The sierra, once untarnished and home to creatures big and small, was now coated in ashy sludge birthed by the blackened ruins of that monolith built into the Rocky Mountains. An artificial stain on an otherwise scenic landscape, one which no life, not mountain grass nor vole, hawk or elk, bee or man would dare step foot in.
And yet, a group of figures stood amongst the dark rubble, waiting. Scraping metal echoed with each small movement they made; shifting weight, switching a hold on a weapon they carried, surveying the mountains for any sign of movement. Besides the occasional metallic scraping, a light buzz of electricity, not unlike a brewing storm, hung heavy in the air. Jittery, chuffing motors were left to sing off key harmonies in the decrepit charcoal for minutes spanning into hours.
Then, the elevator shaft that sat in the middle of the burnt floor, began to rattle. The sound was long, deep and echoing. Growing louder and louder with each passing moment, drawing to it the glowing blue sights of the crowd.
Louder, and louder, until finally a lift rose to the surface like a specter from a grave. Inside stood three of those strange men, and when they stepped off the rusted grate, their shoes sent dark clouds of ash into the stagnant air along with a heavy clung. The crowd closed in and stood at attention as the largest of their ranks broke through, towering above the rest. In its giant bolted hands sat a screen. And in that screen, once the static faded and warped into a detectable signal, sat a man, glaring in haughty expectation.
"Well, is there anything left?" The man demanded to know, his voice drawn and sour like old oil. One of the three who rose from the underground stepped forwards, jittering far less than the others.
"There were no surviving records found," it answered, a tangled mess of poor radio frequency. The man on the screen frowned as static engulfed him momentarily.
"And the Imimia Strain? Samples of Subject 6Y?"
"All probes for untampered biomaterials came back negative. The only remains found were thoroughly incinerated."
"...Thorough indeed," the man muttered, leaning back in his chair. A tense silence fell, but only felt by the one person not present. The rest chuffed softly, waiting in the cold and crackling ash. The man then sat straighter in his fine leather chair.
"O-338." A shadow moved into the ranks, the other quivering figure parted to make a path. The newcomer was slimmer than the rest, darker in color and in presence. Rather than a weapon, a strange device was resting in its hands, one whirling with recording tape. It stepped before the giant and its screen before standing completely still, waiting and listening.
"What have your unit's scanners picked up?" The man demanded to know. The white glow of the shadow's eyes grew brighter as the sound of scratched recording filled the space.
"Subject 6Y's biomaterial detected within approximately 34-"
"The states!" The man shouted, smashing his slender fist against his leather chair's armrest. "The cities! Zip codes! I want the exact locations! Time is of the essence!" The shadow fell silent. Then, the whirling began again. Wind, the airy hum of static and chuffing motors, and the spinning tape was soon joined by the rhythmic drumming of fingers against fine, expensive furniture. The longer time went by without a word, the louder the drumming grew until finally the man threw ups his hands in frustration.
"This is taking too long," he snarled, "Units 03, 07, and 019, return to the carrier and make sure no part of you is left behind. Unit 023, destroy what remains here and burn whatever can be burned. I will not allow-"
"Subject 6Y's biomaterial detected frequently in the South West of The United States of America, " The shadow spoke, voice unchanging and uncaring towards its interruption. "Impaired biomaterial detected in Ravalli County, Montana. Impaired biomaterial detected in Caribou County, Idaho. Impaired biomaterial detected in Roosevelt County, New Mexico-"
"Which town in that county is the biomaterial most frequently detected in?" The man demanded to know, leaning forwards in his seat with a hungry gaze. The whirling spawned once more, though the man remained patient and silent, biding his time. Then, the shadow spoke up.
"Teufort, New Mexico."
Silence once more descended. All stood at attention and waited for the man to speak. When he did, there was a snide grin to his tone.
"So those two… fools have the Imimia Strain in their possessions. As if they hadn't already had everything handed to them on silver platters. Well, no doubt that they'll end up wasting it over their frivolous "war" like they have everything else." He leaned back into his chair and sighed. "No matter, I'll simply have to shift my plans to fit into more tight knit calculations. Of course, getting them both in one place will be the main challenge. Oh how I hate waiting for a chance to work in my favor. O-338, how frequently does Subject 6Y's biomaterial move locations?" The shadow's eyes glowed brighter than ever before, shining like two cold stars in a colder void.
"On average, Subject 6Y's biomaterial moves ten miles a day at the average speed of seven miles per hour with the highest recorded speed detected being thirteen miles per hour."
"What!?" The man exclaimed, sitting up straight. "How is that possible, the last known detection of Subject 6Y was three months ago? Unless it was somehow able to mutate the genomes in its very DNA to block out the magnetic tracking, its last detection meant that it was destroyed somehow."
"Readings of Subject 6Y's unmodified DNA are corrupted, they cannot be detected, " the shadow stated, earning the interest of the man in the screen, " scans taken are of the modified DNA that possess tracing of Subject 6Y's magnetic tracking genome."
"So it isn't Subject 6Y, but something different?"
"Scans read a mixture of foreign DNA and Subject 6Y's biomaterial."
"...But is that new DNA alive?" The man's wolfish stare was aimed solely at the shadowy figure.
"Affirmative."
A small ghost of a smile found itself on the weathered, loose skin of the man's face before he straightened up and wove his fingers together.
"Unit 023, incinerate this building, leave no scrap of paper or pencil around for it to be used against me. Unit 03 will assist in demolishing whatever parts cannot be burnt. All other units return to the carrier." With that, the screen died out into a black mirror. The figures wasted no time. As most formed lines to travel down the mountains, other figures, ones with long heads and large, sour smelling weapons, stepped up to the walls, whatever remained of them, and braced. Then, a line of hisses ignited into whips of fire, engulfing the already scorched walls with flame.
Somewhere far, far away, in a place of dark shadows and darker thoughts, the man sat, pondering. If what he was told is, in fact, the truth, then there was yet another aspect he would need to analyze, and control. Something as unpredictable and uncontrollable as Subject 6Y had been disastrous to his plans; revealing him to her , practically giving his years of research and hard work to his idiot brothers as a present. He ought to make sure that the Imimia Strain is annihilated when the chance presents itself, just so that no one has that power to use against him. If they begin to understand its workings, there's no question that they'll use it against its own creator.
Though, the man thought as he stood, idly rolling a gray pen under his fingers, that would be such a waste, wouldn't it? The Imimia Strain, if perfected, if controlled , the possibilities were endless.
Control was his greatest asset, his greatest tool to use against them. His adversaries couldn't control their allies, their goons, their tools to carry out their will. They relied on people. People with wants, needs, fears. And if those were tested, so too is their loyalty. And besides even that,
Their side was filled to the brim with morons! Chaotic, uncontrollable morons! Morons who couldn't read, couldn't think, could hardly breathe without someone reminding them.
Maybe that was why she kept them around. Morons like them are so easy to repurpose, to alter. But subhuman as they are, unfortunately they did have brains, even if their only function was to keep the body from shutting down. And unlike his creations, they have free will.
The man picked the pen up, twirling it around in his hands before clicking it repeatedly.
His main plan had to wait; Olivia could stand to learn some patience. The fact remains that Subject 6Y's remains were still too great a mystery to brush aside. So, what could he do? He stood there, pondering, before setting the pen back down and sitting back in his seat. Pressing a small black button on his polished oak desk, the wall sized screen flashed on.
"Units 03, 06, and 022," the slender shadows snapped at attention, their white eyes ever watching, "I have a new mission for you."
;)