Part I: Aberration
Chapter III: You're
I walk along the sidewalk, crowded cars honk behind me as they pass, convinced I'm suddenly going to jump out and commit suicide.
That thought has crossed my mind, unfortunately.
I guess I look the part, with devilishly long hair and a mad look in my eyes. My black jeans are ripped and my S.P.Q.R t-shirt has three long claw marks over the left side of my rib cage. My hole-y converse are laced up with white spattered red laces, and the black clothed cut-off gloves conceal the darts I was able to snatch from the underground factory.
I flex my hands apprehensively, feeling the loaded weapon that has interlocked with my flesh and merged with my cellular membrane. The whole process was pretty incredible, and after a few months, I could barely feel the difference in my hand weights.
The sack on my shoulder shifts uncomfortably, and the metal braces and cuffs press against my back, regardless of the thick woolen shirt they're wrapped in. I wryly grin at the thought of something accidentally pressing down on the detonator.
Bye bye, Percy. Bye bye, Los Angeles.
Unfortunately, that's not my mission, but destroying it would be good for my reputation.
Or bad, if you're the type of person who thinks exploding an entire city is villainous.
I remain on the sidewalk, like the good child my mother taught me to be — at least before she died. I look up at the sun, shielding my eyes as I quickly gauge the time of the day. With the position of the sun, I reckon I have about two hours before I need to head back.
Only two hours.
That's not enough time to complete my mission, but I'm used to working under pressure, and only the employer will be mad if I'm late, and I don't care two devil's of an inch about what he thinks.
I take the next left, and soon I leave the more populated part of the city. Taking the backroads, suddenly, I'm in front of a huge warehouse, 'danger' and 'toxic,' signs are posted all over the building, while caution tape surrounds the premises, connecting cones. Only one story high, the entire metal warehouse is covered in rust and dust. Spiderwebs lace around the outside, and there is obvious traces of blood around the building. The place looks like a stereotypical place that under ground labs usually hide — at least it matches the ones from the movies. I duck under the caution tape, reach the doors, an blow the lock off, an old model.
Stepping slightly inside, my eyes adjust inhumanly quickly, in fact, I can see on all but the darkest nights.
For a renowned lab, the place is surprisingly barren, with the dusty interior and bolted down metal chairs. I stay where I am right half a foot from the doorframe, waiting for a trap to be sprung. I hesitate, knowing that this entire journey has been entirely too easy.
A soon as I take my first step inside the actual part of the building, something at the back of my neck prickles, like my very own spider-sense.
I whip around to my right and duck, darts aimed at my head and vital places literally trace the upper part of my body spaced four centimeters from each other. I'd have approximately fifty darts buried into my skin, not to count the axe now barreling at my head.
Timing it right, using the internal timer in my mind, I step forward and fluidly grab the axe before it can decapitate me. My hand painfully absorbs the shock as the handle slaps against my palm, my fingers immediately wrapping around it. Dropping the axe. I stare at the painfully red axe handle imprint, in awe of the 460 km/h axe lugging contraption.
For such an important lab, the security lacks extreme technological advances, but the axe lugger seems very creative, and only strengthens my suspicions about this place.
Who boobytraps a dusty building?
Simon Comber? Doubt it.
I head towards the metal stairs, my feet kicking up the dust on the ground. After purposefully tripping seven traps, and deactivating fourteen others, I reach the metal staircase.
With my left hand braces by my right, I slowly start down the stairs with my better aimed hand forward. I silently beg the metal objects in my pack not to clank around.
Then my heel clanks noisily against the stair. I sigh, Seaweed Brain, echoes in my head. I guess I'm still just an extremely clumsy boy who can kill a person in .07 seconds flat.
Yes, unfortunately I'm only .07, Bruce Myers got a .05 in training last season. The stupid kid brags about it every time I see him. My scoring was botched because I didn't fulfill the secondary requirements, but they wouldn't let me retest.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, my foot hovers over the last descent, and by breath feels slightly heavy. I notice the air and humidity here are different, In fact, I could have sworn I saw on my phone the humidity was supposed to be 30%, but it feels muggier.
Maybe once upon a time, the water would have helped me, maybe even rejuvenated me, but not now. Now every step on my left leg (the one poisoned with a White Dianthrium flower) burns like fire overtime I step on it. Ignoring it's not easy, but with heavy painkillers and sedatives I've managed it.
I take the last step, and come hard on the midnight floor with a thump and a dusty cloud.
I wait, knowing something is off, something not quite right...
A twitch of a sound comes from my right and I whirl without sound.
I take one more step...
"Freeze." An icy voice commands from the opposite direction, and I'll be darned if I haven't heard that voice before.
I adjust my tie and pull my sleeves straight. I check my watch, which reads 5:57, perfect.
I near a dark building, that is no doubt the most expensive restaurant in Miami. I open the door and step in, with one look from me the usher immediately is up and practically running to meet my every need.
I tend to have that affect on people.
He leads me to a secluded spot, in where I sit and order two waters.
Two and a half minutes later, punctual as ever, my date arrives, already instinctively knowing where I'll be.
Her thick brown hair comes down in layers, and bangs trap her huge, baby blue eyes. Her nose is straight and she has full red lips. She is the epitome of beautiful, but also incredibly fake in my opinion. She has a black pencil dress, four inch wedge high heels, and a purple purse that looks tacky.
"Astria." I smile, stand up to greet her and pull out her chair. "How can I praise your beauty? You," I bring her hand up and kiss it, "are indescribably, unconditionally, and incandescently stunning. More so than anyone else in this room."
And just a tool, I think, but refrain from saying the obvious.
I doubt she would find it as funny as I do.
After ordering our food, steak for me and (ugh) salad for her, we eat in silence, she occasionally complementing the food (how can you complement plants?) an I complementing her (how stupid can she be?).
As the night continues to retire, at exactly 7:03:87 a large man in a black hoodie who sat in the back corner passes behind me. I instinctively out my hand through the hole of my chair, and quickly close it when a capsule is put into it.
I hear the faint word, "Shield," before the man is gone with the wind.
All while telling Astria the moon can't compare to her beauty. (Which is debatable, considering I've meet both of them, and the latter is far more fake than the former)
Then all to late it's time for me to leave, and once again I pull her up from her chair (her lack of upper body strength is disturbing) and kiss her good night on the mouth, which leaves me with the need of six toothpaste tubes and... You know what? I just need an entire new mouth... Yeah...
"Bye..." I tell her, my teeth flashing in the night as I smile crookedly and slip my hand from around her waist slowly.
And then she's gone, and I'm silently thanking myself for remaining a bachelor. I could not deal with that every night.
I grab some random person's Kawasaki Ninja and hotwire it, take off, and reach my flat in twenty.
Turning on the security system and making sure nobody could spy on me, I bring out the capsules break it open, and stare at the tiny price of paper.
Written in black ink it says:
Los Angeles, Northwest.
Maybe that doesn't mean anything to most people, but to me, I hone in exactly where it says, because no one knows this city better than I do.
"Shield..." The voice plays again in my mind, achingly harsh yet familiar.
"Freeze." The voice plays again in my mind, achingly harsh yet familiar.
And then my body takes control and is in motion before I can think. I'm in action, I'm not going down without a fight, again.