index finger, and watched Jeremiah's jaw slowly sink.
"What the hell is that?" he breathed.
The skin sample appeared as normal on the surface, but just as Dr. Rubius had said, the atomic makeup and molecular structure seemed to be in flux. As the microscope refocused, Jeremiah could see parts of it acting of their own accord; randomly reshaping themselves into different atomic arrangements. Subsequently, many of the molecules in the sample actually seemed to be changing into different elements.
"Okay, okay," Jeremiah said, pushing back from the microscope. "You got me. I don't know nothin' about all this science stuff, so just clue me in, all right? Obviously it isn't really skin, okay? So what is it?"
"Oh, it's his skin, all right," Rubius countered. "But it's been infected with something, and if I'm right, we could all be in very real danger."
Jeremiah shrugged, and cast his eyes to one side. "Okay, so what's got him?"
"We don't know."
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"In other news, Corporate District monster-success, Megadyne Corporation, announced today that it will redouble its efforts to find a cure for the outbreaks of mutancy in America. The outbreaks were first discovered when a youth in Boston managed to stop a runaway train engine with little more than his bare hands. Since then, the government-issued Mutancy Registration Act has provided American citizens with a measure of protection, as well as information, on mutants, and what their abilities are. Mutant rights groups who have opposed the law say that this new cure could be little more than an attempt at blocking what some are calling the next stage of human evolution."
The tinny voice emanated from a malfunctioning pair of speakers attached to a flickering television, mounted over a dingy bartop. Its millions of tiny reactive plasma conduits had experienced heavy losses in the years since its construction; a problem which meant that a good twenty percent of the programs it played never reached their audience's eyes. The young man at the bar, whose eyes were transfixed not on the television, but on a far corner of the empty bar room, seemed to prefer using his ears to interpret the newscast. He wore a tattered red longcoat, red cargos, and an oversized red t-shirt with his favourite band's cover art prominently displayed on its chest.
The reporter continued his inane banter with the news anchors, covering the story of Megadyne's most recent promise to "cure" the mutants of America, and the twenty-one year old Daniel Bartlet scoffed into his beer.
"Cure a flat tire with a knife, is what they'll do," he muttered.
Daniel had made quite a living as a freelance musician, particularly in the bar and nightclub scene, and he had his own mutancy to thank for it. When people saw him, they knew they were in for a treat, and that was the way he liked it. It wasn't his fault he was able to use energy magnification to accomplish it.
Now they wanted to take it away from him.
'If that's even their aim,' he silently mused. The thought intrigued him. What if Megadyne's continued failure in the search for a cure wasn't accidental? He smiled deviously at the thought. Although he certainly hated the Corporate mindset, he had to admit to a certain ironic appeal when he thought of the idea of America's citizenry throwing away countless millions of dollars on potentially useless research.
The news program had moved on to a new story by now. A scientist in a white labcoat held a vial of a very unstable-looking substance, and grinned stupidly into the camera. His expression felt forced, and unnatural as he attempted to explain the vial.
"As I was saying, Susan," he continued. "MetaMatter is a substance which possesses all of the properties of normal matter, but does not react to a normal environment in the same way."
He indicated a monitor in the far corner, and the camera angle changed.
"Here, our subject is set up with an electrical discharge for a stimulus. It's a low-voltage current, so it's really very harmless. Watch what happens when we expose the MetaMatter sample to electricity."
A small spark arced from the electrode, through a slide, and the sample billowed and bubbled. Smoke plumed from the slide as the MetaMatter expanded, then coalesced into a solid, cobalt-coloured block. The lumpy, misshapen thing quickly transformed back into the viscous goo it had originally been.
"From what we were able to learn about our new discovery," the scientist resumed. "MetaMatter exists in a constant transitional state between matter and energy. The slightest stimulus will cause it to transform in unpredictable ways. We've witnessed the substance changing from one element to an entirely incompatible element; something that should be scientifically impossible. We theorize that MetaMatter is never actually fully stable, but that it keeps its "flexible" form indefinitely if left alone."
"Well, there you have it," the reporter interjected; the cameraman's focus now returned to him. "The fabled Philosopher's Stone of legends past may now be more than myth. With MetaMatter on the scene, MegaDyne Corporation's hopes of becoming the first technological pioneer of the new age may be a reality at last. Only time will tell if the discovery will mean scientific alchemy, or financial ruin, for the conglomerate. Back you you, Jack."
Daniel arched an eyebrow and let his mind drift again.
'MetaMatter?' he thought. The subject was little more than a curiosity to him, at first, but as he thought about it, he began to see potential uses for the substance. If it was anything more than a media stunt, and one of the MegaCorps had it, then America was in for a real wake-up call.
He gathered his things and placed his credit chip -a small, thin, rectangular device no bigger than his thumb- into the reader. It scanned his thumbprint, displayed his account balance and a negative number, then beeped and displayed his remaining balance. He withdrew the device and pocketed it, thanked the bartender, and headed for the door.
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Daniel was pensive as he walked the streets of the Commercial District. Even the cool city night could not still his thoughts, and he found himself hungry for more knowledge about the strange newscast. He decided to call on an old friend, since she'd likely be connected with such knowledge.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Danny!" Denise Richmond blurted through the speaker. "It's been forever, you jerk!"
Daniel cringed and grinned. "Aw, come on, love. You knew I wouldn't be away forever."
"So, what's up?"
"Well, I saw the news tonight..."
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"I'm
what?" James Barden shouted. He was feeling much better after his twenty-four hours of rest, but that did little for his state of mind. He stared angrily at Dr. Rubius, who was flanked by Denise and Jeremiah, and tried to process what they'd told him.
"Dan told me yesterday," Denise offered quietly. "There was a whole press release about the stuff, and our tests confirm it."
Dr. Rubius nodded sagely, and handed him a clipboard containing copies of their test results. The documents may as well have been gibberish to James, who had not the slightest bit of medical knowledge.
"But how? I'm human, and that stuff's man-made, isn't it?"
"That's what we're trying to understand, James," Dr. Rubius said soothingly. His deep baritone had a calming effect on James, despite his eagerness to hold on to his anger. "MetaMatter has been found in mostly inorganic substances, like metals and synthetic materials. Why it's surfacing in your body, and how it managed to get there in the first place, are questions we simply do not have answers for at this time."
James buckled, clutching his left arm. He hit one knee, and the limb began quivering. He cried out in surprise as a distortion seemed to warp it out of shape. His arm cycled through countless hundreds of substances, in random areas, and in random shapes and sizes. It was as if the limb had become a showcase for the table of elements.
Dr. Rubius reacted instantly. He snatched a syringe from a nearby table and quickly loaded it with a powerful sedative. Jeremiah, whose purpose had been to provide restraint, should they need it, responded with exacting precision. He firmly gripped James from behind, pinning his arms to his sides, as Dr. Rubius delivered the injection. Within moments, James was unconscious.
His body, however, remained as active as it desired.
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IV
The Search for Stock
"Good work, doc." Said Jeremiah, as he carefully laid James on the floor. He felt as though it weren't proper to move him just yet. Dr. Rubius just stood there, mouth slightly agape, in awe of the situation.
"What's wrong?" Denise finally asked him. Rubius shook his head slowly, mounting up confidence in the idea that was forming in his mind.
"That shouldn't have worked." he stated firmly. He looked at the empty syringe, and repeated himself. "No bloodflow, no heartbeat, no brain activity...hell, the boy shouldn't even be alive!"
"Can't you see? None of this makes any sense!"
The doctor was beginning to lose some of his calm, collected exterior. His face was pale, his eyes full of concern. Denise knew there were wheels turning inside his mind, so she kept her silence.
"Unless," Rubius whispered softly. He knelt by the unconscious James, took another sample, and prepared equal portions for a variety of tests.
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Victor Lawrence slid a passcard through the reader, at Silverhawk Biotechnical. The green LED on the device lit up, and the massive titanium gates began to slide open. His driver was silent as he slowly accelerated the sedan through the entrance, and approached the guard booth.
"Mr. Lawrence." the guard acknowledged. Victor displayed his identification; a small plastic card with an integrated liquid crystal display, microprocessor, thumprint reader, and wireless transmission device. The card was barely an eighth of an inch thick, and measured three and a half inches by two inches. It displayed a three-dimensional image of Victor's likeness, and scrolled vital statistics, security clearances, and other relevant data.
Victor held his thumb against the card's print reader while the guard initiated his security booth's wireless verification system. Within seconds, the linkup checked Victor's card against Silverhawk's security clearance database, and confirmed his identity.
"All right, Mr. Lawrence," said the guard, with a false smile. "You're good to go. Welcome to Silverhawk Biotechnical."
Victor just smiled as the tinted window slowly obscured his face. The sedan moved slowly, prowling through the lot like a predator searching for food.
"Stay here," Victor told his driver, once they'd parked. "This may take some time."
The man tried, and failed, to restrain a pained look, which Victor caught sight of. He smiled.
"Don't worry, my old friend. You're still on the clock."
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"You're certain the necessary testing has been completed?" Victor asked of an aging man in a white labcoat. The man adjusted an oversized pair of thick glasses and smiled through a greying moustache.
"Yes," he stated firmly, his voice flavoured with a thick Romanian accent. "After successful testing on several compatible species, we were ready to begin human testing. The preliminary results were very promising."
"I am not interested in promises," Victor replied dismissively. He played absently with a hot plate, causing a strange blue substance in the beaker on its surface to bubble quietly. "When you purchase a vehicle, you drive it home. I have purchased the Pandora Project. When will I drive it home?"
There was fear in the scientist's eyes. He knew who Victor was, and he'd been sure he could pacify him, but now that confidence was dwindling rapidly. He needed some results to show for his time.
"This way," he said eagerly. "I will show you."
He led Victor through several corridors, finally arriving at a small control room with adjoining cells. Here, Victor could see the tangible results of some of Silverhawk's previous tests. His brow furrowed as he analyzed the people contained within their polycarbonate prisons. Some of them threw themselves against the transparent doors, desperately trying to claw and scratch through the dense, tough material. Others appeared forlorn, withdrawn, and aloof. It was clear that not a one of them responded with normal human reason, or emotion.
And those were the test subjects who still appeared human...
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Dr. Rubius let out a low whistle as his practiced hand manipulated the focus on his microscope. He moved wordlessly from station to station, examining computer readouts and data analyses. Denise and Jeremiah exchanged a silent glance, as if to communicate their confusion.
"Well, that certainly explains some of it," Rubius admitted finally. His two companions spilled curiosity from every pore.
"Apparently James is no longer human."
"Yeah, but..." said Jeremiah, pointing toward the motionless boy. He was having difficulty with the entire situation. Dr. Rubius cut him off in mid-sentence.
"The sample of skin tissue we took earlier is steadily changing, albeit subtly, over time." He continued. "The injection should not have worked at all. He shouldn't be able to survive without breathing, or without a functional cardiopulmonary system. His brain activity -or rather, the lack thereof- should have killed him ages ago. But he's still active. The fact that his body was still able to assimilate the sedative, process it, and distribute its effects properly, baffled me until I took both phenomenon into account."
Rubius indicated a monitor, which scrolled through several pages of information.
"At the cellular level," he explained. "James Barden is reforming his entire physiology into countless billions of independent, but cooperative, creatures capable of exchanging information, genetic material, vitamins and minerals, oxygen, and electrochemical impulses."
Jeremiah's eyes glazed over with a look that quite plainly said 'English, doc. English'. Rubius sighed, shaking his head slowly, and removed his glasses. As he cleaned them, he tried to more properly explain his theory.
"What I'm saying is that James has become a sort of a...colony creature. Imagine our country as a whole. That country would be a normal human being. Each state and city contributes to the whole, and is governed by the whole. However, in James' case, his cities and states have severed the control of the whole, and have started communicating with each other directly. How he has maintained control over his body is a mystery to me. I can only theorize that his consciousness has been somehow split up over the whole of these smaller creatures, and that he has been able to coordinate their efforts indirectly."
Denise marveled at the unconscious James. She pitied him, but at the same time, felt wonder and curiosity. She hoped she would be able to work with him personally, over the next few weeks, as Dr. Rubius figured out what to do with him.
"So he'll live?" She asked quietly.
"I can't say," Dr. Rubius admitted gravely. "I think so, although we'll need to run more tests. In the meantime, Denise, try to make him as comfortable as you can. There's no sense in our guest spending what could be his last hours in the presence of strangers."
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Victor studied the last of the test subjects with a critical eye. The hideous mutations he'd been presented with, at great protest from his scientist companion, had given him pause in his plans.
"You told me that this could be avoided, Dr. Strauss," he said quietly. Strauss cringed; quiet was never good.
"It can be! I swear it!"
"Less swearing, more results." Victor turned on one heel and strode out of the lab, Strauss in tow. The scientist continued his reassurances until Victor rounded on him with murderous eyes.
"I have been patient, generous, and compassionate; the three weaknesses of the corporate world," he hissed. "Those twelve abominations in your laboratory could cost
both of us
everything we have ever striven to achieve. Either Pandora Thirteen is ready by the end of the month, or you find out just exactly how unpleasant a vacation I can provide for you."
"Y-you...you wouldn't kill me..." Dr. Strauss stammered. Victor loomed menacingly over him.
"I wouldn't," he replied coolly. "A good leader knows how to delegate responsibility."
Strauss just stared at him, as he brought his face closer, until they nearly touched noses. Victor stared into his eyes, unblinking.
"My associates aren't as neat and clean as I am, Strauss. Fix this.
Now."
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V
Pandora Thirteen
James played with his spoon, absently stirring up the molten cheese that topped his soup. He wore a sullen scowl that deepened as his mind played back the events of yesterday; His parents thought him to be dead, along with everyone he knew, his body had been drastically altered in some horrific way that no one could even understand, and now it was clear to him that he could not be allowed to return. What would he say? What would they do?
Dr. Rubius had been adamant against the idea of his return. There would be an inquiry made of the hospital; of every staff member who participated in their administrations in the attempt to save his life. They would question James. In the end, they might even have subjected him to scientific testing, or worse, dissection. His survival of such a drastic change would be weighed against his life like the cost/benefit ratio of building a new office. He would be little more than meat for the military, if there were a way to transform him into any sort of weapon at all.
James pondered this as he poked at his dish. Rubius had hidden him away in a secret compound, right underneath the noses of all that he loved, and all who wished to discover him. They knew his body was missing, by now, and the police had already begun the search. If he peeked through a window, they'd know. Even James knew that he had to lie low for the moment, and that made matters even worse for him. He had been an active teen, participating in sports, and all manner of after-school activities, which had also made him popular at school. He left behind many more than he wished to.
But something worse tugged at his attentions. Something that dwarfed the other problems in his mind, and pushed them back into the dark recesses of the subconscious. James could not remember a second of his life between two months ago and two weeks prior to his episode. The span of time was a massive piece of empty space in his memory, looming like a dark, black cloud in his mind. There was lightning in that cloud as he thought about what that meant.
"Knock knock?" It was Denise. James' eyes darted to the doorway long enough to catch a glimpse of her glossy black hair. It hung straight, nearly covering one eye, and terminated at her jawline, which gave her the appearance of someone secretive, or mysterious. She ran her fingers through it, though it fell back into place with surprising efficiency. James returned his glare to the soup, unwilling to speak.
"Doc wanted me to check on you," she offered mildly, beginning a cautious approach across the tiled kitchen.
"Me, or the hole in my head?" James muttered. He dropped the spoon in disgust, and pushed away the bowl.
"Still nothing during those two months?"
James shook his head.
"I don't get it. I still have all my other memories. Why would I forget just that?"
"It's Dissociative Amnesia," Denise replied. "It's very rare, usually caused by some sort of emotional stress, or psychological trauma. Can you remember anything that might have caused it? Did someone do something to you?"
James noticed her unwillingness to consider the other side of that question, which he asked himself. Had he done something? Had he snapped, somehow, under all the pressure from school? He swallowed a lump in his throat as he envisioned himself ending a life, then simply cutting it out of his mind like a bad spot in an apple; the cavalier dismissal of something brutal, and heartless. He felt like a villain, and Denise read his emotions with professional ease.
"You can't blame this on yourself, James. At least wait for us to find out what happened. There's no reason to assume you've done anything."
But her words fell on deaf ears. James started to cry. He was strong, and willful, but his life lay in ruins, and the question of those two months forgotten could not be pushed aside as easily as a bowl of unwanted soup. He felt powerless; so utterly helpless that he could not even think of anything to wish he could do. He felt the kind of inability and loss of control that robs not only the power to act, but the very possibility of action. The world was empty of options.
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"Anything?" Denise asked, her eyes still watery from her earlier encounter. Rubius waved her off, his attention locked on the microfiche under his eyes. The film stopped abruptly, earning an interested hum from the doctor.
"Apparently we aren't the first to treat young Mr. Barden," he said softly. He took the film and ran it through a second device, which scanned the whole strip and digitized it. The larger monitor in the corner lit up, displaying the relevant data.
"September 14, 2028, James was admitted to Yager Institute for psychological aid," Denise read. "Dissociative Amnesia..."
Rubius hummed in agreement. He cycled to the next record, which cited another instance, just eight months later. Each span of memory loss seemed to last for approximately two months.
"The losses span several years of failed treatments, and relapses," Rubius said, annoyed. "No cause found. The interesting part of it is that the psychologists assigned to his case reported several days' worth of tardiness, and some of outright absence, from all social functions. His parents even filed a missing persons report on several occasions, but he always returned home of his own accord."
"Did they find out where he went?" Denise inquired. Rubius shook his head.
"Not a word on it. James swore he couldn't remember where he'd been, or what he'd been doing."
"No wonder he's so torn up by this. The last occurance happened about a year ago. Poor thing must have thought he'd finally beaten it." Denise wiped her eyes. "Now he has to relive it again. It's not fair. Especially with what happened."
Rubius fell silent. He wore a deeper scowl than James, and his eyes bored into the reports, seemingly unable to move away. He was lost in thought, and whatever conclusions he was drawing left him wishing to seven separate gods he could disprove the theory they led to.
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"Done, boss?" Victor's driver asked cordially, as he pulled the sedan's door open. Victor shot venom through his eyes, and the man quickly turned back to the steering wheel. "Problem?"
"Suffice it to say," Victor seethed, firmly shutting the door behind him. "That our little project hadn't had as many failsafes as were apparently necessary."
"Ouch. Hey, I know you hate it when you lose. Whaddaya wanna do about it?"
"First," Victor said softly, attending to his sunglasses. "I want to check up on our favourite young apprentice. If she hasn't invented a faster, more efficient method of
failing, her results may undo some of the damage admitted to me by our unfortunate Doctor Strauss."
"I hear ya, boss. Where d'ya think she went?"
Victor pondered for a moment, before replacing his smooth, practiced grin.
"What I think, my dear Vincent, is that my hospital is long overdue for an inspection."
The driver chuckled as he started the engine. He guided the vehicle in a lazy approach to Songbird Memorial Hospital.
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Jessica cursed as she struggled with the ties on a set of medical garments. It had been difficult enough to convince the security to allow her entry, but now she had to pass herself off as a coroner. She made a face at the thought.
'I hate dead people,' she told herself. 'Vic better realize how much of a favour I'm doing him.'
With one final tug, she finally secured the uniform. She grabbed a clipboard on the way out of the supply closet, first checking to ensure that no one could see her exit. She discretely made her way toward the morgue, dodging personnel she knew could identify her as an intruder, all the while aware that her talent could rear its ugly -and quite hot, for that matter- head at any moment. She had to keep herself calm, or the entire building would pay the fiery price.
Upon entry, she began a circuitous search of the refrigeration units. When she arrived at Barden, J. M., she gingerly applied her fingertips to the underside of the slab, and, steeling herself against the sight of the dead body, gave a sharp tug. The sliders gave easily, and the slab rolled all too freely, emitting a loud 'clack' when it reached the catch.
There was no body.
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"You can not be serious." Victor said through clenched teeth. "When?"
Jessica shrugged meekly and looked away. She could not bring herself to make eye contact with Victor when he wasn't upset; now even acknowledging his presence was difficult.
"I don't know! I got here, and he was gone!"
Victor crossed the small room in three strides, and ripped open a filing cabinet. After rifling through its contents, he withdrew a folder with James' initials on it. He needed only to read one part of it before letting it fall to the desk beneath.
"Reported missing yesterday," he mused. "I'll wager half my assets that fool, Rubius, has him."
As angry as he was at Strauss' failure, doubly so was he at the prospect of his inability to recover his missing project. James, a.k.a. Pandora Thirteen, seemed forever lost to him.
"Unacceptable." He spat. "Ms. Malone, you will accompany me to a private meeting, later tomorrow evening. Some of my old friends will be there. Do you understand?"
She nodded, knowing all too well. She shifted her weight uneasily.
"Sure, ok." She said quietly. "I won't screw up this time."
"See that you don't," Victor said firmly, his back to her as he replaced the file. "You've been given two chances more than you deserved already."
They left together, after ensuring that everything was as it was when they arrived. Jessica shucked the coroner's uniform and casually tossed it into a laundry bin on the way to the main hall.
"If Rubius has managed to get his hands on Pandora Thirteen, everything we've built is in danger," Victor continued, in hushed tones. "Barden was unstable in the latest report, but he showed much greater promise than any of the others. If he survived, his power will be enough to turn the tide against us. We can not allow that to happen."
Jessica knew better than to ask why James was so dangerous. If Victor valued the sharing of his reasons, or causes, he would do so; otherwise, to presume the privilege could cost her even more than her previous failures. Victor demanded three things from his employees: Efficiency, Obedience, and Success. She'd already failed two thirds of the test, and wasn't about to just give up the third.
"Let's just hope he doesn't know what he has," she murmured, after passing out of earshot of another security guard.
Victor set his jaw. "Indeed."
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VI
A Meeting of Minds
Victor leafed through a collection of neat, black folders, as he sat in a snug, high-backed leather office chair. The dark hardwood table was polished to a near-mirror sheen, reflecting the faces of many who looked just as out of place as they were. A construction worker, a college drop-out, a stage magician, and two young girls sat quietly, and patiently, as their summoner finished his report.
"You have been called here," he began, without lifting his gaze. "Because I have new need of your services. As you know, a secret project of mine has been compromised. In the early stages, the Pandora project was supposed to create a spontaneous stretching of the human ability to control our bodies, and our environments. That project was a success. But Pandora was meant to be more than what we have achieved."
The flat screen monitor behind Victor came alive with streaming video of his prisoners in the Silverhawk Biotechnical facility.
"You are part of the prototype launch," he continued. "Pandora Zero. And I'd like to say that each of you has turned out quite beautifully. But we are still few, and they are still powerful. We need progress."
"Doctor Anton Rubius knows as much about science as I know about the inner-workings of a blast furnace. Though a renowned psychologist, and an expert in the field, science is only a hobby of his. If we can recover Pandora Thirteen before he discovers what he has, then we have a chance at making that progress happen. If not, then we can say goodbye to all that we've worked for."
"And that's where we come in?" came the soft tenor of Alexander Wright. He was a charming man with slick, black hair, a neatly kept tuxedo, and an attractive mustache. He also happened to be the famed magician, Mirage. Only two weeks ago, he'd performed the spectacular illusion of causing every television camera on-site to see an entire building vanish, while the live audience saw nothing. He then reversed the illusion, allowing the audience to see, and obscuring the camera's view. No professional could describe how he'd done it, since technicians and trusted experts were part of the show; their duty to ensure that no tricks were used. He'd done the impossible.
Secretly, Mirage was one of Victor's earlier projects. He'd been gifted with the ability to cause subtle changes in the electromagnetic spectrum, modifying how light and other waves behaved at an indescribable level. He was able to cause full-sensory hallucinations, and illusions real enough to feel.
"Yes, Mr. Wright," replied Victor. "I am in need of your services to collect the missing project, and to destroy any evidence and data Rubius has collected on it. They must not learn the true nature of Pandora Thirteen."
"Rubius knows that there is a group of rogue mutants in the city. He does not know that you work for me. Thus far, we have been secretive. We have been elusive. We have been shadows in the night, taking what we need, and leaving the rest for the authorities to stumble on. I am going to propose a slight alteration of that plan."
"We need to gain Rubius' attention." Victor switched the monitor to an external view of a tidy building in the Commercial District. "This bank holds the collected earnings of half of the Business District's employees. Smash it, take what you can, and leave."
"Uh..." came a deep baritone.
"Yes, Mr. Owen?"
"Don't we wanna wait for 'em?" It was the construction worker, still in uniform. To his partners in crime, he was called Brick. His was the ability to control the density of his own body. Most of the space in an atom, scientists agreed, was empty space. Brick was able to cause a phenomenon in his body that filled up that space with additional particles of an unknown nature. He never ceased to be what he was; he was just a bit...thicker...than normal. That, it turned out, was true just as much of his head as it was of his body.
"And do what?" Victor answered automatically. "Spook them with an obvious lure? Give away our intentions by simply waiting for them to arrive? No, no, no, Mr. Owen. Run. Run as fast, and as far, as you can. You'll be as the rabbit to the racing dogs, and he will give chase."
Brick nodded in agreement. Everything always seemed to make so much sense when Victor explained it, but try as he might, he could never understand without having it broken down for him.
"How do we know he even has Number Thirteen?" Mirage interjected.
"We do not," was Victor's reply. "But, after this job, we will."
The twins, on Victor's left, chimed in.
"Can we play?"
Victor's venomous smile returned.
"Yes, girls. You can play."
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Dr. Rubius had made significant progress in decoding the alterations in James' DNA, but he was still no closer to understanding where the mutations would take him...or when they would stop. James was awake again, and had calmed considerably, despite his position.
"I can't go back, can I?" he asked ruefully. Dr. Rubius shook his head, and turned to view a medical monitor.
"Well, what am I going to do, then?"
"You could stay here." It was Denise. She came in wearing a jumpsuit designed for aerobic workouts. It was black, of course, with a few bits of trim, and pretty designs that James guessed she'd added herself. "Doc has plenty of space. He's spent most of his life caring for foster kids, so nobody would turn their head at another one."
That had certainly been true. The good doctor had run into some particularly good fortune with his parents, bless them, who had passed some years previously. They had left him with every bit as much money as was necessary to build a conservative fortress of stocks, bonds, and business dealings, but wealth was never what he'd wanted. Since early childhood, Rubius had wanted nothing more than to help people. His parents had cultivated that interest throughout his entire life, and, ultimately, had allowed it to happen in their deaths. Rubius used the money to build his compound, and adopt abandoned children from all over the country. Science and medicine had been a secondary interest until college, when he'd majored in psychology. That had been the turning point in his life; the attainment of all that he was, and all that he would ever wish to be.
Now he used that position to aid mutants.
James sighed, surprisingly complacent in the idea. He stared at the television in the corner, wondering what would happen if he did stay. What kind of life was there for a kid whose face had likely been plastered on every tabloid in the world? Denise must have read his thoughts, because she added:
"We can take care of things for you, don't worry. We've already got computer experts working on ways to mask your identity."
James nodded, feeling powerless to rebel. Then, with new eyes, he saw the newscast...
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"Denise, Jeremiah." Dr. Rubius said quietly, his eyes locked on the news vid. They both nodded in unison and exited the room. Rubius set his jaw and turned toward James.
"I've got to handle this, James. Stay here. Mr. Bartlet and I will be back in a moment."
Dr. Rubius clicked a button on the comm panel. "Daniel? Meet me on the roof in five minutes."
The roof of the Rubius compound was remarkably flat, lined with eaves and troughs for shunting water away from the surface. It was also equipped with heating elements to melt falling snow, if ever there should be any this far south. It seemed as though the roof had been kept purposely clear and level, as if meant for receiving aerial shipments. When Dr. Rubius met up with Denise and Jeremiah, Daniel in tow, the assumed their positions without asking where they were going, or why.
"Amp is going to assist me this time. Fifth National is quite a distance from here. I am certain I would never put you down in the right place without his help. I will need him here in case you require a speedy exit."
Rubius' associates waited patiently while he raised his arms. He closed his eyes and, deep in thought, made a stretching motion with his hands. A ring of space seemed as though it just...fell away from him then, in all directions around him except in front of and behind him. As he held the position, Amp put his hand on the Doctor's shoulder and grinned. It was like someone had connected a car battery to him! The Doctor jolted with the sudden influx of power and the vortex ring intensified, fading into pitch black nothing. The edges of the ring looked like a waterfall, and the fabric of reality seemed to spill away into the void. Within seconds, Fifth National Bank seemed like a couple of steps away from the group, who wasted no time in leaping across the chasm to get there.
Unable to hold the opening any longer, Dr. Rubius let his arms drop. The phenomenon immediately reverted to normal space, and the two trusted associates of Dr. Rubius seemed to be catapulted into the far-flung distance. In reality, their relative velocity remained at zero after they crossed the Tesseract fold. It was the fold in space returning to normal which caused the illusion of their sudden acceleration. They'd crossed miles in just two steps.
Jeremiah and Denise observed the scene with caution. They'd seen multiple mutants attacking the Fifth National Bank, and though their powers seemed to be within their ability to combat, they wished to take no chances. Denise sang a quiet tune, empowering herself with the story of a lost handmaiden, who showed courage and strength by finding her way back safely. Jeremiah picked up on the empathic waves easily, having no defense against the psychic impressions. He was emboldened by it; his pace quickened, and his smile broadened as they approached.
The police had arrived, but their efforts appeared to be of little effect. One officer emptied his rifle through a window, into Jack Owen's chest, but the man known as Brick resisted the bullets with ease. He slammed his meaty fist into the bank's wall, clamped his fingers around the vault door, and wrenched it free from its moorings. He pivoted and swung the massive metal door, hurling it through the outer wall. It crushed the police cruiser, sending officers diving for cover.
Jeremiah tensed. He could feel his anger rising at the sight of his fellow mutant's crimes. Not only would innocents be harmed, but Jeremiah knew that he, and others like him, would certainly be blamed! His eyes began their slow shift into reptilian amber, and his skin took on a greenish tint. Denise discovered the change too late, and her song of calm did nothing to slow him down.
Wrath was his name, now. He surged forth, through the surprised officers, barely feeling the stinging of bullets against his scales as he leapt toward the intruders. He'd ascended fully in his sudden rage, transforming his human body into a hulking saurian horror who wielded hatred as if it were a weapon.
Wrath brought down his gleaming talons on the broken pavement and used them to catapult himself into the second floor of the building, the echoing of firearms barely present in his perceptions. He wasn't even through the doorway when the twins greeted him with a powerful assault.
He felt impact as a massive thorny vine shot across his path, and again as it slammed him into the ground. The plant began coiling around him with supernatural speed just as he registered a snarling noise to his right. His predatory eyes flicked to the side just in time to see an escaped tiger approaching. There was something not right about its eyes.
Denise, who had by now ascended the flight of stairs separating them, connected with the tiger's chest, just in time to save Wrath from its jaws. The great cat was sent sprawling, though it leapt to its feet in an instant. Siren, as Rubius had named her, had never developed her power to an offensive level, but in singing of power, of strength, and of valor, she had increased her confidence substantially. Now it seemed as though her martial arts classes had finally paid off.
Just barely visible, hiding around the corner, was one half of the devastating duo. Denise spotted one of the Twins just before she darted behind the wall, hoping to escape notice. They called her Fauna, for her ability to control animals' minds, but in recent meetings the eight year old girl showed another disturbing gift; one that she now fully employed. The tiger shifted and convulsed, in obvious pain, its body bulging and growing at odd intervals, until it measured twice its original size. The thing reared back on its hind legs, twisted and hideous, with slavering fangs that dripped an acid poison on the once-fresh carpeting of Fifth National. It loosed a blood-chilling, screeching, roar that tore through Siren's ears like steel on a grinder.
On the opposite side, Fauna's sister, Flora, raised her arms and two more spiny vines shot up through the floorboards. Where Fauna had power over animals, Flora could manipulate plant life in all its forms. Who could guess where these vicious vegetables came from? The only thing on Siren's mind was escape as she was caught between the Twins' tandem terrors.
Wrath roared as his chest muscles and biceps tensed. The vine that constricted him produced an audible screech as he tore through the coils, one by one, and ripped the creature from his body. His talons scraped and scrabbled on the tiled square at the center of the main lobby as he launched himself at the mutated tiger, leaving Siren to tangle with the weeds. Wrath hit the beast dead center, and flailed his talons against it as they both tumbled down the grand staircase to the ground level.
Siren twisted to the side just in time to evade the vines, and hurtled toward the little girl. She had to be silenced, else the entire building would be overrun with hostile plants. Flora opened her palm and blew, and Siren took a lungful of spores. Coughing, hacking, and gasping for air, the last thing she saw before she blacked out was the silhouette of a little girl rocking on her heels, singing about rings, rosies, and posies.
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James begged Dr. Rubius to reconsider. They'd argued since the other two left, twenty minutes earlier. Rubius was convinced that James could relapse, and that his safety was paramount, while James argued that two against five were unfair odds, even if two of the aformentioned five were only young girls.
"You can say what you want, but I'm going." was James' final statement. He struggled against the keypad and lock on the facility's door, while Rubius stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"How do you propose to do that, James?" he asked, amused.
James grew frustrated. He brought his fist down on the panel, kicked it, kicked the door, all to no avail. Once again, he was powerless. Once again, he was robbed of the opportunity to act. Once again...something was happening.
"James?" Dr. Rubius inquired, worried, as he saw James clutching his left arm again. He made it about halfway across the room when James unceremoniously melted.
"Holy mother of..." Rubius mouthed, as he watched the goo that was James Barden slip underneath the door. Reason took him, and he tapped the combination on the keypad, then raced out the door after him.
"James!" he shouted. But Mr. Barden was nowhere to be seen. Rubius turned back to meet Daniel's blank stare. He just shrugged.
"Don't just stand there!" Rubius snapped. "Go find him!"