Unit 2, Gillette, Wyoming, Manticore Facility

(Oo-rah)

Gillette, Wyoming 2008

"Listen up!" Colonel Donald Lydecker's carefully projected voice was loud enough to reach the farthest corner of the parade deck, and every transgenic stood at brisker attention at the sound.

Donald Lydecker had spent many years in the military, and this was what his late wife had jokingly dubbed his 'command voice'. In his late forties, he kept himself as trim and fit as his flawed and aging body could manage, so he could keep up pretty well with men much younger than he. He had a full head of dark, thick frosted blond hair and piercing blue eyes that had seen too much and done just as much. They were devoid of the usual human emotions save a cold determination. He had a presence that filled the room so that even before he spoke, he had your attention and you listened.

Lydecker rarely raised his voice, if he yelled it was as much a surprise as anything for the former Army Special Forces man almost never let anything past the tough walls of his perimeter defenses to his emotions. He was hard to rile up, but once he was, you had best be another country away or else face his wrath. It was this cold, iron self-control that was scary, because even when he tortured or punished you, he never became unruffled, it was just business. He treated his 'kids' the same way he treated the adult soldiers under his command, he never underestimated them, especially since many of these mini-soldiers were personally trained by him or under his supervision.

"As you may or may not have been aware, Manticore has four main facilities here in the contiguous United States: Seattle, Atlanta, New York, and here. One of our goals of your training is that you fit in the natural world outside with ordinary humans. In order to achieve this objective, the Committee has decided to undertake a program that will test just how much of your Behavioral Studies has sunk in.

"Starting tomorrow, groups of you will be taken to various schools in the surrounding areas and even out of state, where you will have to impersonate regular human children. You'll be getting an in depth briefing later on for your individual assignments for cover stories, but that is the gist of things. You must not under any circumstances let it be known that you are soldiers or part of the Manticore project. This is preliminary training for future solo missions so be aware: your performance now will reflect on your placement later on. Do I make myself understood?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" over three hundred X5s responded in chorus.

"While you are at school you will have to behave and act differently than you have been taught. You will be subjected to ideas, behavior, and mannerisms that have no bearing in your ongoing training. You will assimilate and adopt only those traits that are deemed necessary for the mission but they are not to be kept and retrained once the mission is over with. Failure to comply will not be tolerated. Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!"

"Very well," Lydecker looked around at the rows and rows of perfect soldiers in front of him, and the long forgotten human emotions stirred around, particularly pride in what his kids had accomplished. He quickly quashed these traitorous feelings; phony sentimentality would only make him weak and he could not afford to instill in his kids any weakness.

"Training will go on as scheduled for those of you not in the first wave, there will be a list as usual of who will be participating and who won't. But for now, here is the agenda for today..."

I carefully tucked the information away, listening and computing with half an ear Lydecker's instructions, while my multi-tasking mind focused on what he had said. We were to go to school? Please! Already at eight years old I knew more than most adults did in their entire lifetimes of learning. I had added four more languages to my repertoire of what I could read, write, speak, and understand bringing the total up to nine, in addition to the other eight that I could recognize and pinpoint on hearing, which were rapidly getting to the point they could join the other nine.

I was proficient and a master of over eight martial arts styles including the major ones of karate, ninjitsu, tae kwan do, and aikido. I was good at various forms of unarmed combat, and some of the more traditional weapons proficiency, including modern and archaic weapons. Now that had been a fun class. Little soldiers going at each other with knives, swords, bo's, nun chukkas, sai's, crossbows, and other archery implements.

I could read, write, and assimilate college level and beyond papers and essays, I'd taken all the higher learned classes in math, trigonometry, calculus, astronomy, physics, chemistry, biology, advanced genetics, nuclear physics and the like. I didn't particularly care for all the math and sciences though I knew that they were a tolerably necessary evil.

I could hack and decrypt most high-ranking computer databases; I literally grew up on the military and government models. I knew so many ways of killing and/or disabling a person it wasn't even funny. I could probably argue politics and military stratagem all day and night without breaking a sweat and actually understand what in the world I'm talking about. What did I need to go to school for? I was designed to be the perfect soldier; I didn't see what school had to offer that I hadn't already been equipped with. And hanging around kids my own age and mind level; wasn't I doing that already here?

I quickly snapped back into present as Lydecker called out "Unit 2!" It seemed as if the entire parade deck took in a deep breath, especially Unit 10. They had been the only other unit not to have their instructions called off and we (Unit 2) had been due a little Seek and Destroy. Our unit had only grown in ferocity since the night we named ourselves, somehow the fact that we had names galling us to up our performance as if to prove to the guards and the trainers that we were real. Needless to say, the rest of the Wyoming units didn't very well like us.

Lydecker paused in his recitation as if he too sensed the tension in the air. Perhaps he had, one never should doubt the finely honed predator's instinct of Colonel Donald Lydecker. His sharp eyes raked their way up and down my unit, nailing us into place. Out of all the staff, only Lydecker had ever elicited the absolute fear, devotion, and respect that we of Unit 2 ever gave any ordinary. He was the one we truly feared, and the one whose approval we sought the most. I swear when his eyes met mine that they lingered for just a few seconds longer than the rest, but that just could have been my nervousness.

In the past two years, it seemed that the Colonel had a personal vendetta against me. He'd pick me out of my entire unit and he would do his best to ridicule, humiliate, and basically give me a hard way to go, always assigning me tasks that seemed improbable for my particular talents that one of my pack could probably have done better or with far less difficulty. He also took to ordering extra nighttime training for me, a thing I heartily despised as it cut into pack time and nights spent with Ben and Jondy. Sometimes Jondy was brought along as she had the Shark DNA that kept her up nights like I did, but most often it was just Lydecker, a tech, a couple guards, and me.

It used to happen every night, but he eased up since I collapsed almost six months ago. He had been working me so hard and for so long, my normally indomitable immune system gave way to my exhaustion and I got a high fever that could have been so much worse. I had just passed out in the showers, after a particularly harsh training day, and my memory is kinda hazy, going in and out. Ben told me later that him, Zack, Zane, and Jondy had taken me to Lydecker in Med Bay, where the Colonel had stayed up with me all night in a rare show of emotional vigil that surprises me even today.

The only things I remember of that night was a strange sense of being watched over, and it was such an intensity, that I knew that whoever was watching wouldn't let anything happen to me. I dreamed then of a dark, calm place, with the musky scent of pack and the feeling of warm bodies pressing up against my naked form, and it had sent me to a blissful sleep, it was almost like having the pack with me. I woke up four days later feeling much refreshed, and with an eased up schedule. It was no fault of mine that Lydecker looking at me caused nervousness.

"Unit 2 will be reporting directly to Sergeant Major Vaughn for further instruction in Room 15a, East Wing. Unit 10 will complete an all day field day starting with Escape and Evade, Seek and Destroy, and Find and Retrieve. You have your orders. Follow them. Dismissed!"

With a precise turn, Lydecker pivoted around and left the parade deck, leaving three hundred elated X5 series and one exhaustedly relieved Unit 10. The head trainer in charge after Lydecker stepped forward and started dismissing the units to their activities. Being in Unit 2, we were called second and we could practically hear the tension ease out of the other units as we marched off toward the East Wing of the compound.

We had reached the point where most of the guards just let Zack march us to wherever we needed to go, it was so much easier on their part leaving them free to do…whatever it is that they did with free time. So we felt free to briefly give into the small smiles of amusement at our compatriots' relief. We weren't that bad to them, promise. Just because Seth had put formelhyde in Unit 13's shampoo dispensers, or Zane jury-rigged Unit 6's paintball guns to fire little flags that said 'Bang!' when triggered, or Ben pulling the fire alarm in Section 20 and watching them slide down the hall on a floor that had been over waxed by the power buffer (operated by Jack) had nothing to do with it. Really.

Besides, not all the pranks happening around Manticore were our Quad Squad's fault. There was at least one other practical joker in our base, and he wasn't in our unit, though his efforts have drawn the admiration of Ben, Jack, Seth, and Zane. I knew this because whenever Lydecker would throw me into Solitary or other punishment during the two years of hell, I often caught sight of him being punished as well. We'd shared some long glances and brief hand signals when the guards weren't looking or were too busy talking to pay much attention to us.

X5-918, whom I'd secretly dubbed Dante after the man who wrote The Inferno because he seemed to bring to life the seven rings of Hell on the Manticore staff. Only someone who could simultaneously swap out the trainer's shampoo with Nair hair removal, sneak a "Quarantined Due to Harmful Noxious Fumes Until Further Notice" sign on all the staff restrooms, and swipe every one of the trainer's lunches from out of the staff lounge could possibly earn that title. He was a mischievous soldier from Unit 12 who didn't seem to fit in with his unit. Not that he was ostracized or anything, it's more like, whenever I'd had a chance to observe him interact with his unit, it seemed as if they didn't know what to do with him. I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, and thought that he would get along just great with the terrible foursome.

Dante had these amazing lavender eyes that some tech must have had a good laugh over giving a male, but far from making him look delicate, they just added to his appeal. From what I could tell of the fuzz on his shaved head, he would have a nice crop of dark brunette hair, not black but not too far off either. His skin was that wonderful dark cream that you only get when you mix a little African American and pure Irish together for a truly startling combination. Add his hair and eyes and he would definitely be a looker when he reached adulthood and lost all his baby fat, not that there was a fat blob on his body anyway. Already he had that skinny physique that would allow him to shoot up like a weed and gradually fill in so he'd have a nice set of broad shoulders and cut waist.

We made it to the East Wing without incident and I could feel the excitement that was bubbling up inside of me being echoed in my packmates nearby. Master Gunnery Sergeant Vaughn had been promoted to Sergeant Major, but he was still the same Devil Dog we'd follow into Hell and beyond. Exercises with the Sergeant Major were always fun, as he oftentimes took us with his Special Ops team, giving us real field experience.

This would be the first time in almost five months that we had a class with the Sergeant Major, and we all were wondering just what our assignment was this time because if there was one thing that was certain it was this: when the Sergeant Major comes, we get a mission to the Outside.

We filed into Room 15a with a mix of excitement and anxiety, for 15a of the East Wing was usually reserved for some of the more…torturous exercises, bad memories. The room would be at home in any all-American college, an enormous half circle room with amphitheater style seating so upwards a couple hundred soldiers could fit comfortably. The fore of the room held a blackboard, dry erase board, and projection screen, the best of three worlds. There was also a small podium-desk combination piece of furniture right in the very center, and behind this, stood a man who's ramrod straight posture was a dead giveaway he was military.

The middle-aged man was built and trim for one his age, he put Lydecker's efforts to shame, as his broad chest and shoulders, tight and narrow waist, and leggy length were more at home on a man over twenty years his junior. His skin was tanned a weathered look and his eyes were an electrifying brown whose dark depths swirled and threatened to suck you under if you could bypass the emotional defenses erected from too many years of fighting and lying and killing and doing things that would make stronger men and women weep in shame. Everything and nothing was held in that gaze, a truly masterful mask of emotion that few can ever achieve.

His hair was cut in typical Leatherneck fashion, barely an inch on top and buzzed everywhere else. If I hadn't been so used to it, I would have said his ears stuck out, but since I was around brothers and sisters and trainers who had their hair buzzed in a similar military cut, it was just normal. Besides, his ears weren't that big, they were kind of small and cute; they fit his face shape just fine. He radiated power the way a blowtorch spewed a flame; it was undeniable.

"Take a seat," his deep voice resonated within the confines of the room, and we hastened to obey, fanning out to take a section of the first two rows, nine on the first row, nine on the second, alternating boy-girl just as Vaughn had instilled in us years ago.

"Good morning, troops," Sergeant Major Zachary Allen Vaughn greeted us in his traditional formality.

"Good morning, Sergeant Major Vaughn, Sir!" we chorused.

"I'm sure you are aware of Colonel Lydecker's announcement this morning," he stated without preamble, "So I'll get right to the point."

He came out from behind the podium to stand in front of us, his stance flowing into the at ease position that somehow still managed to look as if he were at attention, and only close observation could tell he had relaxed a few centimeters. His eyes pierced us where we sat, and I felt a prickle of anticipation ripple through my spine, whether from excitement or fear I wouldn't know, as each was perfectly interchangeable.

"As you may or may not be aware of, there are certain powers that be that govern the training of you and your fellow X-series. These powers have declared that in order for the X5s to truly blend into society, it is absolutely imperative that you be exposed to the inner sanctum of today's youth in order to gain insight into the workings of the human mind so that later on you will be a more effective soldier. For now is determined to be the most critical of a human's social and emotional upbringing, and as such, these years will determine what they will choose to do with and become later in their lives; soldiers, teachers, politicians, leaders of the country, parents, scientists, bums on the street…"

Vaughn paused and cocked his head, eyes sweeping the lot of us, making sure that each word hit home and stayed there. There was just the slightest hint of amusement in that last bit, and I was fascinated. It made him seem that much more…personal, real.

"Each of the X5 platoons will be assigned to a different school in the area, spread out so that there won't be any suspicion. You will also wear wigs: this is another of those avoiding suspicion tactics. Can't very well let a bunch of children with buzz cuts running around; that defeats the purpose of not leaving anything suspicious."

"Now you're probably wondering; why the hell is he telling me this? It's common sense and only logical in conjunction with the mission Lydecker sketched out this morning. This is all truth. No one here doubts your intelligence. Your unit is the highest-ranking of the Wyoming units and has from your inception been designed to be Special and/or Black Ops; hence all the extra classes and training that the other X5 units of the facility have not received. The majority of the X5 units will never even be assigned the classes that have been commonplace to your Unit. You are being specifically groomed to take command and be officers, even above other X5s."

"Which is why your foray into the world of America's youth will take a slight twist from that of the others. You are good together, too good as it were. The other units of this facility do not trust you because of that fact. In response to this unwanted development, Colonel Lydecker and I have devised a program which will integrate you into X5 platoons not your own. In pairs or groups of three, you will be separated and sent to school out of state to join pairs of X5s from our sister facilities."

SEPARATED!

The word was like a shot in the dark, unwanted, unexpected, and unavoidable. The very thought of being separated from my pack for any extended period of time was like being thrown into the river during the peak of winter: I froze. Once the shock wore away, I tried desperately to control my face and emotions; I could see that Vaughn was peering at us intently to gauge our reactions. I knew it was a losing battle on my emotions so I did the only thing I could: I went into that small place in my mind where I went when I was killing or undergoing torture or performing for the trainers.

It was soft and quiet, almost a hyperfocus, and it thrummed with the life around me. I was more acutely aware of my pack and Sergeant Major Vaughn, I could hear their heartbeats, taste the pulse pounding through them, scent the tang of anxiety, hate, anger, despair, and grim determination coming from my family. I didn't feel anything, only a thankfully numb detachment, a great encompassing void that I channeled all emotion and most of my personality, leaving only the cold, grim, professional eight-year-old soldier X5-452.

Whatever Vaughn saw, it tightened the corners of his eyes and clenched his jaw briefly before his mask flicked back into play and he cleared his throat. A bit unnecessarily in my opinion, I thought maliciously, detached and in control of those pesky emotions.

"Well then, this briefing is just about over. Tomorrow, when you will be assigned to your groups you will get further detailed brief based on individual assignment." There was another pause but we said nothing. That jaw and eye clenching occurred again and I started to suspect that the Sergeant Major might be coming down with something.

"You will report immediately to the High Point Ridge where you will engage in Find and Retrieve against the other units. That is all. Dismissed," He finished brusquely, and if I didn't know any better, I would have said we unnerved the wizened leader. I wondered why. Then I saw just what freaked him out.

My peripheral vision showed me that I was not the only one to fall back into soldier mode. My pack, my beloved family was gone and in its place eighteen perfectly genetically enhanced soldiers stood straighter and as blankly emotionless as mannequins. But mannequins never had that hint of silent threat that seemed to have suddenly sprung out from us, nor did they wear such a startling contrast, as toughened warrior eyes on faces that should still be full of innocence and wonder. The Pack was gone and in its place Unit 2 of the Gillette, Wyoming Manticore Facility remained.

Oo-rah.