In Name And Name Only
"Evening Frank. You don't call without cause. Should I be worried?"
Grace teased. Frank did not appreciate that, eyes glaring, face impassive stone. The doctor held up her hands.
"That'll be a yes." She sighed, sitting down in front of the screen. "Adam?"
Frank nodded.
"Delara isn't 'working out' for Adam. Stubborn, bull-headed, as usual."
Grace shook her head.
"I don't believe so." She sighed, regression again in bloom. "This is another red flag."
"'Red flag?'"
She recounted, mentally counting, listing off issues.
"The first? I got in touch with her, sending her Adam's files and asking for her input. I suggested if we worked together, it would be beneficial in terms of Adam's recovery. Delara never returned any of my emails."
The head of security blinked.
"Go on."
Grace drummed her fingers on her interactive pad, finding and sending an email to Frank.
"The second? This. Its from Adam, but he felt the need to encrypt it. He also sent it to my personal email. He shouldn't know that."
The black haired man rolled his eyes, deep crevasses in his head.
"Sarif's laptop was the last to be erased and shut down. He'll have used that to get your email."
Grace watched, fascination peaked watching long, slim fingers typing away quickly.
She barely finished putting down the pad before she received the same email she had sent, only, she could read it now.
"See? Stubborn."
Grace read it. She read it slowly. It consisted of word fuel, it gave life to worry within her.
Delara isn't who she says she is. Won't let me find out anything about her. She's hiding something, and I doubt its anything good.
I have contacted Sarif, and you.
Adam.
"He sent that over a week ago. I haven't heard anything from David, as of yet."
Frank looked concerned, it flashed in tired eyes.
"No one has. He has gone radio silent."
"Damn. I checked stocks. He's tanked, Sarif Industries is all but done. I can understand why he would want to get away from the press. Media attention is on him, many eyes, including Picus wanting a look. They are like vultures, they cannot leave a suffering man."
Frank's little smirk made her squint.
"Neither can you."
The squint was replaced with a head shake, eyes determined, fixed upon the tech.
"No, I can't. The world's eyes wish to be upon Adam too. Wouldn't be surprised if they attempt to find you too."
Frank let out a contented huff, linking his fingers.
"Never. I wouldn't let myself be found, Grace. You should know that."
Grace's gaze went back to her pad.
"Oh, I do," she smirked, attempting to hide it behind a hand, "'NuclearSnke' huh?" She lent forward. "Left out the a there, Francis."
The groan he let out threatened to have the doctor double over on the couch.
"I'll find Adam."
He dropped her attempt to change the subject faster than she could blink.
"He isn't as hard to track as he thinks. Neural implant and L.I.M.B clinic records will do it."
Grace's laughter ceased.
"Just because he has those, that does not mean you can track him anywhere. Can't he have some sort of privacy? After what he has been through, he should be allowed it. I understand that you care, Frank, and don't give me any of that. Don't insult me by telling me you 'hate him.' You bloody well don't." She grabbed the pad. "Can I email David without it being traced?"
Frank, taken aback by her outburst nodded, deciding not to hide his inner stress. It wormed its way onto his face, crinkling skin around his mouth and eyes.
"I can encrypt it."
Grace typed up a quick note to Sarif. She sent it to the tech.
"Why have you sent this to me?"
"I don't have David's email. His old one no longer exists. I'm willing to bet that you do. I won't ask you for it."
Black hair flopped over blue eyes, falling haphazardly from his hair tie.
"You just did."
"Oh yes. I just did."
A wide, cheeky smile took her.
Frank rolled his eyes.
"I didn't know sarcasm was in your vernacular."
She retorted.
"I didn't know vernacular was in your vernacular."
Frank hummed.
"'Mercenary status?'" He paused. "I thought Adam was joking. His past is coming back to haunt him."
That killed the doctor's good mood. Brows knitted.
"Adam is a mercenary? Well, he neglected to tell me that."
Black brows raised.
"Neglected to tell you that? When?"
"A month ago. He visited me, telling me he was going to Prague with Interpol." She smirked behind her mug. "We spoke about you."
Frank rolled his eyes, muttering.
"No wonder I felt my ears burning."
Grace chuckled, placing the mug on its coaster.
"No, Frank. That'll be the heating. Adam informed me you have it on a ridiculous setting. Trying to warm your cold heart, fingers and toes?"
She stretched.
"Anyway, it's eleven pm. I have been awake since five in the morning and I am struggling to keep my eyes open."
She stretched her legs and arms.
"No offence. It isn't you, it really is me."
Frank drinking from a large glass took her eyes.
"What on earth is that? Its neon green? Looks extremely terrible for your teeth and insides. Energy drink perchance?"
She coughed when he ignored her.
"Hey, Wendell, eyes up."
Frank glared, eyes fierce.
"Never call me that again."
Grace shrugged.
"See? We can get along. Not that hard to look at, am I?" She squinted. "Don't answer that. Did you eat yet?"
Another eye roll. She barely held back sputtering laughter, believing she heard the tech muttering obscenities under his breath.
"Mother? You came back? How honoured am I?" He deadpanned. "Not one iota."
The doctor felt pangs of guilt creep into her veins, blood feeling cold.
"Sorry." She sympathised. "Really," Frank chose to look up, she chose to give him a reassuring smile, "I'm sorry. I worry is all. Not trying to parent you, I simply don't want you dying in your computer chair, hands rigor mortis on the keys, eyes glazed from long periods of time staring at screens. I know," she waved him off, "I'm being silly. I really ought to be going to bed. Take care, Frank."
She went to hang up, receiving a quiet reply as she went to press 'end call'.
"I believe my adenosine triphosphate levels are of sufficient quality. Goodnight Grace."
A soft smile curled her mouth as she walked into her bathroom to get ready for bed.
Two months ago
Czech Republic, near Prague
19:17 pm
Clammy palms, fingers losing grip.
19:18 pm
Stomach lurching, bile roiling.
19:20 pm
He was about to throw up...
Adam shot up, almost sprinting into the train's toilet.
His hands shook, vision blurry, the mint green walls hazy all around him. Crumpling down as if he were made of paper, he braced himself on the floor, uncaring of the state of it. Shooting pains shot through his, arms? They didn't have pain receptors any more..
He was warned of this by Dr Marcovic, of 'phantom limb pain,' the name twisting his face with amusement. A floating limb causing pain? He hid a chuckle. Vera wasn't so amused. She told him he had no sign of implant rejection, and did not require Neuropozene. She told him what he needed to know, also letting slip that Saris had payed big bucks to pay for the latest Praxis kits, if he wanted them.
The last sentence made him squint, and it wasn't due to the lights in the examination room.
He didn't ask for any of these things inside him. He didn't get a choice, saving his life ended up a massacre.
More pain jolted him, causing a flashback. The level of agony brought him right back to being on the operating table, burning flesh filling his nostrils, limbs shaking upon what sounded like something sharp piercing them. They went through bone.
Saws? What the fuck?
He howled, tendons ripping, warm blood quickly freezing as it existed his veins.
Blacking out, he awoke to a sight he wished he could forget.
Gauze, cotton balls, splattered red, drips, needles buried in his neck and chest, defibrillator pads stuck to his chest, just in case he died. He couldn't think straight, brain scattered, puzzle pieces thrown about by errant, determined surgeons.
Only, Adam wanted the pieces back, then, he wished to die. Waves of red hot pain seared, and he needed to double over, roll onto his side, the fetal position and vomit until only bile came out.
He did vomit, but couldn't get it out. Unable to move, he vaguely heard cursing as a woman in scrubs scurried over, rolling him onto his side, his head above a grey bowl. The familiar taste of Magic Gnome and milk filled his throat, coming out of his nose too, the force starting a nosebleed. The woman swore again, grabbing more gauze, holding it under his nose, dabbing gently, pinching the bridge with her other hand.
Adam stared at her, the only thing he gave her a look of dejection, defeat. The look made her feel sick herself. She had done what she was payed to do, despite how inhuman it was.
Despite how morally despicable it was. She was payed for this, her job was to save people's life, no matter what.
What was a few million credits after creating a weapon?
Sarif would be pleased with the result, after the room and Adam's stable but prone form were cleaned up.
The cleanup crew would be busy this day...
Adam's head felt heavy, sweat beaded, cold, the nausea intensifying. He swore, unable to throw up. He could shove a finger in there, quickly recalling the floor and its abject appearance.
On the fucking floor of a fucking train, after fucking Dubai...
Desert Jewel Resort, bodies surrounding him, Mac's voice, gruff, stressed, bellowing in his ear, sulphur from recently exchanged gunfire mixed with sand in the air, its grit harsh in both eyes and mouth. God, he wished he didn't know that smell.
It just had to go to shit, didn't it?
Even simple missions were not as simple as they seemed anymore...
He groaned, Sentinel RX system kicking in, easing the shaking. For once, he appreciated its purpose. It processed the urge to puke, taking it away. This, in turn cooled him down. Adam stretched, standing up after a bit. When did he last stop and focus on himself? Focus on his breathing, without relying on his Redbreathers?
Simply stop what he was doing, tune out background noise, listen only to the sound of his breathing, looking at his chest as it rose and fell? The steady beatings of his heart as it slowed down, earlier panic releasing its hold? Look at his surroundings, studying the little things, graffiti in varying languages, the differing feeling of objects when he touched them? He could distinguish quite a few textures, and name them with his eyes closed, looking away so he couldn't cheat, using his 'enhancements'. Cool metal of taps, grooves in the plastic surrounding the sink, ice cold glass of the mirror...
Emerald's widened. He breathed through his nose, sifting out rage, filtering out anguish at the man that looked back at him. He closed his eyes, picturing Adam, human Adam. Hazy blue eyes, grey flecks, forehead without shapes cut into it, no nodules under his collarbone, only smooth skin, caressed by the suns rays a tad, a few hairs here and there. Hands, flesh and blood, feeling, wanting to take a hold of something, be it an apple, a pen, a gun.
Megan's hand...
He coughed. Focusing on himself felt selfish, and, by all intents and purposes, it was. Sighing, the man decided he'd have to leave the toilet at some point, lest he retreat into the terrible territory of his mind.
All that would do is paralyse him and he could ill afford mistakes.
He used paper towels to dry his forehead, cold water to awaken him, and give him a quick boost. According to his retinal aug, he would be arrive in Prague in sixteen minutes. That gave him sixteen minutes to collect himself.
Sixteen minutes to appear as if he didn't want to burst out crying.
Sixteen minutes to control his breathing, look less like he hadn't slept in days (he hadn't) and concentrate on what lay ahead.
Nothing was ever easy anymore, Adam knew he severely underestimated 'easy.'
Dedicated to a dear friend and reader, who recently began reading this, has drawn art for it, given me great feedback and genuinely appreciates and loves all the facets of the DE universe and its characters. Here's to you, Justina!