The Titan
Chapter Ten: The Titan
Dr. Reese quickly removed the IV from DeFoe's arm, knowing they would need to fight. DeFoe felt the urgency mentally, but his body had already begun to fall under the effects of the anesthetic and his best only got him slowly and uncertainly to his feet, behind the bed.
The two sides stood silent, waiting. Some of the Foundation doctors stayed to help while the others escorted the sick and wounded out of the room. The sterile room, itself, seemed to wait.
"Get DeFoe gagged and brought upstairs," Grier ordered the suits. "Don't waist your time fighting the others."
Austin sped behind the hospital bed and pushed it aggressively into the suits and titans, starting the battle. The brave x-suit leapt over the table and into the startled crowd, shouting "Touch Ram!" as often as he could, blowing men through surgery curtains and toppling over beds.
The Organization had the advantage; not only were there many more of them but only the five doctors who stayed had titans with them.
"DeFoe! Get behind the doctors!" Dr. Reese commanded before using Augerfrost against a Mindrone that had swiped at him.
DeFoe obeyed and hurried to the back, slapping his own face in an effort to shake off the drug-induced drowsiness. He was a sitting duck in his present state.
Come on! Wake up! DeFoe commanded himself.
"Demolish them, Breaker!" Grier shouted from amongst the group. Suddenly, the giant bear-like titan exploded into existence and barreled into the small group on DeFoe's side.
DeFoe backed up against the wall and medicine cabinets as he watched his defenses give way. Dr. Reese barely dodged a swipe from the massive titan.
"Run!" Dr. Reese cried.
DeFoe didn't need to be told twice. To his right was a door and he hurried to it using the wall for support. He opened it and saw a staircase enclosed tightly by the walls. He closed the door and, in a panic, began climbing the stairs while leaning heavily against the wall. He looked up in dismay; the door at the top was so close, but his shaking legs climbed the stairs at a painful pace. He was only four steps from freedom when the door at the base of the stairs burst open and DeFoe and Grier locked gazes.
A part of DeFoe wanted to turn around and fight the mutineer and he extended an arm and commanded Poison Fang only to produce a weak stream that melted before it reached Grier. When Grier realized that DeFoe had no fight in him, he hurried forward up the stairs. DeFoe stumbled quickly up the last four stairs. He pushed open the door just as Grier tackled him from behind into the large garden-like courtyard.
There had been fighting before, but it all but stopped when the two barreled through the door. DeFoe struggled to free himself from the hulking slab of muscle that was Grier, his agility slowly coming back.
"Touch Ram!" he hollered, twisted with a hand against Grier's shoulder. It jerked backwards but not enough to free him.
Grier stood and pulled DeFoe to his feet, holding his arms in a vise-like grip behind his back. DeFoe scanned the crowd of Foundation agents and Organization suits and his eyes fell upon Dante, who had the most worried expression DeFoe had ever seen come across the man's face. At the other side of the courtyard, through the suits, emerged the red silken figure of Rassimov, yet the suits continued to part behind him for someone else. Grier brought him further towards the center and finally the second man, with white suit and cane, stepped into view; it was the Professor.
DeFoe was almost crazed with fear. Dante, having been kept from noticing the Professor, now saw the crisis of their situation. He commanded Caliban to attack Grier but before the battle had been engaged, Grier gave DeFoe a hard shove and sent him stumbling to his knees just a few feet from the Professor.
DeFoe scrambled to his feet, eyes trained on the Professor, who seemed angry enough to kill. He half expected him to order Rassimov to slit his throat, but he didn't. Instead, he held out both hands and began calling out the names of his seven titans.
"DeFoe!" Came the strained cry of Dr. Reese as he and Austin made it up the stairs and into the courtyard.
"Run!" Austin shouted.
DeFoe's spine felt like a branding iron against his flesh. The pressure inside exploded and he feared he would be torn apart. How on earth was he going to merge with all seven titans at the same time? It would kill him! His body hadn't given up, though, and continued straining to change shape. He gasped and couldn't breathe any longer. DeFoe fell to his hands and knees, his body lurching but then dying away.
"You pathetic weakling!" The Professor shrieked with rage. "Merge! Don't give up, my titans! Take him over!"
Another wave hit DeFoe and his body stiffened as it tried to transform. He felt wind, water, wings, electricity… Separate consciences faded in and out of his mind, none able to take root. His shaking arms gave way and DeFoe collapsed on the gravel. The titans were giving up. DeFoe gasped for air during the sporadic moments that his lungs worked. After a few feeble attempts at merging, the titans gave up all together and DeFoe amazed himself in still being alive. He closed his eyes, lightheaded from suffocation, not being able to gulp in air fast enough.
"DeFoe!" came a cry so full of sharp malice it might have cut through glass. "I'm going to wipe you off the face of the earth!" It didn't take a genius to know that something bad was about to happen, but DeFoe didn't have the strength to do anything about it.
I am going to die. He realized. He was afraid, but at another level, once the reality hit him, his surroundings seemed surreal. Death was no longer one of two options and DeFoe prepared himself as a prisoner in the 1800s might have before the noose. What had he to live for anyway? Everything he had striven for: his position and power were both gone.
The Professor commanded a spell DeFoe had never heard before, so powerful that the air itself became electrified. DeFoe opened his eyes and watched helplessly as the Professor pulled his arm back slowly and then thrust it forward. Suddenly, a body stepped in front of him and called out a shield spell. It was Austin.
The young suit stood as the only barrier between DeFoe and the Professor, holding a force field against the formidable spell. DeFoe couldn't believe his eyes; Austin was able to keep his ground.
"Everfight." DeFoe whispered frantically. He was strengthened slightly and was able to get to his knees. "Everfight." He whispered again and was able to balance on his feet.
The Professor's spell heated the air and made their hair stand on end. DeFoe watched Austin anxiously, seeing the darkened line down his back from sweat. The shield flickered and then held steady.
"Everfight." DeFoe said again. The shield would not hold for very much longer; he had better get out of there before it fell. DeFoe ran into the surrounding battle to lose the Professor and had just gotten to the edge of the crowd when he heard an explosion and Austin's painful cry.
DeFoe stopped near the wall of the courtyard and looked back. The air was clear and cool, pricking his bare skin: no longer charged. From where DeFoe stood, he could not see Austin or the Professor. His instincts urged hi to climb over the wall to freedom, but something deeper caused him to move slowly back to the scene. He wondered what had happened to Austin.
The Professor's voice echoed off of the stone walls: "Thus is the fate of every suit who double-crosses the Professor!"
Did that mean Austin was dead? DeFoe came closer, still careful to be concealed, though. He felt sick to his stomach, but not from the anesthetic; this uneasy knot was somewhere between his stomach and heart and much, much deeper.
"You left your own men." Dante had said in a previous scuffle. At the time, it hadn't hit him any harder than embarrassment about his own weakness, but that night, as the statement resurfaced in his mind, it pierced him. He had left Austin, who had given up his own security to protect him. DeFoe scrambled through to the front of the crowd, dodging blows aimed at others. Austin lay in the gravel where DeFoe had lain only moments before.
The Professor's eyes locked onto DeFoe and he held out a hand in a gesture no threat could match. DeFoe glanced at Austin whose white button-up shirt was slowly turning red down the front. He looked back up into the Professor's eyes with new strength backed by anger and crouched defensively. He extended his own hands, preparing to fight with whatever he had left.
Dante grabbed him from behind and stood beside him pointing menacingly at the Professor. "Back of, Professor, or I'll turn him on you."
The Professor, bewildered by Dante's insolence, lowered his hand slightly. "What are you saying?"
"While DeFoe was here, your surgeon took the liberty of implanting one of my titans: Metagolum." Dr. Reese moved to DeFoe's other side. By this time, the fighting had ceased and all were an audience to the exchange.
"You're bluffing," The Professor concluded.
Dante, as cool as ever, shrugged with a smirk. "If you say so. I'd be happy to prove you wrong by summoning him."
The Professor made no move, so Dante and Dr. Reese stepped away from DeFoe and Dante began: "Crush them—"
"Alright!" the Professor interrupted. "I believe you. Hand over DeFoe and we'll leave peaceably."
"How about we keep DeFoe, and you leave just as peaceably?" Dante offered as he and Dr. Reese came to DeFoe's side again.
Rassimov came out of the crowd indignantly and approached the Professor. "It is only one titan," he reasoned. "What is one titan against the Organization?"
"Quiet!" the Professor said. He glared at the three men. "You have not heard the last of me, Dante Vale. I will get him back." With that, he turned and stormed off towards the demolished side of the wall surrounding the courtyard. Titans were reabsorbed and suits trailed out of the crowd, following their leader. Rassimov, nearly invisible in the shadow, turned and glared at Dr. Reese.
"The Professor will not forget your treachery, Reese. You will you lose your life as well." Rassimov disappeared onto the street.
Dr. Reese sighed sadly. "He certainly changed you." He said under his breath.
DeFoe looked at Dr. Reese in wonder and Reese returned the look with a nod. The friend spoken of, back when mind wiping was only a distant threat to DeFoe, had been Rassimov. DeFoe would have ended up just like him.
Once the Organization was gone, Dr. Reese slid to his knees next to Austin, feeling his throat for a pulse. DeFoe followed at a ginger pace, curious but hesitant to get involved.
"He's still alive," Dr. Reese said hurriedly laying his hands on Austin's still body and speaking "Deep Heal." The glow left and Austin didn't budge. "Deep Heal." He commanded again. The front of Austin glowed and then faded. DeFoe approached and stood over them, watching. Dante jogged over to them.
"Any luck?" he asked.
"Yes, but he needs more severe help. Go get the doctors," Reese instructed. Dante hurried away. "DeFoe, Austin needs much more Deep Heal-ing immediately, but I cannot keep it up on my own; I just don't have the strength. You've experienced Deep Heal and you're a fast learning, I'm told – of spells, anyway. Why don't you give it a try."
"I would, but I hardly have enough energy to stay standing," DeFoe protested.
"You were able to Everfight," Reese countered.
DeFoe was taken aback. "Didn't you see what just happened to me?"
"DeFoe." Dr. Reese stared at him sternly. "Austin saved your life. Doesn't that mean something to you?"
"Should it?" DeFoe asked uncomfortably.
"He is going to die unless I can stop his internal bleeding and the only way to do that out here is Deep Heal." They glared at each other for a long moment before DeFoe sighed irritably and got down onto his knees.
"If anyone was able to use guilt as a weapon…" he grumbled as he placed his hands on Austin. "Deep Heal." He spoke. He felt power go out of him and into Austin. Dr. Reese commanded another bout of it and after three times of DeFoe and Reese's Deep Heal-ing, Austin began to breathe deeper.
If someone told me a year ago that I would use the last of my power to save a suit, I would have laughed in their face. DeFoe thought as he spoke "Deep Heal" again.
Austin began to stir, groaning quietly in his pain. His eyes opened in the darkness, though it took a little while longer for them to focus on the men above him. DeFoe quickly removed his hands form Austin's chest. He couldn't quite tell since it was dark and he didn't have his glasses, but it seemed to DeFoe that Austin's hard set mouth softened ever so slightly.
Dante returned with the rest of DeFoe's clothes and several of the Foundation doctors who had been scattered between the courtyard and the infirmary.
"He will be fine," Dr. Reese told the doctors as he and DeFoe stood. "He just needs to recover." The doctors moved Austin carefully to the stretcher they had brought and carried him down into the infirmary.
"I found these scattered around the floor in there," Dante mumbled handing the coat, shirt and glasses to DeFoe. DeFoe nodded a quick thanks and pulled his shirt on. Dante had used DeFoe as the bargaining chip to make the Organization retreat twice now. He put on his glasses and coat. Somehow it wasn't as annoying being on the other side.
They stood, awkward and silent, watching Foundation agents move around them, tending to the wounded and assessing the damage. Dr. Reese, for once, had nothing to say. A moment later, Guggenheim approached them from the direction of the hole in the wall. His shirt had been torn in places, though he did not notice.
"Nice job, Dante," Guggenheim said holding out a hand. "Fast thinking, as usual."
"Thanks, sir." Dante replied gripping his hand.
"So, what does this mean?" DeFoe asked. "What am I to do now?"
"Dr. Reese will remove the amulets from you, of course," Guggenheim answered.
DeFoe wasn't satisfied. "And then what?"
Guggenheim rolled his tongue around his cheek pensively. "I've been thinking about that as well," he answered. "You won't be safe out there in the world, even with the Professor's amulets extracted; the Professor will send assassins after you."
"I know," DeFoe said, his stomach sour with fear. There was not a place on earth where the Professor could not reach and no way a man could flee from the Organization for long. "There is no hope then, is there." It wasn't so much a question as it was a bleak statement of fact.
Guggenheim folded his large arms across his chest. "Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," he began. "There is no denying the fact that you'll have to remain here; as Dr. Reese said, the Huntik Foundation is the only place you'll be safe. The question remaining is what to do with you while you're here."
DeFoe's eyes flashed with anger. "I will not consent to stay as a prisoner. If that is what you are alluding to, I will take my leave—"
"DeFoe," Dr. Reese sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Will you keep your temper under control and listen to what the man has to say?"
What else would he say? DeFoe reasoned.
"Guggenheim, what are you thinking?" Dante asked gingerly.
"Just this," Guggenheim replied. "It is out of the question to hold him as a prisoner, since he came here for help – and we did just save him from the Organization – so I was thinking of how he could be of use and since all his skills are in the line of seekers, it seems appropriate for him to be taken on as such."
The three men visibly jolted at Guggenheim's words. DeFoe didn't know whether to feel indignant, suspicious, alarmed, frightened, or delighted. He, DeFoe, head over the suits… a Foundation agent? It was outrageous.
Dante seemed just as flabbergasted as DeFoe. "Guggenheim, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but this is a bad idea! I mean, the man has been loyal to the Organization since I was a kid and he's known for being conniving, not to mention he hates my guts and the guts of the whole Foundation!"
Thanks, Dante. Though, DeFoe couldn't disagree with him; those characteristics had defined him for most of his lifespan. Still, as his emotions settled down, he realized that he didn't hate the Foundation as much as he had a month ago. Since he was no longer attached to the Organization, the Foundation didn't come against him personally.
"There would be a very long trial period, of course, before we made any advances towards him becoming a true agent, but I cannot think of a better place for him. Whether he wanted to be or not, he is at odds with the Organization – there is no way he would turncoat – he is a powerful seeker, and pretty experienced as such. If DeFoe wants to, I see no reason not to try." Guggenheim answered, turning to DeFoe.
DeFoe looked at the ground in thought. When Dr. Reese and Austin had helped him to escape from the Organization, DeFoe believed that his days as a seeker were over. He had consigned to a life of hiding and obscurity; he believed his glory days were past and the rest of his existence would be spent in a dark, unfulfilling world. A Foundation agent? His reflex response was to turn it down, but as he thought about it, it became more appealing. He would be protected, probably not accepted but included at least, able to do seeker work without the Professor, and he so loved seeking. The travel, the battles, the training, the studying, the discipline, the power, the thrill of spells… he loved everything about being a seeker and Guggenheim was offering him another chance to be just that.
He looked up at Guggenheim with a faint smile. "I will accept your offer. Thank you." DeFoe glanced at Dr. Reese, who nodded with approval, and to Dante who still couldn't quite believe what was happening, which made him smile even more.
Guggenheim grinned, showing his teeth. "Wonderful. And Dr. Reese, the same goes for you and your other friend. There's a place for you in the infirmary, if you desire it and a place for him as a possible agent, though I don't know if the Organization would pursue you both as doggedly as they would DeFoe."
"They would; believe me. Anyone who scorns them," Reese replied. "Besides, where else would we go?"
"Well, I trust you Guggenheim," said Dante rubbing the back of his neck, "So, I'll go along with this. But I think it's best if DeFoe and I aren't working side by side, at least for a while."
"Believe me, Dante Vale," DeFoe said with a glimmer of the old malice. "It wouldn't be my cup of tea either."
Guggenheim laughed and patted DeFoe on the back, which made the latter jerk and Guggenheim noticed. "What? No pats on the back in the Organization? Well, I guess we'll have to work up to that. How about a handshake to start with?" He extended his hand.
DeFoe looked at the large hand for a second and then, with a confident smile, gripped it with his own.