Hobbes' van pulls up at the end of a stately brick warehouse around 3:45am. With only the parking lights on, he stops just outside of the circle of light cast by the warehouses' floodlight. There's a large brass plaque at the corner of the building, designating it as "#4".
"This is it," he murmurs quietly, double-checking the map that Eberts had given them earlier. He carefully sets the paper down on the floor in between the front seats. "Are we clear on the plan?" he directs his question to both women.
They nod, and MacKenna replies, "I stay here in the van with this," she holds up a cell phone, "and listen for signs of trouble on your end. Any problems, I hang up immediately and call Charlie for backup."
Monroe nods from the passenger seat. "Make sure to keep your head down. Keep at the back of the van in case any sentries come by."
MacKenna nods affirmation. "Got it. Hey, do you think I should have a gun?"
Hobbes and Monroe answer simultaneously with a vehement "NO."
She shrugs. "I guess it's better if I stick with my knife." She instinctively touches the wicked blade sheathed at the small of her back. "You guys'd better get a move on. Who knows what they're doing to your friend."
"Right." Hobbes takes the keys from the ignition and tucks them in the visor above him. He turns to glance at MacKenna and warns, "Don't leave the van for anything, got it?"
She nods, and he continues. "Monroe'll call you on her phone a minute or so after we're around the corner there," he gestures at the edge of the warehouse, approximately ten yards away. "Whatever you do, don't say or do anything that'd give us away."
"Okay, got it. How will I know if you're in trouble?"
"You'll hear gunfire," Monroe replies dryly as she opens her door and slips out.
Hobbes exits the van, and joins her at the front. MacKenna observes them use a couple of hand signals and head gestures before moving towards the corner of the warehouse.
"Good luck," she murmurs as she makes herself comfortable at the back of the van.
Hobbes and Monroe carefully make their way to a stack of pallets a few feet from the door of the warehouse.
There's a man smoking a cigarette and obviously guarding the door. No one else seems to be around.
The two agents glance wordlessly at each other, and Monroe nods as she pulls out a tranquilizer gun from her coat pocket. She takes a moment to aim between the pallet slats, then fires.
Pffft!
The man raises a hand to slap the mosquito he thinks has bitten him. With a 'What the...' look on his face, he drops to the pavement.
Hobbes comes out and quickly drags the man behind the pallets, while Monroe pulls out her cell phone and calls MacKenna.
The phone in her hand rings, and MacKenna opens it. "Yah," she murmurs.
"We're going in," Monroe replies just as quietly. "Whatever you do, don't make any noise, got it?"
"Got it. Luck," she whispers, and keeps the phone to her head as Monroe carefully places the phone in her other empty coat pocket and pulls out her gun. She switches off the safety and nods to Hobbes, who is just finishing tying and gagging the Chrysalis agent. He rises with Monroe and silently cracks open the door. She quickly steps inside and sweeps the interior with her eyes and firearm.
Nothing.
He enters just behind her, careful that the door swings quietly shut. They note a long hallway (about 90 yards long) with a few doors on either side.
He looks at her as if he's saying 'Now what?'.
She shrugs slightly, and takes the lead down the hall. She puts her ear on the first door she comes to. Hearing nothing, she pulls away and shakes her head to him. He proceeds to the next door on the other side of the corridor, and mimics her actions.
Again, nothing.
They slowly make their way down the hallway, listening at each door they come to. At the end is a stairwell going up, and to the left are the closed doors of a freight elevator.
This time she covers him as he silently opens the door and edges into the stairwell. He looks up to see if anyone is on the stairs above him. After a moment, he nods to her that the way is clear, and they carefully make their way up to the next floor.
The stairs end at the second story, and he listens to the stairwell door before slowly opening it. He pops his head through the doorway and quickly scans the area inside. Waving to her, he strides in to another hallway, but this time it's much shorter.
To their left is the lift, open and waiting for someone to send it down. To their right the hall ends at a lavatory and cleaning closet. In front of them are two giant wood doors, with one ajar about a foot or so.
There are faint voices coming from inside.
They each position themselves on either side of the doors, with Hobbes holding his gun as if to pistol-whip someone. Monroe exchanges her firearm for the tranquilizer gun. They listen intently to the voices for a moment, hearing if anyone was coming their way.
One voice sounded like it was.
She aims the tranq. gun at the point where the person would first show in her sights, and he tenses for the inevitable struggle.
"I'll see how Aaron's doing," the male voice comments, and the door pushes open another two or so feet. Dude appears, still looking over his shoulder. As he clears the doorway, Hobbes cold-cocks him behind the ear. Making sure that Dude stays down, Monroe fires the tranquilizer gun the same time that Hobbes strikes the man.
With nary a peep, Dude drops like a stone.
The two agents catch Dude before he hits the floor, and drag him to the cleaning closet. She keeps watch while he quickly trusses and gags him. Hobbes closes the closet door on the sleeping Chrysalis agent, and they sneak back to their previous positions at the double doors.
Hobbes listens intently, and raises a finger for each individual voice he hears.
One... two... three... four... five?
Edging his head around the open door, he sneaks a quick peek of the interior, and then jerks back. Monroe looks at him expectantly, and he shakes his head.
He mouths that he'll count to three, and then they'll storm in and surprise the people inside the room. She nods her understanding, and he lifts one, two, three fingers...
They rush through the doors, and simultaneously shout, "FREEZE!"
All movement in the room ceases for a moment, and then all hell breaks loose.
Stark and two Chrysalis agents scramble from a table on the left side of the room as they free their guns and start firing.
The two agents split up and run for cover.
He darts to his right, and positions himself behind a set of file cabinets.
She's caught out in the open with no useful cover, she drops to one knee and starts picking off men just like the shoot-the-duck booth at a carnival.
Hobbes keeps Stark occupied so he doesn't have a chance to shoot her.
In the middle-right of the large room is an impromptu operating theatre encased in plastic. Inside, seemingly oblivious to the firefight around them, are two figures on either side of an operating table.
Guess who's getting sliced?
The gunfire halts for a moment, and a voice is heard screaming, "Would someone please get me the HELL OUTTA HERE!"
The agents are momentarily distracted, realizing that something disastrous was about to happen to Darien. He suddenly thrashes on the operating table. The two figures on either side of him step back, and then close in as the seizures stop.
Stark takes the opportunity to reload his gun, rise and aim at Monroe's head.
Hobbes notices the movement, quickly aims his gun and fires.
Stark shoots just as the bullet from the other man's gun rips through his shoulder. He falls over backwards, his gun flying.
Monroe cries out and falls to the floor, clutching her thigh.
"Alex!" Hobbes shouts and, still keeping his gun trained on Stark's immobile form, bolts over to her. He kneels down and carefully moves her leg so he can get a better look at where the bullet hit her.
She reflexively swings a fist at him, clipping him on the shoulder. He staggers back a step, then grabs her fist and forces it down. He holsters his gun and fiercely whispers to her, "Quit it and let me look!"
Monroe forcibly calms herself, and allows Hobbes to check the wound.
"It's nothing... just a flesh wound," she grits out between her teeth. "Go... Get Fawkes... I'll be fine!" She puts a hand on the entrance wound and presses down as hard as she can.
Hobbes hesitates for a moment, and she glares at him. "Go, Bobby! I'll cover you!" She picks up her fallen gun with a surprisingly steady hand.
Nodding, he pulls out a handkerchief and helps her tie it on as a temporary bandage. Then he rises while pulling out his gun. He takes a few cautious steps towards the operating theatre, and a familiar voice calls out a warning.
"I suggest you stay where you are, Agent Hobbes. I have quite a few very sharp instruments at hand that can damage Darien horribly," de Fehrn states smugly.
"Just wait and see how I use them on you," Darien calmly threatens, his head rearing back to smile murder at the mercenary.
"Yes, well, I suggest you lie still and let the anesthetic do its work," de Fehrn warns. "It's not very pleasant listening to the screams of the person you're operating on."
"Don't even move towards that gland," Hobbes growls from the other side of the plastic.
"What are you going to do, shoot me?" de Fehrn laughs. "I wouldn't recommend it, since my colleague will just kill your partner if you do."
Hobbes squints and takes aim at the mercenary's head as Monroe calls out, "Hobbes, you take de Fehrn. I've got the assistant."
"Well, well, the indomitable Agent Monroe isn't dead," de Fehrn comments. "It sounded like Stark had shot you."
"He shoots like a girl," she comments with a feral grin.
Darien begins to seize again.
"I guess this means that once again we'll have to reschedule our little date, so that I can... finally... kill you." de Fehrn sadly drops his scalpel on the rolling tray beside him as Darien collapses back down on the table.
Hobbes carefully edges through the heavy plastic, his gun never wavering from de Fehrn's head. "You even move like you're going see-through, and I air out your brain," he darkly threatens as he steps closer to the head of the table.
Darien is lying face down, with his head tilted at the optimal angle for gland extraction. His shirt had been removed, and, judging by the bruises darkening all over his torso, he'd been used as a human punching bag earlier on in the evening. Straps firmly secured his wrists, upper back (at the armpits) and his ankles to the table. Blood's crept out from under the straps, where his skin is rubbed raw from both the seizures and his struggles to free himself.
He's lying ominously still.
Hobbes touches him on the shoulder. It's scorching hot.
"Hey, partner, wake up. Time to check out of this dump," he quips in an effort to lighten the heavy feeling in his gut with humor.
It doesn't work.
And Darien doesn't move.
"It seems the anesthesia has finally kicked in," de Fehrn notes wryly.
The assistant just stands there with his arms raised in surrender.
"Monroe, we got a problem," Hobbes calls out. "Fawkes's out cold."
"Well, don't ask me to carry him," she snaps. "We'd better get out of here, in case Stark has reinforcements coming."
"Well, well, whatever will we do now?" de Fehrn asks with a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Just shut up and let me think..." Hobbes starts, but is interrupted as Darien's arm suddenly Quicksilvers and shoots out at the mercenary's midsection. de Fehrn grunts, blanches, and looks down. He's puzzled to see a scalpel flaking Quicksilver sticking out of his side, with blood already oozing around the deeply embedded blade. The blood flow increases as he moves to touch it.
Darien pushes himself up with an evil grin on his face. He watches as de Fehrn goes into shock, and comments blithely, "Remind you of another 'date' we had?" Then he twists his torso in order to free his other hand. Unsuccessful, he glances at his partner and queries, "Are you going to stand there with your mouth open all night? Or are you going to help me with these?"
Hobbes' stomach clenches as he stares into his partner's eyes.
They're red and black.
"Ah crap," he mutters, and stays put.
"Robert? Helloooo," Darien's voice drops menacingly. "You'd better help me with these things, Robert, or I'll have to be angry with you, too." His eyes glitter with malice as he strains to unbuckle the restraints first at his chest, and then at his feet. Hobbes resists the urge to fall back a step... or ten.
Something splats softly onto the floor.
Hobbes' eyes dart to where de Fehrn is standing.
Correction... was standing.
The synthesized skin, gloves and doctors' smock are all lying in a pile on the floor beside the operating table. There's a tiny puddle of blood partially covered by the discarded items, and a trail of blood spatter heading towards a door in the back of the room.
"Double crap," he mutters in frustration. When Darien's back in his right mind, he's going to be so pissed that Arnaud got away... again. "Why is it that every time we run into Arnaud it feels like some kinda bad soap opera?" he grumbles as he turns his gun on the assistant.
The terrified man raises his hands even higher, stammering, "Don't shoot, p-p-p-please don't shoot me!"
"What's the matter?" Monroe calls out.
"Arnaud's gone," Hobbes calls back in disgust.
"Crap." She sounds a little weak. "Stark's gone too. de Fehrn must've carried him out."
"I am, very, disappointed in you, Robert," Darien murmurs huskily.
Hobbes lowers his gun and snaps at the assistant, "Go see if Agent Monroe needs any help."
de Fehrn's assistant hastily backpedals until he's clear of the plastic and hurries over to Monroe, who is starting to feel a bit woozy from shock.
Holstering his gun, Hobbes turns back to Darien. "Alright, Fawkesy, let's get you set up..." but is interrupted by hands suddenly clenching his windpipe.
Darien has managed to free himself from all of the restraints, swing his legs over the side of the table, and is now focusing all of his pent up rage on Hobbes.
"Fawkes, kkkkkkhh... quit it, willya? kkkkkkkhh..." Hobbes manages to sputter out. His fingers reflexively claw at his friend's in a vain effort to loosen them.
"You let him get away... again, Robert. Why is that, do you think?" Darien re-centers his thumbs on his partner's windpipe. "Maybe you and Arnaud worked out some sort of an 'arrangement', hmmm? He scratches your back, you scratch his? Well, never again, you hear me!" He bears down on his friend, who is quickly turning a dark shade of purple.
A hand snakes around Darien's shoulder, plunging a hypodermic needle into the side of his neck. The hypo hisses slightly as it dispenses the sedative into his bloodstream.
He suddenly releases Hobbes, begins to Quicksilver, and whirls to strike the dumbass that...
"Don't be a peckerhead," MacKenna murmurs just before she grabs his head.
There's a crackling sound, as if from a lightning strike, and the two jerk like puppets on strings and cry out before collapsing bonelessly to the floor.
MacKenna's eyes roll up into her head as she begins to thrash violently in the throes of a grand mal seizure, while Darien twitches uncontrollably as he tries to grab his head in agony.
Hobbes hoarsely bellows to Monroe as he hurries to keep the two from hurting themselves, "Alex, call Claire! We need her, now!"
Monroe yells at Arnaud's assistant, "Help me up!"
The man assists her as she simultaneously pulls out her cell phone and limps towards Hobbes and the others. She first disconnects, and then speed dials The Keeper's direct line.
"H-hello?" Claire's voice answers the phone. She sounds as if the ringing of the phone has jarred her awake.
"Claire, we need you down here right now," Monroe grits out. The pain in her leg is making her dizzy, and she clutches the man's arm. He's trying very hard to hold her up without them both toppling over.
"What's the matter? What's happened?" the doctor asks, worried, her fatigue burning away as adrenaline surges with the pounding of her heart.
"No time to explain. Bring your medical kit; Darien and Amanda are in serious trouble here," Monroe gasps between the waves of pain shooting up her body.
"Are you hurt, too?"
"Yeah, shot in the leg. Just get down to the warehouse district. Secure Storages' commercial lot, building four, in the back, upstairs."
"We're on our way," Claire replies briskly, and the two hang up just as Monroe and the assistant reach the plastic curtain.
He reaches out and parts the plastic. She staggers into the operating theatre, grabbing the table to steady herself. He stands frozen, staring at the now limp bodies of the two experimentals. MacKenna's ears and nostrils steadily stream blood, and Darien's nose has a tiny rivulet of red softly dripping onto the floor beside him.
Hobbes glances up as Monroe and the assistant enters, and is taken aback at how pale she looks. He rises quick as a shot, reaches around the operating table and catches Monroe as her knees begin to buckle. He helps her onto the table, snarling to the assistant, "Elevate that leg, make her comfortable, then get over here and help me!"
His tone snaps the man out of his shocked daze, and he carefully raises the lower third of the table so that her legs are elevated above her heart. She twists her head to watch as Hobbes checks the other's pulses again.
A tense moment passes.
He looks back up at her, hesitates, and nods bleakly. Both of their heartbeats are there, but they're very faint. Returning his attention to Darien and MacKenna, he checks the rise and fall of their chests.
They're barely breathing.
He busies himself by untangling the two from each other, while checking for anything they might have broken when they fell.
The assistant, seeing an opportunity as soon as the two agents' attention becomes totally focused on their fallen comrades, slowly edges backwards to the plastic. Steeling himself, he whips around, darts out from the operating theatre and disappears through the back door.
Hobbes half rises from his position beside Darien when he notices the assistant making a run for it, hesitates, and decides to let the man go.
He drops back down, fishing out the one vial the Keeper had given him earlier. He snags the hypo that MacKenna dropped and exchanges the empty sedative bottle for the one full of the hormone blocker. He looks for a viable vein in Darien's arm, and injects the serum. He then gets the other tube from Monroe and carefully injects the small amount of counteragent directly into the gland.
The lanky man doesn't even twitch.
There's a flurry of movement at the front of the room, and Hobbes dives through the plastic, lands on one knee, and aims his gun...
At Claire.
"Bobby," she admonishes him testily. "Where are they?" She searches the room with her eyes.
The Official and Eberts enter the room with two other agents, their guns drawn and ready for a fight.
Hobbes quickly deflates in relief (much like a punctured beach ball) at the arrival of reinforcements, and holsters his gun. "Behind the plastic. Monroe's on the table, Fawkes and Amy're behind her on the floor."
Claire and the other men hurry over to the injured.
The adrenaline begins to fade, and Hobbes begins to feel really tired as he attempts to rise. Eberts hurries over and takes his arm to help him up. He peers up at the subordinate, puzzled by the show of concern, and gratefully utters, "Thank you. Eberts."
The assistant smiles wearily, and automatically brushes some dirt and lint from the back of Hobbes' suit jacket. He jerks away and strides over to see what he can do to help Claire. Eberts trails along behind him, un-offended at his abrupt reaction. They part the plastic, and Claire looks up from Darien's prone body. He, MacKenna and Monroe have all been wrapped securely in blankets. She raises a finger, indicating that she needs a moment more of silence. Gently lowering Darien's wrist to his chest, her eyes refocus on Hobbes.
"Did you give him the sedative?"
He shakes his head. "Actually, Amy did it. But I did give him the blocker and counteragent."
"What happened to them?" Claire asks worriedly.
Hobbes opens his mouth to reply, but...
"Never mind," she cuts him off. "Tell me on the way back to the lab." She rises and begins to give orders to the other agents. "You," she points to the man standing by Monroe. "Please take Agent Monroe to the hospital."
He nods, gently picks up and carries the weakened woman out of the room.
"The rest of you... help me with them," she gestures to the other four men, and turns back to her two unconscious charges.
Hobbes and Eberts each take one of MacKenna's arms, carefully pick up and carry her out of the room in between them on their interlocked arms. She briefly rouses, mumbling something unintelligible before lapsing back into oblivion.
The remaining agent picks up Darien in a fireman's carry and follows the others out of the room.
Claire opens up her mouth to admonish the agent on how he's handling Darien, then glances at The Official. He shakes His head as if saying, 'It's not that big of a deal.' She purses her lips in disapprovement, and then joins him in hurrying out of the warehouse.
Friday, 8:30am
The morning sunlight gleams through the narrow blinds onto The Official's desk, where He sits with His head leaning back in His chair. His eyes are closed, resting.
Eberts is sitting at the table across the room, busying himself with nothing in particular. He seems to feel better during a crisis when he's doing something useful and efficient.
Monroe is slumped, half-asleep, in one of the chairs in front of The Official's desk with her feet propped up on the other chair. There's a bulky dressing directly over her knee, with her pants leg cut off at the top of her thigh.
The office door opens, and Claire closes her eyes as she leans on the sill, exhausted.
At the sound of the door opening, everyone snaps alert and focuses their gazes on The Keeper. She sighs deeply as she runs a hand through her disheveled hair.
The Official actually looks upset and worried. "Well?" He asks pointedly, with what feels like a million questions and concerns contained in that one tiny word.
She opens her bloodshot eyes and replies huskily, "They've stabilized, for now..." she trails off, reluctant to tell them the rest of the news.
"And?" Monroe's picked up that she isn't telling them the worst of it. "What's the bad news?"
Eberts has half-risen from his chair, and still has a form in his hands. He unconsciously begins to wring it.
Claire raises her eyes to look at first The Official and then Monroe. "They're comatose." The words drop like bombshells.
Eberts sits back down numbly in his chair.
"How bad is it?" The Official's voice is husky.
"Whatever Amanda did to Darien, it's shorted out most of his brain. His blood pressure has finally risen to an acceptable level, but only after I gave him two blood transfusions. I don't know what kind of damage, if any, was done to the gland."
"And how's she?" Monroe questions.
Claire shakes her head. "One minute she's flatlined, the next there's activity throughout her brain."
"What can we do now?" Eberts manages to ask. He looks ready to collapse.
"I've done everything I can for them." Claire fixes The Official with a defiant glare that dares him to try and protest. "I need help with this."
The Official had dropped His eyes to gaze sightlessly at the top of His desk. There was a moment of silence before He raises his eyes to answer her request. "Eberts, make sure she gets everything she needs," He orders resolutely. Both Eberts and Claire break out in wearied, yet surprised, smiles.
Monroe simply nods her agreement and closes her eyes.
In The Keeper's lab, Hobbes is resting in one of Claire's office chairs between two gurneys. His chair is turned slightly more to the right... towards Darien's bed. His head's drooped until his chin is resting on his chest. He's deeply asleep.
MacKenna and Darien are hooked up to all of the life support equipment normally seen on coma patients: oxygen; IV's; heart and blood pressure monitors; and electrodes carefully positioned around their heads, with wires leading into various monitors. Pictures of their respective brain activity, or lack thereof, are currently showing on the small TV screens above their heads.
End of Part One
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