Chapter 4: Ice
"Damn it. It's so cold out here I can barely feel my fingers."
"We ARE in the Red Zone 923. We might as well be in Siberia." The second Agent adjusted his crimson red shades, brushing the light snow from his MP5.
The first, 92307, tapped his pump action shotgun against the wall to rid it of the built up snow. "It was blazing hot with the sun going down a few minutes ago, now it's pitch black with this light snowfall cold as the Reaper's ethics."
"Careful speaking about Dr. Jameson like that, you'll be next in the arena with the projects."
"Not wrong there. You're getting promoted to Engineer soon aren't you 133? Won't have to worry about that yourself." 923 fiddled with his shotgun; the cold made it hard for him to grip properly.
The second, 13351 nodded. "Sure. But that means I have to deal with what's inside more directly."
923 snorted, putting his shotgun down and breathing into his hands. "Better gear allowance…"
"Hey. Stay alert. If we get attacked, you'll be defenceless without your gun in hand."
"Maybe the cold froze your brain. This is the Red Zone." He shoved his hands inside his suit jacket pockets to stave off further pins and needles, looking off into the snowy distance. "No sane person would attack us here."
"Antithesis Operatives are anything but sa-" 133 found himself viewing a pair of sharp black eyes. For the split second he remained alive, he discovered breathing was an impossibility.
923 tisked, shaking his head. "Cold get the better of you huh 133? Told you that you should worry more about-". A different kind of cold chill shocked his body. A freezing cold muzzle to the back of the neck.
"You've two choices. One. You open the door for me, I knock you out, and leave your body next to that paper bin over there with it lit. Or two, you resist and you get to experience wherever the fuck we go after leaving this hell. Your choice."
927 hesitated, before very slowly pulling out his access card from his pocket, and dropping it on the ground.
"T… There…" He closed his eyes, expecting the likely much warmer embrace of death.
"Smart lad. You deserve a break it seems."
The world went dark after a brief, sharp pain on the back of 927's head. His assailant dragged his body around the corner near the roof covered trash bins. Opening the 'Paper' bin and fishing a lighter from 927's breast pocket, he set the bin alight, creating an area of warmth.
Returning to the discarded shotgun and trading it for the bulkier rifle, the Operative scanned the building before him with a heavy sigh.
"Well DJ, you got this far. Let's see what all this talk about these Golem's is all about."
"HEY! BE CAREFUL WITH THOSE THEY'RE EXPENSIVE!"
The two Agents lifting the large crates shot a death glare at their leading Engineer before going back to their task.
A faint bleeping noise filled the Engineer's left ear, making him turn on heel and walk to the nearby console. Opening the chat program he was met with another Engineer saluting him.
"What's the deal, Fredericks?"
"One of the new units got out and attacked the guards. We lost 9 men an-"
The lead Engineer took off his uniquely formed mask and looked at his fellow engineer starkly.
"What about the unit?"
"Dead, sir. One of the panicked custodial Grunts picked up an Agents loose grenade launcher and blew it to pieces. Only the torso and some bloody chunks remain."
The lead Engineer turned the video feed to the disfigured, mangled remains of what appeared to be a large armored torso and legs. The blood pooled on the ground appeared to be a combination of crushed bodies and flesh.
"Damn it… give the Grunt a promotion to head of custodial services but remind staff that they are to subdue any escapees with NON-LETHAL force."
The Engineer on the other end nodded, ending the call. His superior sat back in the office chair and looked at his mask, frowning. The double-raised eyebrow formation instead of the single key shape viewplate with a reinforced front paneling coated in scratches and scuffs. A relic of his past within the Agency.
"Auditor so help me, I will make this project work. I only hope Doctor Jameson holds up his end of the deal. Then at least we can get one old project out of the way."
Donning the mask again and standing, he pulled out his PDA and went back to investigating why the facilities files were scattered about the system. Again.
Having managed to get inside without being seen and crawling inside an open vent on the roof, DJ crawled slowly through the metal corridor. The shotgun on his back made it a tighter fit, but it was manageable.
The slow pace trying to stay quiet made for time to investigate the grates he passed over, making mental notes of the oddities.
An apron clad janitor practicing a very unique, but seemingly deadly combat style with his mop. An Engineer's private quarters filled with items of questionable nature. And a strange generator like device, illuminated with a faint blue glow from the furnace door.
Moving on from these strange occurrences, with a newfound fear of the janitor, he finally came across an area that he could stand up in. Orienting himself upright as quietly as he could, he noted the industrial noises coming from the hatch below him.
Looking down through the vent he found himself over a large containment area. It was a chaotic choir with Grunts and Agents milling around moving and storing various crates and items like guns and armor. Lining the walls of the containment room were large, murky liquid filled tubes hooked up to heart monitors and other computerised machinery.
Taking a moment to scan the room for more important details besides the giant glass tubes, something caught his eye. An older, lab coat clad man flanked by Soldats in discussion. He was too far away to hear the conversation, but he did see what they were perhaps talking about:
A massive and disfigured man was being loaded into a tube. Thick grey armor plates covered his body; they looked strong enough to brush off anything less than a sniper calibre with nothing but a scratch.
Taking a notepad from his jacket, DJ noted down the points of interest, only to nearly drop his pen in awe. An absolutely massive Automag III pistol was put in a crate next to the tube. It wasn't as big as the guns he had witnessed for the rumored Mag Agent projects, but definitely big enough to blast a decent hole in most targets.
A tinge of envy struck him hard.
Noting this desirable oddity as well, he turned his attention back to the talking bunch below him-
Fuck. They weren't there anymore.
Searching for the lab coat and entourage of Soldat's hastily, he spotted them in the centre of the room. A slight hint of relief that promptly vanished. The Soldat was aiming at something.
The air vent.
The split-second DJ moved back was more than enough time for the Soldat to take the shot. DJ felt the bullet graze his shoulder, his scales shielding him from any serious damage. He realised his mistake. In his haste to refind them, he dropped the pen absentmindedly.
Putting the pad away, he noisily started running down the large metal corridor, all the while taking fire from a chorus of FAL rifles riveting the vent.
Freedom was within sight, the outside vent cover was within grasp. A sudden heavy creaking and shift within the shaft caused the rushing Operative to trip and fall, breaking the vent open to the room below under his weight.
The table below, and Engineer seated at it, broke both his and the vent piece's fall with a sickening crunch. Crawling out from the vent piece pained and winded, DJ scanned the 10 Agents staring at him in disbelief and shock.
Standing, he eyed up the Agents, groaning softly at realising the shotgun had stayed up in the unfallen part of the vent.
"Fuck it. Shitebag in ya dinnae."
One of the Agents rushed him with a kitchen knife, only to be thrown into the back wall under one of DJ's signature Energy charged punches.
None of the others moved upon DJ, their crumpled brethren spewing blood from his mouth on the floor in a globular stream.
The inaction gave the Operative a moment to think. But thinking drew his attention.
Big mistake.
A dull thud emanated from his back, followed by an extremely uncomfortable stinging sensation that locked up his body, causing him to collapse on the floor as his body seized. An unfamiliar set of boots unmatching the dress shoes of the Agents around him came into view.
"Well, well, well. This will look good on my report."
A sharp sting followed by an intense agonising burn hit him hard. His body slowly began to relax, strength fading as whatever foreign substance that entered him overtook his body. The burning did not subside however. A downside of his scales, injections required going under, which caused agonizing pain.
"Just relax… everything will be okay…"
The voice grew softer as his vision faded. Hazy vision allowed him to observe himself being picked up and taken away.
"God fucking damn it..."
The few minutes between when he got captured and what he was subjected to now felt like hours. Before long, his vision began to slowly clear but he was still stuck in a paralyzed trance, unable to move anything except his eyes that were hard enough to keep open.
Nevertheless, he had gotten a look at the people before him as he was strapped onto the table shirtless. An Engineer in a strange mask and the lab coat clad Doctor were discussing something unknown. The Doctor stepped forward smiling, noticing DJ's vision had returned to him.
"Ah! You're awake, very good. Welcome to Facility Colossus... but you are already familiarized with its layout, no? Perhaps its original title will help you remember: Facility X."
The very mention made the young Operative's stomach turn into a void.
"Now, I know what you must be thinking. How can this be Facility X? Agent Haywood destroyed it years ago when he took you in." The doctor pushed his square framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, we rebuilt it. Easier to rebuild on the foundations that existed. And much more cost effective."
The corners of his lips curled into a grin that made DJ cringe to the core at how warm it felt. "I am Doctor Derek Jameson. This is my Engineer lead, Carson McLeary, although he goes by the title 573. Welcome to our facility. You're going to spend a lot of time here, son."
DJ's confusion reflected clearly enough in his eyes.
"Not that you would remember much, considering I wiped your memory long ago." He pulled a stool over and sat in front of DJ. "You must have noticed by now that my face seems vaguely familiar? I could never erase all your memories, some are simply too ingrained to do so. Where shall we start… Oh, I know. "
Jameson leaned in closer with his incredibly smashable skull.
"How about six years ago, in that orphanage in your home country?"
"Okay, Mister and Missus Jameson. Just fill out these and the lad will be yours." The office clerk slid a few sheets of paper towards the young couple's way. "You have actually done him an amazing favour. He has only been here a week."
Tamariki pani tuarua. Second Chance Orphanage, run by Oranga Tamariki, New Zealand's ministry for children. The place had only opened a few weeks prior, but was already at full capacity. Thankfully, it was a more modern facility compared to others, with the government sparing little expense dealing with the homeless more than ever that year.
"He's such a wonderful and bright boy. Not troublesome or mischievous, mostly quiet." The clerk folded his hands. "Family history… well, that's another matter."
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Jameson asked.
The clerk sighed and swiveled around in his chair to the cabinet behind him. "When Drake was about nine years old there was… an incident."
Pulling out the drawer and retrieving a file with Drake's photo clipped onto the cover, pulling out an envelope with an old newspaper clipping. "Murder" was the first word on the bolded headline.
"Drake's father had been an outspoken advocate for the termination of all activities in Aotearoa by the Agency Against Human Warfare. The killers were never found, but judging by his father's passionate stance against the head of the Agency, many had reason to believe they were responsible."
"In retrospect, that may have been the last straw for the Prime Minister to cut all ties with the organization." The clerk took a drink of his lukewarm coffee. "Not my place to talk about politics though, I suppose."
Wordlessly, Mrs. Jameson signed the papers and handed them back. The clerk placed them down in a small container under the desk and stood, downing the rest of his mediocre beverage and opening the door to the hallway.
"This way, please."
He led them into the hallway, silent under the dead of night as it was lights out several hours ago. Pausing at a door on the right at the end of the hallway and quietly opening it, he looked around inside.
The room was very clean, with even the walls remaining barren. A small bookshelf with a few language learning books and a single copy of Te Hopu a Maui i a Te Ra was the only other item in the room. He turned back to the Jameson's and quietly waved them in.
"He only has one thing to take with him, given he doesn't want to keep the books. I hope you don't mind, but we couldn't take it from him no matter how hard we tried."
The clerk went over to the bed, where Drake was laying on his side, facing away from the door. As the Jamesons got a closer look, it became obvious what DJ had that concerned the clerk.
A very big bullet with deep scar marks.
Whereas Mrs. Jameson's expression turned grim, Mr. Jameson retained his composure. The clerk lightly tapped Drake on the shoulder.
"Drake? You've been adopted, kid. I told you that you were a lucky one."
Drake turned over to face Mr. and Mrs. Jameson, pocketing the large calibre bullet in his hoodie and sitting up to meet their gaze.
Even before he stood on his two feet, his unusual height was evident. Standing 5"8, many might even mistaken the teen for a rugby player.
Unwavered, Mr. Jameson brushed some of his dark brown hair out of his face. He pushed his square framed glasses up his nose, smiling.
"Come on, son. Let's go home."
Drake quietly nodded, standing and exiting the room before they did. The clerk sighed.
"He's like that around new people. I would advise you both to keep an eye on him, however. You will quickly see for yourselves as to why."
"We will be capable of whatever he throws our way." Mrs. Jameson said, following her husband out of the room. She gave him one last smile.
"I am sure of it."
"The moment we observed your behaviors, it became clear that you were perfect." Derek chuckled. "I am certain your caretaker must have thought of us as fools for our decision. But where others saw warnings, we saw opportunities."
DJ glared at him. If this was just some lunatic's ploy using some leaked details of DJ's past, then he certainly did his research.
"But of course, the more interesting story is how we got here today, with you like this..."
He motioned for Carson to bring his PDA over. Opening an old file full of video records, Derek tapped the first one in the folder, bringing the projector screen in front of them to life. The scientist slouched on the stool, while DJ turned his attention to the screen.
"The day you appeared was the best day of my life, Anderson. I knew I made the right choice by finding you that night..."
"Derek, you're sure this'll work?"
"Calm down, Beth. We already ran the tests on the other 12 to make sure his will be a success."
"That may be so, Mr. Jameson. But your wife has a point. Should this fail, we lose the only subject for the next 2 years capable of becoming an Artificial Host without resorting to torturous methods."
"Cain's methods are old and only rarely produce refined results. The Walker's are a prime example of that. This will be the first success in creating someone physically altered by the Energy without causing Dissonant Reality."
"Still, it would be safer to implement Entropite into his body. It would reduce the risk of rejection…"
"And cause horrific mutations to form rapidly. No. He will develop the mutations over time. They will grow with his body so there will be no rejection. His body must be convinced that what is happening is natural."
"The Auditor wants progress Mr. Jameson. He wants results. While your actions are shown to be more refined, Cain's projects bear fruits much faster than yours."
"I am well aware Pavel. But you know as well as I do that Cain's experiments drive the subject insane and uncontrollable 75% of the time. Pray the other 25% will not be uncovered by the public. We need a controllable subject and this is the best way to do it." The much younger Derek placed his clipboard down, facing the shadowy being. "Yes, it will take time, but rest assured we will produce the best goddamn super soldier this world has ever seen!"
"I wish I was as confident as you are in this project, Derek. Using someone so young is not ethical."
"I'm going by the standards set by our superiors, which, mind you, are fairly low. Besides, the younger the body, the easier the implementation. If this works, even Cain will be able to appreciate this work. In the long run, we can see him even absorbing raw or even pure Entropite with no ill effects, transferring it into much more powerful Energy."
"You sound like you wish to take Cain on with this experiment of yours."
"I do. The old man has been meddling with my projects for long enough. I will make a super soldier that will impress The Auditor, and so help me, he will see its importance. Better yet, the boy seems to be willing. We will look better in the eyes of the public, whereas Cain would be torn to shreds. Mark my words, we will change the world and do so with long-term support of the people. Whats world domination without willing subjects, hm?"
"Regardless of how the Disjointed Power see's this child, remember that he will be used for our agenda, Mr. Jameson."
"Yes, yes. Come the end of the project, you will have this one, as I work on making one less powerful for the AAHW…"
"You think The Auditor will appreciate a more ethically produced result, dear?"
"If it makes it easier to take the world? Then as the kids these days say Beth: Fuck yes."
"Just be careful… He's still our son."
"I will. Don't worry, as experimental as this is, we will be a family regardless."
The video stopped. Derek put the PDA down and looked directly at DJ, the look on his face stern but somewhat soft.
"The day I lost you to those Antithesis terrorists, my heart was broken. I lost my funding, lost the trust of the contractors, and worse, I lost a son. I was shoved out here in this old facility to think on my mistakes and to produce lesser works of Cain's design. But now you're back. And you have made much progress! I doubt I even need to infuse the Entropite I stole away from one of Cain's subjects… too bad you're no longer willing like you used to be."
DJ had gotten enough feeling back to speak. Though it had only been ten minutes since he woke up, it felt like days.
"I was only… willing because I didn't know… better."
He struggled against the bonds. It was pointless; his body hadn't returned to full strength yet.
"Even so, look at how you have progressed. Tell me, how well would you have fared if I didn't do this to you?"
DJ was about to make a witty comeback when he remembered many times that his abilities had helped greatly. The Holochamber battle against Hydra, his first few missions from the Outpost. All those times he got lonely and…
He shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts; not the time to be thinking of those. Derek procured a rather large needle from the nearby tray.
"I, unfortunately, will need to inject you with this. It is a special serum I produced, commonly referred to as "Berserker's Nectar" by my colleagues here. It should increase the level of your mutation faster and make you stronger."
He tapped the tip of the needle to clear the air out of it, making DJ shiver. The syringe itself was filled with a glistening black liquid that coursed with a deep purple shine occasionally in the light.
"The effects are temporary of course, and over time, the serum will adapt to your body so you can control it. The first few times however, you will not be able to control your body and it will no doubt be quite painful. Despite my aversion to fast mutations, this must be done, the time we've lost is simply far too great."
Derek safely pocketed the serum away. "We will be using Cain's new units to test this out. He always takes my creations to test his projects on, so he can spare a few of these monstrosities."
Derek got two Agents to transport the restrained DJ to an arena-like room nearby. Quite big and open like a warehouse, but it was littered with shell casings and blood stains everywhere, and a few half-mangled corpses. Derek grimaced.
"Looks like the last test group didn't clean up. Oh well, it makes no difference."
He turned from the sight and held DJ still with his free hand as he readied the needle. DJ shouted at Derek as he closed in.
"For the love of all that is holy, get that damn needle away from me!"
Ignoring the aggressive shouts for mercy, Derek injected the liquid just below the collarbone. DJ's trypanophobia nearly made him bite a hole in his lip as he did his best to avoid crying out in pain. The serum was almost immediate with its effect, as the muscles in his body began to spasm.
The Agents released the bonds that held him, quickly escaping the room behind Derek. The ballistic glass a floor up gave them an unobstructed view of the arena as DJ had fallen to the floor. His shirtless figure made the visibility of BN's effects instantaneous.
Scales began to rip across his back from his neck, shredding his epidermis as they appeared. His wails of pain were deafening as the scales then hardened and covered his naked flesh in their armored mass.
One of the Agents ran towards a nearby trash bin, feeling bile rise up in his throat at the gorefest sight. The other continued to watch with Derek, their expression almost stoic in nature.
By the minute mark, DJ's entire back was covered in the scales. His short talons had grown longer and sharper by nearly an inch, the pitch black colour of his eyes turning into a deep, but vibrant crimson-red. Standing up revealed his body was almost unrecognizable compared to what he once was. What was once a fairly limber and toned figure had turned into something equivalent of six months' worth of vigorous weight training.
Derek smiled, turning to Carson behind him.
"Send in the first unit."
The lead Engineer nodded, entering a command into the console before him. The console's screen blared red as two words appeared in full caps:
[INITIATE WAVE]
DJ turned to look at the large door. Beastial rage crossed his face in the form of a scowl, gritted teeth and a low growl personifying the rage. Given his more feral posture and heavy breathing after he rose from the pool of blood, it seemed he had given in to the red haze of blood.
A perfect match to his slasher movie appearance.
The armored door opened with a metal screeching against concrete. Out walked a behemoth of a man, clad in the grey armor that DJ had seen before. He released a low growl at the large being, shifting his weight back in anticipation. The door behind the monstrocity closed like the maw of a beast.
Two abominations stood before each other, ready to shed blood. Derek felt his lower jaw quiver in excitement.
The circumstances couldn't have been better.
A/N: I've taken note to removing many of these original authors notes at the end of chapters, but given the Te Reo used I'll offer translation and meaning in short.
Oranga Tamariki is New Zealand's actual ministry for children.
Te Hopu a Maui i a Te Ra is the story of How Maui Slowed the Sun, which is a traditional myth book here in New Zealand. Yes, our mythology is of a man beating the living fuck out of the sun to slow it down, not any of that weak crap Disney pulled. Mans beat the sun up with the jawbone of his father to slow it down, then used that jawbone to fish up the country from the bottom of the ocean. Then it gets weird as he becomes life and death itself and is simultaneously a baby and an old man, and every age in between forever because fuck it, why not.
That's it. I finished rewriting this bitch of a chapter at 2:38am, so if those of you who have read the original find this version to be worse, oh well, I'm not fuckin doing it again. Peace.