Author's Note: Sorry about the extremely late update. I was REALLY sick, just in time for Christmas! Anyways, I hope you all had a nice insert holiday here, and enjoy the story!
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Milligan ran down the long, dark hallway, his heart pounding despite the eery silence that had settled in the lot above. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and an odd feeling of doom had settled over him. The farther he traveled down the corridor, his joints began to feel stiffer, and his uneasy feeling increased rapidly. A crackle of a radio interrupted his musings, and he flattened himself against the cold steel wall.
"Hey, you, uh... Bludgins! Yeah! You! Have you gotten an update from Sharpe? His channels' gone dead." Milligan's eyes widened as he realized what would happen, and he pushed himself off the wall, and sprinted down the corridor, and rounded the corner just before a Recruiter pushed open a door on the right wall, and jogged down the corridor.
Milligan let out a sigh of relief, and edged towards the slightly ajar door. His boots made no noise as he spun to the other side of the door, and peered through the crack between the shades. Seeing no one, he dashed inside.
He appeared to be in an office, drab and dreary, with a run-of-the-mill file cabinet and a rickety desk. He glanced over his shoulder, and stole towards the files.
A minute later, he had spread out the measly selection of folders, and traced his finger over the names of what he assumed were victims of the recruiters cruel tactics.
Crowe...Kentfield...Muldoon...Pedalian...Rice...Terry...Vick...Wetherall.
He picked up his family's file, and shoved the rest hastily into the drawer. The only thing in the file was a packet with a yellowing newspaper clip pinned to the title page. He peered at the clip. It was the obituary with Mary's picture, a stiff, unrealistic portrait that the Stonetown Times had insisted on using. He skimmed through it, finding nothing but a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flipped it over. he had no desire to revisit that right now.
The packet appeared to be on him, he realized with a start. He flipped through, chuckling at the images of him in disguise, but the laugh stopped short of escaping when he flipped to the last page. Mary's picture was situated in the corner, the same one from the memoriam, and a small paragraph of information was below it.
Mary Wetherall, deceased. Obstacle in Wetherall case, exterminated. Memory file in Chamber 12. Husband and target: Agent Wetherall, known officer of the United States Government. Red-brown hair, blue-green eyes. 5"6, 134 lbs. Attended Cal Poly, with a degree in Engineering.
The next box, however, made Milligan's heart leap. Kate's face stared back at him, a picture taken almost a year ago. He read the information underneath, his horrible suspicions growing by the second.
Kate Wetherall, born April 29th, 1996. Intelligence scan pending. High marks assumed. Father, at large, see above, mother, deceased, see above. Capture immediately.
Milligan's hands trembled. This whole thing was about... children. Capturing them, testing them, to see if they had exceptional mental capacity. He feared what would would happen to them if they didn't. He closed the file, and shoved it in his jacket. He strode back over to the cabinet, picking up the first file he found.
Paul and Cathy Crowe, deceased. Paul, schoolteacher, black hair, 6"1. Eye color unknown. Cathy, unemployed, black hair, brown eyes, 5"4. Both attended University of Washington. Daughter, Martina, obtained, cleansed. High intelligence, ideal.
Milligan stuffed the file in his jacket, and scooped the rest into his arms. He would have to examine them later. Right now, he had to get back to Kate and Rick.
As he left the office, two pictures fell out of the files. He bent to pick them up. One was of an average looking toddler, sitting in a high chair. He turned it over, and read the name. Reynard Muldoon, birthdate unknown. Parents, deceased, unknown. High risk, ill-advised. Capture unlikely. He let out a breath of relief.
The other picture was of a boy with red hair, and unusually large feet. Milligan flipped it over, fearing the worst.
S.Q Pedalian, born September 2nd, 1990. Cleansing complete, malfunction when tested. Terminate memory immediately.
Milligan felt a lump form in the back of his throat. He had to do something, anything, about these children. He had to save them from Mr. C and his Recruiters.
"Hey, McCraig, is that you?" came a voice from around the corner. Milligan jumped, and stumbled towards the exit, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. He didn't get far.
"Hello, Agent. Long time, no see, eh?" said Crawlings, emerging from the trapdoor. "But where are my manners? Bludgins!" he called to the man around the corner. "Let's show Mr. Hero here how real men give handshakes."
Milligan was caught, and honest man in a den of thieves. He raised his tranquilizer gun, and began to fight.
A/N Heh heh...Firefly reference:)