Chapter 4: Bad Men and Madness
Dr Albert Ferrer sat with his hands outstretched and his fingers anxiously playing with one another. He was seated at the head of a large oak table surrounded by a set of black leather chairs. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light a small desk lamp sitting on a small rounded table in the corner of the spacious yet strangely claustrophobic boardroom. The floors were adorned with a soft red carpet and the tall walls covered in mahogany arches. This gave the entire room a personable but business like appearance. It was warm inside, a little too warm, and beads of sweat were beginning to form on Ferrer's brow and his baldhead.
Ferrer knew he was in a lot of trouble. The benefactors from the Anti-Transgenic League were not happy with last night's test of X-Killer-2020 and had called this morning for an urgent meeting to occur tonight in order to gain answers to two burning questions: firstly; why had it not worked the way it was supposed to? And secondly, how the hell had they managed to lose their specimen? It was the A.T.L. who funded the research and therefore they had a lot of capital on the line and consequently had final say on matters. Ferrer was technically in their employ and since his two colleagues had been brutally murdered by said missing specimen last night, it was up to him to offer an adequate explanation as to why things had gone awry.
It was not an enviable task, not in the least. The higher ranked members of the A.T.L. were notoriously brutal in their actions and unwavering in their resolve to completely wipe out the transgenics. They had invested in Ferrer's research because they believed he was capable of aiding them in their quest to find an efficient and swift means to eliminate the mutant menace once and for all. They had already endured months of failure and after last night's debacle, Ferrer suspected his pathetic explanation of I don't know would land him in a rather deep pool of proverbial shit.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Ferrer read through the papers in front of him, re-evaluated the results of the tests he had performed on the remaining samples of X-Killer-2020. The substance was designed to induce flooding of the lungs, which would result in death, but it was cleverly keyed to specifically target transgenic gene sequencing and thus leave regular people oblivious and unharmed. However, last night the formula had helped a comatose transgenic regain consciousness and unleash a tirade of bloody vengeance before escaping the laboratory without leaving a trace as to where he could have gone.
It had made no sense, and Ferrer had been up all last night running tests, desperately seeking a reason why. There had been nothing, all his results suggested there was nothing wrong with the agent and it should have worked the way it was supposed to. But it hadn't, so what had gone wrong? Ferrer ran a hand over his bulbous head and sighed in discontent. He didn't want to be here; as long as he was his future was uncertain. He closed his eyes and pictured himself at home, sitting with his wife in front of a roaring fire, their basset hound spread out at their feet. That was where he wanted to be, why had he gotten involved with these people?
Behind him, the double glass doors breathed open and in strode five men, each dressed in a dark suit and clutching a copy of Ferrer's report. They each took a seat with the youngest looking of the group settling in to the head chair at the opposite end of the table. There came the creasing of leather against fabric and then an uncomfortable silence interrupted only by the occasional grunt as each of the five men looked over the notes provided, the answer of inconclusive there for all to see.
Ferrer swallowed hard and looked at the young man at the other end of the table. He was tall and young with tar like hair swept back in a style similar to that of a World War Two-bomber pilot. The base of his face was covered in a sprinkling of dark stubble and his eyes scanned the notes from behind a pair of slim line glasses. He appeared well fed, as you would expect, and had a certain air of superiority around him. Ferrer knew this man to be Chris Greenough; he had been present at last night testing and was in fact the founder and leader of the A.T.L. A particularly ruthless man with a noticeable lack of morals, Greenough had left a career in the culinary industry the moment the transgenics had swept across Seattle like a plague. From what Ferrer had heard, Greenough had been present, working as a waiter on the night that their, now missing specimen, had died, and for some reason gained a particular distaste for their kind. There were many rumours doing the rounds but the most plausible one in Ferrer's mind explained Greenough had discovered a particularly ruthless transgenic had obliterated a small town founded by his grandfather. Therefore this quest he was now on was an act of vengeance; it stood to reason and Ferrer could understand but what he could not understand was how a small time waiter had been able to achieve such power in such a small space of time.
"Hmm," Greenough mused, pulling his head away from the notes and looking down at Ferrer with wide brown eyes. "You have no explanation then?"
Ferrer pulled open his white lab coat and nervously tugged at his tie, he suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. The direct undertones of Greenough's words were intimidating in nature, daring Ferrer to accept a terrible fate. "Well no conclusive explanation."
"A simple no will do Albert," Greenough said with a sneer.
Ferrer sighed, feeling like he was back in grade school receiving a scolding from some know it all teacher. "No, sir…I don't have any solid explanation."
"Albert."
"…Yes."
"Just say no."
Ferrer let his hazel eyes droop downwards, a solid dent hammered into his dignity. "No…"
Greenough breathed a victorious laugh and snapped shut his black binder. "So, we have invested thousands of dollars into your research and after nearly a year you have…" he held out his open palms, "absolutely nothing to show for it."
Ferrer began to feel apprehensive about what was coming his way. "I'm not so sure about that Mr Greenough sir, I mean if you look at my findings then you will see that everything suggests X-Killer-2020 is capable of what we intended. There is really no reason why it should have…"
Greenough held up his hand and Ferrer immediately stopped babbling excuses. "That really does not interest me. All I care about is finding a way to eradicate the vile cockroaches that walk freely amongst us." He turned his head to address the other men who hung on his every word. "I mean, no matter how many times you kill the sods, they always find a way to come back."
There came a unanimous chuckling and Ferrer shifted in his seat. Images of Collins' head set against a deep pool of blood, his throat dribbling his life away, began to tread the freshest regions of his mind. He began to feel sick and a deep sense of regret swelled up inside of him. Why had he agreed to work for these fascists? The money had blinded them; the prospect of unearthing the secrets of a transgenic soldier had been mouth watering. But now…now everything felt undeniably wrong and Ferrer wished he could take it all back.
"So, where do we go from here Albert?" Greenough asked with his hands clasped in prayer.
Ferrer felt the last traces of saliva in his mouth dissipate. "Well, in my opinion, I feel our best option would be to continue with X-Killer-2020. It would be useful to get a hold of the lost specimen in order to ascertain his condition…"
"You know what," Greenough lounged back in his seat, "I think you're right. We are close I can feel it; the final solution is near…so to speak. I have already dispatched teams to hunt down our wayward property so we should have the bastard back within the next few days. However, I feel it prudent to provide you with another specimen to study, wouldn't you agree Albert?"
"Yes…that would be useful, yes indeed, great idea sir."
"Albert?"
"Yes sir…"
"Stop rambling."
This was humiliating. "Right away sir." Ferrer replied solemnly.
Greenough drummed his fingers against each other and peered up at the sculpted ceiling. "There are usually quite a few trannies running around at night, we shall deploy teams onto the streets. I want a sample here by tomorrow."
"Right away sir," said one of his obedient lackeys.
"Alright then, we have a plan. I guess we can end this meeting, you are all dismissed." Greenough waved for everyone to leave and Ferrer rose to his feet, relief washing over him. "Oh and Albert, one more thing…"
Ferrer froze, numerous scenarios running through his head, all of them resulting in his death. "Yes sir…"
"Should you fuck up again – yes I do blame you by the way – then I shall have no choice, you will be dealt with…severely."
"Of course sir," Ferrer said, quickly turning and leaving the boardroom with a shining new incentive driving him to help wipe out transgenic kind.
It was freezing and Alec shivered uncontrollably as he frantically rubbed his bare upper body. He wore nothing but a pair of lab trousers that did little to sustain warmth. He was huddled in a gutter down a discreet alley that branched off from a deserted street. Blood was pouring from the cuts in his feet, marks left by the sharp touch of the shattered glass from the laboratory window. Alec didn't care about the pain; he couldn't feel anything past the gnawing cold and could focus on nothing but the blistering confusion in his head.
In the distance he could hear the sounds of nighttime activity: screams, raised drunken voices, shrieking laughter, the thudding bass lines emanating from deep within some underground club. The wailing of police sirens rung through the air and Alec looked up, the noise tearing him from his muddled thoughts.
After escaping his pursuers, Alec had wondered the streets in a dazed trance, not entirely sure of where he was going. He had been given the odd strange look as he passed and each time somebody directed their eyes upon him, he felt a mad rage explode from somewhere inside of him. His mind would begin to buzz with a thousand paranoid thoughts. They know what you are, they want to kill you, a foreign voice in his head would whisper, kill them all, you know you want to, it's the only way to survive.
Feeling like his mind was about to implode if he remained amongst strangers, Alec had sought seclusion, finding it here in a narrow, dank stretch of cracked concrete. He had tried to think about himself and his past but it was like running into a brick wall. He knew his name was Alec a genetically enhanced super soldier, that he had been held against his will and that was it. There were clues to further details, the odd word or name that felt familiar, but every time he followed the thread, a jarring pain would shudder across his skull, preventing him from unearthing anything else.
Alec growled, clenched his fists and held them tightly to the sides of his head. He grabbed tufts of his straggled brown hair and tried to rip through to his mind, find answers to whom he was, where he had come from. There was nothing but a negligible pain as hair came loose in his grasp. He wanted to cry but couldn't, his eyes were not natural and were incapable of such a humane act. Why were his eyes not fucking natural?
They did it too you, all of them…they must be punished.
Alec collapsed against the cold foundations of the abandoned building behind him. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, watching as incandescent stars winked at him from behind a screen of diaphanous clouds. Were they taunting him, did they hold the answers he needed to feel complete? What had happened to him, who was it that talked so freely inside his head? It was not his voice, it belonged to someone else…what did all this mean?
Alec began to feel dizzy and he put his hands against the moist ground to steady himself. Breathing heavily as though he had just been running flat out, he focused his discordant mind and narrowed his eyes on the bleak surface in front of him. There were answers out there somewhere, and he would strive to find them, not resting until the jigsaw was assembled. He gritted his teeth and ploughed a driving fist into the ground, feeling the impact tremor through his bones. A crater was left were he had struck and Alec looked at his unscathed hand; he was certainly strong.
"Hey what are you doing there buddy?"
Alec turned just as he was showered in the blinding light of a policeman's torch. The guy was tall and lanky and his uniform didn't fit him properly. His hand reached down to hover over his holstered gun as he approached. "Are you ok?" he asked again, his face indistinguishable from behind the glaring light.
Alec got to his feet and steadied himself as though he were preparing to meditate. His face pointed to the ground, and he held his arms tightly by his sides. He took a couple of deep breaths and then his eyes darted to the top of his sockets and peered at the cop in front of him. He could hear the voice inside his head, the rage began to build along with the sudden paranoia, and he knew what he had to do.
"Look buddy, have you got nowhere to go or something like that?" the officer asked in a routine and professional voice.
Alec nodded. "I have nowhere to go. I do not know where I belong."
"I see, well you can't stay…"
Before the man could finish, Alec had grabbed his skull and applied all the force he could muster. In moments, the hard bone buckled and collapsed inwards in a bloody and gooey mess. Letting the limp body fall, Alec held up his hands and observed the chunks of skull that clung to his fingers, marvelled as rich red drizzled down his hands. Inside his head he could hear two voices screaming their opinions over what he had had just done.
"How could you do that," it was his voice, "that was murder, you took innocent life. How could you…"
"Don't listen to that pussy," came the unidentified voice, "that man wanted to kill you for being what you are, a warrior…the last of a dying breed. You must maintain the values you were bred with…you must unleash hell!"
Alec let out a tortured wail that resonated in the air. He dragged his hands down his face, smearing blood over his chiselled features and clammy skin. Then something appeared before his eyes, a female face. It was beautiful: a slender nose with quivering ruby lips accentuated her defined cheeks and waxen skin. Tied back hair bordered her enchanting face and crystal tears cascaded from brilliant emerald eyes, like trickling rivers through grassy meadows. Alec's maddened rage softened and he reached out in front of him to touch the angelic image. His fingers felt nothing but air and he knew the image before him was a cruel trick, a hallucination…no; it was a memory. A haunted smile spread across his lips and a name, a clue, drifted into his head. Jess; he needed to find Jess. She was there, present at his rebirth and she held the answers.
With a new purpose, Alec surged into the night in search of the angel he once knew. Jess could help him understand, give him answers and he would stop at nothing to find her. As he ran, he struggled to ignore the voice that forever cried, oh my god Alec…what have you done!