Chapter 4: Reckoning

Davis didn't realize he'd nodded off until he was awoken by an urgent tapping at his office door. He bolted upright from his nest of paperwork and gazed at the figure standing outside. His partner was gesturing to him frantically, her expression grim.

Through the glass, she mouthed the words, "Get out here NOW."

Davis stumbled to the door. "Stacie, what happened?"

"There's more," she said, "and the Feds brought them here."

Immediately, Davis pushed past her, half-sprinting down the hallway. Stacie trotted beside him, cheeks flushed as she pressed a thick pile of papers into his hands.

"And get this," she said breathlessly, "the case's been reassigned. There's some hot shot government agent waiting for you in conference room six."

"Great. Just great," Davis spat, an angry bubble building in his chest. "Are they out of their minds?!"

Rounding the corner, Stacie threw him a wry smile. "It's the government. Of course they are."

Davis didn't have a chance to answer. Outside the interrogation room, a gurney covered in white cloth was being pushed down the hallway toward the morgue. It was escorted by a row of stern-looking men in black suits, and obviously held a dead body.

The pair stumbled to a halt as it was wheeled out straight in front of them. Davis frowned, clutching his stack of papers. The three men swept past, staring at them critically.

No one said a word. The gurney wheels squeaked down the quiet hall.

Then, something slipped from under the sheet. A clatter of metal on the linoleum made Davis jump. Before he could realize, Stacie was bending over and picking the fallen thing up. As she stood, she cradled it in the palms of her open hands, mouth agape.

It was some sort of weapon, three tines filed into vicious points. Its handle was wrapped in red tape.

Stacie turned it in her hands and touched the longest tine with her fingertip. Immediately, she was bleeding.

"What is this thing?" She breathed.

That called the attention of the guards. The gurney stopped and one stepped forward, blank-faced, and ripped the weapon from her hands. "Crime scene evidence," he responded coldly. "Be on your way, detectives."

Then, the man returned to his formation and the gurney was wheeled through the swinging door and into the morgue.

As the door swung back, both detectives saw a green, three-fingered hand hanging limply from under the sheet.

"Damn," Davis whispered, fussing with his papers before glancing quickly at Stacie's finger.

The prick welled with a perfect bead of blood. She quickly popped it in her mouth, sucking it clean.

"I don't like this," he said grimly. "Not one bit."

Stacie's dark eyes flicked to his, wide with fear. She pulled her finger from her mouth and frowned as the blood came again. "I know," she sighed. "I feel like they're up to something. The Feds, I mean. Why bring them here? Why expose us to this if they're trying to keep things so well hidden?"

Davis flipped through the papers, completely unfocused on what they said. At the end of the hall, the morgue doors were still swinging. "I have no idea. All I know is if they want us involved, then I'm sure as hell gonna do it. These things scare the hell outta me, but they're out there. I've seen them, and I won't rest until every one of 'em is caught or dead."

"You know what I think?" Stacie mused, pulling her finger out of her mouth again. "I think it's a publicity stunt. They're up to something, I can smell it."

"What would the Feds want with publicity? Ain't that the opposite of what they do?"

"Maybe," she said, biting her lip, "or maybe not. I'm sure they have their reasons, but now I want to find out." She paused, sucking her finger again. "I think I'll head down to the crime scene and see what I can find. I'll see you tomorrow, Howard."

Davis lifted his head and frowned as he watched the woman leave. "Yeah, but make sure you clean up first. You'll taint everything with you bleedin' all over the place."

Stacie turned and took and started walking backwards, a growing smile on her face. "Yeah, yeah."

"And bring backup," Davis said more seriously. "You don't know what the hell's down there."

Stacie's grin turned wry, pushing her jacket back to expose the gun holstered on her hip. "You know me. She's all the backup I need." But when Davis's expression remained hardened, she lost her grin, the notes of humor suddenly leaving her voice. "If there's a problem, I'll call. I promise."

Davis shuffled the stack of papers, giving his partner a solemn nod. "Thank you."

And then she was gone, leaving Davis alone, standing outside conference room six.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Inside the dim-lit interrogation room, Davis found himself alone with yet another black-suited man. He was standing in the shadows. Davis couldn't see his face.

"Welcome, Detective Davis," the shadow said smoothly. "Please, sit."

Shaken, Davis did what he was told. The metal chair screeched as he pulled it across the linoleum floor, sitting himself at the scarred wooden table, placing his stack of papers in a neat stack before him. The man in the shadows remained standing.

"Two days ago, your agency stumbled upon a highly dangerous pocket of mutants my department has been chasing for over seven years. Its importance to our research and the safety of the people of Earth is critical to our cause. This case runs deeper and wider than you can imagine, Detective."

Davis shifted uneasily in his chair, the bubble of anger blossoming in his chest again. "Then why bring them here? Why bother talking to me when you could be taking all of your fancy equipment and killing those things?!"

"Patience, Detective. I have my motives, and you may have the opportunity to discover a small portion of them if you prove useful. But first, I must ask you for your assistance."

Davis blinked and swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He knew this guy meant business, and his question wasn't a request. It was an order.

"What do you want from me?"

In an instant, the curtain hanging over the two-way mirror was pulled, flooding the room with light. Inside, a creature stood, strapped to a type of gurney with thick, leather buckles. Its hands and feet were bound, and though it was unmoving, Davis could see it breathing. He could see its eyes.

It was alive.

"Sweet mother of Jesus…"

"These creatures are wise to me," the agent continued. The fluorescent light from the brightly lit interrogation room had chased the shadows from his face, reflecting off his dark glasses. His expression was cold and stone-like. "They'll be expecting my involvement. Especially this one. For now, I need them to continue thinking the EPF is outside this investigation. Do you understand?"

Davis's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He couldn't keep his eyes off the thing strapped to the table in the next room. The mutant, the agent had called it. And it knew this man. It was wise.

His voice came out as a croak. "I…"

"You will be doing the interrogations. We will not be giving you any more information on the circumstances of this case. Occasionally, we will be feeding you questions, but not until the EPF's uninvolvement has been established. Agreed?"

"What…" Davis cleared his throat, shuffling his papers. "What exactly do you want me to ask it?"

The agent's expression remained stern. He adjusted his tie in a haughty manner. "For now, anything. This is the first interrogation, but it will not be the last."

"And I suppose I don't have a choice."

"No."

"Then you know my answer."

The agent nodded and Davis swallowed hard as he stepped forward, offering his hand. The detective stood and shook it.

"My name is Agent Bishop. Welcome to Project Gamma."

And Davis thanked him, terror like ice water in his veins.