Chapter 6: Vetus Universitas
A woman named Heather opened her eyes to be blinded by an uncomfortably bright light.
Moaning faintly with grogginess, she perked up her head and took in the scene with hazy eyes. It was a spacious area, with white, antiseptic walls demarcating what appeared to be an octagonal room. A large, rectangular mirror was embedded in the porcelain tile wall to her left. Turning her head to the other side of the room, she could see someone dressed in a lab coat, facing away from her; the individual seemed oblivious to Heather's presence, instead opting to keep an eye on monitors displaying things she didn't understand, along with manipulating various vials and chemicals arranged on a nearby table. The whole setting felt surreal, and Heather was still too woozy to consciously analyze her surroundings.
She tried to move her arms, but found it strange when she could not; it was as though she were pinned down by some invisible force. Glancing down, she could see with a clearing vision that her wrists were strapped to the bed upon which she now lay; additional shackles tied down her ankles, and a belt ran across her abdomen, further immobilizing her. The sight instantly brought her back to lucidity as it occurred to her that this wasn't right at all. She began to wriggle in her bonds, at first in the hope that they would loosen, then with surmounting panic as her struggling proved more and more futile. Her breath started to come in shallow bursts, and beads of water welled in the corners of her eyes as a result of her increasing distress.
"Hello?" she croaked to the man at the table. "What's going on?"
The man said nothing, fully absorbed in his work. Heather wondered how exactly she ended up in this situation, trying to piece together the fragments of memories that began to resurface in her mind. She went out on the previous night – or was it the night before? She couldn't quite say. It was their two-year anniversary, and Dylan had taken her out to a fancy Italian restaurant. And after that, they enjoyed a long walk on the riverside walkways under the stars. He stopped to kneel before her; she was overjoyed. He left to use the washroom, and shortly afterwards, gazing upon the river, she felt a pair of gloved hands grab her, masking her mouth with a sweet-smelling cloth, and darkness took her...
She looked down at her hand. The ring was nowhere to be found.
Heather was sobbing now, the nearby heart rate monitor mirroring her rising fear. A voice spoke, and the man in the lab coat looked across the room; she hadn't even noticed the other man that had been standing close to her all that time, reviewing data on a computer screen. Though they now seemed aware that she had regained consciousness, they paid no mind to her frantic pleas to let her go, and when the man held up a syringe and flicked the needle, she began fighting frantically against the leather straps, eyes astride with terror. The two came to either side of her, with one of them holding her down as the other brought the syringe to her arm, and she screamed aloud in protest, the foreign bluish substance invading her veins.
A man named Adam watched the experiment unfold from behind the one-way mirror. He stood the middle of a dimly-lit corridor, with only incandescent light bulbs showing the way. His suit was expensive, sleek and elegant, decorated with a crimson tie and a metallic pin shaped like an "A" turned on its side, the symbol of the organization of which he was a prominent member. His hands remained clasped behind his back as he observed the proceedings in the adjacent room, mulling in deep thought. They have been attempting to synthesize their newest bio-weapon for the past year, a chemical agent that would render the carrier a virtual Tesla Coil. The charge would accumulate in their body, and through remote activation, the build-up would be released, electrocuting everyone in the vicinity of the carrier with a deadly string of chain-lightning.
But all subjects so far had proven to be failures, their bodies proving incompatible with the compounds entirely, and he hoped that this one would at least show some improvement.
He had a feeling that their rivals would be envious of a weapon of such ambitious design. Conrad Moreau, a notorious arms dealer on the fringes of the Black Market, as well as an old acquaintance of Adam's, had expressed interest in the weapon upon their last encounter, offering to sell it on the market for a share of the profits. To his surprise, Adam had declined. It wasn't about the money, he told Moreau; it was about the resolve, to rise victorious among your fallen enemies, to remain the last one standing in the fight to protect that which you fight for.
A man named Quentin approached Adam at the observation window, hand in one pocket and the other swinging back and forth as he walked. He was young-featured, and sharply dressed, too, sporting the same Phoenician Aleph pin as Adam on his lapel.
"Ah, Quentin," said Adam, turning. "Quid improuiso iucundum."
"Possem dicere idem," replied Quentin in equally fluent Latin. "How is the experiment going?"
Quentin joined Adam in the observation of the experiment, peering into the window as the pair of scientists on the other side attempted to stabilize the test subject.
"So far, so good," explained Adam. "We'll only know in a few more minutes if the compound is rejected by the body or not, though."
"I see."
They continued to look on in anticipation for a few moments. Adam jaws clenched rhythmically as he stared ahead with dark, tired eyes.
"You seem a little upset, Adam," noted Quentin.
"It's that damn Esterbrook," sighed Adam. "He was too careless. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen. And when the authorities took him down, he nearly brought INtREPUS down with him. That bastard! We almost lost one of our major front companies. It could take years before we can rebuild the company's tarnished reputation, not to mention recuperating from the financial losses."
Adam brooded in silence, tightening his fists. He was known for his temper, which was, as Quentin theorized, a by-product of his unparalleled determination and ambition. And it was not an explosive fury he nurtured, but a fiery wrath that simmered just underneath his surface, the pressure building until it was unleashed upon those unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity. Knowing this all too well, Quentin thought it best to let his associate's anger subside somewhat before speaking.
"As it so happens," he began, "I was reading an article in the paper on Esterbrook's downfall this morning. You'll never guess who caught him."
"Who?" asked Adam, his curiosity piqued.
"An FBI Agent named OliviaDunham."
Adam stared at his comrade incredulously for a second before chuckling bitterly.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said. "That's James' daughter, isn't it?"
"Yes, I believe so," replied Quentin.
"I remember seeing her when she was just a baby. I went to visit James and his wife shortly after she was born. She had her father's face, wouldn't you know."
Adam exhaled a long, hoarse sigh before continuing.
"Just when I thought I would never hear from them again, they come right back to strike us once more. It almost as though it's in their blood to cause us no end of trouble. James was a good man, and he's served us well, but he's a retired colonel now; he left the game years ago. And his brother, that traitor... Can you believe that we had a spy in the OWS all that time?"
Quentin shook his head as the memories resurfaced.
"And now we have a new generation of them walking around," continued Adam. "I'll be happy if I never hear the word Dunham mentioned again for the rest of my life."
Heather's vitals were starting to fluctuate, and she moaned in persistent pain, cheeks glistening with tears. The men in the room scurried about to various monitors and equipment, administering additional drugs in an attempt to keep her stable.
"All this worrying can't be good for your health, Adam," assured Quentin. "Look on the bright side. We're in the process of finalizing the negotiations of our deal with the Vaughan Corporation, and I've received word that our new research facility in Argentina is almost complete. Plus, I have a feeling that this new toy of ours will undoubtedly rake in a pretty penny. These are all but minor setbacks. Sumus reges hac tabula latruncularia."
Adam nodded in agreement, his anger receding to the edges of his spirit. He appreciated Quentin's glass half-full philosophy and his often sound counsel. And yet, while he was undoubtedly a competent member of the Old World Society, Adam found his calm, collected demeanour, even in the face of dire circumstances, to be somewhat irritating at times. He could never quite tell what was going on behind those dreaming, ocean-blue eyes and stoic visage; in fact, his stare was almost disturbing in its ambiguity. But if there was one thing that Adam was certain of, however, it was Quentin's unflinching loyalty to their organization. Appeased, he discontinued that train of thought, redirecting his attention instead to the experiment at hand.
The woman on the bed was now seizing, shaking uncontrollably in her restraints. The scientists travelled back and forth as her vitals spiked to dangerous levels. Thin wisps of vapour started to rise from her skin, and her eyes rolled into her head from the excruciating pain. Crackling sounds could be heard while the scientists yelled commands to each other, trying to keep the situation under their control. At that moment, Heather's back arched as a couple of electric arcs shot out from her body, her mouth wide open as she silently cried out for the love of her life. The short-lived arcs connected with surrounding equipment, causing the scientists to flinch back at the shower of sparks. She then slouched back, her hair frizzed and her skin burnt and ruptured, dead.
Adam and Quentin shielded their eyes from the near-blinding flash in the observation window, and once the smoke had cleared, they were disappointed to see that he experiment had failed.
"Ah, damn it!" muttered Adam.
He sped off, leaving Quentin behind, not bothering to see if he followed. There was a door not too far down the hallway, a door Adam promptly entered. It gave way to a small antechamber that led to the experiment room proper. He swung the door open; an acrid smoke still hung in the air, and one of the scientists was busy quelling a flaming console with a fire extinguisher. Adam addressed the other, who was waving what smoke remained in the room with his hand, coughing as he did.
"What the hell happened in here?"
"The test subject responded well to the treatment," the man explained. "But her body wasn't able to store the charge, and everything her body built-up was expelled."
"Well, at least we're making progress," noted Adam.
"Yes, excellent progress. Now it's just a matter of finding a way to have the body properly accumulate and store the charge."
"Of course, of course," approved Adam. "Keep me updated on your progress."
Adam's background was never in science; he was only interested in the results.
"Yes, sir," nodded the scientist.
"Oh, and be sure to clean up this mess, will you?" wavered Adam as he turned to leave the room.
He returned to the corridor to find Quentin pacing slowly in a small circle, speaking on his phone. As he neared him, Quentin terminated the call with a satisfied smile.
"Good new, I hope?" asked Adam.
"Hoffman just called," said Quentin. "The demonstration at Frankfurt went smoothly."
"Is that right?" said Adam, pleased. "I suppose we can go ahead with the transaction, then."
"What do you think of this Apotheosis?" asked Quentin. "I haven't heard of them before they contacted us with their offer. I'm not too sure we should place so much trust in them."
"They're relatively new to the scene, as it would seem," said Adam as the two longed the corridor. "They've done a few noteworthy things here and there, mostly in South and Latin America. I wasn't aware of them or their accomplishments either before Hoffman filled me in. I can understand your suspicion, however; ours is a life of many foes and far fewer friends. But you and I both know that they pose no threat to us, so we might as well take advantage of their offer. Who knows, a bone-dissolving gas might prove to come in handy someday."
"You know, I've never really liked Hoffman," commented Quentin. "There's something profoundly unsettling about that man."
"You shouldn't be so quick in dismissing him, Quentin. Alfred Hoffman has been with the Old World Society for a long time. And he's a very dangerous man with less-than-conservative views, so that's all the more reason you should be thankful that he chooses to be on our side."
The duo traversed the labyrinthine tangle of corridors, the layout of which they knew by heart, making their way a few floors above, where they wound up in the basement level of Saint Joseph's Hospital. Through the main lobby they then passed, exiting the building to face the whispering wind of an afternoon Seattle.
"Tell Hoffman to arrange a meeting with the representatives of Apotheosis," ordered Adam as they halted outside the entrance. "I'm giving the go-ahead to proceed with the transaction as planned."
"As you wish," acknowledged Quentin. "I'll be seeing you, then. Viribus orbis antiqui vobíscum."
"Et vos quoque," replied Adam. "Send your wife my regards."
The two parted ways, members of a society older than the nation whose soil they currently walked upon, an ancient order that would soon hold a slight advantage over those that also trod the ever-shifting terrain of the Silent War.
A/N: For those who don't remember, Conrad Moreau is the Black Market Werecupine virus handler in episode 1.13, and Alfred Hoffman is the Bischoff-hating immortal Nazi scientist from 2.13. The latter has a role to play in coming chapters, so it should be interesting. ;)