THE FIRST

Kipjo K. Ewers

Copyright © 2013 Kipjo K. Ewers

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 0615836690

ISBN-13: 978-0615836690

Copyright © 2013 Kipjo K. Ewers

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2013 Kipjo K. Ewers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

ISBN-13: 978-0615836690

ASIN: B00ES2GX6G

Novel edited by Carol Thompson of "Readers' Favorite"

For Sophia…

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank God Himself for giving me the gift of words and blessing me with the breath of life and longevity to make sure it did not go to waste.

I would like to acknowledge the two women who inspired this book.

First, my mom, Kimba Ewers, who held down a house of four men and gave a kid like me everything he could ever want. I can say I was born to the greatest mom ever. Thank you for loving me.

Last but never least is my wife, Jacquelin Franklin-Ewers. You are the epitome of “Behind every good man is a great woman.” Thank you for giving me the privilege to share my life with yours.

Finally, I’d like to acknowledge all of the mothers, daughters, sisters, nieces, aunts, grandmothers, and women of the world. God may have made Eve from Adam’s ribs, but women have proven they are also the backbone of the family, and of us men. Thank you for holding us down.

CHAPTER 1

Monday 11:30 PM, Mountain View Unit in Gatesville, Texas:

Prisoner 28301:014 stared at her prison door as if she were watching a movie. She barely touched her meal of medium rare steak, mashed potatoes with chives, and macaroni on the side. Her dessert, which she mostly ate, was a double chocolate banana fudge sundae with sprinkles on top. Quietly she sat holding a thick leather Bible in her small hands. As she waited, the sound of heavy boots and chains grew closer. She stirred not an inch through the clicking and clanging of the cell door opening as a shadow cast over her.

“Dennison, it’s time,” a rough voice announced.

In less than two minutes her arms, waist, and legs were in restraints. After confirming the security of her shackles, the female correctional officer of the group handed her back her Bible. She proceeded to pull out several envelopes from it, handing them to the female C.O.

“Could you please make sure these get mailed? They have stamps and addresses on them,” Dennison requested.

The female correctional officer took them with a silent nod.

Dennison took one final deep breath as she gazed out into the hallway of the prison.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she exhaled.

Monday 11:35 PM

She walked the halls of cellblock D clutching the black leather Bible tightly as if to crush it while flanked by two large male correctional officers from behind and the female correctional officer in front. The sound of her chains clanking like Marley’s ghost, along with the heavy boots and gear of the officers, were the loudest thing on the block that night. As she walked, she could feel the eyes on her. She could hear the sniffles and the whispers; she started to count her steps in her mind. The procession came to a stop at thirty paces as she reached her first destination.

The correctional officer to her left turned her.

“Five minutes,” he sternly reminded her.

“Thank you,” she gratefully nodded.

Quickly she shuffled over to the bars of cell 28.

A young woman barely in her twenties with raven- colored hair in cornrows trembled with head bent as she gripped the bars sobbing. Resting the Bible between the bars, Dennison placed her hands on top of the young woman’s hands as best she could despite the hindrance by the bars and her restraints.

She leaned in close, kissing her on the top of her head, causing the young woman to whimper.

“No more tears now,” she whispered to her, “two more weeks and you can see your babies, and God help you if you ever come back here… because I’ll be watching. Car boosting days are over… you hear me?”

Her words only made her cry harder as the young woman fought to hold her hands through the bars. As Dennison tried her best to comfort and silence her tears, the young woman’s cellmate, a woman two shades darker than Dennison with longer dreads than hers, walked up to the bars standing next to her. She stood a thick, yet fit, four inches over Dennison. Prison had chiseled her face and demeanor, but it could not take away the motherly eyes she looked at her with.

She playfully nudged the young woman in mourning from behind.

“Come now; soldier up,” the older woman softly ordered her, “Our girl’s going home; she got too much on her mind than to deal with your tired ass and the water works.”

She placed a gentle hand on the sobbing young woman’s back, then placed her other hand on top of Dennison’s hand.

“I shall miss our talks with one another,” the older woman uttered in her best Tom Cruise impersonation.

It was enough to make Dennison burst into laughter.

“I shall too,” she responded in her best Ken Watanabe voice, “they were just… perfect…”

The two women laughed over the young woman’s whimpering sobs.

The older woman finally choked up. She quickly swatted away her tears so they would not flow.

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracked, “I know you don’t need this shit now.”

“It’s okay, happy tears,” Dennison said with a trembling smile fighting back her own tears. “Remember, I’m going home…”

“Yeah, you are,” her elder tried to match her painful smile, “you’re going home…”

“I’m going home,” she said again attempting to use a more convincing voice.

It did not work as her body violently began to tremble, which made the older woman hold her hand tighter.

“Dennison, two minutes,” the correctional officer said a bit forcefully, reminding her that her timed request was almost up.

She turned nodding and quickly took the Bible she had handing it to the older woman.

“This belonged to my mother,” she got to the point, “she’s not going to need it back. She’s got like a ton of them. Something to remember me by, I left you both a little goodbye note on the inside, please read it.”

“Dennison…” warned the correctional officer again.

Dennison nodded as she tried to pull her hand away, but the younger woman still clutching her left hand refused to let go.

Her elder stepped in to pry her off of Dennison before the guards did.

“Come on, Bishop,” she gently coaxed, “you got to let her go. You got to let her go, honey.”

“No! No! It’s not right!” hollered Bishop holding on for dear life, “No! No! No!”

With bitter reluctance, the young woman, forced by her older inmate, broke her grip. Collapsing to her knees, she curled herself into a ball, and emitted a gut-wrenching howl as if she was dying. Dennison gave a final wave as she shuffled off falling back into line and led off by the guards.

The silver-haired woman quivered as she finally allowed her tears to fall.

“An innocent woman right there!” she gripped the bars screaming. “God help you all! God help you all!”

11:50 PM

She walked through the door held open for her by one of the officers. As her eyes winced while adjusting to the harshness of the medical lights above, she finally got a glimpse of the table.

“Oh dear God…” she whimpered as her legs went out from underneath her.

Almost everyone went down after seeing the table; it was the final gut-check etching the cold, hard realization that what was happening was real. The male officers, on instinct, caught her as she went down; it was the one and only time they showed compassion as they allowed her to compose herself before helping her back up to her feet.

As they led her to the table she started to chant her mantra, “I’m going home… I’m going home… I’m going home…”

She kept repeating the same words to herself as they removed her shackles for the last time. They allowed her to remove her shoes and socks before positioning her on the table and strapping her down. She liked being barefoot and wanted to be so one final time; stretching her toes and the chant helped to keep her from breaking down into tears, but it could not stop the uncontrollable shivering her body was going through. Finally, the lab technician walked over with the needle, she closed her eyes as he found her vein and stuck it in her arm; she barely felt it going in as he checked it before taping it down to her arm. Silent tears poured from her eyes, blurring her vision as she shook her head. But this was not a bad dream. She was not going to wake up.

With the final checks made, the Warden stepped in to begin the proceedings.

“The time is now 11:55 PM as we prepare to proceed with the execution of Prisoner 28301:014, Sophia Dennison, by the state of Texas,” he began to announce, “by lethal injection for the crime of capital murder. At this time the condemned will be allowed to say a few words.”

She drew a quivering breath as she looked at the double mirror hiding from her the witnesses sitting on the other side listening to her final words, and who would watch her draw her last breath.

“I… stand here before you… declaring my innocence,” she began to find her words, “As I did four years ago… I now go to my Maker in peace… knowing despite all my other sins… which I have owned, the one sin that I am truly clean of is the one I am condemned to die here… for… tonight…”

Her body shook violently while her tears heavily rolled. “I… did not… murder my husband,” she fought to get out her final words, “And I forgive you all… for what you’re about to do… to me…”

Timidly she nodded her head giving the cue for the lab technician to flick the switch lowering the table to a horizontal position; her vision became blurrier as her tears now flowed like a waterfall. Despite being nearly blind, she could make out the three clear canisters lined one after another… all she focused on… was the one that would put her to sleep.

“I’m going home… I’m going home,” Sophia softly sang, “I’m going home… I’m going home…”

Midnight:

The warden gave the nod, as executioner pushed the button pumping the sedative within the first cylinder into the tube heading for her arm, a final light smile appeared on her face as her eyes began to flutter.

“I’m going home,” she continued to sing to the end; “I’m going… home… I’m going…”

The machine then pumped the fluid from the second cylinder.

It was now Tuesday 12:01 PM…

CHAPTER 2

Tuesday 6:30 AM, Mountain View Unit, Gatesville, Texas:

SAC (Special Agent in Charge) Mark Armitage had seen it all; his ten years in the army and his almost fifteen year career in the FBI had exposed him to terrorist cells that threaten national security, drug cartels, missing and exploited children, things that would leave lesser people with eternal nightmares. Nothing surprised him these days, especially the night he came home to an empty house and divorce papers on the bed his wife and him used to share. Neither did the 2:30 AM call from his executive assistant director to get on the first plane from Washington down to Gatesville ASAP. By right, he should have his job, but Armitage chose to remain a field agent. He knew a desk job would see him one night with his service weapon in his mouth, blowing his brains out the back of his skull. In the field meant he was in the shit, which meant his mind was preoccupied with other things besides ending his own existence.

He slowly drove his rental car up to the metal door entrance of the Mountain View Unit, the section of the Gatesville women’s prison created solely for prisoners on death row. The usual media whores were out in full force, taking pictures, video footage, and waving their microphones while screaming questions, expecting answers that they had no business getting. This was usually a normal scene for him except for the National Guard keeping the inquisitive media and residents at bay instead of the local police or even state troopers.

A Private First Class in full gear holding his M16A2 walked up to the window of his rental car giving Mark the cue to flash his badge and credentials.

The Private nodded and radioed to open the doors blocking the outside world to the prison letting him in; it was then that Armitage realized the need for the extra firepower.

Inside the Mountain View Unit was a war zone. There was a huge gaping hole in the side of the main building, and a massive hole in the side of the forty-foot wall, which enclosed the facility. A large personnel vehicle now blocked the hole keeping residents and nosey reporters from getting in. There was also an obliterated watchtower, and two destroyed vehicles, one smoking and one still on fire covered in debris from the watchtower partially brought down. The local fire department continued to put the hose to it to kill the flames from one of their trucks. Littering the inside of the compound were local police, state troopers, special agents, correctional officers, and the National Guard. Paramedics were also on site attending to the wounded comprising of both correctional officers and local police.

Mark had to admit, rioting was a common thing that could break out in regular prisons both male and female; but this was a battlefield; something he had never seen in his career.

As he parked and stepped out of his rental looking around, a familiar face amidst the chaos fueled his sentiment with just a look as he walked up to him.

“Ain’t never seen no shit like this in my life, Mark,” Dustin greeted his partner.

“What the hell happened here?” Mark asked his oldest friend as he looked at the damage all around him.

“Prison break,” Dustin began filling him in, “One dead C.O., several guards and police badly injured.”

“Only one dead?” Mark scanned the yard again surprised that the amount of damage around him only caused one fatality.

“Yeah, what’s left of the poor bastard on top of the smashed squad car over there,” Dustin pointed to the caved-in Impala with the Gatesville police colors smoking and covered with debris from the massive hole made in the front of the building from the eighth floor.

The only thing of the dead seen from Armitage and Mercer’s distant view was a leg as forensics took pictures of the scene before the paramedics removed the body.

“How many broke out?” Mark asked as he walked with Dustin to the prison.

“One,” Dustin dryly answered his partner.

“Just one,” Mark asked stunned, “so what are we looking at, organized gang or a terrorist cell?”

“No one broke in to break her out,” Dustin nervously returned. “She broke out all by herself.”

Armitage gave Mercer the look that it was too early in the morning for jokes; Dustin returned the look meaning that this time he was not yanking his chain.

“Dustin, you’re telling me one inmate did all this damage?” Mark looked around is disbelief.

“Just walk with me,” Dustin motioned not prepared to explain to him fully what happened yet.

Armitage followed Mercer into the facility where they went through security and saw some of the injured who were brought down from the eighth floor; some were talking to field agents and accounting their version of what they’d seen, while others just sat there with blank expressions on their face unable to speak much less comprehend what they saw.

Armitage continued to follow Mercer in as they took the elevator heading for the video surveillance room on the second floor.

“At 12 A.M., now escape convict Sophia Dennison was scheduled for execution by lethal injection.” Dustin began to rundown the events of six- and-a-half hours ago.

“What was she in for?” asked Mark.

“Four years ago she murdered her husband, Lieutenant Robert Matheson, a former decorated Iraq War Marine Vet in cold blood, stabbed the poor bastard like forty-one times in their bed. Bitch was found two states away in an airport hotel in Oklahoma with a one way flight to Brazil,” he began to explain.

“Why’d she do it?” he asked.

The motive did not mean anything to him. Mark wanted info to understand the mind state of the fugitive he would be hunting.

“Two- point-five-million dollar trust fund,” Dustin responded.

“Say what?” Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “You mean insurance…”

“No trust fund,” he clarified. “Kid got it when he completed boot camp. Father is a well-known Four Star General who comes from old money, and I mean after the Civil War days money. He’s also got a lot of connections in both the military and private sector. Did very well for himself in both, poor kid was so trusting he dumped all the money into their joint savings and checking accounts, red flags went up when it was all transferred into her personal account within the same bank that she got a month prior. She transferred the money the same night she killed him. They had actual footage of her withdrawing some of the money in cash from an ATM, driving through a toll heading to Oklahoma and checking into a hotel near the airport there.”

Mark and Dustin got off on the second floor of the building walking to the surveillance room; he rushed to get there with Mark following.

“Was he crippled or something?” Mark asked.

“Took shrapnel to the chest from an I.E.D, badly burned left arm, and lost sight in his right eye… other than that pretty healthy,” Dustin responded.

“So how did she overpower a Marine?” a now perplexed Mark asked. “She kill him in his sleep?”

“Worse,” Dustin answered with a face of disgust, “she injected him with a serious paralyzing neurotoxin. Numbs everything except for nervous system… poor bastard felt everything… and get this… she did it after she banged him.”

“How did she get a hold of…” Mark began with his next question.

“She’s a licensed neurosurgeon, graduated with a full scholarship to Texas Southwestern,” Dustin answered his unfinished question, while rushing to get to the surveillance room. “She did her residency at Memorial Hermann till graduation and got a position there. Records show she lifted it from their research facility.”

“Okay, so how did she escape before her execution?” Mark threw out the driving question.

Dustin uneasily hesitated again before he answered. “She didn’t escape,” he fumbled with his words, “she was executed.”

His answer stopped Mark dead in his tracks.

“Wait! What? What the hell you mean she was executed?” he held his hands up in frustration. “Then what the f…”

Dustin grabbed his arm ushering him to keep moving. “Just walk with me man,” he growled.

“Dustin, so help me if you don’t start making some damn sense,” was what Armitage thought as he snatched his arm away and continued to follow him into the security observation room; one of the correctional officers in the room tensely monitored the series of screens as they walked in.

“At twelve midnight, Sophia Dennison was executed,” Dustin finally began his explanation, “she was pronounced officially dead by the local county coroner at 12:05 PM… then this happened…”

Armitage watched the video feed at 12:07 PM, one of the officers present within the room walked over to remove the thick leather restraints from a now deceased Sophia Dennison. Out of nowhere, the pronounced dead arched her back gasping for air almost scaring the life from the six-foot-two-inch correctional officer who reeled back in fright. As the pastor in the room fainted, everyone else within the room and on the other side of the observation window began freaking out at the terrifyingly miraculous resurrection.

Mark watched in disbelief as the five-foot-six, one hundred ten pound woman in a hyper-hysterical state fought to sit up ripping both her six-inch thick arm restraints from the very table itself.

“Get me out! Get me out! Get me out! Get me out! Get me out!” were the first three words she began to rant.

Armitage would have thought it a fluke, a rush of adrenaline, if his still 20/20 vision did not show the same woman snapping the restraints from her chest and waist right from the table itself sending pieces of metal attaching the restraints to it flying. As she sat up, a correctional officer overcoming his shock and fear rushed over to restrain her. With a swipe of her arm, she swatted a man who had at least one hundred fifty pounds on her clear across the room slamming him violently into the wall behind him. He dropped face first onto the ground like slab of beef.

After effortlessly popping the last two restraints from her legs, Dennison rolled off the table dropping to her knees.

“I remember! I remember! I remember! I remember!” she sniveling repeated. “I remember! I remember! I remember! I remember!”

“Dennison! St... stay down!” ordered a frightened second male Correctional Officer.

She ignored his order as she fought to her feet stumbling and falling against the glass partition that separated her from the audience who had watched her execution on the other side.

“I remember! I remember!” she continued to babble. “I remember! I remember! I remember!”

They scattered in terror and disbelief as a second officer lunged to tackle her to the floor. Much to his own shock and dismay Dennison’s apparent adrenaline rush allowed her to stop him in his tracks; in the struggle she managed to grab him by the front of his shirt lifting him off his feet.

“No!” she screamed.

Sophia threw him backwards as if tossing a stuffed teddy bear. His near bone-crushing blow against the wall behind him was anything but that of a stuffed bear tossed. He too dropped face first hitting the concrete floor with a sickening thud, while pieces of the wall crumbled to the floor from the impact.

She stood there clutching her skull; she appeared to be in excruciating pain shaking like a leaf. In frustration, she screamed pounding on the reinforced observation glass cracking it.

“I… got… I got… to get… out,” she switched her blathering chant.

She hit the glass again with a heavier shot giving it a large shatter pattern. It looked as if an aluminum bat hit it; one more shot would send glass raining everywhere. On the other side of the glass people screamed, backing up, terrified at what they were witnessing. As a disoriented Dennison looked to deliver another blow four guards swarmed on her for a dog pile attempt… it went horribly wrong.

Armitage beside himself now witnessed as one woman tossed around highly trained correctional officers like rag dolls. There was no finesse to what she was doing; making it obvious that she was not a trained combatant, but her strength apparently was beyond what the four guards could handle combined.

With one swipe of her hand she accidentally backhanded a male guard into a tailspin; in an attempt to break free, she threw an elbow into another’s chest.

The shot lifted him off his feet and folded him in half as he hit the floor back first; he rolled to his side gasping for air as if she broke his sternum; reports would later show that she actually shattered it. The female guard in the mix hung desperately onto one her legs in a failed attempt to bring her down. Dennison’s movements thrashed her around like an ankle biter holding onto a mop. The last standing male guard having enough grabbed his baton and let loose a skull crushing shot to her skull. It staggered her and drew blood, but she remained standing as he stood taken aback that his metal baton was now bent in half.

“What the f…” said the stunned male officer.

Before he could finish his sentence, a bloodied Sophia with a possible fractured skull and severe concussion, swung for the hills hitting him dead in the chest. The force of her punch sent him flying through the shattered glass into the observation room hitting a couple of witnesses knocking them down like dominos.

She was in daze as she wiped the blood off her face, while additional yelling and screaming now filled the lethal injection room; realizing the window was broken, she advanced to freedom, but felt a weight on her right leg. It was the female officer still holding onto her.

“Let… me go… please… let me go…” a disoriented Sophia pleaded.

“I can’t do that Sophia…” a terrified female correctional officer bound by duty returned.

Sophia reached down grabbing her by the front of her shirt lifting her from the ground into the air with one arm.

The officer screamed and held onto Sophia’s arm for dear life.

“Please, Sophia,” she pleaded with her, “you know I got kids… please…”

“I… I’m not…” Sophia tried to reassure her.

Before she could calm down the officer and explain to her that she only wanted her to let her go, a voice called out, “Dennison!”

BLAM! was all that rang out as she staggered back a bit releasing the officer who scurried away for cover. She looked down to see the front of her green prison scrubs become red. As she tried to advance forward, gunfire erupted into the lethal injection room. Armitage watched in disgust as bullet after bullet tore into the young woman’s body via panic fire. It took twenty shots to bring her down to her knees, and five more to drop her, one hitting her skull, which snapped her neck back as she crashed onto the now bloody floor lifeless once again.

It should have been over, but Armitage remembered what Mercer said. Dustin watched the godfather to his children turn to him with a visage he had never seen on him before, one of fear.

“You said… she escaped,” Mark uttered with unsettling nervousness.

Dustin turned again to the correctional officer.

“Fast forward the tape,” he ordered.

The officer, sweating bullets, turned the dial making the video fast forward in double time mode. The guards who did the shooting came in to check if she was actually dead while securing the room. Additional guards now came in along with the Warden himself. The witnesses on the other side tried to move closer to look as well, but the officers moved them back and then ushered them out of the room all together to safety. County and state police now appeared along with local detectives. The on-site forensics doctor walked in to inspect and pronounce her definitely dead for a second time. Additional forensics now came into view taking pictures. Armitage’s eyes widen as the feed moving at fast forward speed revealed something happening underneath everyone’s noses within the room.

Armitage shuddered as he tried to believe what he was seeing.

“Is… is she growing?” he stammered.

“Now I know I’m not still drunk,” said Dustin, reaffirming his suspicion.

The two agents and the C.O. watched in disbelief as the “corpse” in the room went through a serious growth spurt; the video feed showed that about two hours and fifteen minutes had gone by.

“Stop right there… move in… now play it,” Dustin commanded the officer. “Mark, tell me what do you see.”

As the footage began to play with a closer shot at Dennison’s lifeless face, Armitage realized what his friend wanted him to see. Through the thick, partially-dried blood on her forehead, the bullet wound that pierced her skull was no longer there. Five more minutes had passed as a hand reached over to close her eyelids in preparation of placing her in a body bag. A scene out of a horror movie ensued as the dead came back to life again emitting an inhuman blood-curdling scream that took ten years off Armitage’s life just standing there.

“Jesus…” Mark yelled while jumping backwards.

He was visibly shaken as if he had seen a demon.

“You wish,” Dustin responded also shaken despite this being the second time he had seen the footage.

Armitage watched as the dead rose back to her feet for a second time. Screaming once again filled the room mostly from grown men. Those who had a gun did not ask questions as they drew on her ordering her to get down and surrender. The prison scrub pants she wore looked like knee high shorts confirming that she definitely went through a growth spurt while “dead.” Her first barefooted step sounded like a diesel hammer smashing into the concrete floor. Someone freaked out in the herd of officers and opened fire without order. Panic fire erupted within the room again hitting her from all directions; instinctively she covered up as smoke from gunfire fill the room.

The shooting was more vicious than before, but something was evidently wrong. Ricocheting bullets hit two officers, one in the arm, and the other in the leg.

“Cease fire! Cease fucking fire!” someone screamed through all of the mayhem.

Majority of the gunfire ended because of empty ammo.

The surveillance room filled with the audio sound of cursing and the relock and loading of weapons.

Time felt as if it stood still; Mark leaned in attempting to see through all the smoke and chaos. At that moment, a black and green blur came from out of the smoke emitting the same high-pitched inhuman scream.

The sound of seasoned guards and officers screaming, coupled with the sound of soft bodies hitting something extremely hard, rang from the speakers. It was as if an F-1 tank was rolling through the halls. The gunfire erupted again but grew less and less as the echoing of destruction increased from what the audio picked up.

A shaken Armitage bore witness on the other screen as something extremely fast and powerful had smashed through concrete walls and torn open steel doors on its way to freedom.

Mark gave a wave to shut it off as additional gunfire and yelling came into play; he now got the picture of what went down. He leaned up against the console of the observation room rubbing his jaw trying to process what he just saw.

“This can’t be happening… right?” as he finally looked at Dustin.

“Look at this poor bastard, Mark,” he gestured to the equally unnerved correctional officer running the surveillance system. “He was here when it was happening, and he’s seen the footage… how many times have you see it?”

“Four… four times,” the correctional officer held up four shaking fingers.

“Four times,” Dustin threw up his own four fingers. “I’d be the first guy to call bullshit on this, but as you can see him and several other people who were in the middle of it upstairs just saw super bitch bust out of prison!”

Mark lowered his head and dug deep to find his buried nerve.

“Who was the C.O. she killed?” he asked switching the topic for a minute.

“Dennis Buck Wilford,” Dustin rattled off. “Sixteen year career, ten between here and the Gatesville Women’s Prison, father of two… husband; you don’t want to see that footage… shit was brutal. Bitch singled him out and put him through three concrete walls including the one she smashed through to break out. He lost one of his arms during the second impact and is now a puddle of goo on top of the obliterated cop car you saw outside.”

Mark rubbed his chin one more time. He got up walking out of the room to clear his head and get back into the game as his partner followed.

“I want to know who she is,” Mark ordered. “Every detail… most importantly any medical records… if you can find out when she got her first period I want that too.”

He snapped his fingers thinking, going down the standard list of protocol and field training gained over the years.

“I want to know who came in to see her during her time here,” he continued, “conjugal visits if she had any; and anything in her prison cell is ours. Anyone she spoke to and made friends with here I want to interview. Call brass and put her on the terrorist watch list right underneath Bin Laden… with a precaution not to engage. We need to know who or what the hell we’re dealing with first. Family and friends, where is she originally from?”

“Mount Vernon, New York… small town outside of the Bronx… Parents are still alive; father is from Belize, mother is from Jamaica… she’s a first generation born US citizen of three children, eldest to a brother and a younger sister,” Dustin recited the information on his notepad that he pulled from his jacket.

He had a skill of gathering vital Intel at the drop of dime.

“So she met her husband here in Texas?” Mark rattled off another question.

“Correct, late husband is from Houston, they went to the same college; they got married and resided there,” confirmed Dustin.

Mark did not need Google or an FBI database with the big man at his side.

Mark then began to set up his ability to strategize, ignoring the fact that he was dealing with an individual that could possibly be on a superhuman level.

“So she’s either heading back to Houston or going to New York,” he speculated. “Either way find out where else she traveled to… vacation… business… whatever. Did anyone see her bust through that wall last night from the outside?”

“You mean like the NCADP?” Dustin scoffed. “Bro, this is a red state. A local news team was in the front doing a story about her execution, no one saw anything, nor did they get any footage. We checked.”

Mark nodded continuing his course of action.

“Then we need to keep this contained inside here,” he commanded. “Speak to the Warden and the Chief of Police, tell them to convey to their people that no one is to talk to anyone about what went down here, failure to comply means being charged with obstructing a federal investigation. Last thing we need is mass hysteria in the streets. What are the chemicals they used to administer the execution again?”

Dustin quickly searched his mini notepad running through the notes he took earlier.

“Usual stuff,” he squinted to read his own writing, “Sodium thiopental used to induce unconsciousness, pancuronium bromide for paralysis and respiratory arrest, and potassium chloride to stop the heart.”

“Chemical residue to the lab,” Mark ordered. “I want to confirm if that’s what they really are; on top of what she ate for her last meal.”

“You might want to speak to this guy over here,” Dustin motioned to another agent.

The agent brought forth one of the watchtower guards stationed earlier that morning.

“This is Sergeant Michael Wexler,” Dustin introduced, “a guard and tower watchman #2 of the four towers, also a former Army Ranger and Sniper.”

“Army… infantry,” Mark addressed a fellow military man. “What can you tell me that I don’t already know?”

Sergeant Wexler responded as a man still military forged despite not wearing the colors.

“After the escaped inmate exited the building from the eighth floor of the facility destroying the squad car she crashed onto on the way down with Office Wilford killing him,” he began his rundown. “She hit the quad running. I tracked and hit the target with an Armor Piercing M2 round to the back of her skull.”

“What are you doing with that type of round in this facility?” an inquisitive Mark asked.

“Being prepared for anything, sir,” responded Sergeant Wexler with a true soldier’s only answer.

“Continue,” Mark nodded.

“She went down hard,” Sergeant Wexler continued with his assessment, “but was up again in less than a minute. I believe the round barely pierced her skull. I then proceeded to fire a total of eight rounds after that hitting the target in different parts of her skull, neck, and chest and that was in addition to the other rounds fired from the other three tower guards. Each round after the first initial one was ineffective right up until she threw a patrol car at me and I had to bail from my nest.”

Mark held his hand up stopping him, while attempting to wrap his brain around what the sergeant just said.

“She threw… a car… at you?” he slowly asked.

“Yes sir,” Sergeant Wexler responded without hesitation. “The smashed up Charger outside buried by part of the tower. I believe it was on instinct, since it was the closest thing to her at the time, the shot also appeared to be lucky; she seemed disoriented all the way till she smashed through the courtyard wall.”

Mark began to wonder if Sergeant Wexler was superhuman.

“You don’t seem the least bit shaken,” he raised an eyebrow.

“During my tours I’ve seen a lot of things sir,” Sergeant Wexler smirked, “nothing much shakes me.”

Mark gave a slight smirk himself, nodding again out of respect.

“Stick around,” he instructed him. “May have some more questions for you… is that a helicopter I hear?”

Armitage looked at Mercer who shrugged his shoulders. They walked to one of the windows to see a jet black twin engine Sikorsky private helicopter descend into the court yard of the battle ridden Mountain View Unit.

“Who the hell?” Mark asked with an irritated twisted look on his face.

He was not ready for any more surprises.

Dustin wore a matching visage of irritation.

“Damn if I know…” he shrugged.

The helicopter landed sending dust and fresh smoke from an ousted fire everywhere. After winding down, the door opened and the automatic steps folded down. A tall well-built man in a black crisp tailored suit sporting horn rim glasses and a buzz cut stepped out first.

He waited as a medium built clean-shaven man with a two hundred dollar haircut and a ten thousand dollar light gray suit stepped out looking around at the mayhem as officers, soldiers, and agents looked back at him in bewilderment.

Additional suits all in black, stepped out standing behind him. The last to exit the helicopter was a near dwarf-like elderly man who had a Santa Claus disposition to him sporting a clear baldhead, long white beard, and bifocals. His suit looked cheaper than Armitage’s and reminiscent of the 1950s. Following him were three people in lab coats carrying silver cases.

“Who is that?” Dustin sneered like a wolf defending his territory for an invading pack.

“Don’t know,” Mark began to grind his teeth, “but I smell asshole…”

Armitage watched as the mystery man looked up in his direction, brandishing what appeared to be an obnoxious smile. He proceeded to walk with his team following into the prison.

Not liking the look he gave him, Mark motioned to his partner.

“Five bucks says where he’s headed,” he snarled.

“Lethal injection room,” Dustin said filling in the blanks.

“Let’s get up there and greet our mystery guest… make sure he doesn’t piss all over our crime scene,” Mark gestured to Dustin.

“This’ll be fun,” Dustin snorted.

They left the second floor taking the elevator to the eighth, which housed the lethal injection room. Once they stepped onto the floor, Mark could see that the damage there was worse than what he saw on video footage.

He looked around to see walls obliterated and steel doors ripped from their hinges like tin foil; his feet kicked around shell casings, which littered the floor from shotguns, semi-automatics, and handguns along with used tear gas and smoke grenades. The lingering smell of the gas made his eyes water a bit as he looked around in disbelief. Having seen enough, he and Dustin marched to the lethal injection room to see their own team originally working the room now standing outside of it. The new mystery team was now inside taking pictures and samples. Mr. Mystery himself stood in the middle of the room with his back turned and arms folded taking it all in.

The scene pissed Mark off to no end.

“What the hell is going on?” he barked.

“Uh… the gentleman there identified himself as a Director,” answered a nervous F.B.I forensics agent, “and told us our services were no longer needed. He instructed us to pack up and leave.”

Mark looked as if he wanted to tear the agent’s head off with his bare hands.

“Director of what?!” he scowled.

Armitage palmed the agent out of the way before he could respond walking with blinders toward the man within the room.

A solid six-foot-five-frame bruiser of a man stepped in his way. The one that first exited the helicopter with the clean look down to his crew cut, and the M.I.B ensemble five thousand dollars more expensive than both Armitage and Mercer’s suits combined.

“F.B.I,” an unimpressed Mark identified himself, “which means get the “Fuck” out my way… before I “beat” you within an “inch” of your life.”

“I know who you are, Special Agent Armitage,” returned the man in black unintimidated by Mark’s threat. “You and your team’s services are no longer needed here.”

“And who the hell are you?” Dustin chimed in backing his partner up.

“Special Agent Stanley Slater,” the man in black pulled out his credentials identifying himself.

Mercer eyed along with Armitage the shiny chrome black and silver badge with Slater’s ID identifying him as a Special Agent of the United States Government. It, however, did not identify his division or branch.

“Never heard of you, “Special Agent Slater.” Mark narrowed his eyes.

“And you never will,” he coldly responded, “all you have to know is my division and credentials trump yours as far as this case is concerned. Now I will say it again, you and your team are officially relieved of duty.”

Mark sarcastically scratched his chin as he gestured to Dustin who looked ready to pounce on Agent Slater.

“What was that cool line from that crazy robot movie we watched at your house with your kids before the boxing match on cable last month?” He wagged his finger at his friend.

“You mean the one where the robots change into stuff while hanging out with the little half Jewish kid?” Dustin returned building on Mark’s skit.

“Yeah,” Mark snapped his fingers, “when the soldier put his gun in the face of the doofus with the Superman looking shirt and the Aloha draws. I think he said, “We don’t take orders from people that don’t exist.”

“Yeah that’s right,” Dustin smiled before turning to Agent Slater with a sarcastic grin. “We don’t take orders from assholes that don’t exist.”

“Is there a problem Agent Slater?” a calm elevated voice rang out.

The question came from the man in the gray suit standing in the middle of the lethal injection room stopping the ensuing brawl about to take place between Armitage, Mercer, and his muscle in black.

Armitage pushed past Slater to confront his apparent boss, while Agent Slater continued to have a stare down match with Mercer who was only an inch shorter than he was and ready to go.

“Yeah, you can say there’s a problem,” Mark fired at the man in gray. “This is an official F.B.I investigation not M.I.B… so what the hell are you doing in my crime scene?”

“Director Arthur Rosen,” he finally introduced himself, “I am here running my own investigation with my team.”

“Who is your “team?” What department do you come from?” Mark demanded to know.

“Unfortunately I cannot divulge that to you, Agent Armitage,” Director Rosen answered with a half apologetic tone. “What I can tell you is that my department is better equipped to handle this situation than you are. So I am asking you to please stand down and allow us to work.”

“What situation may that be?” Mark pretended to be ignorant to what was going on.

“No need for cynicism Agent Armitage,” Director Rosen smirked, “you know very well what the situation is.”

Mark moved closer to the Director giving him his trademark ‘fear of God’ look.

“This is what I do know,” he sneered, “you fly in here on your fancy helicopter outside, with your ‘team’ and your Jason Bourne reject over there impeding in a Federal Bureau investigation and contaminating my crime scene. You flash a badge I’ve never seen before along with a suspect title, and you refuse to tell me what department or organization within our United States Government you claim you hail from so I can check your so-called credentials. That gives me probable cause to arrest you, your whole party, and throw you into a deep dark cell until you do decide to tell me or until I can verify if you’re bullshitting me or not.”

Director Rosen openly laughed at Armitage’s attempt to intimidate him.

“I can assure you that won’t happen,” he smiled.

“You think not?” Mark advanced forward again.

His intention was to yoke the good Director up in his high priced suit, and slap some cuffs on him to prove who was really in charge.

His ear caught the sound of a firearm pulled from a leather holster. Part of him thought he would actually see something shiny and high tech like in the movies. Instead, Agent Slater, who had drawn on him, held in his hand a standard issued Glock 23 sidearm with laser sighting pointed at the side of his head.

A now-livid Mercer stunned that Agent Slater had the gall to attempt such a thing pulled out his side arm four seconds later pointing it at the Agent’s head. Agent Slater, however, does not flinch from the apparent threat to his life.

“Drop it asshole! Drop it now!” Dustin roared.

It was a chain reaction as fellow F.B.I agents and the Director’s agents as well as local authorities who were in the vicinity went for their service weapons.

Armitage had been in some messed up situations, but this was clear insanity on top of insanity, any second he thought he was going to wake up from a very bad dream, except he kept catching a whiff of the Director’s early morning coffee breath.

“That also is not going to happen Agent Mercer,” Director Rosen responded. “Instead what’s going to happen is Agent Slater is going to shoot and kill your partner and friend of twenty-four years while you, who hasn’t fired your service firearm in ten, watch. He will then probably kill you despite your current “advantage” on him and anyone else who happens to draw on him till finally I give the order for him to stop.”

“We will then most likely be arrested by whoever is still alive on your team or the local authority present,” Director Rosen continued to explain. “We’ll probably spend no more than three hours in a holding cell before being released with no charges, while you and your partner share toe tags in the county morgue. Your family, friends, and associates will mourn and bury you, and nothing further will come of this incident. Or Agent Slater kills your partner, you kill him, arrest me, I still spend three hours in a cell, and you get to watch me released with no charges brought against me, while your partner here lies in a morgue with a toe tag.”

“The other alternative is you lower your weapon,” the Director proposed as he stared down Armitage. “We take what we came for, leave, and in a couple of hours you will receive a phone call from your Executive Assistant Director Douglas Edward King, who will tell you he just received a call from his boss, telling him he received a call from higher authorities within our government ordering you to neither engage nor interfere with us ever again. In either scenario I just presented I will be proven correct, you decide which one plays out.”

“How about the scenario where I blow your goddamn head off after killing this son of a bitch?” bit back Dustin.

“Interesting scenario,” confirmed the Director, “but in that one your partner is still dead. Oh, and I forgot, there is also a gun currently pointed at your head.”

Mercer was reminded by the clicking sound of a Sig Sauer P226‘s hammer cocked back by a female agent on Director Rosen’s team. She held it steadily trained at his head from behind. Two more of the Director’s agents covered her in a standoff with two of Armitage and Mercer’s agents along with a couple of Gatesville’s finest in the hallway. Checkmate all around in the Director’s favor.

In all of the commotion, the short Santa-looking man now in a white forensics lab coat of his own along with his three-person team huddled together with nervous looks on their faces in the middle of a Mexican standoff.

He swallowed hard as he announced with his thick German accent, “We have acquired the samples…”

“Thank you, Doctor,” acknowledged the Director as he now gave Mark a “your move” look.

Armitage locked eyes with Mercer communicating that despite they were the designated law and order in the vicinity, it was best to fight another day. Armitage had no fear of a gun pointed at him, but Dustin had a family. Although Dustin also did not give a care either about getting into a fight, testing the alleged Director’s prophesies was not worth agent blood, especially his friend. It also did not help that he knew so much about them, which unnerved Mark.

“Stand down everyone… stand down,” Dustin motioned to the other agents under him.

Everyone slowly lowered their weapons except for Agent Slater and his agents who continued to keep their guns raised; Mercer kept his finger on the trigger ready to go despite the gun pointed at the back of his head.

“Please know Special Agent it was not my intention to undermine your investigation,” said the Director giving a somewhat sincere apology, “but due to this being an extremely time sensitive matter you left me with very little choice.”

“Who the hell are you?” Mark still demanded to know.

“I’m just like you Special Agent, the good guy,” smiled the Director. “You must have seen the footage already… look around you. This woman is extremely dangerous and you are not equipped to deal with her. I am. She’s my problem now. My advice to you is to finish your investigation here, file your report, and walk away from this case, for your own sake.”

The Director does not wait for Mark to tell him to go screw himself as he walked away followed by the doctor and his technicians. Agent Slater waited for the Director to leave the vicinity before him. The agents under his command moved in unison creating a protective perimeter around the Director and everyone with them heading all the way to the elevator. Armitage and Mercer forgetting they had guns pointed at them walked out to the hallway with their agents to watch them depart.

“Gentlemen,” Agent Slater finally lowered his gun along with the rest of his agents, bidding farewell as the elevator door shut.

Armitage and Mercer headed to the nearest window with a view of the courtyard to see the Director and his party heading to the helicopter they had traveled in.

Dustin turned to Mark and asked the obvious question: “What the fuck just happened?!”

“We just got punked,” Mark muttered fighting to quell the rage building within so that he could think straight once again.

“Did we really just let them walk out of here?” returned a dumbfounded Dustin.

“This place has seen enough mayhem. Something in my gut is also telling me, as much as that piece of shit down there is a grade “A” asshole… he’s no bullshit artist. The doctor said they got the samples they needed,” Mark quickly contemplated now back in think-tank mode. “Get the team back in there now, scour this place from top to bottom… blood, skin, hair samples if you can find it I want it… all of it. Call the Houston office; we’re setting up camp there and grab all of the footage. We’re also starting interviews ASAP. I also want to know who Director Rosen and Agent Slater are by the time I walk out of here. No one points a gun in my face and gets away with it.”

CHAPTER 3

She appeared to be running until the breath ran out of her, except she was not losing wind. Her bare footsteps sounded like that of a wild stallion charging across the open plain. Part of her screamed for her to stop realizing how fast she was actually moving, that what she was doing, what she had been doing was inhuman and unnatural. By right medically speaking, her heart should have popped several hundred miles ago, and her leg muscles should have torn off her bones. The exact opposite was happening as she clocked speeds of almost seventy, possibly eighty, miles an hour with a heartbeat as if she was taking a leisure walk while her muscles did not even cramp.

Fear was the rider that kept her moving; images of what happened at Mountain View flashed before her eyes forcing her to move faster and faster. She had to get as far as her legs could carry her so that she could sort out what was happening. What she did not realize was at her current speed she had gone extremely far. Her tattered, bloodied, bullet riddled clothes felt like they were going to be torn from her body. It was then that things also got blurry, superhuman speed did not translate to superhuman eyesight, which would have allowed her to see in order to maneuver at such break neck speeds as she charged into a wooden area.

Logic would dictate stopping at this point, but Sophia trying her best to maneuver around the trees, was not even sure she knew how to stop, not that she really needed to as she clipped and smashed through any and everything getting in her path.

“Oh Shit!” she yelled.

The mammoth oak tree had probably a century on it within those woods; its trunk was clearly six times the width of Sophia’s body. Age gave it the strength and density close to steel making it strong enough to stop anything made of fiberglass and even some things made of pure steel itself. Sophia barreling through obliterated a huge portion of the trunk on impact sending chunks and splinters flying everywhere. She would have been fine if she did not trip over what was left of the trunk sending her into an awkward roll tumbling down an embankment destroying all in her path whether it be wood or stone. What was left of the tree could not support its weight any longer, as it burst in half and fell to Earth with a ground-shaking thud.

Sophia screamed and cursed as she tumbled down the steep embankment falling in ways that should have snapped her neck or split her skull open. She screamed again as the deadly roll flung her off a cliff at the bottom of the embankment falling a good fifty feet hitting the river down below hard like a two ton Mack truck.

Minutes went by as she finally got her bearing underwater and battled against the currents to come up, her new powerful lungs kept her from drowning as she emerged. Her gag reflexes made her throw up half of the river she took in while going under. As she finally made her way to the shoreline, she continued to puke up what was left of the water in her lungs. She was still human, she thought to herself, that and the fact that her heart was still beating in her chest meant she was not the walking dead. Sophia instinctively checked herself to make sure she did not break a bone only to find that despite the life-ending tumble she took there was not a scratch on her.

She looked around in wonderment as the morning sun shined down on her. The realization of what happened several hours ago caused her to emit a nervous laugh mixed with sobbing tears as she clutched her chest.

Several hours ago, the state of Texas had executed her. A couple of hours ago she was brought down by a hail of bullets; after each death she was resurrected stronger than the previous time giving her the ability to physically break out of prison fighting through a brigade of heavily armed and highly trained correctional officers, police, and, from what she could tell, a SWAT team. Four years ago, she was sure she would never see outside of those walls alive, and there she stood on a riverbank free underneath God’s blue sky.

Painfully, she remembered why she was there—distorted images—memories she had no knowledge of flashed before her eyes. Pieces of an obvious puzzle hidden from her for years, Sophia grabbed her skull trying to sort through the visions. It was then she realized that around her wrists were the restraints from the lethal injection table. She went to unbuckle the wrist restraint on her right wrist when she was hit with the vision of being on the lethal injection table, going to sleep, feeling herself suffocating and dying despite the assumption that lethal injection was the most “humane” and “peaceful” way to be executed before everything went dark. She could feel her lungs filling with air again, more distorted memories flooding her mind, the skull cracking strike of the baton, bullets ripping into her body, and choking on her own blood before the piercing pain of a bullet penetrating her skull; destroying her brain sending her into the black for a second time. She did not know how long she was in the black until air violently rushed into her lungs again. Her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest, while all of her veins felt as if they were on fire. The last pain she felt before escaping Mountain View would be what felt like another bullet striking the back of her skull.

She quickly ripped both restraints from her wrists like paper throwing them as far away as possible. She crouched down in the freezing cold water of the river trying to get it together. It was terrifying; she literally felt everything all over again except she was not dying.

She gripped a nearby stone that was about four times her size, not realizing her hands were imprinting into the wet stone. She began to count backwards to herself from twenty taking a deep breath while focusing on the stone; slowly the visions disappeared and she could see straight again.

“It’s not real… it’s not real… you’re alive… you are alive,” she reaffirmed to herself. She submerged herself into the river to shock her system with the ice-cold water.

She could still feel cold and wetness, although it was not the teeth chattering hypothermia cold felt after dunked into a surging river, it meant her nerves were still intact. Not that it mattered since the heat from the Texas sun would dry her off once she started moving again. She rose back to a standing position with her senses clearer and more focused. Slowly, she looked around in bewilderment pondering the most obvious question since coming to a stop at the riverbank.

“Where the hell am I?” she asked aloud.

CHAPTER 4

Gatesville Women’s Unit of the prison was designated for regular prisoners and lifers as opposed to Mountain View, which was strictly for death row inmates. Agents Armitage and Mercer sat in the interrogation room going through the files and pictures they had on Sophia attempting to piece things together when the door opened. The silver dreadlock-haired woman Sophia had said her final goodbyes to, walked through in shackles flanked by two correctional officers. She had a slight permanent limp to her walk in her right leg due to a prison altercation some years ago. Armitage looked up while Mercer continued to go through the files.

“Shackles aren’t necessary, boys, you can take them off,” Mark requested.

As they removed the restraints from her wrists, ankles, and waist, she stood taller and more distinguished. Armitage motioned for her to take a seat, which she did as the correctional officers took their leave waiting outside.

Mark picked up her file quickly scanning it.

“Agnes Shareef Wilcox also known as “Sister Shareef,” he began to read, “head of the Sisters of Islam; convicted of murder and sentenced to forty years to life in prison with eligibility for parole after twenty. My name is Special Agent Mark Armitage, and this is my partner Special Agent Dustin Mercer.”

“How can I help you Special Agent?” Sister Shareef got down to the point.

Mark took out a photo of Sophia sliding it in front of her.

“Do you know this woman?” he pointed.

“Her name is Sophia Dennison.” She glanced at the picture. “She was murdered a couple of hours ago.”

Dustin scoffed.

Sister Shareef narrowed her eyes at Mercer, who shot her back a dirty look.

Mark spun around the laptop on the table to face her. He fumbled a bit to bring up the video function.

“We’d like you to watch something,” he requested. “The footage you’re about to see is a bit disturbing, but we ask that you please watch.”

As the video played, Sister Shareef’s chiseled expression quickly softened at the footage of her friend lying lifeless on the execution table. As she swatted away the tears, twenty years was scared out of her witnessing the supposed dead corpse of her friend rising back to life gasping for air.

“Jesus…” uttered a now shaken Sister Shareef.

Dustin gave her a sarcastic, perplexed look.

“Thought you prayed to Muhammad?” he snorted.

She ignored Mercer’s snide remark as she watched her friend rip through her restraints and overpower five correctional officers, punching one through two inches of solid glass. She then cringed letting out a yelp as she watched her friend savagely gunned down on screen.

“Sophie…” whimpered Sister Shareef baring witness to Sophia’s bloodied and bullet riddled body as she lay dead for a second time.

A stone-faced Armitage with full knowledge of the end story walked up to fast forward the video.

“Keep watching… please,” he requested.

Sister Shareef gave him a quick look of disgust until she glanced at the speeding footage seeing what they saw a couple of hours ago. Armitage stopped the video just before the second resurrection. It took another twenty years for her.

She watched in horror as what use to be her friend rose once more, now impervious to gunfire, and proceeded to tear through a hallway stuffed with correctional officers, local police, and S.W.AT.

Armitage allowed her to listen to the screams and yells, along with the background sounds of smashed concrete and bending steel before shutting the video off. Sister Shareef lowered her head attempting not to appear shaken after absorbing everything she had seen.

“If you’re expecting that doofy looking white kid from “That Seventies Show” to come running out and tell you you’ve just been punked… he’s not,” came Dustin out of left field throwing a zing.

Sister Shareef tried her best to compose herself as she raised her head looking Armitage in the eyes.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded to know.

“Aside from her attorney, during the almost four years Ms. Dennison has been here she has not had contact with family or friends in any shape or form,” Mark started off his interview. “No phone calls, personal visits, email; she refused all mail that had been sent to her. The only people she’s had contact with during that time are the people in this prison, and I have it on good knowledge that you and her became bosom buddies during that whole time.”

“And?” She shrugged. “Yes… we were friends… good friends… sisters, but if you want to know if I knew she was stronger than a friggin’ locomotive, leaping tall buildings with a single bound, no I did not know that, nor did she display that ability in the four years she was here. I don’t know what that is… but that is not the Sophia I knew.”

“We’re wasting our frickin’ time,” Dustin buried his head in his tree trunk arms muttering.

Mark moved closer to Sister Shareef sitting on the edge of the table looking down at her.

“Ms. Shareef, let’s put aside the unexplainable insanity that has happened in the last couple of hours,” he said attempting to reason with her. “The reality of the situation is your friend seriously injured several people in her escape, men and women with families. She even murdered one.”

He hoped his song and dance would get her to open up, and give him a shred of clue or idea as to what happened in Mountain View.

“Who did she kill?” Sister Shareef scoffed.

She leaned back in her seat folding her arms with the knowledge that the Sophia she knew would never hurt a tick much less another human being.

“Officer Dennis Wilford… husband… father of…” began Mark with his violin speech.

Sister Shareef shot up in her seat holding a hand up halting him before he could finish his tune.

“She killed Big Buck?” her eyes widened.

Before Armitage could answer her, Sister Shareef hunched over emitting a cackling noise. It grew louder as she stomped her feet with apparent joy.

Her full-blown hysterical laughter royally pissed off Dustin.

“You think this shit is funny, convict?!” He sprung to his feet violently slamming his fist on the table. “How about I…”

“What exactly do you think you can do to me, F.B.I man?” Sister Shareef snapped back at Mercer looking dead at him.

She knew there was not a thing Mercer or anyone could do to her, as her mind wondered back to how she became a resident of Gatesville Women’s facility.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

She remembered when her name use to be Agnes Shareef Wilcox-Miller, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox and the youngest of three children, one eldest brother and an older sister by a year. Her father worked on oilrigs, while her mother sold beauty products from door to door. Agnes grew up in as regular a household as one could have in Austin, Texas.

She finished high school and was the second in her family to graduate from Community College. She met her husband, Derek Miller, on the way to work one day; three years later she became a happily married woman, and four- and-a-half years after that a mother of two a son and a daughter.

Derek worked as a car sales representative; she worked as a social worker keeping their roots in Austin.

She had a happy and normal life, although her job at times was uneasy. It was a constant battle to help those who were unfortunate by birth and economic class, or who took a wrong path in life by fault of addiction or a criminal lifestyle. Sometimes it entailed long hours at work, and during those days, she would ask her favorite fourteen-year-old niece, Rebecca, the eldest daughter of her older sister to babysit her two children until she or Derek got home.

Things in her simple life appeared to be okay until one day when she’d received a very disturbing call from her older sister about her niece and an incident at school. A high school teacher had caught young Rebecca in a sexual act with two other boys from her class in the boy’s bathroom.

From the boys’ account, Rebecca led them into the bathroom to show them something cool.

Obviously, her parents had a conniption upon hearing the news. Agnes, however, had a gut feeling something else was wrong. She knew Rebecca from the womb to the crib to now. She was a shy young lady who covered her eyes when her parents kissed; her experience at work with sexual abuse cases in regards to teens and minors told her she had to speak to her niece and get to the bottom of what happened.

She prayed her naïve niece learned it from one of her female school friends, who could have learned it from someone else; she prayed for her parents and her sake.

Upon entering her older sister and brother-in-law’s home, her first job became settling down the irate couple. Her older sister, Marcia, was in the middle of a rant contemplating the only humane thing to do for her daughter due to the humiliating situation.

“I gotta kill her! I got to! It’s the only way! I got to kill my baby!” Marcia shook her head pacing back and forth in her living room.

“Marcia, calm down… you ain’t killing anyone,” returned Agnes firmly attempting to talk her older sister down.

“You don’t understand, Agnes! You don’t understand! Even if we transfer her to another school this will follow her,” Marcia continued to rant, “and with two of them! Those little nasty bastards flanking my little girl in the boys’ stall of all places with their… Oh god, I’ma throw up!”

“Hey… look,” Rebecca’s father, Martin, tried to step in.

“Don’t you say nothing!” His wife lashed out at him, “This is all your fault!”

“Whoa! Whoa! Hold your horses!” an angered Martin went on the defensive, “how’s this all my fault?”

“I told you I didn’t want those nasty videos up in this house! But nooooo! “It’s to liven the mood baby” This is for being a lazy sum bitch and not finding other ways to turn your wife on!” she spat hot venom at him.

“All that shit is under lock and key behind a combination safe in our bedroom which she doesn’t know, and I always put it away after we do the deed!” bit back Martin. “So don’t blame me for this! How we know she didn’t find ole Bugs Bunny up in your dresser draw?!”

“What?” Marcia looked at her husband as if he was crazy.

Agnes palmed her face wishing not to know about her sister and brother-in-law’s love life right in front of them.

“Don’t think I don’t know why we keep replacing batteries in the remote every two weeks! I’m surprised you can feel “anything” down there!” Martin fired off his best insult.

Agnes eyes widened, wishing she were deaf at that point.

“Like I can’t feel your little…” Marcia began preparing to hit low.

Agnes not wishing to stick hot pokers in her ears stepped in between the two of them bringing some reason back to the room.

“All right! Yawl need to cool off and leave this house,” she requested. “Take the little ones out for about an hour, go for a drive, and leave me with Rebecca.”

“Agnes…” Marcia dropped her older sister tone.

“Marcia… you’re my older sister and I love and respect you,” she stopped her, “but for once I am begging you. Take your husband, and the kids… leave the house and let me talk to my niece. You both are all worked up, and you’re not thinking straight right now. Go out… clear your head, come back, and talk to your little girl after I’ve spoken to her.”

An awkward silence filled the room between mother, aunt, and father.

“Please. For me,” Agnes pleaded.

“Well, why can’t we just wait outside on the porch?” jumped in Martin.

“Because yawl are gonna start up again, and the neighbors will be up in your business. You want that?” Agnes pushed back, “Just give me one hour… please. You called me here to help. Let me help.”

Reluctantly both Marcia and Martin caved in to Agnes. They took their younger son and newborn daughter to get take-out. Agnes released a deep sigh of relief as she prepared herself to deal with another prickly situation.

She could hear her niece’s uncontrolled sobbing as she walked down the hallway to her room. She entered the young girl’s room to find Rebecca curled up in the corner of her canopy bed with her arms wrapped around her legs and her face in between them weeping hysterically, both remorseful and frightened about what she had done.

Agnes approached her as one would a timid little fawn. “Rebecca?” she gently called her name.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rebecca cried repeatedly.

Agnes knew she needed motherly arms and a soothing touch right now. Not that her sister was not a good mother, she was a great mother, and so was her father, Martin. However, she knew even great parents can sometimes fall short when it came to situations of humiliation and pride, especially when it came to their own child. Inhibiting them from thinking straight, something greatly needed to get to the root of the matter. She was calling on the ability and strength of a good extended family, to step in against the rise of chaos.

Agnes took her in her arms and held her tight kissing her on her forehead, while stroking her back like her mother did when she was little.

“It’s okay, honey,” she soothingly whispered, “everything is okay.”

“Mommy and daddy hate me,” Rebecca bitterly wept.

“Nooo… honey… no… they could never hate you,” she reassured her. “They love you dearly; they’re just shocked and upset because they know what happened in school is not like you. They know, like I know that you are a good… girl… and you always will be.”

She kissed her on her head again to calm her down and took a deep breath before preparing to coax her into telling her about what had happened at school.

“Now I know, you didn’t learn what you did at school by yourself,” she looked her in the eyes, “I know that… so I need you to tell me… who taught you. Was it a school friend?”

Rebecca meekly tried to coil away from her aunt.

“I can’t…” her voice cracked.

Agnes held her hand, caressing it to calm her again.

“Honey, if it was a school friend we need to talk to her and find out who taught her,” she gently pressed, “and if it’s an adult who taught you, that person is not a nice person, and they cannot hurt you. I won’t let them. Your mother and father definitely will not let them, but we have to know who they are so that we can stop them from doing this to you and other girls. All you have to do is give me a name baby… please tell me… who taught you this.”

Her words only made Rebecca begin to cry again even harder while fighting to pull away.

“I can’t auntie… I can’t,” she whimpered, “he said that you wouldn’t understand, and that you’d hate me… I can’t!”

A cold sick feeling came over Agnes upon hearing her niece’s words.

“Honey… why would I… hate you?” she stammered. “Who said I would hate you?”

The little girl did not have to say anything else as Agnes looked into her eyes; her shaking hand cupped her mouth as she felt like vomiting. Her whole body began to shake while tears no longer controlled ran from her eyes as she pulled her little niece closer to her to look into her eyes. In her heart, she knew the truth; she just had to hear it to be sure.

“When baby? When? Please. Tell me. When?” Agnes coaxed with quivered voice.

The rest of her body trembled with a burning sensation running through her.

“Last year… when I started coming over to help watch Mike and Stephanie…” Rebecca timidly said. “One night you were working late… he came home and saw I was sad, because the girls were teasing me at school for having a small chest, and the boys liking them more.”

It was clear she wanted to stop, but Agnes’ face was begging her to continue.

“He said he could teach me a trick so that the boys would like me even if I didn’t have a big chest,” she began to bawl. “He showed me a cartoon with a school girl doing it.”

“Oh god… baby no… no,” Agnes began to cry.

Her words, though unintentional, shattered her body and spirit beyond repair in one shot.

“He said I could practice with him… and that it wasn’t sex because he wasn’t sticking it between my legs,” she squealed. “He said you and mommy use to do it, but you wouldn’t understand because you were adults now… I thought I was ready.”

“Oh God! No! No! No!” Agnes screamed scaring Rebecca all the way back up against the wall next to her bed.

Doubled over, Agnes could not stop screaming as she clutched her belly while stomping her feet trying to break the floor beneath her. Her gut felt like someone ripped it open with a serrated knife right in front of her.

“Auntie! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” cried Rebecca expecting her aunt to pummel her.

Agnes grabbed her as gently as possible pulling her back over to her looking at her sternly with tear-drenched eyes. “Don’t ever… say you’re sorry to me… you hear me?” she gingerly commanded. “You did nothing wrong… do you hear me? You are… a good girl … and you will always be a good girl… in my eyes. Don’t ever apologize to me again… is that clear?”

Rebecca nodded as she continued to cry. Agnes hugged her as tight as she possibly could emitting a gut-wrenching wail. She then released her, pulling herself together, and grabbed her book bag opening it and pulling out a notebook and pen. Quickly she jotted something down so her niece could not see, ripped the page out folding it up, and handed it to her.

“When your mother gets home give this to her. Do not open it… just hand it to her and no matter what happens. I love you. Do you hear me? Stay here and do not leave this room until your parents come home. Do you hear me?” Agnes sternly ordered.

Rebecca meekly shook her head in understanding while taking the note from her aunt.

Agnes got up in a daze walking out of her niece’s room into the living room. She looked at her mother’s old grandfather clock which read 4:45 PM. Derek got off at five; he picked the kids up at 2:30 PM, took them back to work with him, and would be coming home soon. Her sister begged her not to tell him what happened because of the embarrassment. She had to get home before he did, but first she ran upstairs to her sister’s bedroom.

She did not know if it was God or the Devil himself that allowed her to drive home over the speed limit without being pulled over, but she got there before him, and waited sitting on the front porch steps of their house as he drove up with their children. The whole time she just sat there looking at the ground.

Derek was the first to get out of the car with a concerned look on his face to see his wife in what appeared to be a state.

“Babe? Baby? You all right?” he nervously asked.

She did not even have to look at him. His voice set her off as she raised a chrome Colt 1911 with a pearl grip handle and fired a shot hitting him in the left shoulder. She remembered at one of her sister’s many drunken bridge games she showed it to her as one of Martin’s brand new pieces he bought for his collection. He always kept a piece out as his gun of the month while the others stayed under lock and key.

She remembered Marcia showing her how to load and fire it. She prayed it was still out when she went into their bedroom looking for it.

It was a lucky shot, she had never fired a gun before, the recoil was tremendous even from a seated position, but she still managed to hit him. She did not hear the screams from the neighbors outside on their lawns running for safety, nor the scream of her husband as the shot spun him around. All she could hear were the screams of her children in the car.

“Mommy! Daddy!” bawled little Michael as Stephanie sobbed uncontrollably in the back passenger booster seat.

“Stay in the car and do not come out for anything!” Agnes screamed orders to her children as Michael cracked the door open to get out.

She turned to Derek, who was attempting to get away with blood gushing from his left shoulder as she took aim with two hands this time and fired three more rounds from the Colt. Two missed while one managed to hit him in his lower back; the children screamed and wailed as they watch their father go down not understanding what was happening.

“Stay in the car!!” she shrieked one final time to them.

She trudged over to Derek laying in the dirty street covered in blood sobbing as he now crawled to get away.

“Oh god… god… help me!” he cried out as his wife now stood over him with gun in hand.

“Turn over,” she ordered him.

Derek continued to crawl with snot and spit running from his mouth and nose. It mixed with the blood on the street as he searched for sanctuary he would never find.

“I said turn over!” she screeched.

Reluctantly Derek turned over to look at his heartbroken, enraged wife pointing the Colt with three more rounds left in it.

“Did you touch Stephanie?! Did you touch her?!” she shrilled as her hand shook aiming the barrel at his skull.

“No!” Derek wailed begging for his life. “I swear to god, no! Agnes! Please! Please!”

“My niece?!” her voice was almost half-gone, eyes bright red from the tears that would not stop falling. “I gave you everything! My love! My body! I gave you children! I gave you everything! She’s a child! My sister’s baby! She trusted you! She trusted me! What didn’t I do that you had to take her innocence?! What did I do?! Tell me Derek! Tell me!”

With tears in his eyes and his body getting cold from the loss of blood, Derek Miller gave his wife of seven years an answer that would not only kill her, but also change their lives forever.

“You… got old,” he quivered.

It was not so much what he said, but the look in his eyes when he said it. The look that was as bright as day; he had done this before, well, enough to never be caught.

She had heard about these things, taught the signs to notice if one was in a house harming a child.

She had the misfortune of running into two of them during her career in which she had to notify the proper authorities. Here right in front of her, one of those things was actually her husband.

She allowed this thing to make her fall in love, get on top of her, sliding inside of her sharing her most intimate details, marry her, taking ten years of her life. Create a family with her while being a part of her extended family only to destroy it. How could she miss this? How did she allow this thing to get past her?

She did not know if she was laughing when she pulled the trigger; she does remember pulling it over and over again even when there was nothing in the clip. It was old Mrs. Harper from across the street that had the courage to hobble over and take the gun out of her hand before the police finally arrived.

In the note that Agnes left with Rebecca for her sister she wrote, “This is not Rebecca’s fault. She is a good girl. I failed you. I am sorry for everything.”

In her eyes, she had brought the monster into their family, she who had dealt with the redeemable and the unredeemable on the daily basis, she who trained to know the signs could not see the beast that slept in her very bed. She had to put him down; she had to make it right.

The Austin Texas legal system did not see it that way. She might have gotten away with an insanity plea had she just shot him once from when she was sitting on the porch, but the district attorney painted a picture of a cold and calculated execution.

He pressed that no act of vigilantism could go unpunished no matter the justification. It also did not help her case that majority of the jurors were male.

The emotional testimony of her niece and family, coworkers, neighbors, and church parishioners speaking on her behalf about her character did not sway them a bit. All they saw was a woman taking the law into her own hands killing her husband in cold blood, something best not to be encouraged. Despite the best efforts of the defense, the jury found Agnes guilty of murder and sentenced her to forty years to life in prison with eligibility for parole after twenty; ten years for each extra bullet she fired into her husband.

When the judge asked her if she had anything to say she simply replied, “I only regret not taking that extra clip.”

After four years in prison, Shareef converted to Islam after being recruited by Sister Ailia Assad the original leader of the Sisters of Islam. Sister Ailia turned the mantle over to Shareef making her leader after finally making parole for good behavior for a thirty-year prison term on a narcotics conviction.

Her older sister, Marcia, willingly took in her two children raising them as her own along with her husband Martin. Michael, her oldest son, refused to forgive her for killing his father, especially in front of him. When he became of age, he stopped seeing her altogether and distanced himself from the rest of the family; he also refused to believe that his father had molested Rebecca.

Stephanie continued to visit her whenever she could; it became harder since she began attending Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia.

As for Rebecca, she eventually overcame the ordeal. She graduated top of her class studying law becoming one of the youngest district attorneys for the city of Austin, Texas, as well as an activist fighting for better laws to protect women and children. Happily married, she had two children of her own. Every month she took a day off to travel to Gatesville to visit her aunt.

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“If Sophia killed Buck,” bit back Sister Shareef, “trust me… he deserved it and then some… and as far as whatever plans she might have had, she didn’t mention any on the count that she was supposed to be dead. But good luck to you when you do find her, because judging from what I just saw…” She gave off a snide smile, “you’re gonna need it. Now… unless you have anymore “questions” for me, may I go now?”

Armitage seeing that the interview was officially going nowhere got up and knocked on the steel door for the guards to come in and escort Sister Shareef away.

As they came in placing her back into shackles, and proceeded to lead her away, Mark stopped her for one final question.

“What do you mean, Officer Wilford got what he deserved and then some?” he asked.

“I find it very ill to speak of the deceased,” Sister Shareef returned sarcastically, “but if you did some “real” F.B.I work, you’d find out that the dearly departed Wilford wasn’t only a husband and a father.”

As the guards escorted Sister Shareef back to her cell, Armitage sat back down on the table, feeling a migraine setting in due to the apparent pointlessness of these interviews, he massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Guess she told you,” Dustin muttered while doodling in his notepad.

Mark turned looking at him as if he wanted to pull out his service piece and shoot him.

“What?” Dustin raised his head in bewilderment feeling the negative vibe his partner was emitting toward him.

“Get off your ass and get me Officer Wilford’s file of his entire career,” barked Mark, “and not just the bells and whistles.”

Before Mercer could get up the door opened as a blonde-haired green-eyed female agent in her mid-twenties popped her head in.

“Um… sir,” she sighed, “we have a new problem.”

“What is it?” Mark dryly asked not in the mood for more problems.

“The Warden just informed me Ms. Dennison’s parents just called,” said the Agent. “They’re here in Gatesville, asking when they can take possession of her body.”

Mark literally grabbed his own skull as if to crush it in his own hand.

Dustin let out a sarcastic chuckle, “Just keeps on getting from bad to worse.”

CHAPTER 5

September 3, 2008, 0200 A.M. in the morning, Cypress Texas, twenty-seven minutes away for Houston and three hours and five minutes away from Gatesville driving. Sophia actually made it in less than an hour-and-a-half despite crashing and burning in Birch Creek State Park at a steady pace of an estimated seventy miles an hour taking the woods and back roads in order to stay ahead of, and under the radar of, local law enforcement on the hunt for her. She stayed in the woods on the outskirts of town until nightfall as the town died down; moving whenever she felt a patrol was coming her way. With her newfound speed, it was easy for her to cover ground and keep distance between her and anyone coming in her direction. It was all too clear that the word was out that she had escaped, but the patrol was light probably believing there was no way she could have made it from Gatesville to Cypress on foot, covering that amount of distance without getting caught.

She quickly learned to use lighter steps while moving, although she made a couple of necks snap and dogs bark. Eventually if she kept this up, someone would catch her, and for now she wanted to avoid getting into any form of confrontation, at least until she figured out what was happening to her. The first thing she needed to do was get out of her tattered blood-soaked river-drenched prison gear, locating some warm inconspicuous clothes. After about another ten minutes of ducking in and out of alleyways she came upon the only Goodwill store in the town.

“Well… there’s no one more in need of goodwill than me…” she shrugged.

As she made her way to the back alley of the building the first thought was to rip the door off the entrance until she saw the sign warning of a security alarm. She considered going for the roof when she noticed the large Goodwill drop box at the side of the building.

“Jackpot,” Sophia whispered as she cautiously trotted over to it.

She gave a quick look around, stooped down a bit, and proceeded to try to slide her hand between the gap of the locked door; the fit was tight until she gave it a bit more force and realized that the metal was actually bending like clay underneath her hand. She took a deep breath bracing her other hand against the box and slowly began to pull. The thick steel locking mechanism creaked and groaned as she stretched it like taffy. She could have easily ripped it off with a yank but feared the popping sound would attract attention. Besides, she was fascinated at how she was feeling no pain from the harsh metal against her fingers, and how the metal literally gave in to her strength. Questions of her exact strength flooded her mind as the lock finally gave in, snapping in two. She exhaled with a half-nervous laugh, which she halted by covering her mouth remembering where she was. Aside from a small bag of paisley slippers, the box was empty; she muttered a curse realizing she had no choice but to break into the store.

Noticing the fire escape ladder at the side of the building, she began to form a plan. Looking around to make sure no one was coming by, she quickly gripped the entire extremely large and awkward drop box.

“Lift with your knees,” she breathed deeply remembering what her father told her.

As she raised to her feet the steel box that had to weigh at least fifteen hundred pounds went up with ease. She was literally shaking with a flood of emotions. Her mind was not playing tricks on her, nor was this some freaky unexplained adrenaline rush; what would have taken a forklift to pick up, she held in her hands like a paperweight.

“Focus girl… focus,” she told herself.

Now was not the time to be amazed; she did not know when a patrol would be coming her way. As quietly as possible she carried the drop box over to the fire ladder placing it underneath it. She then hopped up on top of the box with relative ease.

She took another breath rubbing her hands together, and leaped from the box to the ladder. The force of the push off left a big dent in the top of the box, but it was now the ladder that became her predicament as the impact of her catching the rung of the ladder bent it in half.

“Aw shit!” she whispered praying for it not to snap under her weight.

She quickly scampered up the ladder in a panic for the platform section, which violently shook, and felt like it was going to rip off the concrete wall itself.

Pulling herself up, she finally made it to the platform. She thought she was safe until she heard the snap of steel. Diving to the platform she managed to catch what was left of the ladder before it hit the drop-box below echoing her position to everyone in the town. However, the force that she hit the platform with pulled the steel bolts that held the ladder against the wall half way out bringing the structure a bit closer to the earth. Sweat added to the blood and river water that soaked her tattered clothes. She was now tired of taking deep breaths as she pulled the piece of broken ladder up, catty cornering it through the box entrance of the platform before laying it down. She began whispering every prayer her mother had taught her as she moved up the rest of the ladder which felt as if it was about to tear off the wall at any minute and come crashing down with her. Thankfully, she made it to the roof of the building with no further incident. Now she had to move extra fast, the mess she left at the side of the building would surely draw attention to her.

She first examined the emergency roof door and skylight window, all with warning signs of a security alarm waiting to go off if tampered with. No, go there. Sophia stomped with frustration unknowingly creating a footprint in the dry concrete of the roof. Realizing what she’d just done, she smiled getting low again to remain undetected as she came up with another idea. She thought to herself that there was no way the charity Goodwill would rig the entire roof. She stomped down with her heel making a sizable hole that only a jackhammer could rival. She stomped repeatedly making the hole bigger and bigger.

A few more stomps and she would break through, creating an entrance big enough for her to climb down into the store.

“Oooooooooooooh shiiiiiiiiiit!” she screamed once again.

Her perfect plan had a snag; on the fifth stomp, a portion of the roof underneath her gave way. She came through the ceiling, falling a good twenty feet smashing through some racks full of clothes at the bottom.

It sounded like the drop box outside tossed off the roof. She lay there for a minute due wounded pride, not pain or injury, which she no longer felt or sustained. She waited to see police lights shining through the windows, and Cypress’ finest breaking down the doors drawn to the ruckus she made.

Two minutes had passed; she apparently was in the clear. Slowly she rolled to her feet looking around to find no security guard or night watchman. She spied a couple of security cameras but she doubt they patched into the nearby police station, seeing as how they would have been there already. She remembered from movies that if she found the tapes and destroyed them they would not have any footage of her to go on while she would be long gone.

First thing was to clean up. It took her awhile but she found an old rag and towel set. She made her way to the bathroom, peeled off her butchered prison garb, and used the sink to wipe off the remnants of blood and funk that was on her.

As she went through the task of cleaning she also took the time to examine her body. Except for the original scars and birthmark she had, there was not one bullet wound or scratch on her body. She then ran her hand across her now washboard stomach, where once was a little pouch. Her eyes watered up, a flood of emotions washed over her; she was actually still alive and breathing when she should be dead. She quickly dismissed it, enthralled with how solid and muscular her body was now. She shuddered when she finally realized that she went from being five-foot-six to a near six-footer.

“I’m Sasquatch…” she said to her reflection.

Feeling clean for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, she timidly stepped back out into the store wearing nothing but a bath towel, keeping low again searching for new clothes. This proved difficult because she had to work in the dark, and everything about her was bigger now. Underwear proved a problem especially for up top; in the end, she had to settle for a sports bra and thong bottom; the store filled with profanity as she ended up destroying two pairs of jeans in her original size. Luckily, for her there was a pair of light blue jean leggings in an XL size. When it came to shoes, she was officially in the red, as she no longer wore a size six.

“Aw hell no!” she growled in disgust as her feet ripped through a pair of white Reeboks sneakers in her original size.

Realizing she was wasting too much time she sneered and reluctantly hunted for a bigger size, coming across a pair of black and white Converse size nine, which fit perfectly. After going through several colorful shirts, she settled on a simple white tank top, and a weird black Goth style hooded jacket that caught her eye. It was more like an oversized hood with just sleeves and midriff top with a small zipper that fastened over her chest. The rings and studs on the arms gave it a unique look.

It was not practical but she liked it, and she figured if she appeared to stand out it would actually make her appear incognito. Her last accessory was a small black shoulder book bag she would use to carry her bloody prison gear, which she placed in a plastic bag. She knew that if she was going to find out what exactly happened to her, she would find it within the blood once she got it tested.

With new clothes checked, she went about the task of looking for money; the registers were open and empty; so she made her way to the main office in the back of the store.

On the way there, she stopped in the small break room looking for something to eat. Surprisingly, she was not famished after going almost an entire day without anything but felt a little hunger setting in. Inside she copped a can of Sprite, some French fries, half of a chicken sandwich, and half of a peanut butter and jam sandwich. She started with the P & J first, throwing the rest in the microwave, while sucking down on the Sprite. She munched on the grease-saturated meal while heading to the main office. The locked door meant nothing for someone of her ability as she used a little force to push the door open breaking the lock and cylinder while cracking the doorframe. Once inside, she put the food down to case the office.

Luckily, the office had a window so she was able to search around via moonlight; she was careful to ensure she did not move anything out of place. The first thing she found was the video recorder linked to the surveillance cameras outside. She pulled out the tapes and thought about destroying them but remembered seeing enough cop shows to know they would find a way to view the footage regardless. She stuffed them within her bag taking them with her. The next thing she had to find was money.

Sure enough like all small towns, there was still some trust. There was a safe underneath the manager’s desk. Like the drop box but with more confidence she ripped the door off with ease. She pulled out the cash box and popped it open as if it never had a lock. It was full, probably all of the cash from last week and yesterday. As she pulled out the twenties, tens, and fives to count them her eyes glanced the picture of the manager on the table.

He was a stocky, cheerful, elderly man probably in his early sixties with white-silver hair and some silver horn- rimmed spectacles. There were pictures of him with his wife, children, grandchildren, and employees. In every picture she could feel the happiness pouring out, the sense of family even from the people who worked for him. Sophia sadly sat down in his chair riddled with guilt. Aside from the paddling she got from her mother for attempting to lift a stick of bubble gum from the local convenience store when she was six, she had never stolen anything in her life. She was accused and punished for many things up until now that she was innocent of; she was actually guilty of this.

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Her mind began to wander back to almost four-and-a- half years ago. The grueling trial and the looks of disgust and hatred she had to endure. The district attorney wove a story to the court of how she was an evil conniving woman who grew tired of taking care of her badly injured, mentally traumatized veteran husband who served honorably for his country.

That she acquired a personal checking account a month before in the same bank her husband and she kept their joint accounts, which she had no knowledge of doing. Evidence namely video footage showed otherwise. There was also evidence of the neurotoxin she smuggled from out of the experimental facility of the hospital she worked at that she used to drug her husband after making love to him, and then savagely murdering him while he lay both powerless and defenseless.

The district attorney then accused her of transferring all the money in the joint accounts to the personal account and purchasing a one-way flight to Brazil that same night while he lay dead in their bed. The IP address from her laptop was the additional damning evidence.

The next day she withdrew two thousand dollars cash from an ATM, and then drove all the way to Oklahoma checking into the Four Pointed Hotel near the Will Rogers World Airport using her credit card; tollbooth cameras also caught her and her Nissan Maxima during the drive there.

Aside from the DNA from the murder weapon, which was their wedding cake knife, she had to sit there and watch damning video footage of her doing these things. Things she had completely no knowledge of doing.

It was like watching another person who looked exactly like her wearing her exact clothes and jewelry down to her wedding ring. She almost came to believe she had gone crazy because in her own mind the events she watched were a complete utter blank.

The medical examiner’s testimony was additional compounding evidence of how the forty-one stab wounds on her husband’s body were slow, deliberate, and with precision hitting major veins and organs so that he bled out slowly. He linked her skill and knowledge of a neurosurgeon making her capable of doing it. It was a major slam-dunk for the prosecuting district attorney.

She feverishly denied everything despite the mountainous evidence against her admitting to only thing. She did make love to Robert the night he was murdered.

She could still remember the cries and wails of her family especially her mother when the lead juror read the guilty verdict on all charges, a week later; she heard the chilling words during her sentencing.

“Has the jury reached a verdict on sentencing?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” announced the lead juror.

The judge motioned for the bailiff to take the paper from the lead juror so that he can read their judgment against Sophia. Time literally stood still for her in that moment, after reading; he looked at the jury one more time, then back of a trembling Sophia waiting for sentencing.

“Usually I would disregard what is on this paper and hand down a life sentence with no promise of parole, being that this is your first brush with the law Mrs. Matheson,” the judge started to say.

“But the evidence of the crimes in which you have committed is so… disgusting… so heinous… I have no choice but to make an exception here today,” he continued to say shaking his head.

“You not only planned out the murder of your husband, but you butchered him while he laid very much coherent and defenseless… as a former Marine myself… I find this to be the most dishonorable and cowardice way to be murdered,” he continued with his sentencing.

“And so I have no choice but to go with the decision of the jury and levy the ultimate punishment against you. Sophia Matheson, you will be remanded to the Mountain View Unit for Women in Gatesville where you will be sentenced to death by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul. Remand Mrs. Matheson into custody. This court is adjourned,” was his judgment as he slammed the gavel down.

She had collapsed at the word “death” as the wails grew louder in the courtroom; her mother rushed to the hospital for a mild heart attack. After three months of prison time she had cut off all contact from her family and friends so they could not see the state she was in. She changed her name back to Dennison, and after her first and only appeal that took an agonizing three-and-a-half years, she did not have the strength to go through another appeal and decided to wait to die.

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She did not know if it was one of her abilities, but her mind was like a DVD operating in 4D mode. It was playing back events in her mind in clear detail where it felt like she could literally smell, hear, and touch things as long as she focused on that time. She tested it by concentrating on the night in the hotel. She remembered waking up groggy with a massive taste of cottonmouth. She did not understand how she went from being naked in her bed wrapped up in Robert’s embrace to one of her business suits as she tried to sit up on the bed.

Looking around the room the only things she recognized was her laptop on the desk and her luggage. Who packed her luggage, and why was it there? Why was she there for that matter?

Bathroom she thought to herself, running her face with ice-cold water would wake her up and shake the fogginess so she could figure out what was truly going on. As she got to her feet, her soul leaped out of her body from the startling sound of the door to the room slammed open. Men flooded in screaming at her. As her focus became clearer, she could see that they were police officers with their guns pointed at her.

“What… what’s happening…” Sophia managed to get out amid the chaos.

The officers ignored her as they just barked at her, “Police! On the ground! Get on the ground now!”

“I don’t understand,” she raised her hands in the air terrified, “what’s happening? What’s happening?”

Realizing she was not armed, two officers rushed her throwing her violently to the carpet floor of the room. It felt like they were attempting to snap her arms in half like twigs. She sobbed and wailed uncontrollably. Why was she in that room? How did she get into that room? Why were they hurting her, and why was no one answering her? Most importantly, where was Robert? She tried to search her memory but everything between the night she slept in his arms and when she woke up in that room was completely blank.

As she felt the cold steel of one of the officer’s handcuffs clamp down hard on her wrists, the officer with the words “Detective” written across his bulletproof vest finally gave her an answer.

“Sophia Matheson… you are under arrest for the murder of your husband Robert Matheson… you have the right to remain silent…” the detective announced.

She did not hear him reading the rest of the Miranda rights to her.

“What? Robert is dead? No! No! No! Tell me what happen?!” she screamed incoherently asking. “Tell me what happened?! Please! Please!”

She went on like that as they pulled her to her feet and dragged her out of the hotel.

Bringing her back to Houston through a horde of reporters asking questions she could not answer.

She did not bother reliving the hours and hours of brutal and relentless grilling from a chain of detectives, and the sleepless nights of bitter crying in a cell.

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She tried to focus on what happened after that night in the hotel, but once again, it was all blank. The length of the blankness told her she was probably out for a day or two. She focused harder to get to that night, on the verge of giving up out of frustration an image appeared in her head.

It was blurry and dark but an image was still coming through. She could see the moonlight coming through the windows of their room. The cottonmouth had comeback just like in the hotel but this time she was home in her bedroom.

She was not lying next to Robert in their bed. She was propped up against a wall covered in her bed sheets, sitting on the cold cherry oak floor that they redid together. She looked around wondering how she got there when she heard the voices. Three distorted and one muffled, she looked up to see Robert laying on the bed looking straight at her.

His eyes were full of tears; it looked like he was fighting to move but could not. Why could he not move? Why could he not even speak for that matter?

His mouth looked like it had a case of lockjaw. She then realized she could not move either; she did not feel paralyzed, but her body felt like it weighed a ton. Her voice was gone as well, filling her with fear. It felt like she was in the middle of a nightmare, and she could not wake up. She tried to calm herself and focus on what the voices were saying.

“Of all the things,” said a first distorted voice, which sounded like a man, “…a fucking wedding cake knife…”

“What?! It’s symbolic!” returned an entirely different distorted male voice.

“Whatever… let’s get this over with,” fired back the first man, their voices sounded Vader-like without the heavy breathing.

“Playtime big boy…” came a third distorted voice that sounded definitely like a woman.

Sophia concentrated on the female voice; she could make out a slender dark figure straddling her husband on their bed. She could not see her head because she could barely raise her neck up, but she could see what appeared to be a patch on her shoulder. It was dark and embossed, but the moonlight revealed to her what appeared to be the Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull holding a scythe in one hand while holding a skull in its other hand. Sophia’s eyes traveled lower to see her running something silver and pointy across her husband’s stomach. It appeared to be the cake-cutting knife from their wedding.

Her eyes returned to Robert who remained fixed on her, while he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry… I am so sorry…”

Still not able to find her voice she let out a groan catching everyone’s attention in the room.

“Holy shit… she’s awake,” came from man #2.

“Impossible,” said the man who was apparently the leader of the group. “She should be out for at least thirty-six hours.”

“Just cut her fucking head off,” hissed the woman of the group.

Sophia struggled to lift her head to see who the bitch was at that point, only to see that she was wearing some high-tech looking helmet that covered her entire head attached to an equally tech-like suit.

“No, you idiot, we need her alive for this to work,” the leader reminded the woman. “Just hit her with another dosage and some of the pink stuff, that’ll make sure she won’t remember any of this.”

She struggled to move, tried to make her voice louder so someone could hear her, but it was no use. The next thing she felt was a leather hand grabbing her arm and a sharp prick. She groaned again as things began to get foggy, what little consciousness she had was focused on the female figure.

She could feel her looking at her before everything went black, and she was sure she heard her say, “Get ready for your life to change.”

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She woke from her trance with a gasp and her eyes blinded with tears. She scrambled to her feet in confusion crashing into a nearest wall, effortlessly caving it in. She steadied herself, forced herself to breathe normally, and to stop the damn shaking. As crazy as it was, it was now clear what had happened on that night all those year ago.

Raged now stoked her heart, somehow, some way she had to find out about that morbid patch, and then she would find them. First, she grabbed the cash out of the box, counted it taking half and putting the rest back in the box. She then tore a piece of paper from a tablet, grabbed a pen and wrote, “I’m so sorry for taking your money and the damage. I promise I will pay you back and fix everything. You have my word.”

As she finished her letter of apology, an earth shaking crashing sound of metal-on-metal from outside made her leap out of her skin.

“Jesus!” she screamed.

She quickly stuffed the money into the bag and zoomed from out of the office through the store. She broke through the emergency exit door without thinking of the alarm. Not that it mattered; she could hear the sound of sirens getting closer.

Sophia cupped the top of her head, gritting her teeth as she was the first to witness the destruction of the fire escape ladder, which finally ripped from its fixings on the wall and crashed into the alleyway on top of the drop box.

“Not… good,” she said to herself, before turning on her heels.

With her newfound ability for speed, she jetted out of town before anyone could see her. Her destination was the only place she knew she could find the answers she needed. Back home.

CHAPTER 6

September 2, 2008, 11:56 AM, several hours before Sophia’s visit to Cypress, the jet-black twin engine Sikorsky private helicopter from the incident in Mountain View Unit soared over the gigantic trees of Upper Klamath Lake in Oregon. It no longer made the loud whirling sound that came with its entrance at the prison. It appeared to be in some type of stealth mode as the blades continued to spin without emitting any noise, while reflective panels at the bottom of it made it a ghost to virtually anyone looking up.

Its destination was the top of Mount McLoughlin. Carved right into the base of the mountain; a sixty-foot security wall masked the only entranceway for transports carrying equipment to enter or exit when needed. On top of the wall, holographic projectors and reflective panels provided camouflage against unsuspecting hikers or campers looking outside as it hid the security detail guarding the wall in high tech armor, gear, and weapons never seen before in modern warfare.

Not that they really had to worry, three hundred meters ahead of the wall were patrols on off road highly advanced ATVs minus the loud obnoxious sounds they usually emit, wearing similar armor to the ones on the wall, but with camo color that allowed them to blend in perfectly to their environment. They, along with the network of hidden cameras, mini-bird like drones, and motion sensors ensured that no one either unintentionally or deliberately got within eyesight of the facility.

Finally, two hundred meters ahead of them, a security detail of phony park rangers intercepted hikers and mountain climbers feeding them false information or redirecting them to the other side of the mountain not located near the facility. The aircraft made its final descent at the top of the snowcap of the once volcanic mountain; the very top though covered in snow was also a large platform helipad, which the copter easily landed on despite the wind conditions. Upon confirming a secure and safe landing, the platform lowered the helicopter down into the mountain. As it descended, a massive lid door on hydraulics ascended closing the entrance to the mountain base while new snow spewed out through vents to cover the entrance.

A woman in her late twenties stood waiting near the main entrance of the helipad clutching a computer tablet dressed in a jet black slightly form fitting business dress suit. She wore her silky brunette hair in a bun as she adjusted the black and silver high-priced name brand glasses on her face, which amplified her bright green eyes. Her demeanor commanded professional respect despite her wearing bright pink flip-flops, revealing her rose-colored toenails. Briskly she walked to the Sikorsky as the platform finally came to its resting spot. The lights turned from red to green confirming the platform locked and secured.

She stepped onto the platform now waiting at the entrance of the vehicle quickly scratching the back of her left leg with her right big toe. As the doors opened and the steps flipped down once more, the director stepped out followed by Agent Slater, the Santa looking man with the German accent, along with his staff and the agents under the director.

“Welcome back, Director,” greeted the young woman.

“Status, Ms. Barrett,” commanded the Director, getting down to business.

Ms. Barrett fell in line with Agent Slater as they followed the Director making a beeline into the facility.

“A couple of hikers came close to the perimeter; our “park rangers” met them and sent them to the “safe side” of the mountain,” she began her report. “They were informed they were too close to black bear territory and a family of bears, and then Mr. Dunbar showed up again.”

Director Rosen drew a sigh.

“Did the men stomp him out as ordered?” he calmly asked.

“Yes, sir,” she confirmed. “Before the usual “tranq and wipe” followed by dumping him on his lawn for an umpteenth staged drunken stupor.”

“We have it recorded?” Director Rosen smiled.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded.

“Good, I’ll watch it later,” he said as he continued on to his destination within the facility.

“I still don’t understand why we continue to do this instead of eliminating him all together,” Ms. Barrett questioned. “He just won’t stop.”

“I keep telling you, Ms. Barrett,” Director Rosen lectured, “one local drunken conspiracy theorist nut keeps the regulars skeptical and away and also reduces an unnecessary body count… not to mention I just love fucking with him. Remember we’re in the business of killing the enemies of our country.”

“Not our citizens… except when necessary,” she recited.

“Correctamundo, now are they here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, they arrived an hour ago,” she confirmed. “They’re in debriefing room one with the updated files.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barrett.” Director Rosen motioned to the others following. “Mr. Slater go grab breakfast, Dr. Zimmerman I believe we have no further need of each other till later.”

“Of course…” Dr. Zimmerman nodded as he broke off with his staff following him to run further tests on the samples in their possession. Agent Slater and his team briefly followed Dr. Zimmerman and his team before making their way to the mess hall. Ms. Barrett continued to follow the Director keeping stride with him all the way to debriefing room one. The sterile white walls, ceiling, and floor along with the dull chrome silver finishing on the doors they passed made their outfits pop out against the stark background.

The only other color in the hallway was the surging blue motion sensor strip on each side of the walls and the textbook-large black global surveillance cameras stationed in the ceiling down the end of each of the hallways.

The Director and Ms. Barrett did not break stride as they neared the debriefing room doors, which parted open with perfect precision allowing them to walk vigorously through. Waiting for them in the front of the college campus classroom set up with the immense theatre style video screen sat four individuals, three men and one woman.

The midnight black military fatigues they wore could not be associated to any of the five US branches, nor any military force on the planet. No nametags, call signs, or badges of rank. The only symbol they sported were black embossed patches on the sleeves of their fatigue jackets; the symbol was of a Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull holding a scythe in his right hand and a small skull in his left hand.

From right to left, a man in his mid-thirties sat sporting a sharp blond crew cut attached to a well-groomed blond beard with piercing blue eyes lazily flipping through the computer tablet in front of him reading the data. Next to him sat a younger man in his late twenties with brown hair cut low into a Caesar style; clean-shaven with a very bad disposition, sporting shades in the darkened room. He was not a bit interested in the data on his tablet. Next to him sat a young woman in her mid-twenties with dirty blonde hair sitting Indian style with her tablet on her lap more interested in balancing her jet-black stiletto boot knife on the back of her hand. Finally next to her was a man in his early thirties with fiery red hair and a matching long beard playing Angry Birds on his tablet.

Everyone came to somewhat of an attention as the director took the podium. He pulled out his reading glasses from his jacket putting them on.

“The files you have in front of you will outline the details of the target, in this debriefing we will be focusing on the essentials,” he began the debriefing.

The theater size screen behind the Director came to life showing Sophia’s prison profile along with her picture.

“Subject’s name is Sophia Dennison, married name was Matheson,” Director Rosen explained. “Age thirty-four; she was convicted of the capital murder of her husband and sentenced to death by lethal injection. The State of Texas executed her almost twelve hours ago. Seven minutes after she was pronounced dead, subject resurrected, breaking through her bonds and taking out five correctional officers before being gunned down.”

Rosen stopped to adjust his reading glasses before continuing.

“After being pronounced officially dead for a second time,” he went on, “the subject resurrected two hours and fifteen minutes after her second death impervious to gunfire taking out between fifty to sixty armed correctional officers, local police, and SWAT destroying majority of the eighth floor of the prison before smashing through the wall dropping several stories into a parked squad car. She killed a correctional officer in the process of doing that. As she proceeded to run the yard, a high caliber bullet from the watchtower guard brought her down to one knee. She got back to her feet less than a minute after the initial hit. The same guard fired several of the same rounds at her. They were ineffective. She then picked up and launched a police car with relative ease taking out the watchtower. She then ran the length of the yard, which is almost half the length of a football field in less than ten seconds before smashing through a concrete and stone security wall where she is now on the run. It is believed that the subject has been infected by the EVO Virus.”

“How do you know it was the virus?” the first man known as #1 asked.

“Because we were able to test the sample of blood we acquired after she was “shot to death” inside of the prison,” the Director returned with stone cold irritation. “Please do not interrupt me again unless it’s with an intelligent question. Now as you can see based on the footage, subject displays the following superhuman abilities… strength allowing her to lift possibly several tons, smash through solid concrete and rip through pure steel with considerable ease and durability; she’s impervious to armor piercing rounds, all forms of blunt force injuries and falls that may prove fatal. Superhuman speed… top speed, however, is unknown to us. She also possesses regenerative healing which we believe not only heals her from wounds but gives her new abilities so that she cannot be injured the same way again. This ability seems to vary in recovery time depending on the injury. Prison records reveal before her “execution” her original height of five-foot-six inches, weighing in at one hundred and twenty-five pounds; however, the footage we have acquired suggests an alteration to her current physiology. We estimate her to be almost six feet tall with a weight of several hundred pounds.”

The theater screen broke up into smaller screens showing footage of Sophia either smashing through brick walls or ripping off steel doors while correctional officers and SWAT fired round after round at her from various firearms, all proving ineffective in bringing her down.

Footage taken of the outside courtyard showed the side of the eighth floor exploding open as Sophia holding a correctional officer with a missing arm fell crashing down into a squad car almost creating a crater. She crawled out of the wreckage only to go down to one knee from what appeared to be a high caliber bullet. She raised again as similar rounds fired at her bounced off her dense skin.

She then grabbed a sheriff’s Dodge Charger squad car, lifting it clumsily from the back end, and launched it like a shot-put taking out the watchtower as the security guard stationed there jumped to safety to avoid the hit. The four individuals looked at each other visibly concerned about how they were supposed to deal with such an individual.

“One more thing… almost four and a half years ago,” the Director remembered, “you all murdered her husband and framed her for it.”

Normally information like that would not bother a couple of highly trained killers if their target were a normal target.

“Well… that’s good to know,” said the red-haired man, known as #4, with a sarcastic laugh.

“So now that you’ve dropped the mother of nukes on us,” asked #1, “how do you expect us to kill her?”

“I don’t expect you to kill her,” answered the Director. “I expect you to bring her in.”

It was as if someone sucked the wind of the room, #3 let out a nervous laugh as she played with her long hair while picking at her boot with her knife. #4 puts his head down stroking his fire red beard; #2 just stared at the director through his dark shades. #1 does not even look at the director at this point as he flipped through Sophia’s profile on his tablet. #4 finally decided to raise his hand flailing it around as if he were in elementary school.

The director finally recognized him. “What is it?”

“Just curious sir,” #4 innocently asked, “us and what friggin’ army is supposed to bring in the bitch of steel carrying the mother of all grudges against us?”

Director Rosen removed his glasses and came off his podium to stand in front of #4. He looked down at him as if he were an ant he was about to step on.

“My apologies,” he came with a stern sarcastic tone, “I’ve seem to have given off the impression that you all had either an opinion or choice in this matter. Do you need re-education?”

#4 looked at Ms. Barrett and the tablet in her hand as she raised an eyebrow. He swallowed hard.

“No, sir,” he shook his head.

The director turned his back to #4 returning to his podium as the rest of his teammates gave him a dirty look for agitating the man.

“What?” #4 returned the look in kind. “Fuck yawl lookin at?”

“If we are done playing games let us make one thing clear,” the Director sternly delivered home to the team of four. “Sophia Dennison is more valuable than all of you, and everyone else who has come before you… and just like you she is my property that I want back… like yesterday.”

“But not to worry,” he then gave them a fatherly smile of reassurance, “as usual daddy has some toys that will put you on equal footing with her so that you can carry out your mission.”

The screen went black, and then came on again with a wide view revealing four large metallic monstrosities in separate clear glass cylinders of unknown solution with various wires attached to them.

#4 was the first to echo the team’s sentiment. “What the…?”

“Biological Assault Mechs,” answered the Director, “B.A.Ms” for short, the perfect mixture of cybernetics and living tissue.”

“Cyborgs?” the silent man known as #2 asked.

“Mechs,” reiterated the Director, “Instead of hydraulics and servos these machines move via genetically-altered muscle, sinew, and a nervous system that is part organic and part cybernetic integrated with a virtually indestructible metallic bone structure giving them not only exceptional superhuman strength and speed but superior agility and reflexes for their size. An operator via controls and a neural uplink commands them from within. You each will be fitted for an uplink and calibrated to each machine within the next eight hours; you will then have the next forty-eight hours to master each of your units before engaging the subject.”

#4 held up his hand while asking his question not waiting for the Director to call him. “So when are these coming to a store near you for Christmas?”

“If you’re asking if these will be standard issue for the military,” the Director surprisingly answered him, “they won’t… our government can’t afford these. Not to mention the “ethical” retaliation we’d get if the public knew what it took to create such a machine.”

“I don’t follow,” a now curious #1 asked.

“In order for operator and machine to calibrate perfectly the organic material has to be first taken from the operator for altering and cloning,” explained the Director.

The woman known as #3 narrowed her eyes as she thought she had figured out what the director was saying. “You mean…”

He does not wait for her to wrap her brain around it. “The DNA used to grow the organic materials for each of these machines was taken from each of you.”

Dead silence once again filled the room; it was hard to tell whether each member had a look of violation or fascination.

Either way the look on the Director’s face showed he did not care. “Now if there are no further questions… prepare to be prepped for surgery in the next six hours.”

CHAPTER 7

September 3, 2008, 0830 AM, Armitage stood in the alleyway near the Goodwill. It was the first sighting of Dennison since she broke out of prison. There in the alley he looked at the drop box that required a forklift to move, buried under a couple thousand pounds of steel from the emergency escape ladder that collapsed on it. It had been almost a day and a couple of hours since this all started. Here in front of him was another sign that the madness was far from ending. He left his agents and the local forensics team to taking pictures and collecting evidence outside while he went in to see the full extent of the damage done inside the building.

Inside was just as bad as the out with a huge gaping hole in the ceiling, a couple of clothing racks destroyed, and a floor with a small crater in it. Armitage now stood next to Mercer looking up at God’s blue sky through the very same hole.

“Self-explanatory, isn’t it?” he sighed.

“Yep,” reconfirmed Dustin.” Made her way to the roof with that unstable set up outside, punched a hole through so as not to trip any alarms, got cleaned up, clothes, something to eat, and broke into manager’s office. She took the video tapes for the surveillance cameras, then broke into the safe taking some of the money.”

“Some?” Mark furrowed his brow.

“There’s still cash in the box,” Dustin scoffed in disbelief. “It looked like she counted it and took half, she left a written note to the manager apologizing for the damage, taking the money, and said she’d pay him back for it.”

Mercer pulled out the letter in a sealed evidence Ziploc bag, which Armitage took giving a quick read. He came up giving his partner a look of in total confusion.

“She kills a CO in prison,” he ran down, “breaks into here, and yet leaves half the money and an apology note for the damage she’s done.”

“There’s no end to the weirdness man,” Dustin shook his head, “figured she booked out of here when the ladder outside fell; that’s what prompted the locals to show up.”

“Considering the ground that she covered so far,” Mark estimated, “she could be half way to Houston by now.”

“She could also head to Mexico,” Dustin added.

“Good point,” agreed Mark, “we’ll need to set up a grid from here to there, get some agents down there with the border patrol to try and keep her from going over.”

Dustin furrowed his own brows at the “Keep her from going over part” of Mark’s sentence.

“You did see that she lifted that drop box outside by herself, right?” he pointed.

“I’m trying to handle one problem at a time Dustin,” returned a frustrated Mark. “We need to find her. We can figure out how to deal with the superhuman factor along the way.”

Armitage spied a stocky elderly man with white-silver hair and some silver horn-rimmed spectacles in a light fall jacket with a checkered shirt underneath and khaki tan pants held up by a belt and suspender combination. He calmly walked around inspecting the damage.

“Who’s that?” Mark pointed.

The man with the answer looked over to where Mark was pointing.

“Manager of this store… Thomas Ward,” Dustin confirmed.

Out of nowhere, Mercer’s phone rang; he looked at it and sent it to voicemail.

“Is that Bethany?” Mark asked pryingly.

“Yeah, I’ll call her later,” he grumbled.

“What’d I tell you about that shit?” Mark came out of nowhere lecturing him. “Answer your phone, man.”

“She’s just calling to bitch to me about my cholesterol and the kids!” yelled Dustin. “I’ll call her later!”

“Call her now, dammit!” Mark literally ordered him “I’m going to talk to the owner, handle your business!”

“Alright, “ma”! Alright!” Dustin flared his arms.

Mark stood there waiting until Dustin picked up his phone and called his wife back.

“Bethany? Yeah… what’s up?” He rolled his eyes as she answered. “I had egg whites and an orange juice today; you want me to bring home a stool sample? Well that’s what you get for dick riding my ass! What?! Well call the plumber and tell him the toilet can’t take him to China!”

Dustin mouthed the words, “I fucking told you!” as he continued to bicker with his wife.

Mark Armitage walked over to Thomas Ward for the formal Federal Bureau assurance that they were on the job with the promise of apprehending the fugitive eventually, etc., etc., etc.

“Mr. Ward,” he introduced himself, “Special Agent in Charge Mark Armitage.”

Mr. Ward extended his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Special Agent.”

“Sorry about the damage to your store.” Armitage gave a textbook apology for situations like this. “And everything else.”

“Well, you didn’t do this, and that’s what insurance is for,” Mr. Ward shrugged with a smile.

“Still we’re in pursuit of the fugitive and should have her in due time,” Mark reassured. “May I ask if all of the cameras in this store work?”

“As I told one of your agents,” Mr. Ward confirmed, “two are dummies… two are working… we don’t get a lot of thievery in these parts. I’d say you’re welcome to the tapes, but I heard the young lady took them.”

“Thank you,” Mark nodded with appreciation. “Um… here’s my card, if you can think of anything or need anything, please call.”

“Thank you, Special Agent, oh, and if you do happen to catch the young lady who did all of this,” he began to request, “tell her I do forgive her… and I am praying for her.”

Thomas Ward gave Mark a smile and a nod as he walked away, leaving him standing bewildered and unable to process what he just heard.

“Okay… the whole world has officially gone mad,” he muttered, shaking his head.

CHAPTER 8

11:45 PM, Sophia stood in the backyard of her home, her and Robert’s home. After four years, she thought someone would have made it the home she always wanted it to be. She thought she would see bikes, a swing set, maybe a puppy. Instead, it sat there dark and empty like a tomb; almost four years later and it was still on the market. She understood why it was so hard to sell considering what had happened there. The place she dreamed about having a family was now a real estate agent’s virtual nightmare. As she neared the stone fire pit, one of the key selling points for them wanting the house, an image flooded her mind. It was of her and Robert curled up in a blanket on one of the patio chairs. They were looking up at the stars while the warm fire blazed in the lit pit. She could literally hear the crackling of the fire; feel the heat from it as well as Robert’s warm embrace. She could taste his lips as they kissed and hear his heartbeat as she nuzzled against his chest.

She shook herself regaining her senses as tears once again filled her eyes, a painful reminder that she had to get control of this new ability of hers. All she had to do was think of a memory long enough, and it activated in 4D making her feel like she was actually there. So much so, it left her in trances if she was not careful. She destroyed a couple of trees and a concrete wall on the way before she figured out how to get somewhat of a handle on it. One of the memories that caused the wall fiasco was of a sexual nature with Robert in a movie theater.

As she neared the patio, she grabbed a stone from the waist high wall entrance that surrounded it. Sure enough, no one found the fake stone with the spare key. She placed the fake back where it originally rested and tiptoed to the back patio doors. She prayed that whoever was selling the house was too cheap to continue to pay for the alarm system while it was on the market. Jackpot again as the door opened minus the one-minute warning beep to enter the disarming passcode into the keypad. She entered slowly closing the door behind her, with her eyes closed she reminded herself to stay focus; a treasure trove of memories were in that house.

Birthdays, football games, couple of firsts, arguments, every good and bad memory was coming at her at once; and she had to shove them all back. Apparently, if she was not near something familiar she could pull a memory by choice and view it. However, the minute she came across or touched something familiar the memories spilled out like an over packed closet. The original plan was to stay the night in their old home, clearly that was no longer possible; she would go insane by dawn. She was there because she wanted to know if her memories gave her the clear image she was seeing when she selected them, or if it was more intense in her former home; she was looking for clues.

She trotted upstairs were more memories came at her in barrages, moving in new furniture, the water fight they had in the hallway, the time they could not wait to get to their bedroom to have each other, arguments with slamming doors. She weathered through them trying to get to the master bedroom. She forced herself to stop at one particular bedroom right next to the master.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

They did not change the paint, probably wanted it to be the selling point for a house fit for a new family. She could smell the sea green paint as she applied it to the wall on her side; on the other side, Robert applied the yellow.

“So if it’s a girl?” she asked.

“Rebecca, Sarah, Mary…” he rattled off some names.

“Anything other than Biblical names?” she sneered.

He thought about it.

“Erica… Stephanie… Alize… Porsha,” he rattled off some more.

“Alright! Alright!” she changed the subject unhappy with the names he came up with. “What if it’s a boy?”

He contemplated with a smile, “Well, I was thinking about Rob Junior…”

“No… oh no,” she decided to lay down the law, “just because it’s coming out of me doesn’t mean you get a mini-me!”

“Oh… oh… real nice, you just came up with that on the spot?” he asked sarcastically.

“I can’t help that you’re kind of slow in the wit department…” she returned with an underlined, yet blatant, diss.

“I’m slow now?” He slowly turned around. “You calling me slow? You want to see how slow I am? You think this is slow?”

She did not have time to react as he walked over and picked her up whisking her around.

“What are you doing? What are you doing?” She burst out with a shocking scream of laughter. “Put me down, you’re going to make me drop the paint!”

“Am I still slow? Am I still slow?” He playfully demanded her to recant her comment.

“There are pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes,” she answered with her best Bubba voice in a playful taunt.

“You doing Bubba again? You doing Bubba?” He threw her over his shoulder, grabbing her legs, and began to paint her feet with the paintbrush tickling her.

“No! No!” Sophia laughed. “You know that makes me pee! No! No!”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

She had to fight herself to recoil away from the memory, a happy memory with a painful reminder that only paint filled the room. She pulled herself away from the room, finally making it to the master bedroom.

She braced herself psyching up before she walked through the doors. “One memory… focus on that one memory… focus on that night…”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

As she touched the double doors to the master bedroom, her memory transported her to that night, hours before her world changed. She was going to leave him that night; almost six months after he returned home injured from Iraq, they had been arguing nonstop and when they were not arguing they were barely talking to one another.

Sophia’s psychology background made her understand Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, especially with soldiers injured in combat; however, it was a completely different story being the wife of a soldier who was suffering from it. Money was never the issue, they had more than enough especially with his trust fund, military pay, and her work; she also could live through the night terrors.

What she could not live through were the nights of silence, being in the same house with the person she was in love with, and feeling so lonely; there were no talks of children, or starting his custom auto restoration business. Instead, there were late nights alone at home, or him stumbling in drunk after a night with his friends. Then there were the days when he was just angry and would snap at her, especially about simple or stupid things. She asked him to go to counseling with her, and he flat out refused. She started taking extra shifts at the hospital just so she did not have to come home and deal with him.

She couldn’t live like this, she needed some time to think so she decided to take a couple of weeks off work and stay with her parents in New York for a while to figure out if this life was worth continuing. She did not expect him to be home; she thought it would be a long night of waiting before she could confront him. The master bedroom doors where rarely shut. She listened at the door for a minute in case someone was in there with him. It sounded like it was just him. With a deep breath, she opened the doors to every wife of a veteran worst nightmare. Robert sitting on the bed hunched over sobbing uncontrollably; holding his Beretta M9 locked and apparently loaded… a very bad combination.

She thought it was best postponing telling him she was leaving him as she entered the room slowly with her heart in her throat and fresh sweat soaking her doctor scrubs. It was like walking into a field of landmines as she neared her husband.

“Robert… honey… what are you doing?” she asked with a calm innocence.

He sobbed harder, as she edged closer to him, unsure whether or not she should call the police.

She took a breath and decided to see if she could defuse the situation herself.

“Robert… baby… give me the gun,” she gently asked.

“I’m gonna burn,” he blubbered with his chin buried in his chest. “I’m gonna burn… for what I’ve done… oh God, forgive me I’m gonna burn…”

His finger was not on the trigger but the safety was off, and Robert was a quick shot.

“Robert give me the gun,” she gingerly asked again standing in front of him, “give me the gun, baby…”

At this point, he went into a near hysterical state flailing his arms around with the gun forcing her to back up a bit.

“All that blood! All those people! I’m gonna burn! I’m gonna burn…” he howled.

She decided best to take a more direct approach not going for the gun as she knelt down in front of him.

“You’re not going to burn,” she cupped his face looking him dead in eyes. “You hear me… you’re not gonna burn…”

“Sophia… you don’t know,” he sobbed dropping his shoulders, “you don’t know… what I’ve done… you have no idea what I’ve done.”

“You served your country,” she shook his face fighting to get his full attention. “You gave them everything… but you’re mine again… you hear me?”

Tears now poured as she lost control of her own emotions.

“You are mine again,” she cried, “and they are not taking you away from me… you hear me? They’re not taking you away from me…”

She kissed him, and he pulled away but she kissed him repeatedly, and then ripped the front of his shirt open kissing his shrapnel scarred chest.

“Sophia… stop… stop… please stop,” he growled.

Refusing to be rejected this time, she jumped up straddling him holding on by his ripped shirt, sparking his now hair trigger rage.

“I said stop!!” he screamed at her.

“I’m not stopping!” she screamed back at him. “You are mine! You hear me… you are mine… so hit me… throw me off… shoot me… do what you have to do, but I am not stopping till you put down that goddamn gun… and touch me! Please! Just touch me.”

She does not stop as she continued to kiss and nibble his torso and neck holding onto his ripped shirt for dear life. She reached his lips as he gave a weak attempt to fight her off. Unable to fight anymore he laid down the gun lifting her into the air as she wrapped her legs around his waist letting him take her as willingly as she came to him. He ripped the front of her medical blouse with ease as she did his shirt. A night of trembling passion from bodies that had not touched in so long, they slept that final night entangled in one another.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

She pulled out of the memory knowing what was going to happen next. She clutched her chest trembling and weeping; it was a thousand times more intense being there and reliving it. She should not have come back, but she had to find out why was Robert so distraught. What was he going to burn for? The answers to her questions were not there. As she opened the doors to an empty bedroom, the entire room was bare; their furniture and belongings gone God knows where. This was no longer her home, and she had to leave it once again for good this time.

Sophia snuck out of her home with a clearer vision of a gritty memory, but no clues. As she locked the door for a final time, she decided to take the key as a keepsake; the only thing she had of her old life. She prepared to take flight again to figure out her next move, until another familiar sound pierced her ears like nails on a chalkboard planting her in her tracks. A screaming woman and glass breaking; the Martins were at it again.

Craig Martin was a senior executive for a major insurance company in Houston; she also remembered him as an abusive prick who liked letting his hand fly especially against his wife Tammy. Tammy was a stay at home wife and mother, by Craig’s choice. Sophia saw very little of Tammy because of her sometimes long work hours as a surgeon, but when she did see her, she remembered the shy smile that went with the light blue eyes. She remembered how that smile would disappear when Craig pulled up, and the first time her scream woke both her and Robert out of their sleep.

The many times they either went over there or called police to go over there and deal with the situation. Sometimes the police walked away just giving him a warning; a couple of times they walked him out in cuffs.

Tammy, however, would go and bail him out an hour later. He would stop for a couple of weeks until Tammy supposedly do something to set him off again.

It became so redundant that the neighbors decided not to get involved anymore; Tammy became the joke and gossip of the neighborhood, while Craig became the person to avoid all together.

It did not stop until Robert finally had enough and decided to take matters into his own hands, having a little “man to punk” chat with Mr. Martin. He gave Craig a warning that made him stop cold turkey. He did not go into much detail of what he said, but the gist of it was that he refused to live in a neighborhood where there was a wife beater living next door to him and since he was not moving, Craig had two options.

Option one, was for Craig to move himself. Option two, was to stop hitting his wife. He also gave him option three if he refused option one and two, again there was not much detail into it, but the gist of it was that he was a Marine, he had Marine friends, Special Forces friends, and Black Ops friends.

He knew where Craig worked, and could easily track his routine whether it was going to the strip club or hotel to meet whatever whore he was screwing behind his wife’s back, and something about never finding the body. He also hinted that his father was a highly decorated four star General, so there was no way he would do any jail time, much less see the inside of a prison.

Craig, needing to be as close to work as possible, decided to take option #2, apparently this lasted until Robert’s death.

Sophia narrowed her eyes, and hissed her teeth in disgust.

“Dumb bitch…” she muttered.

In her head, she was thinking that her now dead husband was the reason, her psycho for a husband ceased and desisted pounding her face into Play Doh. Now four years later after his death, she was still too stupid and weak to leave his friggin’ ass. It was not fair, and she had her own problems, which were mountainous to another late night ass kicking session at the Martin’s house. She went to slink away in the dark never to return when a squeal once again stopped her from taking another step.

“Daddy! Please stop!” A crying child wailed. “Daddy! Please!”

“Shut the hell up and go back to your room!” Craig Martin barked back. “Come here bitch!”

Little Ethan, he was one-year-old before she was locked up, she remembered him being delivered in her hospital. Tammy was by herself. Craig did not even show up until the afternoon the next day. She looked up into the dark, starry sky cursing the heavens. This had to be a cosmic joke of some kind, God was up there pissing Himself with laughter, and it was spraying all over her. She about-face as the second cry was louder radiating down her spine. She marched right through their yard heading for the back door. As she neared the door she hesitated; doing this would alert everyone looking for her that she was indeed in Houston; making it extremely difficult to near impossible to do what she came to do. She still had time to walk away, until she heard the sound of a fist pounding flesh like hamburger followed by a pleading yelp, followed by another fist and another fist.

She growled as she stabbed the custom cherry-wood door through with a knife hand, before gripping it and ripping it out with part of the frame. She tossed it into the yard where it tore chunks into the freshly cut lawn while breaking into pieces as she entered the house.

They forgot to arm their system probably due to the hell going on which meant she had time to get out of dodge when she was finished. She was surprised no one heard her rip the door off as she rushed into the living room area only to find no one there. Her ears propped up to the near hoarse cries of little Ethan over the commotion going on upstairs.

Sophia darted up the stairs, each step she took caved in whatever wood step she hit sending splinters flying. She turned left running down the hallway toward the noise coming from the master bedroom. Stopping in her tracks, she saw something no decent human being should ever see.

An animal standing over a woman barely half his size with a now unrecognizable bloody and beaten face as a little boy bawled uncontrollably in the corner of the bedroom. She found it ironic, sentenced to death for a murder she did not commit, when she wanted to commit murder at that moment.

A huffing and puffing Martin looked up from his dirty work to see a lioness standing in the door of his bedroom.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

He did not recognize her because of the large hood covering the upper half of her face. Not to mention, Sophia was originally much shorter with long, curly black hair instead of dreadlocks prior to going to prison. She did not answer him as she broke into a stride with the intention to break his neck.

“Crazy bitch!” he yelled.

Craig proved to be an equal opportunity woman beater as he hauled off and slugged Sophia, not expecting to hit skin denser than steel itself.

He hollered, coiling away as he broke at least three of the knuckles on his right hand. Sophia stood there stunned with disbelief, not that she felt a thing, but the fact that he actually hit her. Aside from the fight at Mountain View, which was sheer chaos, she had never been in a fight in her life, not even as a child. Except for a couple of paddling from either her mother or father when she was naughty, no one had outright hit her before. Superhuman or not it was still startling.

“Wha… wha the hell are you?” he groaned clutching his hand.

The startling was fleeting was she turned to beat Craig into pink sticky stuff, when he grabbed his wife’s vanity chair, bad hand and all, and delivered a cliché chair shot to the skull.

Obviously, it smashed to pieces on impact, but the sheer gall that he up and hit her again made Sophia lose it.

In the middle of it all, Sophia did not notice a badly beaten Tammy crawling out of the way of the new ruckus in their bedroom.

With her one good right eye and whatever senses were not knocked out of her, Tammy witnessed a woman three inches shorter than her husband grab him by the front of his shirt and charge shoving him back first into one of the walls of their bedroom putting half of his body through it. She then pulled him out of the hole she made with his body, hoisted him effortlessly into the air and with a swing hurled him back first through the door and part of the wall of the master bathroom.

Part of his shirt torn during the throw which she still had in her right hand; she gave it a quick look before letting it fall on the hardwood floor.

“Oh… oh god… my back,” he gasped in excruciating pain. “I think you broke my back…”

Sophia went in after him stalking him, her Hippocratic Oath was officially tossed out the window as she care not for how much agonizing pain he was in; the same way he did not care he was pounding his helpless wife like a heavy bag.

“Come here, you filthy son of a bitch,” she seethed, “you like beating on women? Get your ass up!”

She ripped him off the floor with one arm ignoring his cries dragging him effortlessly by his torn shirt out of the bathroom back into the bedroom. She did not even notice Tammy huddled into a corner watching her haul what was left of her husband over to the doors of their balcony. Sophia booted them open snapping the lock that held them together.

The force of the kick shattered the glass doors while ripping them partially from the hinges they were on, waking part of the neighborhood. She then dragged him over to the front of the balcony. With her left hand, she grabbed the guardrail ripping it out of the cemented concrete of the balcony. She then chucked it down making sure it smashed out the windshield of his Mercedes Benz below. She really did not have to do it; it was extra, but she wanted to put the fear of God in him, not to mention she knew how much he coveted his car. She then pulled him up facing her, grabbed him by his throat with her right hand, and proceeded to suspend the broken and beaten man ready to drop him two floors to his death.

Craig weakly grabbed her forearm holding on, while begging for his life.

“Please… please… don’t… please…” he groaned.

“You will leave… tonight… never to come back,” she ordered. “You will give your wife a divorce… you will leave her the house… her car… you’ll pay her for pain and suffering for every year she had to put up with your miserable ass along with alimony and child support. You will do everything I just told you to do because if you do not… I will hunt you down and find you underneath whatever rock you crawl under. I will rip each of your limbs off by the joint one by one… nice… and slow… and with your last dying breath you will watch as I beat you to death… with a limb of my choosing… do you understand?”

Craig Martin whimpered and sobbed nodding his head with tears and snot pouring down his face, which only enraged Sophia further.

Sophia wanted to hurl him to his death and watch his skull crack open like an egg on the concrete below, but witnesses were already peeping out their windows. Some stuck their necks out of their doors, and she could pretty much hear police sirens away off getting closer and closer.

“Do… you… hear… me?!” she screamed, hoping to blow out his eardrums.

“Yes… yes… oh god… yes,” Craig Martin acknowledged with a saliva-spitting whimper.

She pulled him back in dropping him onto the balcony deck where he curled up into a ball trembling as he sobbed and cried, it only made her want to really kill him. However, she did not have time; she really had to leave before Houston’s finest swarmed the place. She went to go back out the way she came, when her ears heard the most unbelievable thing.

“What have you done?” uttered a badly beaten and barely coherent Tammy.

A borderline postal Sophia, who did not want to get involved in the first place, responded with, “Say what?”

“What have you done?” babbled on Tammy Martin, “You ruined my marriage… because of you my marriage is over…”

Sophia’s lips quivered; she no longer cared about the sirens getting closer. She lunged for Tammy ripping her off the floor. She screamed as Sophia dragged her in front of a full-length mirror forcing her to look at herself.

“Look at your face,” Sophia screamed at her. “Look at it! Look what he did to you in front of your son!”

Sheepishly, Tammy looked at her face, literally destroyed on the left side. She broke into bitter tears.

She wrapped her arms around herself trying to stop the violent shaking as feelings of embarrassment and shame washed over her. She wanted to die right there on the spot, a part of her wished that Craig had killed her. She came from a happy normal family as one could have, her father never raising a hand to her mother much less an unkind word, and they both loved her very much.

She was the girl who came from a Midwest lower income home with laughter and love. She moved to the closest big city to further her education, and fell for a prince charming story that turned out to be a life of upper class misery, humiliation, and sorrow.

Her father had warned Craig that the next time he put his hand on her it would be the first and last time Craig would see him with his shotgun. The fear of not wanting to see her father possibly go to prison stopped her from going home.

She never finished her nursing degree due to Craig demanding that she stay home, and he paid for and dealt with everything. Common rational sense was to leave him, but she did not have a clue how to survive without him.

“Look at me,” Sophia came with a softer tone, realizing she had enough being yelled at. “Tammy… look at me.”

Tammy turned looking at the woman before her, it did not click that she called her by her first name. She was everything she was not a billion times over, intimidating, tall and powerful. The hood covering the upper part of her face made her look like something straight out of a comic book, but there was something eerily familiar about her.

Sophia motioned to little Ethan standing in the corner crying and shaking.

“If you love your son, you don’t want him to see you looking like this ever again. You also don’t want him to grow up to be like that,” she pointed to Craig still sniveling on the floor outside. “It’s time to draw a damn line in the sand and fight for him if not for yourself.”

She probably had less than a minute before the vehicles pulled up, but she could not leave just yet as she walked over to little Ethan. She knelt down to his height as he stood in the corner sniffling while tears continued to pour from his eyes.

She gently rubbed his little bicep to give him comfort.

“I promise you,” she reassured him, “daddy won’t hurt mommy anymore… okay?”

Ethan nodded wiping his eyes. Sophia whispered to him to go to his mother. He timorously obeyed walking over to her, no doubt fearful of the state of her face.

It only broke her heart more as Tammy knelt down to embrace her son tightly, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Ethan hugged her back which made her cry harder, Sophia realizing she was out of time headed to the smashed up balcony for an exit.

“Wait,” Tammy mustered enough strength to a question. “Who you are?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sophia not looking at her. “You’ll never see me again.”

She continued to head for the balcony but stopped for one more second to deliver a message to a still cowering Craig Martin.

“But you’ll see me “real” soon if you don’t do what you’re told,” she scowled.

Craig curled up deeper into his human ball thinking she was going to put a boot to him. Instead Sophia broke into a quick run and leaped off the balcony; she imagined all the action movies she had seen where the hero or heroine jumped from dangerous heights making a break for it and landed safely to the ground.

She stuck the landing much to her surprise only causing slight damage to the concrete on impact; she figured she would crash and burn sprawling out in the middle of her former street, which would have been downright embarrassing.

Sophia made a break for it just as the patrol cars turned the corner. She ran through the Morrison’s yard across the street.

Nearing the Anderson’s eight-foot gate, she envisioned that she had to clear it like Lolo Jones.

To her shock and surprise, her body instantly kicked into overdrive speeding toward it. With a leap, she cleared the gate mirroring the form of the famed track star. Sticking the landing once again, Sophia stopped for a split second marveling the feat.

“Whoa,” was all she could utter.

The sound of the sirens and voices now close to her vicinity broke her out of her euphoric moment and got her running again. She would be long gone before the officers stepped out of their cars, but they would now know she was in Houston, which meant she had to act fast on whatever she planned to do.

CHAPTER 9

1:05 A.M., Charles Hampton yawned as he entered his building, checked his mailbox, and proceeded to take the elevator up to his studio apartment. He did not look like it but the word doctor also followed his name. Although he was one of leading doctors in Stem Cell Research and biophysics, he looked like he belonged in a boy band with his five o’clock shadow and long slick jet-black hair. He was fumbling with his blackberry as he searched for his keys to enter his apartment. It had been a long day for him especially with the F.B.I walking into his facility asking him a million and one questions he had no answers to. One question in particular was the whereabouts of his once- good-friend-now-escaped-convict, Sophia Dennison, who apparently broke out of prison before her execution. Obviously, the F.B.I did not tell him the full story.

Even though he would never give her up, he honestly did not know of her whereabouts. She cut off all contact with him three months after her sentence to Mountain View; right up until then after locking his door, flipping on the lights, and turning to see a tall dark figure with a hood standing almost nose to nose with him.

“Sweet baby Jesus!” he screamed falling back against the door.

Sophia calmly walked up to him cupping his mouth, removing her hood from her head. “Sssssh…”

Charles calmed himself as she removed her hand from his mouth, he winced his eyes to make sure they were not deceiving him, “Sophia?”

“Hi Charlie.” She smiled.

“How… how… did you get in here?” he began to babble. “Do you know everyone is looking for you?! How the hell did you escape from?!”

She calmly shut his mouth again. “I climbed up here… sorry about the window… yes, I know they’re looking for me… I was executed… I came back to life… twice… I broke my way out… no I am not a zombie… nor am I crazy… and right now… I need your help.”

As she removed her hand from his lips again, he slowly looked her up and down realizing the severe changes in his former friend. “You’re a lot… taller than I remembered…”

“You don’t know the half…” she let out a breath finally in front of a true friend again.

About an hour-and-a-half later of explanation and showing him that she was not jerking his leg by crushing two of his sharpest cutlery knives with her bare hand without drawing any blood. Hampton sat in his chair across from her sitting on the arm of his sofa with a blank dumbfounded expression on his face unable to understand or comprehend what he just heard and witnessed.

“So you were executed,” he began summarizing her entire ordeal, “and then you came back to life… then you got shot… several times… and then you came back to life again… and then you broke out of prison… and now you have super strength and your bullet proof…”

“And I can run… really… really fast,” she added.

“How fast?” he inquisitively asked.

“I ran from Gatesville to Cypress in under an hour and a half… barefoot… to Houston I think only took forty-five minutes,” Sophia estimated.

Charles sat there with a blank stunned look on his face.

“Okay,” he swallowed, “add super human speed… Can you see through walls? Heat vision? Freeze things with your breath?”

“No, you jackass.” She rolled her eyes. “And I can’t fly either… I also don’t get tired.”

“You don’t get tired?” he asked for more clarification.

“I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours including the Guinness book human land speed marathon I just ran,” she estimated again. “I didn’t get winded after the run, and I haven’t hit the fatigue wall yet. In fact I feel the opposite… like I can go and keep going.”

“Could be your body no longer produces fatigue toxins,” Charles said going into doctor mode. “Do you eat?”

“Like a horse,” she confirmed.

“Do you feel weakened if you don’t eat?” he asked, checking to see if it was a possible weakness.

“No… just hungry,” she shrugged.

“Anything else?” he asked to see if she forgot anything.

Sophia leaned forward with a stone cold look on her face, “My memory… I remember… everything.”

“About the night?” he nervously asked.

“Not just the night,” she tried her best to explain. “My entire life until now… I remember being in my mother’s womb and being born.”

Charles leaned back a bit in disbelief, even though she had shown him the impossible already.

“That’s… not… possible,” he stuttered.

“Dude… I had a four inch growth spurt,” she said a bit frustrated, “and I can javelin a cop car, so don’t tell me about “not possible” anymore.”

“I can’t explain it,” she fought to find the words, “the first time I woke up it was like my brain got rebooted, and memories of things I’d forgotten or shouldn’t even remember just flooded my skull all at once all the way up until now. All I have to do is think of something and the memory pops up in detail. And I mean I can see, hear, even remember the scent, touch, or taste of anything with a memory.”

She paused to give Charles a demonstration. “From birth I can literally see inside my mother’s womb… feel the contractions pushing me out. I could feel the scorning of my lungs after breathing air for the first time, and the cold air within the room. I saw my mother drenched in sweat and crying as she looked at me, while Dr. Roper with his huge bi-focal glasses cut my umbilical cord. The nurse with this big Afro wrapped me in a green hospital blanket and handed me to my mother. My dad came into the room crying, fell on his ass and crawled over to the bed. My mom laughed like crazy as she held me, then he kissed my mom, and took me in his arms. He kept kissing me on my nose till I fell asleep, and it smelled like he was drinking a lot of coffee. I can break down in detail what the room looked like and what everyone was wearing. The memories are also more intense if I’m near something familiar. Sometimes if I’m not careful more than one memory will come out at once. Sometimes if it’s too intense it can leave me in a trance that I have to forcefully pull myself out of.”

“Okay… there’s a way to test that,” Hampton leaped out of his seat.

He walked over to his library of books, pulling out a rather large medical book with tabs sticking out of it. As he opened it, it appeared to have been seriously marked up due to various study sessions.

“Remember this monster?” he smiled flipping through it to find a page, “Read me chapter… 27.”

Sophia glanced at the name of the book, shrugged her shoulders, and turned around with her back to him. She began with her recital. “Chapter 27, page 246 on DNA… Deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) is a molecule encoding the genetic instructions used in the development and functioning of all known living organisms and many viruses. Along with RNA and proteins, DNA is one of the three major macromolecules that are essential for all known forms of life. Genetic information is encoded as a sequence of nucleotides (guanine, adenine, thymine, and cytosine) recorded using the letters G, A, T, and C. Most DNA molecules are double-stranded helices, consisting of two long polymers of simple units called nucleotides, molecules with backbones made of alternating sugars (deoxyribose) and phosphate groups (related to phosphoric acid), with the nucleobases (G, A, T, C) attached to the sugars. DNA is well suited for biological information storage, since the DNA backbone is resistant to cleavage and the double-stranded structure provides the molecule with a built-in duplicate of the encoded information.”

Hampton’s face had unnerved written on it.

Sophia continued to recite word for word what he was looking at. “These two strands run in opposite directions to each other and are therefore anti-parallel, one backbone being 3' (three prime) and the other 5' (five prime). This refers to the direction the third and fifth carbon on the sugar molecule is facing.

Attached to each sugar is one of four types of molecules called nucleobases (informally, bases). It is the sequence of these four nucleobases along the backbone that encodes information; this information is read using the genetic code, which specifies the sequence of the amino acids within proteins. The code is read by copying stretches of DNA into the related nucleic acid RNA in a process called transcription.

Within cells, DNA is organized into long structures called chromosomes. During cell division, these chromosomes are duplicated in the process of DNA replication, providing each cell its own complete set of chromosomes.

Eukaryotic organisms (animals, plants, fungi, and protists) store most of their DNA inside the cell nucleus and some of their DNA in organelles, such as mitochondria or chloroplasts. In contrast, prokaryotes (bacteria and archaea) store their DNA only in the cytoplasm. Within the chromosomes, chromatin proteins such as histones compact and organize DNA.”

She paused sure that he got the idea now, but just to make sure she asked, “Shall I keep going? I can say it in Spanish… also remember all the words from what my grandma taught me, on top of high school and college classes were I got a C. Capítulo veintisiete, página doscientos cuarenta y seis en el ADN ... ácido Desoxirribonucleico (ADN) es una molécula que codifica las instrucciones genéticas usadas en el desarrollo y el funcionamiento de todos los organismos vivos conocidos y muchos virus.”

“Um… no… no need to…” a now wide-eyed Hampton looked at the book that he knew his friend had not seen nor read in over eighteen years.

Actually, the book he had was her book; he had lost his in a chemistry accident. She lent it to him for the finals, and he never gave it back after graduation. She recited the chapter verbatim, partially in Spanish that he knew she sucked at despite being half Latina. He nervously closed it looking back at her.

“By the way,” she added smiling, “we read that chapter on October 16, 1990 at 7:30 PM during a study session with you, me, Chris Parker, and Denise Oswald. We had Chinese… Kung-Power chicken, General Taos, and beef with broccoli with chicken lo Mein and garlic dumplings. You were going through your Public Enemy phase, rocking the cap, hoodie, and black military pants with black Gore-Tex boots, and Denise Oswald who had a crush on you was wearing that tight…”

“Okay! Okay!” he cut her off. “I remember! No need to rehash.”

He took a seat on the arm of a sofa this time and got serious again asking, “So… what do you remember?”

“I saw who murdered Rob,” she said still visibly unsettled for the memory. “I can clearly see them as if they were right in front of me.”

She paused taking a deep breath before continuing. “I woke up unable to speak or move but I saw the three of them… in black… two men… one woman. The woman was sitting on top of Rob in our bed holding our wedding cake knife in her hand. They wore weird black rubber suits and helmets… nothing I ever saw before… as if it came out of a sci-fi movie… they had distorted voices… but I could make out their gender. They were shocked that I woke up… like I wasn’t supposed to… one of the men shot me in the arm with something at close range… it felt like a shot and then everything went blurry… the last thing I heard was the woman say.”

Sophia’s face went blank, almost mechanical. As she spoke her voice sounded distorted and identical to the woman’s voice in her memory. “Get ready for your life to change.”

Dead silence covered the room as Charles almost fell off the arm of the sofa. Sophia covered her mouth as her eyes widened.

“Oh… my god,” she stammered under her hand covered mouth.

Charles swimming in a vat of shock, fascination, and fear just uttered, “Wow.”

“Oh god… oh god… oh…god!” Sophia hysterically began to pace back and forth.

“Calm down! Calm down!” Charles sprang to his feet to put her at ease. “Makes sense… super memory equals vocal mimicry. No different from African Grey Parrots; so… what else do you remember?”

Fear made her hesitant to continue, vengeance made her dive back in.

“An embossed symbol on the woman’s left shoulder,” she said slowly. “Saw it through whatever moonlight was in the room… it was a Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull while holding a scythe in one hand and smaller skull in its other hand… I think they’re either military or mercenary.”

“So… what do you need from me?” he asked. “I’m a doctor… like you, you know I don’t have any military ties.”

“I need to know what’s happening to me.” She took her seat again leaning forward. “On a physical and what this is clearly on a cellular level.”

“How am I supposed to do that when the needle will just bend or break off your skin?” he asked with a perplexed look.

“Hello, you forgot to be a doctor?” she said in joking disbelief. “How about hair samples and swabbing the inside of my mouth for saliva.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah!” he smacked his skull feeling like a retard.

“I also brought this,” she grabbed her black book bag pulling out the plastic bag with her prison gear still covered in blood staining the inside of it.

“Holy shit…” he said stunned at the amount of blood in the bag.

“What’s left of my prison gear.” She motioned. “Hopefully you can do something with this… also I need to borrow some extra money… preferably cash… enough for a motel room and something to eat.”

“Why don’t you stay here?” he pleaded.

“Too dangerous.” She waved off the offer. “If the police or feds don’t know I’m here yet they will soon enough. I kind of beat up Craig Martin like almost an hour ago.”

Charles, remembering Craig Martin after all those years, sat there with a dumbfounded, “Are you kidding me?” look as Sophia sat there acting meek. He decided to come back to that later.

“So you’re just going to leave?” he asked with an irritated tone.

“I have to keep moving, Charlie,” Sophia said getting up preparing herself.

“Why? Why did you shut me out?” he finally let out in frustration.

“Excuse me?” she stood there stunned and taken aback.

“I knew you could never do something so horrible, ever,” he reaffirmed, “even when the verdict came down, even with all the bullshit evidence… I knew… for six months after you cut me off, I came to see you every week, and you refused to see me… till I just gave up… why? After all we’ve been through… why, did you do that to me?”

“I couldn’t take it Charlie,” Sophia’s voice cracked as she answered him.

Memories of him coming up to see her every week flooded her mind, and every week she had him turned away.

Sophia’s eyes watered as she was guilty of something else, hurting her best friend.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. Every time you or my parents came to visit,” she shook her head as the tears ran, “I saw how they looked at you… treated you… as if… you’re friends with a murderer or you are the parents of a murderer. Then when you all left… I felt even lonelier than when you came. I wanted to kill myself… I really did because it was clear that I was never getting out no matter how many appeals I sent out; that’s when I decided if I didn’t win the first appeal… I wasn’t going to appeal anymore… and I didn’t want you, or my parents to talk me out of it. I didn’t have the strength for another forty… fifty years… I just wanted to go, and it was better for the State to take me… than I do myself in.”

There was an awkward silence in the room as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Charles did not know what to say after that, whether to pat her on the shoulder, or hug and comfort her. Their friendship had lasted from college all the way into medical school, he was one of the groomsmen at her wedding; she tried to fix him up on countless dates with women she thought would make him happy, not knowing that the woman he wanted was the one he could not have.

From the arrest to trial to judgment, he was there with her until she cut off all contact at Mountain View.

He never stopped believing she was innocent, even when other friends and even family believed she was guilty; he never stopped believing; even at the cost of his former position at Memorial Hermann.

He opted to walking up and putting a kind hand on her shoulder reaffirming their friendship.

“You’re my best friend,” he sighed, “and I just missed you… a lot… I thought I lost you. Anything you need, I will help you, and as far as money goes… one second. Don’t run off or jump out the window.”

He walked away going into his bedroom throwing the lights on; it sounded as if he was searching for something in his closet. A second later, he came back with one of their old college duffel bags throwing it on top of his breakfast nook table. Sophia’s eyes widened as he unzipped it to reveal several thousand dollars within it.

“Charlie… what the…” she asked dumbfounded.

“It’s your money… what was left… almost a hundred and fifty thousand give or take.” He looked at her with a nervous smile. “I kept it because… I didn’t stop believing… you’d get out.”

She could not stop the tears from flowing shaking her head as she looked at her best friend whose eyes began to get glassy as well.

Before she could hug him, Charles turned away wiping his eyes on his sleeve as it finally set in that his best friend was actually standing before him again.

“Okay… we got to stop this,” he sniffled, “cuz… I’m half Asian, and I hate the crying stigma.”

“Thank you.” She smiled wiping the tears from her own eyes.

She, too, was so sick of crying.

“But first things first,” he wiped away the remaining mist and grabbed his medical bag, “Going to need you to strip.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, checking if she heard right.

“You said you wanted to know what’s happening to you on a physical level,” Charles gestured, “so I have to give you a physical. Which means I need your current weight… height… etc. You know the routine… doctor. Come on, I’ve seen it all before.”

“Okay.” She shrugged her shoulders admitting that he had a point.

Without hesitation, she unlaced and kicked off her sneakers. She started to strip out of her clothes from top to bottom. Hampton went into a mode of stuck. He quickly noticed the changes in her. He was expecting a bodybuilder body, muscle layered on top of muscle, but that was not the case. Aside from her cheese grater abs the rest of her body had a solid lean muscle tone that did not take away from her womanly features, if anything the transformation amplified them.

She had definitely grown in height; he use to rest his arm on top of her head in the past just to mess with her. That was no longer possible. Charles’s eyes could not help themselves as they slowly wondered from her sports bra down to her thong bottom.

“My first theory is that whatever is happening to me has either slowed or stopped my ability to create myostatin which rabidly increased my muscle growth and strength,” Sophia gave Charles her medical diagnosis. “Charlie? Charles?”

“Yeah… what?” he asked snapping partially out of his trance of naughty thoughts.

“I was talking about the myostatin within me slowing down,” she gave him an awkward look, “do you agree?”

“Yeah… yeah, it’s a theory,” he stammered trying his best to catch up with the conversation.

“Well, I’m ready… where do you want me?” she threw her hands up looking around.

The innocent question threw him off balance making him look like a further blithering idiot.

“Uh… excuse me?” he slowly asked.

Very oblivious to why he was acting so slowly, she tried to break it down for him throwing in hand gestures.

“Where do you want me to “sit” for the examination?” she said slowly emphasizing each word.

“Oh! On the couch!” he finally snapped out of his erotic fantasy state, “Sit! Sit… on the couch… please.”

Sophia gave him a weird look as she walked over to sit on the couch; she was going to asked him if he was all right but decided not to in fear of getting another weird answer. Hampton shook himself back to reality getting a quick glass of water from his Britta pitcher. He then grabbed his sphygmomanometer and stethoscope taking a huge deep breath as he prepared to examine his half-naked and very hot looking best friend waiting on his couch.

CHAPTER 10

Mercer and Armitage arrived on the scene of the Martin's house; the quiet residential neighborhood came to life in the middle of the night with officers, paramedics, agents, local reporters, and half the neighborhood. They both looked up to see the front balcony completely blown open, and paramedics wheeling a half conscious Craig Martin with handcuffs attached to him and the gurney he was on heading to one of the ambulances on the scene. They met up with the Chief of the Sheriff’s department flashing their credentials before debriefing on the situation.

Mark fired off a common and famous law enforcement line, “What have we got here?”

To which the Sheriff answered, “Nothing I’ve seen or heard of before.”

“We’re getting that a lot,” answered Dustin, knowing this to be the running gag of this case.

“Domestic violence dispute interrupted by what was described as an Amazon wearing a black hood,” reported the Sheriff. “Apparently she tore the door off the back patio; we found it several yards away. She then ran upstairs, caught the husband pounding away on his wife, and grabbed him putting him through one of the walls in their bedroom. She then threw the sum bitch through the bathroom door and half of another wall.”

“Not before he apparently broke his hand and a chair trying to hit the woman; that on top of the possible broken back and concussion the paramedics said he might have. She then carried him to the patio kicking out the glass doors.” The Sheriff pointed to the balcony. “Ripped the guardrail off with one hand tossing it, taking out the windshield to his car, and then threatened to drop him off the balcony while she held him by the neck. Then after leaving him shaking in his own body fluids, by the wife and neighbors’ account she leaped from the balcony down to the street where you see that crater. After that, she took off like a jackrabbit through that neighbor’s yard going god knows where. We actually have footage of that off someone’s phone.”

Dustin let off a sarcastic laugh shaking his head in disbelief.

“I miss the joke somewhere?” inquired the Sheriff a bit confused and irritated.

“We believe the woman involved in this is our escape fugitive from Mountain View,” Mark explained his partner’s outburst. “We’re going to need a copy of that footage if that’s okay.”

“Well off the record I think she deserves a medal,” nodded the Sheriff. “I’ve got a file thicker than a Bible on that bastard and how badly he terrorized that poor woman inside. Chances are if this woman didn’t show up, I’d have to notify someone tonight that their child is dead. And would you believe it… she’s finally pressing charges against him.”

“Is she okay to speak with us?” asked Mark respecting that this was partially the Sheriff’s investigation as well.

“She’s pretty banged up, but coherent.” The Sheriff motioned. “You can talk to her for a couple of minutes before they take her and her son down to county for an examination.”

“Her son?” Mark asked, not knowing a child was involved.

The Sheriff sneered in disgust looking at the ambulance Craig Martin was in. “Poor little feller was right there while that son of a bitch was beating his mother to a near bloody pulp.”

“Question, you guys were called for the domestic dispute, right?” Mark asked a little put off. “What happened? Why’d it take so long to get here?”

“Believe it or not we weren’t called for any domestic dispute,” the Sheriff said quite disappointed. “We got the call of a home invasion when someone heard the crash on the balcony and saw this “superwoman” holding that jackass by the throat threatening to drop him.”

Armitage and Mercer’s look of disgust mirrored the Sheriff’s look. They thanked him before heading into the house.

“She goes from robbing a Goodwill store to stomping out a wife beater.” Dustin muttered, “This chick is all over the place.”

“You want to check upstairs with the team,” Mark asked getting down to business, “or interview the wife?”

“You do the interview.” Dustin drew a breath in an attempt to contain his anger. “If I see her I might head outside and make sure someone doesn’t make it to the hospital alive.”

Dustin trotted upstairs to meet up with the FBI and Houston forensic teams to survey the damage as Mark walked into the living room.

Instantly he wished he had switched places with Dustin. Seeing a woman sitting on her couch covered in a blanket with a left eye the size of a golf ball and a possible broken nose holding tightly onto her son with visible trauma in his eyes gave him the itch to kill someone. He had to bury that deep, put on his kid gloves, and professional hat setting personal feelings aside to obtain the answers he needed.

“Mrs. Martin... my name is Special Agent Mark Armitage from the FBI,” he introduced himself. “I’m very sorry about what happened to you. I was wondering if you were well enough to answer some questions for me.”

Tammy slowly nodded as Armitage pulled up a seat on a nearby ottoman to meet her eye level instead of towering over her, hoping to make her more comfortable than she already was.

He pulled out an old-fashioned notepad and pen from his jacket to take some notes.

“Can you tell me in your own words what happened?” he began.

“My… husband came home tonight,” she recounted. “He works for this big insurance company, and found out it was in serious financial trouble… possible bankruptcy like that other insurance company that was on the news.”

“AIG?” he asked engaging in the conversation.

She nodded as she continued her story. “He started freaking out about how he could possibly lose his job… blamed me for just spending his money.”

She held her son tighter as she began to tear up. “He called me a dumb cow because I wasn’t like his other friends’ wives who held corporate jobs and could help pay for their day to day life. I… I said… but you wanted me to stay home, that I could have gotten a job… and then he got angry… called me a stupid bitch, and said if I thought changing bed pans could pay for this lifestyle… and then he threw his bottle of beer against the wall and hit me. I ran upstairs crying and he chased me… I tried to shut the door to the bedroom, but he was stronger than me and he barreled through the door knocking me down… then he got on top of me grabbing me by my throat, and he just hit me over, and over, and over again…”

The moment, still fresh in her mind, drew more tears from her.

“Our son came into the room crying,” she blubbered, “and he didn’t even stop…”

Armitage gave her a minute to compose herself as he pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket handing it to her.

“And then she just came out of nowhere,” she continued her story while drying her good eye. “She stopped him… she saved my life...”

Little Ethan chimed in meekly saying, “Super lady… made daddy… stop hurting… mommy…”

Mark cracked a smile and bent lower to meet him eye level.

“Did she?” he asked with an enthusiastic tone.

“Yes…” the little boy slowly nodded.

Mark remembered he had to finish his investigation as he sat back up to continue questioning his mother.

“Mrs. Martin, did this woman say anything to you?” he gingerly pressed.

Tammy thought about it for a minute.

“Other than for me to wake up from this hell I was in for my son… she knew my name,” she recalled. “I remember her calling me by my name.”

“Do you remember a Sophia Matheson that used to live here?” Mark gestured to next door.

“Yes, right next door; she was very nice to me,” she said mustering up a bright smile out of nowhere despite her pain and obvious appearance, “but this woman was much larger… Sophia was like my height… and… wasn’t she executed; this week… for what she did to her husband?”

“Uh… yes, she was.” Mark threw on his textbook fake smile figuring it was best not to draw her into the madness. “Listen you need to go get checked out… here’s my card… if you can think of anything, or need anything, please give me a call.”

“Thank you, Special Agent,” she nodded, taking the card.

“Take care of Mommy, Ethan,” Mark smiled as he gently rubbed the little boy’s head.

The little boy waved goodbye as the paramedics escorted Tammy and him out to the other waiting ambulance to take them to the hospital. Mark drew a sigh more lost than ever; he then headed upstairs to see if Dustin came up with anything. Sure enough upstairs looked worse from the inside than the balcony looked from street level.

“What do we have?” he dryly asked looking around at the obvious.

“World War III in stereo.” Dustin drew a sigh. “Blood samples… possibly from both the wife and husband. I have to say I like her work… I know a couple of pedophiles and serial rapists I’d love for her to meet.”

“Dennison came home alright,” Mark confirmed what they already knew.

“So she just dropped by her old stomping grounds and happened onto this mess?” Dustin concluded.

“We need to get a team next door,” Marks formulated, “see what she either found or was looking for.”

“I’m waiting for when we find some actual clues as opposed to chasing our tails. This path of destruction makes no sense to me,” an irritated Dustin said to his partner.

Out of nowhere, an old woman’s voice from outside screeched, “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

Armitage and Mercer looked at each other wondering “what the hell now,” as they walked to the balcony to see one of the Sheriff’s deputies attempting to calm down an irate elderly woman.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to please calm down and step back,” ordered the deputy.

“I just want to know when this will be over?!” she yelled back. “This is upsetting my cats! I pay my taxes to live in a nice respectable neighborhood!”

“Ma’am…” a now frustrated deputy tried to explain to her the situation.

Mark, finally having enough, decided to step in from his perch.

“Hey! You!” he barked at her. “Yeah, you!”

The silver-haired woman in her pink and white flowered night robe adjusted her glasses looking up at Mark who pointed to her, getting her and everyone else standing outside attention.

He came to the edge of the broken balcony as if to leap down on top of her.

“My name is Special Agent in Charge Mark Armitage from the FBI,” he spat at her. “Did you call the Sheriff’s department to stop the asshole that lives here from almost beating his wife to death in front of his kid?!”

“No… I did not…”she began to stutter.

“Then take your brittle ass back to your stupid fucking cats,” Mark roared at her, “before I lock you up for obstructing a Federal Investigation! Then I’ll shoot your cats! Don’t talk! Go!”

The stunned old woman scurried back to her house close to tears.

“Anyone else got anything to say?!” he yelled while surveying the street of onlookers daring someone to say something.

The old lion, seeing that he was unchallenged, marched back into the bedroom as everyone save for Mercer who had stopped to hear him tear into an old woman scattered back to their work on the investigation.

Dustin walked up to him with a bit of sarcastic advice.

“You really need to work on your people skills,” he exhaled.

“I hate people,” Mark bluntly said.

“Even me?” Dustin asked with furrowed brows pretending to be hurt.

“Especially you,” Mark returned without even looking at his partner.

He walked off heading back downstairs before Mercer could respond to the obvious ribbing.

“You’re gonna remember you said that,” Dustin muttered, “when you’re crying at my funeral like a bitch… you…”

CHAPTER 11

With less than five hours of sleep after the incident at the Martin’s house, and then casing Sophia’s old home looking for clues, only to come up with a couple of fresh fingerprints indicating that she was there, but nothing much else; Armitage and Mercer decided to take a break from hunting her. Obviously she was in Houston and not going anywhere for some reason so they focused their efforts on finding out what exactly was she, and if she had any possible weaknesses. They now stood within the Federal Bureau of Investigation Houston office’s Forensics Department headed by Doctor Senji Kumamoto.

The doctor started his findings with the basic theme of this investigation.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” he said as he turned to them.

“We’ve been getting a lot of that lately, doc,” Mark sighed.

“To begin with,” Doctor Kumamoto explained, “this blood should have killed the subject a hundred times over. It’s literally saturated with adrenaline… twice the amount of possibly two full grown bull elephants, this partially explains why her heart started again after the lethal injection, and displayed the unbelievable superhuman strength shown in the video footage, however she should have dropped dead from a massive heart attack seconds afterwards.”

“Was it in the canisters?” Mark asked hoping they were the key behind all of this.

“Negative,” Doctor Kumamoto confirmed looking through his notes. “The canisters tested contained the usual sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride used in textbook lethal injections. And she still would have died even if they were mixed; the adrenaline alone should not have saved her from the deadly combination of the pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride.”

“So how did she produce that much adrenaline?” asked Dustin. “Manage to survive a poisonous combo, go down again to a hail of bullets, and raise again bullet proof and a thousand times stronger than before?”

“I think what I’m about to show you next will answer all of those questions,” Dr. Kumamoto said while heading over to his computer.

He hit a couple of keystrokes to transfer the data to a wide screen on the wall for all to see.

“What we’re looking at are two DNA strands,” Dr. Kumamoto pointed while explaining. “The one on the left is a normal human DNA strand double helix, atoms, etc. The one on the right is your subject’s… it has a quadruple Helix… atoms and various other elements, many that I cannot find anywhere on the Periodic table. The nucleotides and chromosomes for the one on the left number in the millions while the one on the right numbers in the trillions maybe ever more. Each one with a possible application; also if we examine the blood itself as you see here comparing it to a regular blood sample.”

The doctor punched some keystrokes showing the actual blood itself under a microscope next to normal blood.

“The normal one has white blood cells and platelets,” he continued to explain, “while the quadruple helix one has neither white blood cells nor platelets whatsoever. After examining your subject’s blood closer I found that the blood cells themselves possess the properties that make up white blood cells and platelets. It appears her regular red blood cells are serving a multifunctional role of providing oxygen to the body, protecting it from disease, and repairing the body when needed. ”

Mercer and Armitage gave each other blank looks trying to figure out what exactly the doctor just said to them.

“So basically what you’re saying, Doc, is she’s not human?” Dustin concluded.

“I would have said that if I didn’t see her blood prior to her going to prison,” stated Dr. Kumamoto. “Ms. Dennison apparently was a regular blood donor. The hospital that employed her sent over a bag of her blood they kept in frozen storage. The one you’re viewing on the left.”

“So what you’re saying,” Mark asked trying to get a straight answer that he could understand, “is that she was definitely normal before she went into prison.”

“From what I can determine, yes, that is correct,” Doctor Kumamoto nodded.

“So how could she be normal,” Mark pointed to Sophia’s regular blood on the screen before motioning to altered blood, “and then become… this while locked up?”

“My only hypothesis is a form of virus,” Doctor Kumamoto shrugged, “possibly a mutation; unfortunately I will not know until I have run further tests. Also, if your next question is if I know of any virus like this, my answer to you is no, I don’t know of any virus on Earth that can do anything like this.”

“Thanks, doc, let us know if you find anything else that would be useful.” Mark stood there shaking his head while looking at the two samples on the screen in disbelief.

Doctor Kumamoto nodded as he went back to his work. Armitage and Mercer with a handful of files in his grip left to head back upstairs to figure out their next step with the current information they had gathered.

“Well at least we know the answer to what,” Dustin sighed, “just not the how.”

“We still need some more what, along with how, who and where,” Mark grumbled.

“By the way,” Dustin quickly changed the subject, “I didn’t know you could lie so well.”

“What are you talking about?” Mark asked, oblivious to what his partner was getting at.

“At the prison, you met with Dennison’s parents and told them that she somehow was in contact with, and became a part of, a terrorist cell that mounted an attack against the prison and broke her out before her execution,” Dustin smirked. “I’m surprised they bought that shit.”

“What did you want me to tell them, Dustin,” Mark asked, defending his position, “that they’re daughter was executed, and then came back to life a superhuman monster, was killed again, and came back an even more powerful superhuman monster that busted out of prison and is now on the loose?”

“Maybe they could have told us something,” Dustin shrugged.

“Those people came to take their daughter home and bury her,” Mark cut him off. “They wouldn’t have a clue as to what happened to her or how she got that way.”

“Good thing you emphasized to them the importance of not going to the press with this, with the promise that you’d bring their daughter home safe and sound,” Dustin chuckled. “Although you still haven’t told me how you’re gonna pull that off.”

“Do you have anything of worth to say Dustin?” an irritated Mark snapped back.

Ignoring his friend’s usual temper tantrum, he thought to himself for a second.

“Got something on the C.O. that was killed,” he remembered.

“Let’s have it,” Mark stopped in the hallway to listen.

“Turns out our “fallen hero” wasn’t squeaky clean at all.” Dustin rummaged through his files. “He was awarded six citations while working at the Allan B. Polunsky Unit, one of them was for assisting in stopping a prison riot, but he also was charged twice for excessive use of force. Nothing came of those charges; he transferred to Gatesville where he worked shifts between the regular women’s prison and the Mountain View Unit. There he had over four complaints of sexual harassment, none of them proven, one complaint of sexual assault, later dropped, and one complaint of rape which was an ongoing investigation.”

“How was he still working there?” Mark asked dumbfounded.

Dustin checked the file again.

“He was given desk duty until he was formally charged,” he answered, “but guess who the victim was?”

“Sister Shareef?” Mark snapped his fingers.

“Close, but no, Rosanna “Bishop” Mendoza, the car thief sharing a cell with Sister Shareef,” Dustin corrected. “She was also the person who filed the sexual assault complaint.”

“She was also friends with Dennison,” Mark added filling in the blanks. “That’s why she singled him out.”

“Also he was called “Big Buck” because he had a huge tattoo on his forearm of a stag mounting…” Dustin laughed preparing to go into detail about the late Wilford’s disturbing tattoo.

“I get the picture, Dustin.” Mark waved him off not wishing to hear the rest about a stupid tattoo.

“All of this is gravy,” Dustin got serious again, “if she was “human” we’re no close to finding out what changed her or how to stop her if it came down to it.”

“What about the assholes in black from the prison?” Mark asked not forgetting about them or the incident at the lethal injection room.

Dustin had not either as he screwed up his face looking through his files again.

“Stanley Slater former SEAL Team Six Second Lieutenant with an IQ between 130:139,” he began to run down, “he is a special agent under the United States Government but the division he’s under is marked classified; he’s got a “Do Not Approach” in his file.”

“What the…” Mark stood in disbelief at what he was hearing.

“The toad’s boss, Arthur G. Rosen is a Director,” Dustin continued, “there is nothing on him… division is also highly classified under the United States Government, and he also has a “Do Not Approach” in his file.”

“Holy shit.” Mark stood there totally stumped. “They really are the “Men in Black”… who the hell are these guys?”

“I don’t have the foggiest,” Dustin sighed shrugging his shoulders for the umpteenth time, “but I’d love to know why I’m the only one doing the research in regard to this case.”

“Keeps you from surfing for furry porn,” Mark answered while walking way.

Dustin stood there in disbelief at his partner’s comment.

“I… I only did that once!” he yelled.

“Come on!” Mark barked.

Dustin cursed under his breath while power walking to catch up with him.

As they neared the elevator to head to their temporary office they ran into a young male agent, who was apparently looking for them.

“Special Agent in Charge Armitage, sir,” formally announced the young man. “Executive Assistant Director King wants to speak with you and Special Agent in Charge Mercer ASAP.”

“Why didn’t he just call my cellphone?” Mark asked, searching for his phone in his jacket.

“Said he needs you to call him on the secure line,” indicated the young agent.

Mark nodded as the agent walked off; he then turned to Dustin who had his usual annoyed look, ready to spit sarcastic venom.

“I wonder what this will be about,” he scowled.

Armitage does not answer as he walked onto the elevator; Mercer jumped in as well, taking it back up to the office. Inside the office they were borrowing from an agent on maternity leave, an agitated Armitage stabbed away at the telecom in an attempt to set up the secure line.

Dustin stood there watching the train wreck shaking his head.

“You forgot your secure line again, didn’t you?” he sighed.

“No,” Mark growled jabbing the buttons with his finger as if trying to break it, “the stupid friggin’ thing isn’t working.”

“Move man… move,” Mercer ordered while muscling him out the way. He dialed in setting up the line, at the prompt he typed in his secure line code before dialing the Executive Assistant Director’s line.

“Don’t feel bad my kid taught me how to do mine,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” Mark snapped back.

Within less than a minute, Executive Assistant Director King’s voice came over the line.

“Armitage… Mercer?” his stern coarse voice asked.

“What do you want, Doug?” Mark said bluntly, getting to the point with no mood for B.S.

“Let’s get to the point,” King said dryly. “You came in contact with a Director Arthur Rosen?”

“Let me guess,” Mark leaned deeper into the comlink to speak, “you’re gonna tell us about the “Do Not Approach” hanging out of his ass. Who the hell is he, Doug?”

There was a slight pause as it was clear King did not appreciative Mark cutting him off. Mark however did not care what he felt.

“That information…” he began to say.

“Is classified, we know Doug!” the duo barked into the comlink hoping it gave King an earache.

“Then get this through that one brain you two share,” the director snapped back. “This guy has the wrath of God Brimstone type protection… do not fuck with him.”

“We’re not handing over this case over to some piece of…” Mark slammed his fist on the table.

“No one is asking you to,” the Director cut him off with a tone reminding him who he was talking to. “Protection does not mean he can screw with the F.B.I either. This is now a dog race to the rabbit if you know what I mean. If you get to her she’s ours… if you don’t from what I can gather from the ass chewing I got from the top he probably has authorization to arrest and detain… probably even K.O.S… meaning she’ll be his.”

Armitage and Mercer gave each other unsettled looks.

“Look, I don’t like this cloak and dagger James Bond shit as much as you do,” King came across with an uneasy voice, “especially when it’s our own people doing it to us. You got a job to do, whatever resources you need, bring Dennison in, and keep me updated.”

As the Executive Assistant Director hung up, a frustrated Armitage hit the button to hang up on his end. A million and one questions were officially now swimming in his head, with no answer in sight.

“Why am I the only one asking the question how the hell are we going to bring this chick in if we find her?” Dustin let out.

Correction, a million and two.

“Because you’re the only one making sense in this goddamn world,” Mark answered as he stared off into space.

A somewhat disturbed look came across Dustin’s face.

“That’s not a good thing,” he swallowed.

“No,” Mark huffed, “it isn’t...”

CHAPTER 12

Sophia was not having a very good day. On Charles’ insistence she stayed the night; actually, he threatening to burn the one good pair of pants she had despite her threatening him with bodily harm. He took the couch and she his bed, even though she was not tired; he reminded her that even Superman slept. It did not make any sense to her and when he tried to explain it, it still did not make any sense to her; she just decided to humor him and go to sleep because she really did not want to hear about Kryptonian mythology, even though she was kind of living it. It did feel nice to be in a warm soft bed after almost four years on a thin mattress and a harsh spring cot in a near claustrophobic six-by-eight foot cell. Even though it smelled like Charles, she was able to “will” herself to sleep. Maybe because there were not a lot of memories other than parties and the one day they’d had Thanksgiving at his apartment.

However, in the middle of the night she woke up screaming and broke Charles’ headboard while caving in a part of his wall as she scampered back into it trying to brace herself. Her mental ability apparently also amplified her dreams as the horrible memory of the night Robert was murdered popped out of nowhere on her. It was the look of terror in his face as if he knew he was going to meet a gruesome end. The commotion startled Charles out of his sleep dropping him to the floor; he was not dreaming, his super human best friend was sleeping in his bed.

The next morning she made breakfast to apologize for destroying his bed. They agreed that she would go out for the day while Charles went to work as usual so as not to draw suspicion. He would test the blood and DNA samples he took from her; the saliva was easy to take, but her dreadlocks where as dense as steel dulling one his scissors and breaking another. In the end, she had to twist and snap a piece off to give him.

She walked the streets of Houston with no real objective at first other than to avoid familiar digs she use to go to, which was pretty easy because when she neared a familiar place, a memory would pop out of nowhere, making her turn right around. Houston was big, but she had forged a life there, and it was not going to let her forget it. Going to “friends” was out of the question, other than Charles everyone else thought she was dead to rights guilty, and she was sure they would not handle the miraculous change within her as easily as Charles did. All of her family was back East in New York, contacting them in anyway shape or form would most likely alert the local and Federal authorities to her location. For now aside from Charles, she was alone and on her own.

Instead of wandering around aimlessly until Charles got out of work, which heighten the chance of the FBI, police, or someone recognizing and spotting her, she decided to go to the one place no one would look for her and where she was sure she did not have a memory yet.

Houston National Cemetery, she could not attend the funeral, she made sure to buy some flowers on the way. He never admitted it to her, but he liked sunflowers and lilacs. The caretaker was nice enough to point her in the right direction. She took her time getting there as she neared it, her heart fell deep into the pit of her stomach and never came back out.

“REST IN PEACE FIRST LIEUTENANT ROBERT OLIVER MATHESON… LOVING BROTHER WONDERFUL SON… YOU WILL BE GREATLY MISSED” April 1, 1973 – June 26, 2005. Seven years of their life together, erased with the words on that tombstone.

Despite the justification, it hurt her to the point she could once again no longer hold back the tears. She knelt down and ran her hands against the tombstone; someone had been there maintaining it, probably Mrs. Matheson. She gently laid the flowers down and kissed it. It did not help as she broke down crying. It was not fair, she should have been there, she should have been able to see his face before they laid him into the ground.

Anger and pain ravaged her heart, so many things robbed from her, and she did not know why. She raised her fist wanting to hit the tombstone but remembered she would probably smash it to bits.

She let out a screaming sob, frustrated that she could not even do that. All she could do was clutch her belly, rest her head against the cold of the marble stone, and ride it out.

She sat there for hours, ignoring time itself. Eventually the caretaker walked by and noticed her.

“You okay, Miss?” he asked out of concern.

She came to her senses wiping her eyes and got up dusting herself off.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she answered while throwing on a fake smile. She prayed he did not notice her from some old news footage.

The caretaker, a nice slender old man with silver horn- rimmed hair adjusted his glasses as he looked at the grave.

“I remember this young man,” he said wagging his finger. “Damn shame what happened to him. I heard his wife got what she deserved.”

“Yeah, I heard too,” she huffed looking off in a different direction. It was almost been comical if it did not drive the dagger deeper.

“Can I ask how you know him?” the inquisitive old caretaker asked, no doubt making conversation because he had a fairly lonely and creepy job.

“He was my best friend,” she sighed, “from college.”

“Sorry for your loss,” he said somberly.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Take care of yourself.”

She walked away knowing that this was another place she would never return to.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at Charles’ apartment she did not bother tell him where she actually went. It was just another memory she had to lock away. She was in half a daze as Charles enthusiastically went over his findings that day. He ranted on for about half an hour until he realized she looked disinterested in what he was saying.

“Soph? Sophia? You okay?” he asked a little hurt she was ignoring him.

“Yeah, you said you never saw anything like this in your life, there was enough adrenaline in my blood to kill fifty men or the equivalent of twenty full grown bulls, and I have a mutated DNA with a quadruple Helix,” she recited effortlessly. “Please… continue.”

His hurt look turned to one of annoyance, having a superhuman memory also made her a smart-ass.

“As I was saying,” he coughed, “the blood cells you gave me are very much alive and healthy.”

Sophia gave him the “That’s obvious” look based on the fact that they had covered the blood not coagulating after being exposed to the elements for days a half hour ago.

“Yeah, I know we covered that… I also discovered that,” he hesitated to get to his point. “You also don’t have any white blood cells or platelets.”

Sophia Dennison furrowed her brows in confusion as she finally got into the conversation switching to doctor mode herself.

“Then how am I fighting off…” she began to ask.

“Diseases and infections?” Charles finished her question. “I wanted to find out as well… so I introduced a common cold virus to the blood cells. Those cells wiped out the virus in a matter of seconds with extreme prejudice. For most of the day I was like that kid that wanted to find out what else we could stuff down the toilet bowl before it clogged up… I introduced almost every strain of virus to your blood including Ebola and H.I.V… and your cells destroyed them all.”

“Great… I’m Wolverine,” she huffed.

“No… you’re better than him,” he explained. “I decided to do it in reverse. I dropped one drop of your blood in a test tube of blood both infected with the H.I.V and the Ebola virus combined… your blood wiped out everything while replicating itself, both strains and the infected blood… it did it until it was the only thing left in the vial.”

“So you’re telling me I have the cure for every disease known to man in my blood, and I’m guessing that my red cells are not only fighting off diseases. They’re also responsible for repairing my body at such a rapid rate now that I no longer need platelets… i.e. why there’s no scar tissue when I heal,” she said, switching to full doctor mode leaving this morning in the past. “It still doesn’t explain how my body recognizes a threat and then instantly changes to adapt to it.”

“I’ve been thinking about the events of what happened during your execution and escape,” Charles said hesitantly, “and I have a theory I’d like to try on you.”

Charles pulled out a large gun like spray canister from a shopping bag labeled “Carter’s County,” to which Sophia knitted her brows again not so sure she wanted to be his guinea pig.

“What is that?” she coiled back in her stool seat.

“Bear mace,” he swallowed hard. “Pleases… don’t kill me.”

“What…” she sneered.

Before she could ask what he was planning, Charles sprayed her in the face with a full blast of mace. Sophia screamed in sheer agonizing pain, something she hadn’t felt since leaving the prison. Immediately she sprung to her feet, knocking over the stool she sat on, and hammered half of the breakfast nook right off. Hampton dived for cover to avoid one of her powerful swipes.

“What… the…” she hollered.

“Just give it a second!” Charles begged before she dropped the F-bomb.

“Give it a second?! You stupid son of a bitch!” she roared. “In a second I’m gonna break your neck once I can…”

Instantly Sophia’s eyes began to fill up with white foam. The foam then turned into a liquid form running not just from her eyes but from her nose as well. She drew back and hocked up a massive spit of thick yellow stuff at Charles’ feet making him coil back in disgust. As she wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket, she realized how quickly the pain had left her and that she could see clearly again. Without hesitation, Hampton hit her with another blast of the bear mace. Aside from the irritation of getting wet, this time it had no effect on her as it did before.

“You’re gonna keep going till I make you eat that right?” she growled baring her teeth.

Charles quickly stopped tossing the can far away before handing her a kitchen towel. She snatched from him wiping her face.

“Sorry, really sorry,” he feverishly apologized, “but this proves my theory… you’re not a Marvel… you’re a DC.”

“What?” she asked again not familiar with his comic book jargon.

“Fanboy reference… actually you’re kind of both since you have,” Charles excitedly prepared to go into an explanation.

“Charlie…” Sophia put a hand up stopping him. “I don’t care.”

“Right,” he coughed getting back to business. “Basically your body not only makes you immune to all forms of diseases and gives you extremely hyper regenerative healing. It improves and builds defenses ensuring that you can’t be physically hurt the same way again… during the execution they put you to sleep, stopped you from breathing, then they stopped your heart, but brain activity usually continues from a couple of minutes to hours.”

“Fighting to stay alive,” she added.

“This means the source of this defense mechanism making changes to your body is most likely your brain. It probably has developed some higher independent function commanding your body to build defenses when attacked; it’s the most logical theory. My guess is the Sodium thiopental knocked you out because it wasn’t an initial detrimental threat to your system. You would have probably woken up after the pancuronium bromide, but then you got hit with the potassium chloride,” he hypothesized.

“This “higher independent function” knew it was under attack and determined that a massive adrenaline rush would jump start your heart and lungs restoring oxygen and nutrient to the brain while it dealt with the toxins with you,” Charles went onto explain getting excited again. “I’m also guessing your cells have the ability to analyze foreign threats to your system and send data to your brain which dictates how best to handle the threat. Again, this is all theory, when you got shot up; just as if it would a virus, the cells probably analyzed the slugs still within you. This higher independent function probably determined that the best way to prevent injury like this again after your cells repaired you was to increase the density of your skin to repel bullets in the future. I wouldn’t be shocked if it took some of the properties of those slugs and just added it to your genetic code in order to do it; naturally it would have to do it to the rest of your body like your bones, muscles, and other organs for you to properly function, which is why you increased in weight…”

Sophia shot him another dirty look. Charles remembered how she almost fainted when she found out she now weighed four-hundred-eighty-seven pounds due to the density increase. Superhuman or not a woman’s weight was still dangerous territory to cross.

“Which is why… you have great superhuman strength among other things,” he swallowed hard trying to show her the brighter side while making a mental note never to bring up her weight again.

“And it kind of makes sense, physically due to exercise and nutrition we’re far more superior than our ancestors thousands of years ago… our bodies possess chemicals and properties that are capable of taking us to a superhuman state… we see it every day in athletes, gifted people, and hormonal imbalances like gigantism. Your body just has the ability to do it without the negative side effects that can kill you. It also does it on a maximum level. Pain is definitely one of your triggers… I didn’t know to what magnitude so I went with bear mace just to be sure,” Charles explained with a big smile.

Sophia glared at him still not finding the humor in being blasted with bear mace. Charles stepped back a bit making another mental note to stop putting his foot in his mouth around her.

She decided to change the subject before she hurt him.

“So if I hadn’t been executed or shot…” she began to hypothesize.

“You would be well… you… without your additional abilities,” he gestured, “but with a very… very long lifespan… you’d probably outlive everyone on this planet... at your current stage I’d say you definitely will… I don’t even think you’ll even age at this point.”

Sophia walked over and sat down on Charles’s sofa with a blank look on her face and an unimaginable weight in her eyes. It was a misconception that everyone would be thrilled with the prospect of living forever. She feared death like anyone else; however, the possibility of living forever just was not normal. Charles somberly walked over sitting on the arm of his lounge chair to be there for his friend.

“Charlie… the only thing I can think of that can do this is a virus… but I can’t possibly see how I was infected,” she said without looking up.

Charles had a face as if he wanted to say something; he had an idea of how she was infected, but he decided not to go there as she clearly was not in a good place.

“It’s not like you’d know,” he got up sitting on the arm of the sofa getting closer to her, “this isn’t the type of virus that makes you sick… you can’t get sick… you’re like a female David Dunn.”

“That’s another fan boy reference?” Sophia asked with a smirk as she looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Uh… yeah… point is,” Charles hesitated choosing his words carefully, “I think you’re skating over the possible origin of this entire situation… all of this leads back to one night and one obvious person that this is all about.”

Sophia bowed her head looking at her feet, knowing what Charles was leading to, the night where everything changed for her. In her gut she knew that whatever was happening to her had to do with the sci-fi assassins who murdered her husband. That everything leading up until now had to do with something Robert knew, saw, or had.

“I was trying to avoid contacting people for help,” she sighed, “but I’m not getting anywhere at this point, clearly these people I’m looking for are from some military branch, mercenary division, or terrorist cell… I need someone from that world. I think I know who to talk to, problem is I’m pretty damn sure he’s not going to want to talk to me.”

CHAPTER 13

Armitage and Mercer sat in the video room eating dinner, while watching video footage of Sophia Dennison from almost four years ago. The footage was of her entering the bank that her and her late husband kept their joint checking account. They also looked through the footage of her withdrawing money from the ATM the day after her husband’s murder, driving through the tollbooth heading to Oklahoma, and checking into the hotel at the airport. On the table next to Armitage’s Big Mac were grizzly photos of the late Lieutenant Robert Matheson, reports taken from the crime scene, and a disc with video footage of Sophia’s interrogation after her arrest in Oklahoma. Mercer munched on his big salad with a sour look on his face, it was unclear if it was because he had to eat rabbit food while his partner gorged away on fast food, or that they were watching footage from a much-closed case.

“Tell me why again we’re looking at evidence from an open and shut case from four years ago?” Dustin asked, finally indicating the reason for his sour puss.

“Know thy enemy,” Mark recited.

“You start with that Sun Tzu shit, I’m gonna hit you with my big salad,” Dustin warned.

“It baffles me how you became an F.B.I agent,” Mark returned before pointing out why he was going through old files and footage, “under almost sixteen hours of on-going interrogation she couldn’t give account for withdrawing the money from the ATM, or checking into the hotel.”

“She couldn’t give account for murdering her husband either,” Dustin dryly volleyed back.

“But she did admit that her husband and her did make love that night,” Mark threw out while munching on a fry.

“Big whoop,” Dustin snorted as he mixed his big salad into the balsamic vinegar dressing. “DNA and fluid proved that, like the DNA and finger prints on the wedding knife.”

“Yes, and the video footage, and the eye witnesses,” Mark noted before driving his thought home. “But through her entire interrogation her story never changed… she kept saying she didn’t remember. All that damning evidence and her story never changed.”

“Reports from the psychologist who examined her stated she could have went into a psychotic episode,” Dustin reminded him. “A blood rage where one doesn’t remember anything.”

“But the forensics report said that she took her time killing her husband,” Mark fired back. “That it looked like she picked spots on his body to stab a total of forty-one times… that he basically died an agonizing death while bleeding out.”

“Your point?” Dustin asked, believing Mark’s statement brought home that Sophia Dennison was a psychotic bitch.

“First of all she’s a neurosurgeon,” he said wagging a fry in the air pulling his thoughts together. “If this was all about money, she could have thought of a million other ways to kill him without being suspected. Why murder him in such a sadistic barbaric way knowing she would be hunted down and caught? You don’t have to be a master criminal to know this was pure amateur bullshit. This is something you do if you want to get caught… or someone is setting you up.”

“No other DNA, foreign fibers, or finger prints were found at the scene or on the murder weapon,” Dustin recited the case files in a zombie like tone. “No sign of forced entry, and no footprints from another party to suspect foul play from someone else. They even checked for foreign footprints and vehicles tracks outside the premise just to be sure, which is a lot considering they had the only possible suspect in custody.”

“Then explain to me this,” Mark went back to the footage of when she walked into the bank, “the defense’s key argument at the time Dennison supposedly opened her private checking account. Dennison keyed out of the hospital at 12:05 PM for lunch and went over to the Subway for her usual six-inch Teriyaki chicken on a honey roll with Doritos Ranch Potato Chips and a bottle of water. The security cameras were not working for some reason that day, but two of the food prep people and the cashier came forward to testify that she was there, not to mention she had a receipt for the transaction with the time stamped on it, which she kept in her car. She had her lunch on the front lawn of the hospital, and then punched back in with her security key card at 12:45 PM. The time stamp here on the video shows that she walked into the bank of 12:15 PM and didn’t leave till 12:38 PM.”

“Again… your point?” Dustin groaned no longer in the mood to play Law and Order.

“She didn’t take her car with her. Cameras showed it still in its parking spot. Her bank is on the other side of town a good forty-five minutes in traffic. How did she get there and back in that short amount of time?” asked Mark.

“Uh… taxi?” returned Mercer.

“Not one cab driver in the whole of Houston could confirm that they drove her to the bank and back on that day,” Mark fired back.

Not waiting for Dustin to attempt to refute his building theory on the case, Mark pulled out a report from the Subway restaurant slapping it down in front of him.

“This report says that the security cameras were checked on January 15, 2005 for maintenance,” he pointed. “They were up to code, three weeks before this incident. Two of them were only a year old. What are the odds that all six cameras fail to record the day this woman is obviously in two places at the same time during her lunch break? On top of that, how much did they say she transferred between accounts online from her computer the night she murdered her husband?”

Dustin sighed grabbing a file to confirm.

“2.9 million,” he answered.

“Dustin... Federal law states anything transferred over ten thousand dollars is a red flag,” Mark reminded him, “no one is allowed to transfer that amount of money online, even between their own accounts. You have to go into a bank to make that type of transfer. And she did this with a regular Dell laptop? She’s got a Master’s degree from Texas Southwestern for Neuroscience, not a hacking degree from the Masters of Deception. So how did she become Jonathan James in one night? And why wasn’t this office tapped?”

“It was,” Dustin shrugged, “but it was clear that this was a case of domestic foul play, not drugs or terrorism. As you said, she somehow managed to transfer the money between accounts in the same bank; it wasn’t wired overseas. Based on that it was a State case not Federal.”

“Dustin… this woman somehow broke through her bank’s firewall and transferred over two million dollars online with a laptop,” Mark glared back at his friend. “No one thought to bring this woman in and find out how she did it?! How big of a red flag needs to go up to know that there is something seriously friggin’ wrong with this whole case, and it’s not from a couple of days ago?!”

“At the prison when she resurrected the first time she repeated over and over again that she remembered,” he sat back summating his final point. “Call me crazy, but I think she remembered what happened that night, I think she remembered who really murdered her husband.”

“Interesting theory,” Dustin finally nodded in agreement, “which we’ll never know unless we can find her and bring her in to ask.”

Dustin reached over to grab some of Mark’s fries when his hand is smacked hard.

“I told you about reaching for my food, get your own,” Mark snarled.

“You know Bethany’s got me on this damn diet because of my cholesterol,” Dustin pleaded. “I just wanted a couple.”

“Not my problem,” Mark said, denying his friend while stuffing a hand full of fries in his mouth.

The telecom went off in the office stopping the conversation of stealing food as Mark tapped on the answer button switching it to speaker mode as he munched away on his fries.

“Speak,” he muffled between chews.

“Sir,” said the agent on the other end, “we’ve located Sophia Dennison.”

Those four magical words almost caused Armitage to choke on his fries as he tried to speak with a full mouth.

“See,” Dustin wagged a finger at him, “God don’t like ugly.”

“Where?” Mark coughed, ignoring his partner’s stupid comment.

“She’s at Dr. Charles Hampton’s home, agents ID’d her from the video footage at the Martin’s house,” returned the agent. “Apparently she’s made contact with him.”

“Is she still there?” Dustin demanded to know.

“Yes, sir,” acknowledged the agent, “but the agents in the field just indicated that she’s leaving to see someone else.”

“Who?” Dustin asked.

“She didn’t say,” answered the agent.

“Tell them to continue surveillance on her,” Mark instructed, “and to not engage her under any circumstances, is that clear?”

“Clear, sir, will maintain surveillance,” confirmed the agent before cutting off.

Armitage and Mercer looked at each other with some form of relief.

“Well at least we now know where she is,” Dustin sighed.

“Yeah,” Mark unleashed a heavy sigh, “Now we just have to figure out how we’re going to bring her in.”

“Yeah… you think about that,” Dustin snorted.

The big man who had been screaming the very question from the mountaintop at the beginning of the investigation, decided to leave it up to his partner to figure out.

CHAPTER 14

11:15 PM, the constant ringing of his door bell forced former Marine Second Lieutenant Kenneth Scott out of his den to see who was stupid enough to come to his door this late in the night when his children were in bed. The Lieutenant, finally home after serving three tours in Iraq, was trying his best to assimilate himself back into regular society. Although he was one of the lucky ones to return physically unscathed, the horrors of war ravaged him in other ways; tonight was one of the few nights he was able to sit quietly and feel at peace. Whoever was disrupting it would find him in a foul mood when he opened the front door.

“Ken… who is it?” asked his wife Elizabeth.

Irritation draped over her face, as she stood at the foot of the upstairs to their two-floor house.

“I’m about to find out,” shot back Ken. “Go back to bed.”

She ignored his order. It was hard living with him since his return. She understood the duties and burdens that went with being a soldier’s wife; enduring the unknown possibility of being a widow with children, or the wife of a cripple was not easy after almost three tours. Sadly, although spared the first two, the Kenneth that returned was not the man she married almost six years ago. The body had returned intact, but the soul never made it back, and it was slowly marching their marriage to the grave.

“Who is it?” Scott barked standing at the door, not bothering to open it.

The person on the other side did not bother to answer as they continued to lay into the buzzer. He reached into the silver chrome umbrella stand pulling out the jet-black Louisville Slugger ball bat among the row of umbrellas.

“I said who the fuck is it?” he asked again a bit more forceful.

“Ken…” Elizabeth emitted a nervousness feeling that something was not right.

“Liz, I said go back to the bedroom… now,” he snapped at her.

He was not in the mood to deal with both her and the asshole disturbing their household this late at night.

She refused to move, just as the person on the other side refused to answer and stop ringing the bell. Having reached his limit, Lieutenant Scott flew the door open to come face to face with the intruder on his doorstep. A very tall figure in a jet-black hooded Gothic like midriff jacket covering their face with a white tank top shirt, blue jean like leggings, and black and white Converse sneakers stood at his door. A great uneasiness came over him as he gripped the bat in his hand.

“You want to tell me, why you’re on my damn doorstep ringing my bell?” he barked again demanding an answer from the hooded person.

“Long time no see, Ken,” rang out a familiar voice.

All though Ken’s face read irritation, a cold chill ran down his spine as he clutched his bat tighter.

The height and build threw him off, not to mention he could barely see her face under the oversized hood, but there was no mistaking the voice.

“Sophia?” he asked with a quiver of rage in his voice.

She lifted her head up so that he could see her face in the porch light. He could feel his body trembling uncontrollably. He was fighting the temptation to take her head off with the bat in his hand and beat her to death on his porch.

“Stopped by to see how the family was doing… and to talk,” she said, ending the awkward silence.

“You’re supposed to be…” he began to say.

“Dead?” She finished his sentence confirming that the Intel from almost five days ago was not true, “Yeah, I been dodging that bullet a lot lately… but I didn’t come here for small talk… I came here for answers… I want to know who murdered my husband.”

Kenneth looked at her in disbelief that she had the audacity to come to his house on any night asking such a question.

“You did you crazy bitch,” he snarled, “and I hope you burn in hell for it.”

“Ken! Who is it?!” a frustrated Elizabeth raised her voice demanding to know who was at their door.

“Go back to bed Liz… now!” Ken shot back officially losing his patience.

“Still see you haven’t changed much,” Sophia sighed. “You’re still a prick.”

Ken narrowed his eyes at her as he pointed his bat at her chest nearly touching her.

“The only reason I’m not beating the shit out of you till the cops get here,” his lips quivered, “is because my kids are upstairs. When I slam this door in your face I will be calling them… so you best not be here before they get here or I change my mind.”

True to his word, Kenneth backed up, and slammed the door in her face before locking it.

He turned and looking up with irritation at his nervous and equally irritated wife at the top of the steps looking down at him before heading back to his den. He was not expecting his door smashed open causing him to leap out of his skin as Elizabeth too let out a terrified scream. Ken turned around shaken with disbelief as Sophia walked through the now disheveled doorway into his home.

“What the fuck?” he stood there with widened eyes.

“I thought I told you last time you and I got into it and you spoke to me that way,” she reminded him while casually strolling into his house. “I’m not your wife.”

“Are you out of your damn mind, bitch?!” Kenneth approached pointing the bat at her again.

She calmly snatched it out of his grip with her left hand using slide of the hand speed.

“Don’t point your damn bat at me,” she sighed.

Not impressed by her unbelievable speed and newfound jail muscle strength, he went to grab for her, only for her to grab him by the wrist during mid-reach.

She proceeded to both bend it back while applying pressure equivalent to a mechanized vice grip forcing the larger and highly trained Marine to his knees.

“You’re… breaking… my… fucking wrist,” Scott hollered in pain.

“Sorry… still don’t know my strength yet,” returned Sophia with a girlish smile.

Kenneth watched in disbelief as Sophia crushed his Louisville Slugger into two with just her bare left hand; he was so fixated on the spectacle of power he forgot his wife watching terrified at the top of the steps.

“I’m calling the police!” she screamed.

“Go ahead, Liz!” Sophia sarcastically advised not looking up at her. “While you’re at it make sure they bring the SWAT and the National Guard too!”

She dropped what was left of the bat on the floor, looking Ken dead in the eyes to let him know that it was really her and that she meant business.

“But I’m not leaving till you tell me who killed my husband,” she growled, “and where I can find them. So you decide now if you’re going to tell me… or if you want a firefight right here on your doorstep. Either one is fine with me.”

“Okay… okay… let’s talk,” Ken finally gave in. “Liz… no… no cops.”

“Ken!” she yelled in disbelief that he would actually talk to Sophia after everything that had happened.

“Mommy!” a frighten child cried, one of the Scotts’ two children awakened from the commotion going on in the house.

“Liz! The kids… please… go see to the kids,” he begged. “And no cops… do not call the cops… Sophia and me are just going to talk.”

Upon hearing his agreement to talk to her, Sophia released Ken allowing him to get to his feet nursing his wrist.

“You’re taller then I last remembered,” he noticed giving her a quick glance over before motioning to his house entrance way. “You wanna get what’s left of my damn door?”

She watched him head into his den as she walked back to the entranceway closing the broken door. The weight of it made sure it did not swing back open, but the entire doorframe needed replacing. She made her way to Ken’s den feeling Elizabeth’s glare down at her from the steps.

“Nice to see you again Liz,” she addressed her, not looking up.

She was not sure Liz would call the police despite Ken telling her not to, at that point, she did not really care; she did hope for the sake of her children and their house she would not do something stupid.

As she walked through the house, memories of bridal and baby showers started to appear before her. She also realized how many football party games Robert dragged her to, and she did not really like football. Though the mental bombardment was not as bad, she realized being the slightest bit unfocused and in a familiar place caused memories to jump at her like gangbusters. Nearing the den, she did the counting game to push it down.

She walked in to see Ken placing his injured hand into an ice bucket while holding a Beretta M9 cocked and ready to fire with his left. She was worried about the wrong person doing something stupid, and she officially hated that gun. The scene did help get her focus back.

“Figured you’d do something stupid like this.” She shook her head both disgusted and disappointed.

“Who the hell are you?” Ken demanded taking the safety off the gun.

“Thought we settled this at the door,” she glared at him, almost wishing he would pull the trigger.

“Bullshit!” he bit back. “The last time I saw Sophia Dennison she wasn’t no goddamn Amazon bitch kicking in doors, catching punches, and crushing bats with her bare hand… so for the last time,” Scott officially lost his cool taking aim, “who… the… fuck... are… you?!”

She could have just rushed him and taken the gun away, or walked right up to him while he emptied his clip on her but that would have the police there in minutes, and she needed answers not more violence.

Slowly she walked closer to him looking Ken dead in the eyes as she prepared to run down their history.

“September 21, 1994; we were at Christian’s Tailgate,” she began. “Rob spotted me on campus two days before that and liked me so he came up to talk to me. You weren’t with Liz at the time; you were busy hitting on a waitress with strawberry blonde hair and a huge rack. You and Rob had joined the Marines ROTC program together, you met Liz your second semester of college at the Kappa Gamma/Sigma Alpha Epsilon party; you both broke up at the end of that semester because she caught you cheating with Becky Olson in your dorm room, but then you both got back together the start of senior year.”

Scott pretended to be unimpressed by her run down but lowered his gun as she continued to go through their history.

“And even though you and I couldn’t stand each other because I thought you were just a self-centered womanizing son of a bitch who never took life seriously,” she wagged a finger at him, “you gave one of the most beautiful speeches at our wedding, you proposed to Liz that same night. Then you almost cheated on her again with the stripper at your bachelor’s party two days before your wedding because you wanted to have Grave Digger instead of a limo at your wedding. Rob threatened to end your friendship if you did… and walked out of the bachelor party early, and then you showed up in one of your drunken stupors on our doorsteps in tears begging for forgiveness and swore on Buster… your prize black Labrador Retriever’s life… you didn’t do it. Two years later he suffered from Osteosarcoma. You stood by his side for almost two hours after they put him down.”

As she spoke truth and secrets only the real Sophia would know, he slowly released the hammer to the gun putting on the safety.

“On April 15, 2003 when you and Rob were to be deployed for the first time I said to you,” she continued, “remember that you have a wife and a newborn son. And that’s not just your best friend; he’s my husband, the love of my life and the father of my future children, so make me a promise on your worthless friggin’ life…”

“To make it home… safe… the both of us,” Ken finished her sentence.

“I can’t explain to you what happened to me,” she said sternly. “I don’t even know what happened to me. What I do know is I did not murder Robert. What I need to know from you right now is what military, mercenary, or terrorist force sports a symbol of a Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull while holding a scythe in one hand and a smaller skull in its other hand.”

Her description of the symbol visibly shook Ken which made Sophia know she came to the right person. What caused her some concern was when he almost dropped his gun trying to lean against his liquor cabinet for support. Ken wasn’t easily shaken by anything, and this shook him to the core.

“Say that again?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“The night my husband your best friend was brutally murdered there were three individuals in our bedroom decked out in black like a bunch of sci-fi ninjas,” she began to go into detail. “I managed to see the symbol embossed in black on the left shoulder of one of them. Barely able to make it out with what little moonlight was in the room… it was of a Grim Reaper wielding a scythe and sitting on a large skull while holding a smaller skull in its other palm… and I know you know damn well what I’m talking about.”

Ken took in a good amount of air before laying his gun down on the top of the cabinet. He took some of the ice out of the bucket he had his hand in dropping it into a Scotch glass. He then grabbed a bottle of Black Bush Irish Whiskey and proceeded to pour.

“Want some?” he offered her.

“This isn’t a social call, Ken,” she said impatiently.

Ken ignored her taking a sip of the Black Bush, licked his lips, enjoying the taste as he took another deep breath.

“What I’m about to tell you,” he swallowed.

“Is confidential bull…” she rolled her eyes.

“No… no confidential bullshit,” he cut her off, “because there is no record of this… anywhere… it’s more of a military urban myth… bogeyman type shit.”

“What are you talking about?” she sneered not in the mood for riddles.

“The symbol you described,” Ken paused thinking of the best way to explain to her, “belongs to the D.E.A.D.”

“The…“Dead”?” she said with a completely confused look on her face. “What some Special Ops Team with the flair for friggin George Romero movies?”

“They’re not Special Ops,” he said fighting to make her understand, “they’re not even black Ops… they’re not even fucking soldiers… they’re highly trained killers that do not exist.”

“Make some goddamn sense, Ken!” Sophia finally lost her patience. “I don’t have time for the word play!”

Ken locked eyes with her again, there was part irritation and part fear written all over his face as he clutched the half drunken glass in his hand.

“Jesus, you gain muscle and lose your brain locked up?! There’s no other way to explain this! These guys are said to be the fucking hell hounds of the United States government… a rumored Death Squad,” he whispered in the end thinking someone might hear him.

“Death Squad?” she repeated in disbelief.

“They’re said to kill mercilessly on command, there is no record of their origin, no “official” record of their exploits if you want to call them that.” He swallowed hard. “Who they are, who commands them, or what branch they fall under. They’re deadlier than any military unit in the known world… no one even knows what the fucking D.E.A.D stands for! I don’t even think Bush knows they exit.”

“So how do you know their names?” Sophia steely pressed her interrogation.

“You only saw their left side right,” Ken motioned, “on their right side, each of them apparently have another patch with one letter that spells out the word “dead” between the four of them.”

“Several years ago in Rwanda, a couple of months after the Genocide,” he went on to explain, “some poor bastard from the Impuzamugambi and his entire regime of over three hundred strong was attacked and wiped out in one night. Their camp burnt to the ground. With his dying breath, he described the patch you just described, and was able to see the patches on their right arm. He said God had judged them for the evil they had done by sending something far more evil than the Devil himself. Guess that makes sense considering the military police found him crucified upside down and skinned down to his ribcage so the vultures could feed on his insides.”

Sophia being a visual person began to sway and shudder from his disturbing tale.

“He had the words “Cry out for God to end your life” carved into his forehead; they did that after they asked him if he believed in God.” Ken swallowed hard.

“How do you know all of this?” she pressed while fighting to expunge the sick imaginary image from her mind.

“Like I said… unverified reports… rumors… drinking stories… if you’re in some branch of the military or a conspiracy theorist you’ve heard the stories,” his eyes went almost blank, “but what solidified it for me was something on my third tour… our squad was on patrol in Ramadi. Got a tip that there were some insurgents in this small residential town… we roll on in, and from the beginning, something just wasn’t right; it was 11 AM in the morning. There wasn’t a person on the street… no kids playing or running around and dogs were whimpering and whining… we thought we were being set up for an ambush. We waited for fifteen minutes before we went knocking on the first door… got a sick feeling when no one answered so we kicked it in… minute you walked in you could smell the stench of death and blood in the air… went into the bedrooms and there they were… family of five… their throats slit from ear to ear.”

Kenneth trembled as he took a big sip from his glass; Sophia could see that he was reliving that moment right in front of her.

“We went to about five houses,” he went on, “each one same thing. Some were killed on the toilet… in their living room… kitchen… shower… it’s when we got deeper into the town we found a few outside done in the same way… and these bastards got creative… some were slit from chin to groin… some had their head cut clean off and placed in their laps. Men… women… children.”

He let out a nervous chuckle as his eyes got glassy, making him take another deep sip.

“There were so many we had to call in for back up to check the whole town. Relatives and friends started to come in from buses from neighboring towns… and then the screaming and crying started.” His bottom lip began to tremble. “Some thought that we were responsible. When we got to the fifteenth house… we found a mother and her two daughters… heard crying in a closet… it was a little boy, no older than Sam is. He was in the closet playing to get away from his sisters nagging him when he fell asleep… when he woke up… he heard scary voices in a language he didn’t understand and saw black figures. Watched as they cut up his mother and sisters… didn’t see their faces, but as one passed by, he saw a picture on their left shoulder of a skeleton in a cloak with a big blade… sitting on a skull… holding a skull.”

Kenneth appeared as if he was about to have a panic attack as his eyes scanned everywhere within his den except Sophia’s face.

“Medical team came and picked the kid up after that. Haven’t seen him since… said they took him to his relatives in a neighboring town or something. Four- hundred-thirty-two fucking bodies… ten out of that number were identified as insurgents we were looking for… an entire town wiped out in one night and there were no signs of a struggle and not one shot was fired…as if the entire town was sleeping… and they just walked in and butchered them all.” Ken closed his eyes shaking his head to rattle the horrible visions from his skull.

Sophia knew how he felt at that point.

He quickly threw back what was left in the glass trying to get down to the last drop; he wiped his eyes and buried his chin in his chest so she could not see the emptiness that was now within them.

“Never in my life had I seen any shit like that,” he shook his head, “and I’ve seen some shit…”

“I’m sorry,” she said consolingly.

No one in her mind should ever witness something so horrible.

“Yeah…” was all Ken could say.

Sophia instantly recognized the thousand-yard stare. He like Robert never really came home and, worse, he was carrying a massive cross on his shoulders this whole time. She forgot about their past differences and her current problems for a minute standing there as a friend and a listening ear.

“I was sent home early because I just couldn’t let go what I saw that day,” Ken went into explaining his last tour of duty. “Asking too many questions… trying to piece shit together. Did you know there are currently at least forty-four different military conflicts around the world to date?”

“I did not know that,” she joined the conversation.

“You think everyone is watching who’s killing who? You think everything is televised?” he began asking rhetorical questions he did not expect her to have answers for. “Rebel forces with just a handful of guns and explosives eventually topple a military regime. Think they did it all by themselves, or did they get a “little help”? Did you ever wonder except for the first tower bombing and 9/11, why foreign attacks on U.S soil are almost nil? You think it’s just because of our “powerful military presence” in the world, because we have nukes?”

“You’re saying it’s because of these people?” Sophia asked.

“If you knew your enemy had the keys to the gates of hell itself and could send something so evil with the capability of finding you no matter where you hid. Something that could not be stopped and could kill you slowly in the most intimate ways that you fear most… would you fuck with him?” he asked her with a dazed look.

“So how do I find the gates of hell?” she returned.

As much as she did not mind playing his shrink, she also remembered why she came to speak with Ken, and that she did not have time to hang out and root through his demons.

“Before I was sent home, started doing some research,” he continued as if prepping her for a mission. “Myth states that the D.E.A.D has been around since the Vietnam War, maybe even before… and it’s always been a team of four.”

“Team of four?” she asked remembering that there was only three in the room with her and Robert.

“Four horse men of Apocalypse,” he clarified. “Biblical type shit.”

“That would make them in their fifties, this team seemed young,” she said comparing notes. “And there was a woman on their team.”

“That’s the other part of the myth,” he explained. “It’s always a four man or person team… when one is killed or “retires” they replace those members immediately with someone else… but it is always four.”

“I only saw three,” she cited again.

“Don’t know what to tell you, maybe one was doing lookout somewhere,” he shrugged his shoulders, “but all stories talk about four… but like I said that’s all word of mouth shit. Campfire stories told on patrol.”

“You said there were conspiracy theories on them?” Sophia asked, thinking that he checked those leads.

“Yeah,” he said as the fearful look returned to his face, “I tried that route when I got back home. There was nothing out there… not a website… not even a blog, and I found out why. I sent an email blast to a bunch of conspiracy theorists thinking someone heard something. Some flat out didn’t respond, what was scary were the ones that did. Very aggressive emails telling me to never write or ask about the D.E.A.D again, and then they blocked me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“This went on for about three days,” he continued fighting past his fear. “One day I found a note on my truck windshield telling me if I wanted the answer I was looking for to go to the 59 Diner, sit in a booth, and have their big breakfast. I went there, ate, and waited for an hour. I was about to leave when this skinny kid with a bald-head, black sweatshirt, and jeans jumped into my booth. He told me to shut up and listen. That he was not going to give me his name. He told me to stop asking about the D.E.A.D and to stop researching them. He said a couple of years ago a guy put up a website about them and started making theories, drawing from factual stuff and bullshit.”

Ken started to have the jitters again as he continued his story.

“A lot of people especially in their “field” subscribed to his site including him. Then one night he said the entire website was gone,” he said while making nervous hand gestures, “not one trace of it was on the web. He started searching for it, talking to other subscribers he’d friended about what happened. Twenty minutes later, he got an email from the owner of the site. When he opened it the email said, “Do not talk about us ever again”…five seconds after he read it, the email disappeared from his inbox. He then said he tried to send an email reaching out to other people he knew visited the site asking if the same incident happened to them. Before he could hit the send button the email deleted itself, and a new email popped up with no sender address saying “Read.” When he opened it, it only had two words…“Last warning.” Then that one disappeared from his inbox.”

“Didn’t he call the police?” she asked.

“I asked him the same thing,” Ken said, gripping the liquor table behind him to stop from shaking. “He said he dialed 911, and thought he got an operator… started to tell the person what happened. When the person on the line said to him, “What part of last warning do you not get?” then the line went dead. He said after that he never spoke to anyone about what happened. Two months later, he read on the web the same guy who owned the site died of carbon monoxide poisoning in his house. It was ruled an accident, but he knew better. He told me for the safety of my family and myself to forget about the D.E.A.D. Then he got up and ran off. I never saw him again, but I didn’t stop. And if you want to know, why I’m shaking like I’s fixin’ ta piss myself. Two weeks after I spoke to this kid, I saw him on a missing person’s report on the news.”

Ken paused a minute to try and suppress his uncontrollable shaking.

“His name was Michael Evans,” he hesitated as if he would surely die if he continued to speak. “I called the hotline number that night to speak with someone… the person on the phone told me… the kid’s dead… you and your family will be too if you don’t stop. Then the line went dead.”

Ken looked as if he was about to collapse as his legs continued to shiver. He appeared to want to pour himself another drink but was too afraid to move.

“I took his advice after that,” he swallowed.

“They set up his murder… like they set me up,” Sophia went blank realizing how Ken’s story applied to her.

“What?” he finally looked at her with a dazed expression.

“They killed Robert, and then set me up as his murderer, because of whatever he knew… or was looking for,” she said with the same expressionless tone.

It was as if she was not even there as she pulled the pieces together seeing the bigger horrible picture.

Kenneth’s eyes widened as he came out of his trance realizing what she was saying.

“Holy shit…” he shuddered.

Tears began to pour from Sophia’s eyes as she looked up at him.

“Did you tell him?” she asked with quaking lips.

“What?” Ken asked bewildered at Sophia’s question.

She slowly walked up to him.

“Did you tell Robert,” she asked with a bass filled voice, “about the D.E.A.D?”

Before Kenneth could react, Sophia within arms reach of him snatched him by his jeans pants and lifted him into the air like a rag doll.

Needless to say the former hardened Marine freaked out at how freakishly strong a woman who use to stand at stomach level to tell him off was.

“What the fuck man?!” he howled.

“Did you tell him about the D.E.A.D?!” she screamed at him so that he could hear her loud and clear.

“Of course I did, who else was I going to tell?!” Ken gripped her wrist to stabilize himself in the air as he locked eyes with her. “I was losing my shit over it! He told me to let it go, get my focus, and just think about the job and coming home.”

“Oh my god…” she trembled as she held him high, she gasped as if her legs were about to go out from underneath her, “All this time… you knew… you... selfish son of a bitch… you knew about this… you got my husband killed… you got my husband killed!”

“Nu-uh.” Ken violently shook his head in denial realizing what she was saying. “He told me to forget about them! He told me to forget about them! Why would he go looking for them?! Sophia! I swear to god! He didn’t tell me! I didn’t know!”

“You promised me!” she wailed. “You promised!”

She screamed as he slammed him up against a wall.

Ken broke down not fighting her as the revelation that he could have possibly gotten his best friend murdered over something he confided in him was too much even for him to stand.

“Sophee… I didn’t know,” he blubbered, “…I swear to god… I did not know…”

She wanted to smash him through the wall until he stopped moving but ended up slowly lowering Ken back down to the floor where he hunched over bawling. She turned away grasping her chest as if she was having a heart attack. The pain in her stomach had come back as she covered her face shaking like a leaf while she wept.

Her focus was officially gone as she saw her husband standing before her smiling with a cigar in one hand and a glass of Cognac in the other. Ken and he were christening the den after the house warming.

She remembered jokingly reminding him about cigars causing low sperm count, while Ken reminded her of the imaginary sign on the door that read, “No women and no whining.” Therefore, she had to leave for violating the rules.

“Go away,” she whispered whimpering. “Please, go away.”

It was not fair, she was a good person; she did not want these powers or this crazy existence. She wanted Robert, she wanted to have his children; she wanted to grow old and die with him. Now he was gone and she was all alone with haunting memories she could barely control.

What was killing her most, was if what Charles said about her being truly immortal were true, she would also never see him again.

She walked away to get some distance between herself and Ken, in fear that she might punch his head off. She took in some air, wiped her face, and counted down in her head again to make the vision go away. It was not easy but the mental apparition disappeared. In its place, a horrified Elizabeth stood at the door of their den.

“What did you do?” Elizabeth shuttered close to her own tears.

Sophia thought she was addressing her, when in actuality she was looking at her husband.

“My god, Ken,” she asked with trembling lips. “What did you do?”

“Liz, please go back upstairs,” Ken begged.

He turned away so as not to look her in the eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she firmly threw back at him, “I am your wife… you should have told me. Days and nights, I waited thinking today or tonight I’d hear that knock at the door. That I’d have to tell your babies you weren’t coming home. I earned the right for you to tell me. You should have told me!”

Her words made Ken stoop lowered into a ball and cry harder.

With focus back and patience out the window, Sophia walked over grabbing him by the front of his sweatshirt forcing him to his feet. She braced him against the wall looking him in his blood shot tear stained eyes.

“Stop your damn crying,” she barked at him. “You don’t have the right to cry. You two selfish assholes and your secrets not even thinking about the people you claim you love. You two are responsible! You destroyed your wife’s trust, and I was executed over this bullshit! Now I have to fix your messes… so I need you to soldier up right now and tell me what else you do know so I can find your best friend my husband’s murderers. Now think! After you spoke to Rob about Ramadi, did you contact him again?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I swear to god no.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed him. “Think. Did he contact you? Voicemail, instant messenger, email, Facebook or Twitter?”

“Sophia,” he made sure to look her dead in the eyes, “that was the last time I spoke to Rob before he was murdered. I swear…”

“Don’t you dare swear on the life of your children,” Elizabeth cut him off pointing at him with a warning, “don’t you dare do it.”

She released him walking away running her hands through her dreads in frustration. If that was their last conversation, that meant that the trail was now officially four years cold.

It was just then that she realized she forgot to ask him the question that could start a new spark.

“Ken,” she bit her bottom lip, “before you spoke to Rob that final time… did he ever talk to you about a… super soldier project?”

Sophia had lied to Charles. She had a very good idea how she was infected. She just did not want him falling deeper down the rabbit hole to hell with her, which was where she was going.

“No he did not,” said Ken wiping his eyes as a visible chill ran down his spine, “is… is that what?”

“You ever know me to crush ball bats with my bare hand before this?” she asked with a sarcastic tone. “Three months after Rob came home he was going to a VA hospital for physical therapy for his injuries… the Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center. Within six months, he went from walking with a severe limp and barely able to raise his arm while popping painkillers for the mind numbing back pain to doing a 3K run and bench-pressing almost two hundred and fifty pounds. I was so happy that he was getting better, I didn’t think anything of it… I thought it was the combination of physical therapy and his desire to get better.”

“Rob was always pretty tough…” Ken nodded acknowledging.

“What if it was something else that was making him better?” she questioned. “Something that’s now inside of me?”

“I think I talked to him once about his physical therapy before our last talk. He said it was coming along but he didn’t go into detail,” Ken confessed.

“Maybe they were testing this… drug or virus on him while he was there, and he found out something about it that was dangerous,” she began to formulate. “I’ve been having some tests run on it with the help of Charles Hampton, and so far other than the abilities I acquired there’s been no real negative effects. He said the night before he was killed, he was going to “burn” for what he did. Do you know what that might mean?”

“I don’t know Soph,” Ken shrugged. “Rob got blood on his hands while over there just like me… up till then both you and I know he’d never killed anyone before. If I have a nickel for every time I talked about burning in hell while drunk… well, you know.”

Ken turned looking both sheepish and ashamed, while his wife just looked at him unsure what to think of him, not because he served his country, but because of his lies and keeping the truth from her.

Realizing she was officially out of viable options, she came to one conclusion as she massaged her forehead. “Then there’s only one other option,” she sighed.

“What?” Ken asked. “You’re going to break into the VA hospital?”

“No,” Sophia said sternly. “I don’t have to when I can go to the one person who can fill in all of the blanks.”

Ken already knew whom she was taking about by her tone.

“General Matheson?” he stammered, “you don’t think?”

“I think he’d be crazy enough to put Robert in such a program,” Sophia deduced, “and I think Robert would be stupid enough to enter such a program for his father. He recommended Rob to that hospital… he’s the key to all of this.”

“You don’t think he knew about…” Ken nervously swallowed.

“I don’t want to think about what he knew or didn’t know.” Sophia stopped his morbid train of thought. “I’m at the point where I want some answers… my gut tells me he can give them to me.”

“Whoa wait… you’re really going to go ask him?!” Ken held his hands up motioning for her to think about what she planned to do. “You do know if he doesn’t know anything about this, this is the man who believes you brutally murdered his son, and this is the General we’re talking about.”

“And?” she asked with a “What’s he gonna do about it?” look, making the battle tested Marine all the more nervous.

You do know what this means,” Scott quivered glancing at his wife and then at Sophia before looking down at his feet in shame and fear. “If everything’s as fucking insane as it is… is true.”

“What?” Sophia asked a bit scared to hear his answer.

“Our own government,” he hesitated to say it, “is authorizing executions on its own people… killing United States citizens.”

CHAPTER 15

September 5, 2008, she left early morning before Charles got up, not telling him where she was going. She left a note saying she would be back soon. It was a third lie. The second one, she told him after she let him in on what she learned when visiting with Ken and Elizabeth. He asked her what she was going to do, and she motioned to going to the VA hospital to follow leads on Robert’s treatment if there was any. She hated lying to him, but she did not want him to know what she had planned because she knew he would either try to talk her out of it, or try to go with her. This was something she had to do alone.

Sophia’s stomach was in a knot as she walked through the luxurious neighborhood of West Lane heading to house address number seven. She was shocked that patrol cars had not pulled up already to ask her what in George Bush’s name she was doing in the neighborhood. She always dreaded going there; it was intimidating; he was intimidating. General Bernard Matheson was as tough as a rusty nail and as daunting as a nuke. Sophia used to think he was a Sith Lord because his mere presence made people uncomfortable, but that was what one expected from the man with a billion yard stare who earned his stars and stripes on multiple fields of battle.

With her luck, he probably was not home; chances are he was down at Fort Bliss in El Paseo, or the Marine Barracks in Washington DC.

She huffed as she walked up to the house, sitting in the driveway among other cars was his restored 1965 Pontiac GTO; if he was in El Paseo he would have driven it, and if he was in DC it would have been in the garage covered up; the man’s routine was predictable after all these years.

Sophia’s attention was quickly averted from the GTO to something else all too familiar. It made her blood boil when she saw it. An extremely rare fully restored 1969 ZL1 Camaro, which was originally painted metallic sea blue, her favorite color; someone had bastardized it with a generic black and white color scene, and the license plate “SO FLY.”

“You son of a bitch,” she sneered in disgusted.

Also among the vehicles was a black BMW X5 SUV, she found it odd all the vehicles were there especially on a Friday; everyone who was on shore leave usually came over for traditional family dinner on Sunday. It looked like everyone was there except Marcus, the eldest, and his family. He was no doubt still over in Iraq, last she remembered he was a Sergeant First Class, which meant Alexis and Peter were in the house with their family, and she could not stand Peter.

She walked up the driveway taking her time to run her hand across the body of the ZL1. Images of the days and nights Robert toiled away working on that car, and the day he showed her the new paint color, which she picked out, filled her head. She was officially going in angry, which was probably not the logical way to go considering she was walking into her former in-laws’ house the convicted murderer of their son and brother; now accusing their husband and father of having knowledge of the real killers. However, after bearing witness to the constant violation of things that emotionally meant something to her, tact was officially out the window at this point.

She stood at the doorway of the Brick Veneer Stucco mini mansion. Fear crept back sitting on her shoulder. After her episode at Ken’s house last night she was not sure what state she would be in walking into what use to be her “third home.” Aside from the car, which she purposely channeled, memories did not bombard her like before if she went to some place familiar.

It did help that while Charles slept during the night, she practiced until dawn how to better control and suppress it. It appeared to manifest itself in extreme cases of distress. Sitting in a meditative state she learned when she took Yoga, she taught herself to move through memories as if watching television.

She even learned that she could fast forward, reverse, and even freeze a memory with a simple thought to look at it in detail. The focus of her lesson was to shut it off and keep it shut unless needed. She could not afford to have a repeat at Ken’s house.

She remembered the last time she saw any of these people they were sitting opposite her behind the prosecution rejoicing when she received the death sentence. All except Mrs. Matheson, she actually cried when she heard the verdict, and not of joy; on that day she was losing another child.

There would be no wondering how they would react to see a ghost standing before them, it was happening now. She pressed the button waiting for the bell like music to play through. The fact that a memory did not leap out at her was a good sign. It meant she had it locked down.

She pressed it again; she was going to go for number three when she heard the old woman’s voice, “I’m coming! Hold on! I’m coming!”

A sweaty chill washed over Sophia, she had time to blitz out of there, find another time and place to confront the General; coming too far was what rooted her in her place. Slowly she bit her lower lip as the glass front double Oakwood doors opened. Mrs. Matheson was the same as she remembered her, a little bit older, but the same. Her black and silver hair was cut in a bob style, she still worn the silver spectacles with the chain that her mother gave to her. She was dressed like a typical grandmother in her pink Polo shirt, and baggy grandmother jeans; Sophia got a bit emotional when she saw her smiling again.

“Yes… how may I help you?” Mrs. Matheson asked adjusting her spectacles.

“Hi… Ma,” Sophia nervously shook in her Converse.

Mrs. Matheson’s smile changed to fear and bewilderment, she was not that old that she could not recognize a voice; especially a voice that still called her “ma” like that.

Her voice quivered as she said the name, “Sophia?”

She remembered that her hood was still on as she pulled it from her face. Her new height and appearance threw Mrs. Matheson off, but there was no mistaking her former daughter-in-law now standing in front of her at her very door. Feeling a bit faint, she lost her footing.

Sophia was fast enough to catch her so she did not hurt herself.

“I got you, Ma,” she nervously breathed. “I got you.”

Sophia walked her over to the foyer area setting her down in the sitting chair. She checked her pulse to make sure she was not having a heart attack.

“You feeling any tightness in your chest?” she gently asked. “Any pain in your arms or legs, or shortness of breath?”

“No… no,” Mrs. Matheson shook her head.

She was so shocked to see Sophia actually kneeling before her, she responded without realizing what she was saying. It was a surreal moment for both of them.

Until an extremely nasty voice ruined it all by barking, “Get the hell away from my mother!”

Sophia did not even have to turn to see who it was, his voice was like battery acid to her brain, and just thinking about the ZL1 further infuriated her.

“Hello Pete,” she said as her nose twitched while she rose to her feet.

Peter Matheson was the fighter pilot of the family; he was also in her mind the designated asshole, forever vying for his father’s affirmation and respect, sometimes at the expense of others.

General Matheson had a great respect for all branches of the military considering his bloodline ran through all of them, but he was a Marine, and there would always be a special place in his heart for the Corps and anyone of his family that took up the mantle of the Corps. Robert was the only one to do so.

Both Marcus and Alexis joined the Army, while Peter joined the Air Force. Despite his other despicable traits, which entailed womanizing, unhealthy competitiveness, and all-around jerk for no good reason, he had the aptitude to fly with near unrivaled precision.

Personally Sophia believed the Master Sergeant was just too puss to survive actual combat on the ground, which is why he opted to become a Nintendo pilot. She had taken great pleasure to remind him of that over the years whenever he had crossed the line of getting on her last nerve.

As she turned to face him, she saw the gang was all there, Alexis, her husband Jeff, who happened to be a Navy Seal. Peter, and his girlfriend Trisha (No military affiliation unless gold-digger became one in the last four years she was locked up), who was now shock of all shocks Mrs. Peter Matheson by the massive wedding ring she spied on her finger. Oh, yeah, she remembered, she could not stand Trisha either.

“I see you’re still swinging for Daddy’s nutsack by your teeth,” she smiled firing off the first insult. “Tell me… how long was my husband in the ground before you violated his blood, sweat and, tears with your grubby little paws?”

“That’s my brother’s car,” he snapped back at her. “He would have wanted me to have it!”

“No he did not.” Her eyes narrowed as the urge to pounce on him built within her.

“Why are you here, Sophia?” Alexis the youngest and only daughter jumped in between the childish argument demanding an answer. “How could you come here after what you did?”

Sophia softened a bit when Alexis stepped in, she loved her like her little sister; she was one of her bridesmaids. Alexis never believed Sophia was capable of killing Robert; she knew how much she loved him. Her conviction did not sway until the trial when she saw the video footage of the bank, the ATM, and at the hotel.

She remembered her springing to her feet screaming for her death as she sobbed tears of utter betrayal; never more did Sophia want to die on the spot then on that day.

“I came here to see the General,” she softened up a bit when she spoke to her, “and I’m not leaving here till I speak to him… I believe he knows what happened to Robert…”

“We all know what happened to Robert,” butted in Trisha out of nowhere snapping her neck. “He married a greedy murdering bitch like you.”

“Wha ya call me?! Bitch?! Say it again… I dare you,” Sophia shifted into the Caribbean slang of her mother. “Say it again and see what happens to you! Ya jancrow dog, you. Say it again!”

It was not as if no one ever called her the B-word before, even in jest. It was just the way Trisha said it that made her want to tear someone, namely her apart. Oh, yeah, she remembered she did not like her.

“I ain’t afraid of you!” she fired back.

“Yah little what’s it not! Ya should be!” Sophia returned warning her. “Yah really should be!”

“Sophia… look... I don’t know how you managed to escape,” Jeff jumped in trying to be the voice of reason, “but you need to turn yourself in.”

“Thanks for the advice, Jeff, but for your information I didn’t just escape from prison,” she said deciding to educate him. “I was executed, shot several times, and I fought my way out taking on at least fifty of Gatesville’s finest… so, no… I’m not going “back to prison.” Now I’m tired of this “Soul Food” shit… Where is Bernard?! And don’t tell me he’s not here. I saw the GTO outside. Where are you Bernard?! Bring your sorry ashy-crusted ass out here! We need to talk! Bernard!”

Noted to all in and out of the household especially Sophia, General Matheson despised two things, one was disorder, especially in his house; and the other was someone other than Mrs. Matheson calling him by his first name.

“How dare you come in this house,” the man himself finally stood before her.

Well a good distance from her; he still had a stone- chiseled demeanor about him that commanded respect. Physically he looked like he could still run a 3K with relative ease, but his age was showing. He seemed smaller in his blue Polo shirt, tan Khaki pants, and black suede slippers. Or it could just be that Sophia had gotten bigger, which she found weird that no one commented on remembering what she originally looked like.

“I dare because I believe you know who really killed Robert,” she said getting to the point, “and I believe you know where I can find them.”

“Bernard,” Mrs. Matheson asked completely confused, “What… what is she talking about?”

“I have no idea what she’s…” General Matheson started to say dismissively.

“I want to know about the D.E.A.D… Bernard,” Sophia cut him off getting to the point.

The room went dead silent, as the only ones still in confusion was Mrs. Bernard and Trisha; her demand even took Peter aback.

“Daddy…” Alexis turned to her father demanding an answer, “what is she talking about?”

Sophia decided not to wait for him to come up with a lie.

“The night Robert was murdered,” she began, “I woke up to see his murderers. Three people covered from head to toe in some black hi-tech outfits you see in a comic book. Two men and a woman, who was holding the knife from our wedding cake sitting on top of Robert, ready to stab him… on their left shoulder was a black embossed symbol of a Grim Reaper… sitting on a large skull holding a Scythe in one hand and skull in the other. I just came from Kenneth Scott’s house last night, and he confirmed not only their name, but that he witnessed their handy work… on his last tour he and his squad came across an entire town in Ramadi that was massacred by these individuals… the only survivor, a little boy described to him the very same symbol I saw.”

The silence became more awkward as the General stared her down with a scowl on his face, which made everyone very uncomfortable because he was not refuting what she just said.

“Daddy… is what she saying… true?” Alexis asked again stunned at what she just heard. “Daddy say something!”

“Do you expect me to respond to an old wives tale?” he scolded his only daughter. “A conspiracy theory? This is the United States of America… there is no such thing as a Death Squad secretly sanctioned by this country! This is the woman who murdered your brother in cold blood for our family money; who got her information from a man who was dishonorably discharged during his last tour!”

Something Ken forgot to mention, no doubt because he was too ashamed to talk about it, and probably why there was an unspoken tension between him and Elizabeth; it’s the ultimate kiss of death for a service man especially a Marine, and Sophia knew how much Kenneth loved the Corps.

“That’s right,” pressed on the General. “Dishonorably discharged for threatening a superior officer with his firearm and conduct unbefitting a Marine officer! The man’s an alcoholic undeserving of the title Marine!”

“You expect me to answer wild accusations supposedly backed by a man such as him? Ask her why she didn’t come forward with this information during her trial!” snorted General Matheson.

“Because it was blocked from my memory with whatever they injected me with that night. Funny that memory came back, but I still don’t remember going to the bank, the ATM, driving through the toll to Oklahoma, and I don’t remember checking into a hotel,” Sophia returned fire going on the defensive. “Then again I also didn’t know that you put Robert into some goddamn super soldier program!”

It was a Hail Mary, everyone would think she was nuts until she was forced to show them what she was capable of, the General remained stone faced not flinching an inch from her accusation. The man was a solid poker player; she was now counting on a confused family now filled with questions to force his hand.

“Super soldier program?” Peter emitted an idiotic laugh. “You mean like Captain America and shit… you joking, right?”

A disgusted grin formed on the General’s face.

“Prison has obviously left you delusion and more twisted,” he scoffed.

“You want to see delusional and twisted?!” she hissed having her fill of being under attack when she knew the truth.

She advanced to rush him cracking the tile floor with a step. Peter and Jeff advanced to get in front of her not realizing what she did, but Alexis saw it. In that instant, no one existed other than her and the General. All she saw was how quickly he stepped back when she moved forward.

The man who had fought in countless occupations, the epitome of what it meant to be a hardcore Marine backed up to the advance of a woman.

“Sophia! You need to calm down!” Jeff ordered her.

“You trying to run up on my father in his house?!” Peter started flexing on her ready to fight. “Are you out of your cotton picking mind?!”

“Crackin they good floor with your roach stoppers!” slipped in Trisha.

“Sophia, please stop!” pleaded Mrs. Matheson.

Sophia, however, did not hear any of them; she had tunnel vision on the General.

“Why’d you back up, Bernard?” she asked with a quivering voice. “Big bad Marine with almost every branch of the military under one roof, why’d you back up?”

This time the General did not answer, Alexis looked at her father; and saw something she had never seen in her twenty-eight years of knowing him… pure unadulterated fear.

“You know,” Sophia bared her teeth, “you son of a bitch… you know what I am!”

Red was all Sophia saw as she advanced full speed ahead for the General. Jeff was the first to try to take her down. The six-foot-five, two-hundred-sixty-pound Navy Seal quickly found out to his shock and dismay that no training could prepare him for the six-foot, several-hundred-pound female powerhouse. She quickly overpowered him grabbing him by the front of his khaki pants, and hoisted him high into the air with her right arm.

“Holy!” Jeff screamed.

“Oh my god!” freaked out Mrs. Matheson.

“Oh shit,” Trisha quickly coiled behind an antique chair in fright, “she dun turned supa thug!”

Alexis was beside herself in disbelief with what she was witnessing. She turned to her father to see that even though he still displayed fear, he was not shocked at what he was seeing, only angered and defenseless.

Peter, however, was not impressed with the display of power as he prepared to throw hands with her.

“Bitch, you think you got some jail muscle I’m afraid of you?!” he snarled.

Despite it all, Sophia cared about Jeff and did not want to hurt him.

“Go ahead Captain Nintendo,” she smirked while taunting, “take ya best shot…”

She really wanted to hurt Peter.

“No! Don’t take the shot, man! Do not take the shot!” Jeff yelled begging him.

“What you just called me?” he narrowed his eyes.

It was like a tick to Peter being called that.

“Peter! No! Stand down! That is an order!” the General yelled at his son.

“Peter!” Alexis also joined in trying to bring him to his senses.

“Bitch ass Nintendo pilot flying pussy,” Sophia sneered.

Peter exploded putting all his weight behind the punch; unlike Craig Martin, she was not shocked when he hit her. She just stood there and took the six-foot-four man’s blow to the jaw, then watched him drop backwards on his ass clutching several broken knuckles.

“Oh! Oh god! My hand! Oh god!” he hollered, rocking back and forth.

Sophia ignored him as she lowered Jeff back down to the floor. The big man backed up against the nearest wall no longer wanting any part of her as Sophia advanced toward the General. She did not know what she was going to do when she got within range of him.

General Matheson just stood there visibly trying to keep himself from shaking, visibly trying to remain tough. She was within six feet of him when Alexis jumped in her way with her hands up.

“Sophia, please stop,” Alexis cried, begging her.

“Get out of my way Alexis,” Sophia growled. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Alexis threw her arms around Sophia holding her tightly.

“You’re not going to hurt me, sis,” she bitterly wept. “I know you’d never hurt me… like I know you didn’t hurt Robert…”

She grabbed her wanting to throw her off. She wanted to get to the General and strangle the truth out of him, but Alexis held her tighter. Tears poured from Sophia’s eyes as she finally broke down letting out an agonizing wail.

After almost four years of hell, screaming innocence, and going to her death with no one believing her, the truth finally revealed was too much for even her. She dropped to her knees sobbing as Alexis followed her down to the floor still holding her, crying with her.

It broke Mrs. Matheson’s heart again.

She turned to her husband demanding an answer. “Bernard… what did you do?” she bawled. “You son of a bitch… What did you do?!”

“Sophia Dennison!” Mark Armitage’s voice came via a bullhorn outside. “This is the FBI and the entire Houston Police Force! We have the house surrounded, you are ordered to come out with your hands up and surrender!”

It saved the General from having to answer to his family.

Sophia looked around confused to what is going on as multiple lights flashed outside around the house.

“We knew you were coming,” Alexis confessed to her. “The FBI was here early this morning… they told us to keep you in the house till they surrounded it so you couldn’t escape.”

Sophia was still in a daze suffering from emotional overload.

“How’s that possible?” she asked, “Wait… why are you all here? It’s not Sunday…”

Tears flowed from Alexis’s eyes as she started to cry again.

“Marcus was killed in Iraq during an ambush,” she wept, “we’ve been here since yesterday.”

“But ma… came to the door… just fine,” Sophia uttered.

“She has early onset Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t remember Marcus. She barely remembers me…only some people,” Alexis explained.

Sophia instinctively turned to the large family picture showing the entire Matheson family in their traditional military garbs. Marcus was the oldest of the four, followed by Robert, Peter, and Alexis. One of the finest people she had ever met; he loved and treated her like a little sister from the first day Robert introduced her to him. She fell out from the news, not good being a person with her “condition.”

Memory after memory began to appear everywhere, the day Robert introduced her to the family for the first time, the holidays she spent there, the day Robert and her told them of their engagement. The day her parents flew down to meet his parents for the first time. Barbeques and the laughter of children running; so overwhelming was the attack it left her on her knees in a near catatonic state.

Alexis noticing something was wrong gently shook her.

“Sophia,” her pressed with concern, “Sophia… talk to me.”

“Alexis… get away from her,” General Matheson ordered his daughter.

“Dad… shut up!” Alexis spat back at him, “Sophia talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“Nancy, the kids…” she managed to get out.

She could barely hear Alexis through the mixed noises in her head crashing her senses.

“They’re not here,” responded a choked up Alexis, “Removed for their safety and Nancy’s pregnant again… the house is surrounded… you have to give yourself up.”

Alexis’ words of surrender brought her to her senses. Surrender was not an option, this was not going to end with her walked out in handcuffs again, not until she found them. She remembered what she taught herself last night. As she concentrated, the memories disappeared one by one until she could just hear the original present sounds in the room. She could once again feel Alexis’ touch on her hands.

“No… I’m not going.” Sophia shook her head. “I’m not going back till I find them.”

Alexis accepting the impossible gently cupped her face. “Then you have to run,” she ordered her, “run…”

Sophia knew what she meant, the last thing the house needed was a firefight on the front lawn. She had to protect the people she loved and cared about… even Peter and Trisha. She rose to her feet with Alexis in control again. It was then that Alexis realized the dramatic changes in her.

Sophia silently leaned down to place her forehead against hers for a final goodbye. She stopped her walk toward the main entrance to lock eyes with the General one final time. It was to let him know this would not be the final time for them.

“Conversation to be continued.” Her lips quivered as she pointed in his direction. “I will see you again… real soon.”

Sophia headed to the door as Alexis took over looking at her father with betrayal and utter disgust. She remembered to shoot Trisha a dirty look making her cower further behind the large old chair for some “protection”; quickly she walked over to Mrs. Matheson kneeling down in front of her holding her hand.

“Ma… I got to go,” smiled Sophia.

“I’m so sorry,” she wept. “Baby, I’m so sorry for what we’ve done to you…”

“Ma… you didn’t do anything to me.” Sophia caressed her cheek reassuring her. “I love you… I got to go but… I love you…”

She quickly kissed her hand before walking off heading for the front door. She slowed down as she saw through the glass doors the multitude of cars and law enforcement littering the law. Butterflies filled her stomach as she took a deep breath grasping the doorknob before flying it open and stepping out.

“She’s coming out! She’s coming out!” an officer screamed.

Sophia walked onto the lawn surveying the sea of personnel, vehicles, and guns aimed at her. Residents of the neighborhood tensely watched from their lawns and windows. The way she saw it if she tore through the least path of destruction, she would be gone before any of them jumped in their vehicles and gave chase.

Armitage stood there with bullhorn ready and hand up making sure no one foolishly opened fire creating an unneeded combat situation.

“Dennison, hands up and down on the lawn! There’s nowhere to run!” he ordered praying that if there were a God in heaven, she would comply.

“She’s gonna bolt,” Mercer muttered.

“She’s not gonna bolt,” Armitage shot back.

Slowly Sophia raised her hands up as commanded surveying the lay of the land. She spotted two squad cars with the least amount of bodies covering it.

Seeing that she was complying, Armitage gave a mental prayer of thanks to a God he had not spoken to since he was an altar boy.

“Down on the floor Dennison!” He followed up with his third order. “Down on the floor!”

He found out that day, God was up there, hocking a loogy on him. A fake smile grew on her face as Sophia went half way down as if she was going to lay down allowing the agents to move closer. Her face switched up to a sneer as she exploded kicking up dirt and grass on the lawn, knocking two agents out of the way. They would be thankful later that they had body armor on as they hit the ground hard.

“She’s bolting! She’s bolting!” Mark yelled scrambling.

“I told you!” yelled Dustin running with him.

Gunfire erupted, but none of them would touch Sophia as she put it into overdrive charging like a bull toward the barricade of squad cars.

“Get out the way! Get out the damn way!” yelled Mark on the bullhorn seeing the direction she was charging.

BADOOM! was the sound that sent everyone in the area of impact ducking for cover as Dennison smashed through two unmanned squad cars sending them both into an almost three hundred and sixty degree spin. Once again, she went into a full out sprint jetting out of the residential area for the main street.

Those that were able and brave scrambled getting into their vehicles to begin pursuit along with Mercer and Armitage already behind the wheel of their issued vehicle leading the chase of a woman out running them on foot.

“This shit cannot be happening,” Dustin shook his head in disbelief holding on for dear life as Mark drove. “This shit cannot be happening man!”

“You took a drink today?” Mark asked while pushing the gas pedal to the floor.

“No!” he yelled.

“Neither did I... this shit is happening.” Mark gritted his teeth trying to catch up with the woman doing near a hundred on foot.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at the Matheson’s house, General Matheson exited his house with two pieces of luggage heading for his car. Mrs. Matheson chased after him demanding answers while Alexis chased after her mother followed by Jeff bringing up the rear.

“Mom! Mom!” Alexis frantically called to her.

Mrs. Matheson blocked out her daughter, now obsessed with chasing down her husband who she still remembered.

“Where are you going, Bernard? Where are you going?!” she screamed at him.

He does not answer her. As he reached for the car door, she managed to jump in front of him grabbing him by the front of his shirt trying to shake him.

“What did you do, you son of a bitch?!” she yelled in his face. “Tell me what you did!”

“I did what I had to do for my country!” he fired back refusing judgment even by his own wife.

“Who murdered my baby?” she frantically howled. “Who murdered my baby?! You bastard! Who?!”

Out of frustration, she slapped him hard across the face, which angered him enough to grab her. Alexis jumped in slapping his hand off her, getting in between them to protect her mother.

“Don’t you dare touch my mother…” she snarled at her father giving him a direct order, “get out of here and never come back.”

The General sneered before opening his car door throwing his bags in. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he quickly backed out of the driveway before speeding off.

“God help you if you had anything to do with this Bernard!” Mrs. Matheson screamed her lungs out. “God help you!”

She broke down crying in the arms of her daughter who held her close as Jeff put a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at the chase, fast as they floored their vehicles the fleet of pursing police and F.B.I could not catch up with Sophia easily clocking a hundred miles an hour or more. By right, she could have probably gone faster, but there was the great fear at her current speed that she would accidentally slam into an unsuspecting car hurting someone.

As she spied the helicopters flying overhead no doubt broadcasting the unbelievable spectacle of her version of the O.J. chase on foot. The last thing she needed was to be filmed accidentally killing innocent people while trying to escape Five-O. She needed some distance between herself and the authority and decided to head to the nearest highway to get it.

“Looks like she’s headed for Interstate 10,” Dustin pointed out as he hung onto the strap inside the car as Mark drove like a maniac.

“We got to stop her before she gets on there,” Mark muttered as he pushed the 2008 Impala to its max.

His mind went through a thousand scenarios to end this. A reject sign flashed on every one of them spelling disaster.

“With what, the bazooka in my ass cheeks?!” Dustin sarcastically barked.

“Why don’t you stop acting like a bitch and think of something man!” he said getting into Dustin’s ass. “I can’t drive and do everything!”

“You want me to do something? Fine!” Mercer yelled back removing his seat belt.

He turned throwing his rear into the windshield going for something in the backseat. He came back around brandishing a Heckler and Koch MP5 locked and loaded.

Mark glanced at the combination and saw a bad idea.

“What the hell are you going to do with that?!” he furrowed his brows.

“Something!” yelled Dustin

He leaned half his body out the window taking aim the best he could from a moving vehicle doing close to eighty and pulled the trigger trying to unload rounds from the Heckler into Sophia’s back. Several pierced through the mid-riff leather Goth jacket and shirt she was wearing, but none pierced her skin as they just bounce off like previous rounds failing to penetrate her.

Sophia turned quickly to shoot Dustin a dirty look for ventilating the only articles of clothing she had in her possession, and then picked up speed darting onto Interstate 10.

Mark quickly drifted the car leaving skid marks to make the exit onto the highway while grabbing onto Dustin who almost fell out.

“Get your ass in here!” Mark barked.

Dustin fell back into his seat checking his rounds with disgust.

“Any other bright ideas you want me to come up with?” he asked while scowling at his partner.

“There’s got to be a way to stop her…” Mark began to say.

A Dodge Charger patrol car blasted right by them on a mission cut off Mark’s vocal train of thought.

“What the…” Mark’s face twisted in disbelief.

“Looks like someone’s got an idea.” Dustin raised an eyebrow.

“If he’s thinking of doing, what I think he’s doing...” Mark seeing an idiot attempting a dumbass move got on the CB. “Someone tell that dumbass in the Charger ahead of us to stand down!”

“Go suck an asshole, FBI man!” came over their CB from the State Trooper in front of them. “While you two are holding each other’s dicks, I’ll show you how to shut this freak show down!”

“How’s he know we’re holding each other’s dicks?” an insulted Dustin turned to his partner asking.

Mark ignored his partner’s joke stepping on the gas.

“We got to stop that dumb fuck before we’re a wreck on a wreck on this interstate!” he growled.

Sophia at this point was moving way beyond a hundred miles per hour based off Armitage’s speedometer indicating he was pushing his car to ninety. Without realizing it, she had gotten better at maneuvering around objects at great speeds.

It made it easy for her to move around vehicles considering they were going with the flow of traffic, also cars literally began to part like the red sea at the sight of a woman on foot moving faster than most vehicles on the highway with a fleet of police cars attempting to chase her down.

Sophia thought the fact that she smashed through their barricade with considerable ease and was out running the FBI and Houston’s finest on the busiest highway on foot would give them a hint to back off. However, they were unbelievably relentless, despite witnessing the impossible taking place in front of their eyes.

Maybe they figured she would eventually run out of gas, hit the wall, but there was no wall for her, and her tank would never run low from what it seemed.

They’re tanks would surely run low before hers, giving the ten year veteran State Trooper in the supped up dual turbo charged Hemi powered Charger motivation to put pedal to the metal to end this quick.

“Time for some jungle bunny road kill,” grinned the State Trooper.

The Trooper went into “Fast and Furious” mode with the objective to slam right into her from behind hoping the reinforced grill guard would clip and trip her up, so he could run her over. No one would dispute he was not doing his duty.

As his vehicle moved in for the kill, Sophia sensing something approaching from behind simply moved out of the way while maintaining her speed. Royally pissed that his initial plan did not work, the trooper decided to take a more direct approach swerving his car into her like he would do with a regular vehicle during a car chase… he would soon wish it was another regular vehicle.

The Dodge Charger met unstoppable force as Sophia stopped the car from slamming into her with one arm grabbing it by its hood while breaking the passenger side window with her thumb. At her current speed, she was now taking the terrified Trooper for a ride pulling the car along with her.

“Jesus Christ!” screamed the Trooper pulling out his issued side arm firing repeated shots that just bounced off her.

Fed up with people putting bullet holes through her clothes, she lost it reaching down grabbing the bottom of the car.

“Awwww shit!” she yelled to herself.

She had meant to flip the car over on its driver side stopping it in a screeching halt.

Once again, not in full control of her own strength, she sent the vehicle flying over the guardrail into opposite oncoming traffic a good forty feet up, high enough to know that when it landed there was a slim to nil chance the officer inside would survive.

There was also the high possibility the vehicle might land on another vehicle, or cause a massive wreck injuring and possibility killing many people.

She could not allow that to happen as she slid to a halt leaving a trail of smoke while kicking up concrete, in just two steps she launched herself toward the falling near three thousand pound vehicle catching it in mid-air.

Her landing was extremely awkward due to the sheer size of the vehicle, but she managed to get her feet underneath her as she came down on one knee. Oncoming traffic stopped abruptly in their tracks causing a few minor rear fender benders at the jaw-dropping scene.

On the other side of the guardrail, every patrol car that was on her heels screeched to a halt. Civilians, special agents, and local police all exited their vehicles watching with their hearts in their throats as Sophia rose to her feet and gently lowered the Dodge Charger back down onto its four wheels. The State Trooper inside righted himself and quickly wiped his eyes while sniffling as he quickly looked around making sure no one saw the state he was in.

As Dennison slowly walked around the vehicle, the authorities on the other side finally came to their senses drawing their firearms on her. There were about thirty to forty screams from men and women alike telling her to get on her hands and knees as she slowly placed the hood to her Goth jacket on her head.

Some people turned their children away fearing what was going to happen next, while others continued to watch; others went further pulling out their cellphones to record the whole scene for a YouTube or Facebook exclusive.

Armitage stood there with his gun lowered for the first time unsure what to do; something told him to see if he could talk to her, reason with her to come in, except the gap between the two sides made it impossible for him to cross.

Before he could put thought to action, someone in the sea of pointed guns lost it breaking command and opened fire causing everyone except for Armitage and Mercer to open fire.

Screaming and yelling came from the civilians off to the side watching as bullets from all types of firearms pelted and ripped through Sophia’s clothes, only to fall like coins to the ground as they slammed against her hardened skin.

Seeing that ricochets were getting closer and closer to the native Texans watching on the side, Mark decided enough was enough grabbing the bullhorn inside his car. “Cease-fire! Cease-fire! Goddammit!” he screamed. “We have civilians in the damn vicinity! Cease-fire!”

The shooting came to an abrupt end with the target still standing, her clothes a lot worse for wear, but she was no doubt still standing and unscathed. She took her time backing up to the guardrail behind her, as every person looking back could feel her narrowed gaze. She was deliberately allowing people to take one final good look at her.

“No woman should have that much power…” a male civilian driver from within the crowd uttered.

She then effortlessly hopped over the guardrail dropping a good two hundred feet below. Civilians all left their vehicles clamoring to the guardrail looking down to see her land safely at the bottom creating a sizable crater on impact. She casually sped off in a direction where no vehicle, both land or air, was capable of following her. Armitage walked as close as possible to the guardrail on his side unable to cross due to the huge gap between his side and the other highway.

“What was that? What the hell was that?!” Mark yelled finally losing it on Interstate 10.

“We’ll find her again…” Dustin said, attempting to calm Mark down.

“And do exactly what Dustin?!” Mark threw his hands up hysterically pointing at every single agent and officer that fired a shot. “If you haven’t noticed every damn shot from those dumbasses over there is all over the goddamn Interstate! Why didn’t she kill him?!”

“Kill who?” Dustin looked around confused.

“She threw his car into the freaking stratosphere. Could have let it crash and burn into oncoming traffic for the perfect diversion, but she stopped, and does a superman save on his worthless ass,” Mark continued his pointing rant. “She could have torn us apart back her ex-father-in-law’s house… yet she chooses to run… where in that is a woman who butchered her husband over some money?!”

Dustin shrugged his shoulders giving his partner the only suitable explanation he could think of. “Maybe she found Jesus.”

Armitage gave Mercer a look as if he was about to shoot him; he then marched back to his patrol car.

“Where are you going now?” a frustrated Dustin asked.

“Going to find out why she came back to Houston once and for all,” yelled Mark. “Bring Lieutenant Kenneth Scott in… and get me Doctor Charles Hampton… now!”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

St. Luke's Episcopal Hospital, inside the break room nurses, doctors, orderlies, and patients all huddled near every flat screen television to view the incident on the interstate.

As reporters talked to commuters who gave their account of the phenomenon that happened during Friday rush hour traffic, Charles Hampton was the only one that stood way back with a visibly worried look on his face. No one but him knew that it was his best friend on that interstate out running the police, and throwing patrol cars like Tonka toys. As he wondered her whereabouts after the death-defying jump played for the umpteenth time, he jumped out of his skin at the sound of his “Pocket full of Sunshine” ringtone.

“Hello? Hello?” Charles whispered.

“Charlie… it’s me,” Sophia spoke, holding a pay phone.

Hampton looked around as if all eyes were on him, and then scurried off to find a safe place to speak.

“Oh my god… are you alright?” he stammered.

“I’m fine… clothes look like shit,” she joked, “but I’m right as rain… found the last working pay phone in the world…”

“I’m glad you’re in a joyous mood while I’m having a heart attack watching you do your version of “Hulk Smash” on national TV!” He raised his voice a bit, scolding her.

“I’m not running anymore, Charlie.”

“What?” Charles asked, now confused.

“I am tired of running like I’m guilty when I know damn well that I’m not, and I don’t have to.” She came to a decision. “I’m not running anymore. I’m not going to find Rob’s murderers while hiding in the shadows and ducking the police and F.B.I every two seconds. I have to call them out and really go hunting for them.”

“How are you going to do that?” he said hoping to talk some reason into her.

“I don’t know yet,” she looked around. “But I’m going to figure something out.”

“Let me come and meet you. I could bring some clothes and money, and we can figure this out,” he proposed.

“No… Charlie… I don’t need you to come, and I’m good on money… I took some out of the bag… the rest is yours,” she thanked him.

“I don’t want the damn money,” Charles fired back at her frustrated.

“Then just hold it for me,” she calmly returned not looking to argue with him, “but I need you to do me a favor.”

“You name it,” he said.

“The samples you took from me,” she requested, “I need you to destroy them.”

Charles paused as if hit with a body blow, apparently, he did not expect “I need you to do me a favor,” to mean that.

“Soph…” he swallowed.

“Charlie whoever killed Rob over this will kill you if they find out you have it,” she said cutting him off before he could ask if she knew what she was asking him to do; reasoning with the doctor within her. “They have the ability to work behind the shadows without prosecution; they are that treacherous. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. Not to mention it is dangerous. I know you see it as the ultimate cure but at the end of the day it’s just too dangerous. I am dangerous… can you imagine more people like me in this world; people like the ones who killed Robert? I think he found out how dangerous this was and tried to tell people… and they killed him for it. I have to finish what he started. I have to stop them for him.”

“You have five minutes for this call, please put in fifty cents to continue this call,” interrupted the automated operator.

“Charlie, time is almost up, and I have to go.” Sophia hurried up the call. “Promise me you will destroy it.”

“I… I promise I will,” Charles sighed giving his word, “but what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet, and its better you not know,” she huffed. “I got to go, thanks for everything. I love you.”

“Sophia!” Charles yelled forgetting where he was.

The phone went dead before he could respond. His heart leaped out of his chest from the last three words. He knew she probably meant it in the context of them being best friends, but he wanted to tell her he felt more, that he always felt more for her, and how much of a coward he was for not acting on his heart and telling her.

For making excuses of something always coming up, things never being the right time, or who she was dating at the time, or that she was in court facing a death sentence.

The regret he carried after she married Robert, he thought she was lost to him forever. Right there in the mother of all insanity he had an opportunity to tell her how much he loved her and no matter what happened to make sure she came back to him. His one chance cut off by a pay phone. He looked up thinking that if there really was a God, He was a cruel practical joker.

“I love you, too,” he said to himself letting all the air out of his chest.

On the other side of the ended conversation Sophia was composing herself, adjusting her bullet-riddled clothes. Some shells caught in her clothing as well as her dreadlocks fell hitting the floor like coins. She walked back out into the front of the diner with all eyes fixed on her. When she jumped from the interstate she just took off and kept running; she was not sure how far she ran, but she was sure it would be awhile before anyone would find her. She lied to Charles for the fourth and probably final time. She already had a plan, she just did not want him involved anymore at all, or talking her out of doing it because it was truly an insane idea, and she herself was terrified of doing it. First thing to do as she walked up to the now nervous waitress behind the counter; find out where the hell she was.

“Excuse me,” she gestured while putting on the most innocent smile possible, “how much for some coffee and a bagel with cream cheese?”

“Two dollars fifty cents,” the waitress nervously answered.

“Okay,” she nodded calmly.

She slowly pulled out the money from the pocket of her jacket placing it on the counter; in the process some more bullets that did not ricochet, caught in her clothing fell out onto the floor. It also did not help much that the twenty-dollar bill had a bullet hole in it.

“And I’ll take that to go… skim milk with four sugars,” she said, continuing to smile while pretending everything was normal. “You can also keep the change… uh… could you tell me exactly where I am?”

“Waco…” the waitress answered her looking her up and down.

Sophia nervously smiled nodding her head, yep, she’d ran pretty far.

She then dared another question. “Do you know what direction Washington, DC is?”

“Do you need a bus station, or airport?” the waitress asked.

“No…” Sophia smiled, “just need the direction.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

On almost the other side of the country within the secret and fortified Mount McLoughlin, Director Rosen stood in his situation room alongside Dr. Archifeld Zimmerman watching an unedited replay of the confrontation on Interstate 10.

On the theater like screen, various different takes and angles of the footage played from distant and zoomed in frames as analysts and lab technicians with technology never seen in some of the most advanced scientific facilities in the world attempted to study and assess Sophia’s amazing abilities in hopes of finding a chink in her armor.

“She is amazing,” Dr. Zimmerman beamed. “She is holding a current speed of a hundred and ten miles per hour… I believe she can go even faster! The density of her entire anatomy must be greater than that of steel or tungsten! Pupils indicated that heart rate is at forty beats per minute while blood pressure is operating at 120 over 80, no over excursion what so ever!”

“Fascinating Doctor Zimmerman, now how do we capture her?” Director Rosen drove to the point.

“Physically, I don’t even think it is possible.” The good doctor shrugged while scratching his head. “Even with the B.A.Ms.”

“Then we have no choice but to go with plan B,” contemplated the Director.

Almost as if on cue, the Director’s phone went off (his ringtone being Hot N Cold by Katy Perry), slowly rolling his eyes as he pulled his Wi-Fi headset from his pocket, placing it on his right ear turning it on.

“Bonjour,” he answered.

The director massaged his nose as he listened to the distorted and incoherent ranting on the other side of his headset.

“Well sir,” the Director tried to explain to the person on the other end, “considering this is the first time we’ve encountered such a situation, you should respect the fact that it takes time to devise an effective plan to deal with said situation.”

The director massaged his nose again as he listened to more distorted and incoherent ranting, waiting for it to end.

“Somehow she has managed to go off the radar, currently we can’t track her, that shouldn’t be for too long.” He reassured, “and when she does show up again we will be prepared for her. Yes, sir… yes, sir… good day, sir.”

Director Rosen quickly pulled the headset off his ear rolling his eyes while looking to the heavens.

“Sir… we are tracking her,” a bewildered technician turned to him in confusion, “she’s in Waco.”

“I know that,” returned the Director. “I just wanted to get him off the phone.”

Ms. Barrett walked in with apparent news.

“Sir, we have located the package,” she reported. “Agent Slater and assigned team have been dispatched to acquire it.”

“Excellent, Ms. Barrett,” the Director praised her. “How goes the units’ training?”

“Steadily… #4 was not taking it seriously,” she answered. “I was forced to give him a bit of motivation. I estimate that they should complete their training two hours before the forty-eight hour time period you gave them.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barrett, please continue to monitor the units’ training along with real time updates on Ms. Dennison’s whereabouts,” he instructed before turning back to the doctor. “Dr. Zimmerman, let us discuss the operation once we’ve captured her.”

CHAPTER 16

Doctor Charles Hampton sat quietly looking around at the sterilized interrogation room that was no different from one of the many examination rooms he had worked in, aside from the large dull silver table, three chairs, and two-way observation mirror. He was wondering if this was what Sophia felt like when they took her in, for her he imagined it was probably a million times worse. No more than thirty minutes after he finished speaking to her, federal agents walked into his place of work for the second time and gave him the option of them escorting him out with or without handcuffs. He obviously chose the latter as he was sitting in the room unrestrained… for now. Nervousness began to set in as he tried to tap a tune on the table with his nails while his right leg twitched uncontrollably.

He was about to get up and walk around when the door flew open. Armitage barraged in with a face that could split stone, which made Charles’ heart beat faster.

The last time someone interviewed him about Sophia was almost three days ago in the safety of his own office. The female agent who came with a couple of files presence and mannerism was a billion times nicer than the old bruiser before him was.

Armitage looked at him as if he stole something from him grabbing one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table. He purposely dragged it around making an ear splitting screeching sound before placing it right next to Charles. He took a seat using the back of the chair as armrests staring right through Hampton. Charles tried not to make eye contact with Armitage believing he was peering into his very soul. Sweat trickled down the side of his forehead, as he stared at the table.

“Dr. Hampton,” Mark said as calmly as possible, “what did my agent tell you after she interviewed you in your office?”

Charles slowly turned his head to look directly at a man with the demeanor of a puma, and he was the kill. He swallowed lightly not making any sudden moves and thinking before he spoke.

“Um… excuse me?” he slowly asked.

He was not trying to play dumb; his mind actually went blank from fear.

Armitage exploded out of his chair startling Hampton who almost fell out of his. He marched over to the door of the interrogation room flying it open.

“Agent Morella Sanchez! In here! Now!” Mark barked.

Agent Morella Sanchez, an agent of five years walked in with her brunette hair pulled back adjusting the black squared glasses on her face. She looked just as nervous as Hampton did although she tried not to show it.

“Sir?” asked an anxious Agent Sanchez.

“What did you tell Dr. Hampton on September 3rd 2008 after you interviewed him at 15:00 hours which is 3 PM in his office?” Mark ordered her to respond.

“That if he was to come in contact with Sophia Dennison, he was to alert us immediately,” she relayed.

“Because?” he ordered her to continue.

“Aiding and abetting an escaped convict,” she cited. “A federal fugitive is a crime punishable up to two years or more in prison…”

“Thank you, now get out,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” she quickly scurried out of the room.

Mark slammed the door shut again, walked back over to Hampton setting up his chair, and took a seat to stare him down like a cobra again.

“Almost half a day after that conversation I have Intel that Ms. Dennison made contact with you,” Mark said calmly, “and you did not contact this office, which means you broke the law.”

Hampton made another hard swallow to moisten his severely dry throat. Seeing that the slightest thing could set him off, he decided to see if he could reason with Mark the way one would reason with a bear.

“Look.. .Agent Armitage,” Charles said slowly choosing his words carefully, “if you’re trying to intimidate me it’s working, but if you want me to tell you where she is, or what she has planned. I do not have a clue. She contacted me after what happened on Interstate 10. She told me she wasn’t running anymore, that she was going to find the people who really murdered her husband. She told me she didn’t want me involved anymore, she didn’t tell me anything, she just said goodbye and hung up the phone. I swear that’s the truth.”

“Who does she believe murdered her husband?” Mark cynically asked.

“Not believe… knows… her husband was murdered but three people, two men and a woman,” he explained. “She believes the woman did the stabbing because she saw her sitting on top of him holding the cake knife from their wedding. She described them as wearing some ninja like black sci-fi armor and a symbol on the left shoulder of a Grim Reaper holding a scythe in one hand, and a skull in the other sitting on a large skull.”

Hampton’s description both caught Mark off guard and sent a sickening chill down his spine.

Charles caught it.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he swallowed, “don’t you?”

“She described that symbol to you?” he pressed Hampton.

“To the tee, another thing,” Charles clarified, “along with her physical abilities, which you’ve probably witnessed firsthand, she has the ability to remember everything that she’s ever read, saw, or heard in her entire life, her mind is like a super computer allowing her to access any memory she has at will. I don’t know if you looked at her criminal files, but the reason why she kept saying she had no memory of opening an account, withdrawing money from an ATM, or driving to Oklahoma is because she never did those things. Call me crazy, but I believe someone else looking like her did those things to frame her.”

Armitage knew that Hampton was not feeding him a line of bull. He had put enough of the fear of the Federal Government in him so he would not lie to him. As he looked into his eyes, it was clear Hampton did not care about jail time; he wanted to clear his friend’s name.

“You sit here… think about what you did,” Mark scolded him, “and I’ll be back to decide whether to charge you or not.”

Mark got up out of his seat quickly exiting the interrogation room so that Hampton could not see him sweat. He speed walked to meet up with Mercer to deliver shaking news when Dustin came from around the corner from his own interrogation looking just as pale as Armitage.

“You won’t believe what the good Lieutenant just told me,” Dustin started.

“Tales about the bogeymen?” guessed an unnerved Mark.

“What the hell is going on Mark, what did we just walk into?” Dustin whispered at his wits end, “a US government issued Death Squad… what the?”

“What did Lieutenant Scott tell you?” Mark asked comparing notes.

“Oh, about a massacre in a town in Ramadi, Iraq,” Dustin threw out visibly disturbed, “where an entire freaking town was wiped out. He believes his best friend the late Lieutenant Matheson was killed by the very same individuals who did the massacre for either doing his own investigation on them or over a super soldier program, which would be so easy to call bullshit on except for the fact that his widow single handily made us look like bitches on Interstate 10.”

“Back up,” Mark asked now confused, “what super soldier program and what massacre in Ramadi?”

Dustin tried his best to break it down verbatim.

“Almost four years ago, three days before he had his last conversation with Matheson,” he explained, “Scott and his squad entered a town in Ramadi looking for insurgents. He and his squad found an entire town wiped out in the middle of the night; the assassins apparently slaughtered everyone with just bladed weapons. A little boy survived the massacre and described a symbol on one of the assassin’s left arm of a….”

“A Grim Reaper with a scythe in one hand and a skull in another sitting on a large skull… Dennison described the same thing to Hampton,” Mark finished his sentence.

“Lieutenant Scott said she told him they were in their bedroom the night her husband was killed,” Dustin nodded, “a woman and two men.”

“Has he been in contact with her today?” Mark asked, praying he was.

“He said no,” Dustin shook his head, “and I believe him.”

“Why didn’t he come forward with this?” Mark asked, now beside himself.

Dustin looked at Mark wondering how he could ask such a stupid question.

“The guy was court marshaled and dishonorably discharged for trying to uncover the truth,” he answered with irritation not completely directed toward Mark. “He was then “warned” of severe repercussions if he leaked a now “highly classified mission” to anyone; that’s what happened. Seriously?! American soldiers “happen” to stumble upon a town brutally massacred, how do you think that’s going to go over?! No doubt there are a million and one gag orders burying this incident deeper than I did the neighbor’s cat!”

Mark nodded in agreement and then asked, “What about this super soldier program?”

“Speculation, Matheson was murdered while Scott was overseas,” Dustin sighed. “At least a month and half after the incident in Ramadi. He never spoke to him about a super soldier program. Dennison told Scott that her husband was receiving treatment at a VA hospital and that she noticed he was getting significantly better from his injuries. The reason she went to her ex-father-in-law’s house was that she believed General Matheson was responsible for enrolling him into this alleged project since he was also the one who recommended him to the hospital.”

“Which VA hospital?” Mark asked preparing to send agents there to investigate.

“Records show he was going to Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center,” said Dustin.

“We need to get his records, and whoever he was seeing while he was there. I’d also like to get a personal interview with General Matheson,” Mark quickly decided.

“You know this is walking right into military territory,” cautioned Dustin.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if we’re stepping into the Pope’s territory,” Mark responded officially fed up. “It’s time we get some real goddamn answers… it’s time we get the truth.”

CHAPTER 17

September 6, 2008, 5:00 PM Eastern Standard Time, “Low profile… low profile…” she said to herself repeatedly as she walked with her head down in the streets of D.C. She had been there for most of the day undetected since arriving around eight o’clock yesterday.

After the battle in Texas and making it to the nation’s capital, she decided it best to stay under the radar until she figured out her next step. As she told Charles, she had taken some of the money he had kept for her, lining the back of her former Goth jacket with bailout money in case she could not go back to his apartment. It was also the reason why she gave Mercer the dirty look when he shot her in the back during the chase. Luckily, the semi-automatic bullets from his Heckler & Koch did not riddle all of her spending cash. She found a seedy motel to take a much-needed hot shower, and stay off the streets until morning where she could go shopping for some much-needed clothes. Not that she didn’t stop along the way to change her bullet riddled outfit before getting to Washington; her black and white Converse which served her faithfully since she acquired them in Cypress finally gave out halfway between Arkansas and Tennessee. She stopped at a Sports Authority in Memphis to acquire two pairs of decent running shoes, a running outfit, and a new book bag.

When business opened in DC, she went on a part shopping part recon mission.

While casing the neighborhood and building that was the target of her harebrained plan, she purchased some new black jeans, a pair of cute mid-heel boots in her size, a new black hooded sweatshirt, and a nice, blue slim racing jacket. In her hand was a bag full of other items she purchased along with something to eat from Taco Bell.

Now she was heading back to the motel, she felt it was best to stay off the streets especially in the Nation’s Capital. Her confrontation with the General got her nowhere, and although she escaped, she did not achieve what she set out to do. She was no closer to finding any vital information about the D.E.A.D or any additional leads on how to find them. Her name was all over the news, and people were now generally afraid of her. The public looking at her as the bad person did not serve her cause. She needed to figure out a new tactic in order to achieve her goal.

She thought about seeing her parents one last time, but that was now out of the question. She figured their house would be crawling with agents and probably the military; the last thing she needed was to bring a firefight like Houston to where they lived. They would have to go on without seeing her for a little while longer.

As she walked aimlessly down Good Hope Road she did not notice that she walked past a bunch of “brothers” gawking and making cat calls beckoning her to come over and talk to them. She just kept walking; heading back to her motel room where she could get her thoughts in order.

“Well fuck you, ya nasty bitch!” shot out one of the men named Deuce.

Deuce stood about six-foot-six with two-hundred- seventy pounds of pure muscle in a black ribbed tank top that appeared as if it was struggling to stay on him, while his jeans pants fought to stay up under his rear revealing his blue and white striped boxers. All Sophia heard was the buzz of a bug she could crush. Sticking to her keep a low profile mission was the only reason she was being merciful.

“Nobody wants yo funky…” he began to boast.

Before he could even finish his next lewd sentence she turned on her heel dropping her bags and was airborne a good twenty feet up. When she landed, it was with a double ax handle smash to the hood of his custom Escalade with the trimmings.

She figured it was his considering he was standing right next to it, while it was pumping Black Rob’s “Whoa” from its custom system inside.

Sophia remembered she hated bugs, especially the annoying ones that did not know when to stop buzzing.

The impact was equivalent to a fifty-ton construction beam dropped from one hundred feet up, caving in the front of the SUV, obliterating the engine, blowing out his two front tires along with his front window, and crushing his two front custom twenty-six inch rims. The back end of the SUV shot up as if it was doing a handstand before crashing violently back down to Earth.

Deuce stood in the same spot he was in not moving an inch, covered in fresh new sweat as his associates who were laughing and giggling at his remark earlier laid sprawled out on the floor beyond terrified at what they just witnessed.

The neighborhood became alive as people either stuck their heads out of their windows or ran out from wherever they were to see what the hell had happened. Sophia pulled herself off the top of his obliterated SUV with her hood covering the upper half of her face.

She turned and walked up to a traumatized Deuce getting face to face with him.

“Who’s the bitch now… bitch?” she calmly asked.

She did not even wait for him to answer with an apology or plea for his life. She turned walking away, picked up her bags, and sped off in heels.

The second she left, the masses came flocking around to witness the destruction she had unleashed on Deuce’s now deceased vehicle as his friends flocked around him frantically asking him if he was all right. Deuce just stood there with that blank distressed expression looking in the direction Sophia departed. Six buildings away Sophia turned into a back alley and fast walked out of it into the street with hood still up and head down trying to keep a low profile once again. She cursed herself for losing her temper back there. The over grown punk son of a bitch was not even really worth it she thought to herself, she could have walked away and ignored him, but the minute he opened his mouth it was like claws in the back of her brain and she just had to take him down several pegs.

However, her male castration via “vehicular manslaughter” had now drawn attention to her current location sooner than she wanted. She knew she had to go up against the law again, and she was serious about not running, but she still needed to pick her battles for the time being staying under the radar.

Soon the entire country, probably the world would know about her and everything happening under their noses. For now constant movement and staying under the radar until the right time had to be her religion. For breaking one of the commandments, she had to leave the state altogether, and find another place to crash and burrow in until the mayhem she caused cooled down a bit.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

On the other side of the country, Director Rosen sat at his desk holding a piece of banana as a black and white spider monkey greedily reached out to grab it.

“Remember Cornelius,” Rosen baby talked the monkey, “do not grab… do not…”

Despite his command the little spider monkey snatched the piece of banana from his grip quickly chomping down on it as he looked up at the Director who just smiled wagging his finger at it.

“Naughty little spider monkey,” he playfully reprimanded him, “naughty… naughty…”

In the middle of his playful scolding, his telecom emitted a high-pitched ring tone startling the monkey a bit.

The director rolled his eyes with annoyance as he answered it. “What is it, Ms. Barrett?”

“Sir, the target has been spotted during an incident she caused in the nation’s capital,” she reported.

“In less than twenty-one hours,” he said to himself, “most impressive…”

“Sir,” she began to interject, “the team has also completed the operator training.”

“And the other matter?” he asked talking in code.

“Agent Slater is in route with a team to collect the package as we speak,” she confirmed.

“The minute he’s confirmed pick-up, ready the team, and the necessary equipment for a trip down to Washington DC,” he instructed.

“Sir,” Mr. Barrett asked a bit concerned, “you’re going to attempt an extraction in the nation’s?”

“Thank you for carrying out your orders, Ms. Barrett,” he said with a hint for her to do her duty and not to question him.

“Yes, sir,” she said taking the hint.

The Director turned off the telecom as he broke off another piece of the banana holding it up for an anxiously waiting Cornelius.

“Daddy’s going to capture a god,” he smirked, “isn’t that wonder Cornelius? Yes it is… don’t grab… don’t.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Six hours and forty-four minutes later, Armitage and Mercer stood on Good Hope Road side by side inspecting what was left of the SUV belonging to Deuce. Around them agents and reporters subjected themselves to the hood interview accounts of the woman who laid waste to Mr. Deuce’s vehicle with a single superhuman blow.

Taken from the account of the typical street interviewee verbatim, “Yo son, I saw it wit my own eyes son. Shortie took two steps, and leaped into da mafuckin stratosphere an shit, den came down on homie’s whip on some incredible juggernaut destruction type shit like blouw! An I was like “Ooooooooo shit!” Blew out da nigga’s windows and everythang… den she just rolled off his shit, called him a bitch and took off like Flo Jo on speed dataway! Left him cryin and shakin next to his busted up whip and shit… wit snot runnin out of his nose an shit… I ain’t neva seen no shit like dat son!”

Deuce’s interview went a bit differently.

“I was standing next to my vehicle talking to some old acquaintances when this woman came out of nowhere and accosted me,” he nervously answered the agent interviewing him with the demeanor of a polished and refined man, “and then obliterated my vehicle! Honestly I don’t even think she was a woman!”

“Acquaintances?” shot back one of his friends who called himself Tru Dat, “who da fuck you callin’ “acquaintances”?”

The agent he was talking too actually learned that the hardcore thug known as Deuce’s real name was Nathanial Walters, a Harvard graduate working on his Masters and an attorney for a very reputable law firm living in the prestigious Georgetown area of DC. The agent derived a conclusion that Mr. Walters a.k.a Deuce was just a wannabe thug who happened to hang out with his going nowhere friends from the old neighborhood from time to time just to boost his ego.

It also did not help that Mr. Walters gave his acquaintance Tru Dat the “talk to the hand” sign officially losing all street cred.

“Please!” he shot back, “I am talking to a federal agent here! Please!”

“Dat’s why supashortie wrecked yo shit… bitch,” Tru Dat answered back.

Nathanial Walters ignored him wanting to know what the federal agent he was talking too was going to do about his car.

“I am a taxpaying citizen,” he pressed, “a corporate attorney for Pendergrass and Munich, and I need to know what you intend to do about this? What am I supposed to tell my insurance company?”

“Tell em da truth,” laughed Tru Dat, “Supahead Randy Savaged yo shit!”

“You can walk home!” Walters pointed at him having enough.

“You walking home too, bitch,” Tru Dat shot back.

“We’re trying to do everything we can sir,” the agent said trying to calm the situation down. “Just need to ask you a few more questions.”

“Well… at least now we know where she is… ” Dustin let out.

Mark glanced over to Dustin as if he wanted to really take out his service piece and shoot him, when Executive Assistant Director Douglas King walked up to them none too happy. A former military man himself hailing from the Army Special Forces he still wore the traditional military crew cut, which matched his granite exterior. Like Armitage and Mercer, he worked his way through the ranks, but knew when it was time to get out of the field and let the young blood take over while he sought a leadership position for better pay and a corner office.

Half of him respected his two senior officers because they were war dogs just like him, the other half wanted to take them behind the tool shed because of their dual lack of respect for authority and old dog mentality.

Currently his patience was officially nonexistent seeing as how the situation that was supposed to be contained in Texas had traveled from the Midwest to the nation’s capital.

“Enough is enough,” King muttered, “I’m heading this case… Sophia Dennison has now been moved up to the very top of the most wanted list.. .we’re locking down DC… kill on site… that’s the order.”

“And how do you expect to do that Doug,” Mark asked not even looking at his boss. “When bullets have no effect on her? You gonna start issuing out tanks to us?”

“That’s Executive Assistant Director,” King reminded him, “and in case you haven’t notice your goddamn fugitive is now in the nation’s goddamn capital!”

“And this is our fault,” Mark went off no longer caring about title, “because we’ve dealt with super humans before so we should know how to take her down, right? Because we forgot to carry the green rock that went with our goddamn service pieces!”

“No one is blaming you Mark,” King squared off with him toe to toe, “but you are two seconds from getting shit canned if you don’t start both addressing and respecting the title I’ve earned! Now if this is too much for you, you can go home Special Agent.”

Mark gave him that “you can’t drag me away” look as Dustin placed a hand on his shoulder gesturing for him to calm down if he wanted to stay in this.

“Now, allow me to reiterate this again,” King issued his final order, “Sophia Dennison is officially a terrorist of the United States of America at the top of the list, which means you are authorized to use any means necessary to find her and to stop her! The order is to kill on sight… that means if you need a fucking tank to take her down… get one. Is that clear?”

“What about our report?” Mark bit back grinding his teeth.

“The one implicating a decorated Four Star General is in association with a fictional death squad under this government corroborated by a dishonorably discharged soldier, a friend of the terrorist fugitive, and the terrorist fugitive herself… how should I answer that?” King glared with sarcasm. “Let me simplify it for you... there is no death squad, and stay the hell away from General Matheson… is that also clear?”

King does not wait for a response as he marched away. Armitage bowed his head fighting to control his rage. Mercer moved in front of him to block him from possibly tackling King from behind and beating him in the middle of the street, although the old man looked like he would give Mark a hell of a fight.

“We’ll strengthen security around the capital,” Dustin began shooting off ideas. “Get birds in the air, drones, cameras, and all the man power we can muster… we’ll find her.”

“And do what, Dustin?” Mark let out a frustrated laugh. “Besides piss her off and cause billions of dollars in mass destruction trying to stop her, not to mention getting a lot of people hurt or worse?”

“Why the hell did she come here in the first place?” Dustin looked around baffled. “Why not New York or LA like they do in the movies? It’s as if she’s looking for a fight.”

Mark took in a deep breath and released it finally calming down.

“That’s exactly what she’s looking for,” he answered his partner, “she believes a government sanctioned death squad murdered her husband and turned her world upside down, what better stage for a confrontation than right here? She’s here to call out those responsible.”

“So what do we do?” Dustin asked his partner hoping he had a plan.

Mark no longer had one as he shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

“We wait,” he said while shrugging his shoulders, “for the shit to hit the fan… and pray we don’t get buried by it.”

CHAPTER 18

8:50 AM Monday Morning September 8th, her little antic two nights ago had placed the entire capital of DC on high alert. All around her were heavily armed officers and soldiers on almost every corner. Squad cars and personnel vehicles drove up and down the city, while helicopters scanned the air; she could have sworn she even saw a drone or two.

The heat was so bad instead of traveling one; she jumped two states away to avoid detection. It did not matter, the objective was always to wait for Monday to initiate her plan.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

She remembered the day before promising to wage no war on a Sunday; instead, she found another motel to set up camp. She changed her clothes putting on a pretty, long yellow flowing summer dress with white sling-back wedges and a small purse she picked up. Items she would later leave in a bus stop locker with the rest of her belongings that she did not need to carry for this mission. After Sunday, it would no longer matter if she came back for them or not. She found the nearest church to visit taking part in the sermon to kill half the day. It was Pentecostal, the sermon of the day by the pastor was God’s miracles, and the incident at Interstate 10 somehow became a part of his sermon.

She thought it would have been amusing if she could have stood up and informed the congregation that the person he was talking about was standing in their midst, but she opted to making goo-goo eyes at a little girl with pigtails staring back at her from the pew in front.

A mother next to her asked if she could kindly hold her eight-month old while she got his bottle from her bag. She nervously obliged holding the child that just stared back at her with inquisitive eyes.

The child appeared to be more fascinated with her dreads as he reached out to grab one handling it. The innocent act made her eyes gloss over. His mother noticed the sadness her eyes could not hide.

She leaned in whispering in her ear, “Your time will come… God has a plan for you. You just have to believe.”

Sophia wanted to tell her with a smile that God screwed up her plans four years ago, using the F-word as the verb. She opted to just smile and thank her. If He did exist she had a grudge against her Creator. She was there because it was less likely for F.B.I agents or local authorities to storm one of His houses during a service looking for her. It was the least He could do for her. She became the designated babysitter for the rest of the service, left a substantial offering, and vanished before anyone could ask her if she accepted Jesus Christ into her life.

She stopped by a small mom and pop diner, and had a stack of pancakes and eggs with sausage on the side along with a glass of orange juice to wash it down for brunch. She finished her meal with a slice of homemade apple pie and a strawberry milkshake. She then just sat there looking out the window and around the diner at the people, while from time to time thinking of happier days. She made sure to leave a very nice tip before departing.

Returning to the motel, she changed her clothes, and spent the rest of the day into the night studying her own self. A local junkyard was the perfect training ground. After the local guard dog realized there was no way his teeth was going to pierce her impenetrable hide and decided to behave itself, she got to work. She needed to know how fast she was, how strong, how durable, and if her new mental capabilities could be used for anything else other than accessing memories. If she was going into combat, she was going to be prepared.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back in DC, everything was business as usual. People scrambled to get to work unconcerned with the heavy security, making it a bit easier for her to get around; she simply got into a DC taxicab and drove to her destination.

It also helped that she wore a very nice navy blue two-piece business skirt suit with an ivory blouse underneath, black pumps, and a book bag. Glasses pulled the outfit together; she figured if it worked in the comic books, it would work for her. As she got out of the cab, she looked up at her target, the CNN news station.

“No more hiding,” she said to herself one final time. She also knew there was no going back; everyone would see her once she did this, which meant everyone would be coming after her.

She walked across the street with a crowd rushing to work to avoid detection from officers with full body armor, assault rifles and police dogs stationed at the corner. A scene people grew accustom to since 9/11. She headed up the steps and entered the lobby heading to the directory to find out the exact location of the news station. One of the guards, a stocky baldheaded Caucasian man with a salt and pepper goatee, was watching her from the minute she entered the lobby and had a very bad feeling in his stomach despite her business attire. Ninth floor was her destination in the eleven-story building. As she sailed across the lobby floor heading to the turnstile, the guard discreetly moved in her direction so as not to cause any alarm.

“Excuse me, Miss, may I help you?” he asked politely.

“No,” was what she shot back with.

“May I ask who you are here to see?” he asked to which she responded with another, “No.”

“Ms. I’m going to have to ask you to…” he firmly began to order her.

Before he can finish his request for Sophia to either comply with some information or leave, she gripped the turnstile in front of her and in one single motion ripped it from its foundation holding it in the air with her bare hand.

She then proceeded to crush it causing everyone, save for a few and the guards behind the reception desk, to run out screaming.

“You think they’re paying you enough to stop me?” she bluntly asked.

The guard looked at the crushed turnstile in her hand with pieces of tile dropping off it to the floor, before giving her the obvious answer, “No.”

She released the turnstile dropping it with a hefty thud to the floor before heading through the open area she created. A younger slimmer guard wearing a faded hairstyle fretfully walked up to the older guard as he watched Sophia head toward the elevator banks.

“What should we do?” the younger guard asked.

“Call everyone,” said the dumbfounded older guard.

“The police?” he asked again getting specific.

“No… everyone,” ordered the older guard.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

At the F.B.I Washington Field Office - 601 4th Street NW, Mercer laid sleeping on the couch in their dual office, while Armitage sat at his desk with a cup of black coffee in his grip. It had been almost forty-eight hours before any of them got any rest including the flight from Houston back to Washington. Mark rifled through the investigation files that had grown bigger and bigger since this case began. Adding to the mystery, were files that stated Lieutenant Robert Matheson was treated at the Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center, but there was not a doctor, nurse, physical therapist, or even janitor that could physically confirm he was ever treated there. No one had ever heard of the doctor or physical therapist that was on his files, nor could anyone explain how the apparent ghost files got into the system. It was more than clear that someone wanted people to believe he was getting treatment at that facility to mask where he received actual treatment.

On top of that, General Matheson was impossible to locate, was not going to give an interview, and could not be touched on top of King’s orders, which meant he had something to hide.

Armitage appeared to be at his wits end buried with more questions; finding no answers to help him burrow out of the grave that was suffocating him.

As he contemplated burning everything on his desk including Dustin who was snoring up a storm on the couch, the door to his office flew open.

A frantic female agent barged in to deliver the news they waited for all night into the morning.

“Sirs!” she yelled.

Dustin sprang up on instinct still half-asleep, as Mark got out of his chair grabbing his body armor getting it ready to put on after he strapped on his shoulder holster.

After securing the holster Mark pulled out his service piece from out of his desk.

“Where?” he asked.

“CNN News Building… 820 1st St!” she confirmed.

“Get everything not bolted, down there now,” he ordered.

“Sir, Executive Assistant Director King has already given that order,” she said.

Mark nodded as she ran off to prepare herself.

Dustin wiping the cold out of his eye got to his feet, and grabbed his vest strapping it on.

“At least she didn’t go to Fox…” he mumbled.

“Kill the jokes and get your shit on…” Mark ordered not in the mood for early morning banter.

“Well what the hell is the plan when we get there?” Dustin muttered. “Besides blowing the whole building to shit with her in it?”

“I’ll think of one once we get there…” Mark muttered back.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at the CNN building, Sophia knowing they would probably cut the power the second she entered the elevator, opted to take the building emergency evacuation stairs.

Impatiently she tore the steel door to the stairs from its hinges tossing it aside. As officers from the outside now entered the lobby from the commotion she caused, she removed her heels, and thought of a particular martial arts movie where the hero took great leaps covering large distances.

Of course, the hero performed the stunt by Wire-Fu. Sophia was capable of duplicating the same technique minus the wire and harness clearing each of the staircases with ease as she headed to the ninth floor.

The training last night allowed her to hone her abilities better. She learned that her nervous system and muscles could duplicate any action or movement she had ever seen with just a thought, as long as it was within reason of her physical capabilities.

Aside from denting parts of the stairwell with her bare feet when she landed, she quickly turned each corner completing the process repeatedly moving from floor to floor with considerable ease as she quickly closed in on her destination. Back in the lobby, the officers on the scene received instructions via radio to stand down, evacuate and secure the area. She had to go into the fifth floor to get to the sixth floor stairs to continue her ascension to the ninth floor.

She decided to walk the last two flights of steps to the ninth floor. Without hesitation, she flew the emergency doors walking onto the floor. Since CNN owned the entire floor, it was not that hard to find what she was looking for.

The receptionist was the first to see her, and got an equally bad feeling in her gut like the guard got downstairs. The feeling got bigger as she started to head in her direction.

“Excuse me… can I help you?” the receptionist asked with a bit of an attitude smelling trouble.

“Bad feeling” did not even acknowledge her as she passed her heading through the doors into the office area of the station.

The receptionist took it as extremely rude getting to her feet.

“Excuse me!” she yelled.

Sophia walked through the sea of office cubicles looking for the newsroom itself as the receptionist followed behind her sounding like a little ankle biter.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” she snapped her neck displaying her attitude, “whoever you are, you can’t be back here!”

“Oh, yes I can,” Sophia sang back in defiance.

People either got up from their desks or poked their heads out of their offices to see what the commotion was.

As she searched around for the newsroom one of the staff members probably a reporter got up out of his seat and tried to step in her way.

“Excuse me,” he sternly asked, “where do you think…”

Sophia calmly swiped him out of the way, gentle enough as not to injure him but powerful enough to send him flying five cubicles down hitting the carpet floor hard forcing everyone to get to their feet. The display of power stopped the receptionist in her tracks. She now understood that Ms. Dennison was not the one you wanted to trifle with or follow.

As she made another cubicle turn in her search, a much taller and stockier staff member sporting glasses stepped into her way.

“Hey you can’t…” he forcibly began to state while holding his hands up.

He apparently did not get the memo about not getting in her way; she decided to educate him by grabbing the near six foot four man by the front of his pants and hoisting him into the air like a rag doll.

A chorus of screams rang out in the office from shock as the now terrified man held onto her arm for dear life.

“J-Jesus Christ!!” he screamed.

“I’m going to asked you once,” she calmly looked up at him; “The newsroom… where is it?”

He quickly pointed in the direction she needed to go; she then steadily walked him over to a nearby seat sitting him down. He looked up at her with timid little childlike eyes.

“Don’t move,” she ordered him with a pointed finger.

“N-no ma’am,” he promised rapidly shaking his head.

She quickly glanced around to see if there was anyone else willing to challenge her. Finding none, she made her way to the entrance of the newsroom itself.

The receptionist quickly rushed toward the staff member still sitting in his seat with his head down.

“Joshua, are you okay?” she frantically asked.

“She told me not to move…” said a visibly shaken Joshua. “I’m not moving.”

Inside the newsroom, all eyes were fixed on her as Sophia walked toward the set. The news anchor Carol Costello who was in the middle of her news report looked like a deer in headlights as the very woman she was reporting on stood before her. Luck was on both women’s side that day. Mrs. Costello, originally based out of Atlanta, came up to do her show in Washington to cover the financial crisis, the election and the mayhem Sophia was causing since Friday. Which meant Sophia could do what she came to do, and Mrs. Costello would be a part of the exclusive of possibly the century.

The production manager still oblivious to what was going on screamed to go to commercial.

“Who the hell is that on my set?!” she roared.

One of the production assistants took the initiative to walk onto the set, which made Sophia roll her eyes. This would be the third person she would have to snatch since walking into the building.

“Hey who the hell are you?! What are you doing…” the production assistant demanded.

Without any thought, Sophia grabbed him by the front of his pants and effortlessly hoisted the near two hundred pound young man high into the air.

“Oh! Oh god!” he screamed.

It set off a chain reaction within the studio including the production manager until Sophia turned looking around allowing her to see her face.

“Holy shit… that’s… that’s Sophia Dennison,” she stammered.

“The escape death row inmate?” asked one of her staff members.

“No your mother…” she shot back at him for asking a stupid question.

“Excuse me,” Sophia calmly looked around, taking off her glasses, while still holding the young man in the air, “anyone looking for an exclusive?”

“Get her whatever she wants… Now!” ordered the production manager, “and contact all other stations to switch over to us right now! I want this broadcasted throughout the entire country in two minutes!”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back outside Mercer and Armitage rolled up to an invasion in front of the CNN building.

“Wow… they actually got us tanks,” said an impressed, yet disturbed, Dustin.

Two M1 Abram Tanks sat flanking one another with turrets aimed at the front entrance of the building. Cluttered around the tanks were AVRs, and two Mobile Command Vehicles. A sea of FBI, army military personnel, and SWAT in their respective combat gear scattered around taking position. The duo exited their vehicle to the sound of a copter soaring across the DC sky.

Armitage spied Executive Assistant Director King in all of the commotion coordinating with the Chief of Police and the Sergeant Major in command to position snipers, and M60 machine guns for a crossfire attack. He quickly marched over with Dustin bringing up the rear to try to quell the madness before it got further out of hand.

“What are you doing, Doug?” Mark barked over the mayhem. “You gonna bring the entire building down on top of her?”

“That was my plan!” Dustin pointed to himself sarcastically wanting credit.

“We’re doing whatever is necessary to put an end to this today,” announced King. “Whatever happens, Sophia Dennison does not walk off the steps of that building!”

“She was doing a buck ten in Texas on foot out running a fleet of squad cars on Interstate 10. There’s no friggin’ way those turrets are going to hit her,” Mark informed King, “and if they get lucky, and you do wound her, not only is she going to heal, but she’s going to be impervious to shell fire. She gets stronger every time you try to hurt her.”

“We intend to use concentrated firepower on her,” instructed Sergeant Major Abram, “aiming strictly for the head and torso area until she goes down.”

“With all due respect, Sergeant Major, you haven’t been watching YouTube,” Mark updated him. “We tried the firing squad method. It didn’t put a dent in her! All you’re going to do is have a ton of ricochets and get a lot of people hurt!”

“So what should we do Special Agent?” King said, putting Mark on the spot.

“For almost six days straight all everyone has ever done is shot at this woman,” advised Mark. “Why don’t we attempt to do the dumbest thing in the world, and try to talk to her?”

“Talk to her?” King said, not appreciating Armitage’s sarcasm.

“I volunteer to do it,” Mark raised his hand. “What do we have to lose?”

An FBI agent stuck his head out of one of the command stations trying to get the attention of everyone in the group, specifically the Executive Assistant Director.

“Sir!” he yelled, “you might want to get in here! CNN is about to put her on the air!”

Without a word, King, Armitage and everyone else in the huddle made a beeline to the command station to see what was going on upstairs.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back upstairs on the CNN newsroom set, Sophia stood ready as CNN now scrapping its previously scheduled news show prepared to introduce her live from their studio, allowing her to say what was on her mind to the world after being on the run for almost six days.

She swallowed hard and carefully clutched the microphone so as not to crush it by accident as a pool of sweat washed over her. She found it quite ironic that after all the running and fighting she had done she barely broke a sweat but standing there she could feel it dripping down her back. She was still human all right, hopefully those watching would still see that as she was about to address probably then entire country and beyond in less than a minute. With her heels back on, she nervously smoothed out her suit to look presentable on the air.

“Ready in five,” the production manager gave the cue to begin the broadcast again, “four… three… two… one.”

“Good Morning, again,” began Carol Costello, “we are interrupting this regularly scheduled news program for this exclusive statement from Sophia Dennison, the escape death row inmate fugitive from the Mountain View Unit in Gatesville, Texas who has been on the run for almost six days evading local police, the F.B.I, and quite possibly the military. Somehow she has managed to make it to our newsroom, and would like to make the following statement here live, so without further interruption… Sophia Dennison.”

The camera panned from Costello to Sophia, who now looked like a deer in headlights. The knowledge that probably millions of people were watching her put a serious knot in her stomach.

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At the Gatesville Women’s Prison, inmates almost rioted as they cheered her on rejoicing in the mess hall. Bishop was the loudest of them all jumping up on one of the tables screaming at the top of her lungs and then Crip walking across the table.

Sister Shareef just sat there with a broad smile on her face as tears flowed from her eyes.

“You are awesome,” she said as she looked up pointing and wagging a finger.

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In a small town in Missouri, recovering from both her wounds and broken life, a mother watched in disbelief on her parents’ living room couch holding her son. He pointed at the television at the very woman who had saved his mother’s life a couple of nights ago, the same woman who once lived next door to her.

“It’s super lady, Mommy!” Ethan gleefully pointed.

Tears fell from Tammy’s eyes with a smile on her face, “I see… I see…”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

In Houston, a near broken family minus their Patriarch, huddled together to hear the truth about what really happen to the brother they all loved and missed from the only other person they now knew within their hearts really loved him to the end.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

While in Mount Vernon, New York, a mother fell to her knees with tears in her eyes, along with a father sobbing equally for joy beholding a child they long thought lost to them standing alive and well.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Mrs. Dennison cried uncontrollably. “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus!”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back in the studio, the back of the set was crowded with every staff member from CNN watching Sophia like hawks, which did not make it that much easier for her as they prepared to hang off her every word. She closed her eyes, imagined what she wanted to say for all of those years, and then opened her eyes again.

“My name is Sophia Dennison,” she began, “formerly Sophia Matheson… four years ago I was convicted for the murder of my husband, Lieutenant Robert Matheson, and sentenced to death by lethal injection… and despite what you heard in the news… I did not escape… I was executed for that crime almost six days ago…”

Throughout the news station were whispers and nervous looks, while masses huddled wherever there was a television or streaming device transfixed on what she was saying.

“Don’t ask me to explain the unexplainable,” she continued, “I don’t know why I am still alive… standing here before you… what I do know… is that I didn’t kill my husband.”

She took a slight pause as confidence once again began to build back within her.

“My husband was murdered by a black Ops death squad known as the D.E.A.D which was created by our very own United States Government,” she affirmed. “There are four individuals on this team… only four… they have committed acts of murder and violence around the world on behalf of our government in secrecy for years… they brutally murdered my husband for reasons that I do not yet know and then framed me for his murder. I don’t expect anyone to believe the words that I say, and at this point I don’t really care…”

A stone coldness grew on Sophia’s face as she made her final statement, which was clearly a declaration of war. “I came here to let everyone who has been looking for me know that I’m not hiding nor running anymore… and I will not be going back to prison. I came here to let those four individuals who took my husband from me and turned my life upside down know that I may not know your names, or your faces, but I do remember your voices and the emblem you wear on your uniform. The symbol of a Grim Reaper sitting on top of a large skull holding a scythe in one hand and a skull in the other. I want you to know that when I walk out of this building I will be coming to hunt you down and to kill all four of you, and anyone else responsible… that’s pretty much it… thank you, and have a nice day.”

With a wave and a nervous smile, she walked over to the broadcast desk putting the microphone down, picked up her book bag, and proceeded to leave the set as a very bewildered Carol Costello looked at the cameras unsure how to follow up Sophia’s mind-blowing statement. People moved out of the way as she proceeded to walk out of the studio through the office again to take the steps back down to the lobby. She decided to take her time knowing what awaited her outside; going to the bathroom first to change.

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Inside the command station, Armitage looked an unnerved King in the eyes to get the okay to try to end this peacefully.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” King massaged his left eyelid in frustration, “you only… and if she walks through those doors without her hands behind her head ready to surrender… you better not be there.”

Mark does not even answer him, bolting out the door with Mercer following him.

“What the hell are you going to say to her?!” Dustin quickly asked.

“I don’t know…” he shrugged while running. “Please come in and talk to us and not wreck half of DC. I’ll think of something… just have my back on the ground and make sure no one does something stupid to get me killed.”

Agents and soldiers received the radio command allowing Mark through the perimeter. He ran up the steps of the building in hopes of meeting Dennison to talk her down before she came out to a full on assault.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

As expected when she finally reached the ground floor level it was now a ghost town, save for one lone man standing in the lobby by the security desk wearing a bullet proof vest with F.B.I printed in white on the front. His gun was holstered which meant he was probably there to negotiate; the flashing lights outside indicated that the party had arrived in full force.

She changed, leaving her clothes and book bag in the bathroom upstairs, putting back on the blue slim leather-racing jacket she wore on Saturday, along with some slim black leather biker pants, and some black military field boots. She was preparing for possible combat and needed a material that could take a little more beating than her old attire.

“I thought this lobby would have been filled with a SWAT team,” she casually said to Mark as if she had spoken to him before.

“We’re looking to not have a repeat of Gatesville,” Mark returned the casual banter, “and every other place you’ve been.”

“I didn’t catch your name,” she asked now curious about the lone F.B.I agent sent to talk with her.

“Mark Armitage… Special Agent in Charge,” he formally introduced himself to the woman he had been chasing for almost six days.

As she got closer, she looked outside and raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a tank I see outside?” she asked.

“Actually there are two… M1 Abrams,” he corrected her.

To which she answered with a nodded, “Impressive…”

As she finally reached the security desk, Armitage could not help but take a step back. Compared to him, she was only an inch short, probably shorter without the combat boots she wore. He factored her outfit masking the superior physical specimen she had proven to be these past few days, but he was still expecting someone bigger, more powerful and intimidating; not that her actions did not make her intimidating; her appearance confirmed that he was never chasing a monster or killer. He saw the face of a young woman slightly hardened by force; he saw someone’s daughter.

“You were the one on the bullhorn,” Sophia wagged her finger at him, “who was screaming for me to surrender at my in-laws’ house and for your people to cease fire on the Interstate.”

“You’re the one who made me and almost every law enforcement branch in Houston look like bitches on YouTube,” he embarrassingly smirked.

“Sorry about that,” Sophia said with a blush while looking down at the floor.

Armitage cracked a smile, in his mind he thought this was good; the proverbial ice was broken and he had a better chance of talking her down.

“You here to asked for my surrender, Special Agent Armitage?” she got down to the point.

“I’m here to ask you to please come in, and talk to us,” Mark requested.

“See… no… sorry,” she shook her head refusing. “The last time I was brought in to “talk” was almost four years ago. For almost sixteen hours of that “talk,” the Houston legal system tried to force me to confess that I murdered my husband. And when I refused, I was tried, convicted, and sent to rot in a box living like less than an animal in semi-solitary confinement for almost four years before they put a needle in my arm. Do you know what semi-solitary confinement is, Special Agent in Charge? It’s less than two hours a week of human contact with the exception of a C.O. barking orders at you… oh… I forgot about the county physician who comes in every six months asking if you a death row inmate has suicidal tendencies… so, no… I don’t feel like coming in to talk.”

Strike one, Armitage thought to himself. He had to shift this conversation back to an upbeat, something positive; anything for her not to walk out those doors by herself with her arms down.

“Let’s talk about something you are guilty of,” he narrowed his eyes, “your next door neighbor who you roughed up and almost dropped out of a window.”

“Yeah… did you see his wife’s face?” she reminded him. “He had stopped when my late husband promised to break every damn bone in his body the next time he put his hands on her… I was just keeping the promise.”

“And what about the guard you killed when you escaped Mountain View?” he bluntly asked.

It was not his intention to push her buttons. This was his chance to find out whom he was really dealing with and fill in a lot of missing blanks. It was also a delay tactic, giving him time to figure out how to defuse this situation if he could.

Sophia narrowed her eyes at the question of Buck Wilford. Mark braced a bit thinking she was going to rip his head off for asking.

“That “guard”… raped one of the only two friends I had in that hell hole… he had it coming,” her lips quivered with rage.

“And then some,” Mark finished her sentence. “Sister Shareef told me the same thing.”

“Well here’s something she didn’t tell you,” Sophia leaned against the security desk counter sneering. “That son of a bitch confessed to me the night before I was to be executed, that he did rape her.”

A savage curve ball out of nowhere were the words that fired out of her mouth, he was not sure he was on strike two or three but he was sure this conversation was officially downhill. At this point, his best bet was to switch from baseball to boxing. Let her talk and find a rope a dope to this conversation.

“A year and a half ago he sexually assaulted her in the laundry room,” Sophia began to explain to him. “He knew how to maneuver the cameras the night before to create a blind spot between the large driers where no one can see. He was also in control of the work schedule so he could put her where and when he wanted her. Rosanna was doing a two-year for a first offense grand theft auto charge and as tough as she talked she wasn’t built for prison and he knew that. Wilford promised if she didn’t drop the charges he’d sic the Sisters of the Arian Nation on her and they’d make her life a living hell even if he were arrested.”

“He told her he’d make sure she’d never get out of prison. That he’d find a way to keep her there or make sure she was carried out in a body bag,” she went on to explain, “and even though Sister Shareef promised to protect her she couldn’t guarantee twenty-four hour protection especially when Buck had friends who could have the work schedule changed on his behalf. So she dropped the charge, said it was a misunderstanding, and forgot about it.”

She took a minute to get her anger under control, as she continued to tell Mark more about the infamous Buck Wilford.

“He waited a month before she was supposed to get out to teach her a “lesson,” she said as if it had actually happened to her, “and because he missed the way she “smelled down there.” He knew so close to her getting out she wasn’t going to say anything… he said telling me was a ‘gift’ I could take to my grave.”

“How did he get desk duty?” Mark asked engaging in the conversation.

“Sister Shareef told her niece, who’s a District Attorney in Austin, and she put pressure on the DA in Gatesville to file an inquiry,” she answered. “Buck told me it wouldn’t stick. He also promised Sister Shareef would be joining me soon for being an uppity bitch sticking her nose in his business, and I dare you to ask me why I a death row inmate didn’t come forward with this information. I did manage to slip her a letter about it in the Bible I gave her before my final walk; information is useless to her now though.”

“So to save your friend, you took matters into your own hands,” Mark concluded.

“Wasn’t planned,” she shrugged. “I didn’t go looking for him, especially with all hell breaking loose that day… but when I saw his nasty greasy ass between me and three or four concrete walls to freedom. With nothing to lose I decided what the hell.”

He was not sure if she was taunting him, sizing him up, or attempting to get some form of rise out of him. He did know that time was winding down, and King was a man of his word.

Mark decided a bit of a reality check was in order.

“Ms. Dennison…” he slowly gestured, “I’m here to make sure no one gets hurt.”

“No you’re not, Special Agent, you’re trying to handle me,” she cut him off with a sarcastic laugh. “I double majored in psychology, and I think you know by now… I can’t get ‘hurt’ so easily.”

She was verbally beating him into a corner.

“You came in here trying to see if you could restore order and reason, to try to put this little problem in a box like so long ago,” Sophia gave him a look that could turn stone to dust. “I’m sorry to disappoint you… that’s not going to happen today.”

“I’m not here trying to put you in some box, Ms. Dennison,” Mark defended himself. “Look… clearly a lot of mistakes were made…”

“That’s what you’re going to tell me, Special Agent? Mistakes were made? The system wasn’t perfect?” she snorted. “When I was like ten, my mom had a crystal swan broach with gold accents that she accused me of taking. When I told her I didn’t take it, she said I was lying and must have lost it. I got an ass whooping and sent to my room without dinner. I was in my room crying for almost an hour when my baby sister walked up to my mom with the broach in her hair asking her why I got a beating. When my mom came in my room, no matter how much she hugged me and told me she was sorry I could not stop crying, nor be consoled,” she told her story with a sneered expression, “that was a mistake… but you want to negotiate, Special Agent? Here are my terms.”

“Give me back my husband,” she requested while stretching out her hands in a passive position, “and I will surrender.”

To which Mark responded, “Excuse me?”

“I believe I’m still speaking English,” she returned, “and before you say my request is impossible, remember impossible is standing right before you. I think it’s a very simple request… I don’t want my four years back… I don’t want my job back, or money, or my possessions… I’ll even forgive the State of Texas for killing me. If you can give me back… my husband, Robert Matheson… I will surrender… and you can do whatever you want with me… that is all I want… can you do that?”

In all of Mark’s entire life he’d never felt more uncomfortable than in that moment. He did not see crazy in her eyes, or he hoped. Therefore, if she did not have a case of insanity, she knew very well that her request was impossible. What was the correct response to such a demand, he thought.

“Ms. Dennison…” Mark began swallowing as hard as Hampton did when he interrogated him. Before he could begin with a reasonable explanation that would not get him killed, she waved him off.

“Stop, that was an unfair and unreasonable request,” Sophia half apologetically recognized with a hint of sarcasm. “Here’s another proposal. You go outside to your superiors and tell them I will surrender if and only if they find and turn over the members of the D.E.A.D to me.”

Once again, Mark felt uncomfortable; the request went from resurrecting the dead to making the tooth fairy appear. Not that he did not believe they existed with all the evidence he had and Sophia’s worldwide statement, but there was no way of materializing individuals that were originally campfire stories soldiers told five minutes ago.

“Ms. Dennison…” Mark started again with a weary swallow.

“You gonna tell me the United States Government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists Special Agent?” She smirked cutting him off at the knees again.

He was a bit insulted that she would think he would say something that stupid.

“If you are… remember… United Nations General Assembly in 1994 defined terrorism as a group of persons or particular persons committing criminal acts intended or calculated to provoke a state of terror in the public. For political, philosophical, ideological, racial, ethnic, religious or any other nature that they may deem justifiable,” she cited.

Now she was insulting him by reciting something she probably read off Wikipedia, remembering what Hampton told him about her super memory.

“Now you can charge me with manslaughter or second degree murder. Breaking and entering, evading and eluding or trespassing.” She motioned to her surroundings. “I’ll even cop to breaking out of prison although technically I think I served my time when I allowed the state of Texas to execute me, but I have not committed a terrorist act, nor am I a terrorist. All I want after all the hell I have been through is justice, and I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. As I said upstairs, I am not going anywhere until I find those responsible for murdering my husband and framing me. So there are only two options, Special Agent… you can march back out there and tell your superiors to move heaven and hell to get me the people I want…”

Sophia leaned forward a bit to get her point across.

“Or I walk out there and find them myself,” she scowled, “and all of you can ‘try’ to stop me.”

Mark put his head down in defeat, Sophia knocked him out several rounds ago, and they were nearing the ten minutes given to him. He also knew very well no one outside was going to agree to her terms, and she would not bow.

“You know… that’s not going to happen,” he said quietly.

“Then there’s nothing more to discuss… is there, Special Agent. By the way…” her eyes became glassy with tears of pent up rage, “how you feel right now… powerless… that’s how I felt… doesn’t feel good, does it?”

“I’m sorry,” he somberly returned looking at his shoe as his shoulders felt heavy for some reason.

“You didn’t murder my husband or turn my world upside down,” Sophia returned, “so why are you apologizing?”

“Ms. Dennison,” Mark chose his next words carefully, “there’s no way we could have known…”

“That’s the problem, Mark… I can call you Mark? ‘We’ didn’t know,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “We the “people” too busy watching American friggin’ Idol, or House Wives of whatever state I could give a shit about to asked the question, ‘What the hell’ is my government doing while I sleep at night. We let people who we elect, claim they have our best interest at heart bend us over a table doing whatever they like while we’re texting our BFF. We don’t do a damn thing till it hits the fan, and even when we’re drowning in it we still do nothing. Sanctioned Death Squads coming into our homes in the dead of the night killing our loved ones and framing us for it is just the extreme side of it, but my eyes have been opened and now it’s time to open everyone else’s for good. So again, thank you but no, Special Agent, as a former card carrying member of the Republican Party, which “killed” my parents. I have waited for the system to come to its senses, and see my innocence to the very end when they strapped me on that table… I’m going to have to decline coming in and talking to the likes of you… no offense.”

Armitage looked into her eyes and saw that there was no longer a shred of reasoning. How could there be after what she described being put through? He thought about criminals he muscled with the power of the Federal law backing him, how small and feeble they felt when he put the hammer down on them, even though they deserved it. His power was now small and feeble against an innocent woman scorned, with the power of a god coursing through her veins. Diplomacy was officially dead.

“You’re not good at negotiations, are you?” she plainly asked.

“No,” huffed Mark flicking imaginary dust from the marble security counter, “I guess I’m not.”

“Two tanks out there, huh?” She turned looking again out the glass doors, killing the awkward silence.

Her spirited enthusiasm forced a smirk on his face.

“Yeah…” he nodded.

“Probably should have brought three,” she started to get a little amped. “They got snipers? And those mini-gun things like in Predator?”

“Something like that,” he grunted.

“Gonna mess up my outfit,” Sophia frowned looking at her gear, “you know I just bought this on Saturday?”

“Listen, there are kids out there,” Mark went in with one final plea, “husbands and wives caught up in this mess doing their duty… is there any chance you could… not…”

Mark was at a loss for words, this was not any regular negotiation. She was not holding hostages, nor did she have a bomb or a biological weapon.

She was the weapon, an extremely powerful one and here he was standing there, pleading with her not to walk through those doors and possibly hurt good people outside for the sins of a failed system. Sophia looked into his carved out worn eyes, that probably hadn’t seen a good night’s sleep in years including the days he was chasing her and saw goodness in a harden face.

“So if you were to talk me down?” She smiled deciding to do him a solid, “what was supposed to happen next?”

“You coming out with your hands behind your head, ready to kneel and be restrained,” he motioned grateful that she was willing to work with him.

“That again?!” she scoffed remembering his attempt to make her kneel and surrender at the General’s house. “Well that’s not going to happen, but I think I can do something to make sure not a single shot gets fired… and no one gets hurt… radio your people… tell them I will come out with my hands up behind my head.”

As she moved to head to the entrance, Mark cautiously put his hand out to stop her, asking her one last question.

“I got to know,” he swallowed, “everything you said upstairs about the…”

“All true, but I think you knew that,” she confirmed as she looked into his eyes.

“Last question,” he threw out. “Why did you decide to talk with me for so long?”

She gave him simple pleasant smile and answered, “Something told me you’d probably be the last nice person I’d ever get to talk to.”

She turned heading to the door as Armitage stood there dumbfounded and guilt ridden. He had lived in a world that hardened him to the fact that evidence ruled, and the justice system though faulty was fair.

There was nothing fair about what the system did to the young woman who smiled at him and was walking out to meet several hundred guns pointed at her. He had no right to ask her to surrender and subject herself to that very same system that had blatantly failed her on so many levels.

He was not a religious man, the only time he visited church after his altar boy days was for Christmas and Easter when his ex-wife dragged him there, but he had to wonder as he watched her walk off. Had things gotten so bad that the Man upstairs, who remained silent for so long, allowing His children to figure out their own mess, decide that this one time enough was enough and it was His time to intervene? Did He spare her life… so she could shatter an already broken system?

Realizing he was getting philosophical while she was almost near the door; he grabbed his radio from his belt to let the outside world know, “She’s coming out with her hands up.”

“What? You’re not walking her out?!” yelled King over the other end.

“Negative,” Mark answered before turning off his CB at that point, “and we’re gonna see why…”

Sophia pushed the glass doors open walking out into a three-ring circus. There had to be every cop, F.B.I, C.I.A, SWAT, and military personnel in the entire capital as well as some neighboring states out there. All with guns trained on her.

Behind them broadcasting to most likely every state, probably worldwide was every major news station. Finally behind them was another sea of fellow citizens of the District of Colombia watching curiously to either see her get taken into custody or gunned down in front of their very eyes. Oh, she also remembered the two tanks moving their turrets into position to blow her away if she made any sudden moves.

“Sophia Dennison! Get down on the ground now! Do not make us shoot you!” King roared his command over the bullhorn.

She rolled her eyes at his orders; she could feel the sniper guns on her. Finally taking her own time to take it all in, she slowly put her hands up placing them behind her head.

King seeing she was complying followed up on his first order.

“On the ground now!” he howled. “Now!”

Slowly she got to one knee, while King gave the signal for a team to move in and bring her down, but before they got within ten feet of her, Sophia would make them believe… that a woman could leap buildings with a single bound.

The air left the lungs of every single person who was there watching over every device that had television capability as Sophia exploded with a leap that took her into the skies of Washington D.C. It truly looked as if she was flying as she cleared at least ten skyscrapers before descending back down into the city. She created a sizable pothole in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue on impact, which caused a taxi driver to come to a screeching halt as she pushed off again back to the skies.

Back at the news station, Mark strolled through the doors to see the dumbfounded looked of every single person out there, including King.

Dustin was the only one looking at him as he walked out asking.

“What the hell happened?” he snapped at him.

To which Mark replied with a shrug, “She didn’t want to come in.”

Sophia took off once again with a scream of exhilaration into the air of Washington DC from the streets of New York Avenue where bystanders stood beside themselves watching the unbelievable spectacle before them. As she soared through the sky of the nation’s capital she got lost in the euphoria of how she was now unbound. She was not really into comic books growing up, her imagination built on playing doctor with her Barbie and Cabbage Pack dolls, but she had seen her fair share of super hero movies and became in awe with the fantastic abilities they displayed on celluloid film. Here she was basking in the dream of a million comic book enthusiasts around the globe, to be more than human… greater than normal.

On her next descent into the streets she had planned to go higher, soar further, to see if she could actually achieve flight until something shot her violently out of the sky like a sparrow hit by a 12 gauge.

She took the hit on her left side from the unbelievably powerful projectile. It sent her into an unrecoverable tailspin clipping the rooftops of two buildings before crash landing onto the streets of downtown Washington. Taking out two parked vehicles, she created a sizable crater on impact between a local pizzeria and a gym shattering the glass in both storefronts.

“Target is down,” confirmed #1, “move in quickly to subdue and extract… and remember to put your jammers up… we don’t want this shit on YouTube…”

The high-pitched ringing in her ears finally subsided as the smell of smoke and something burnt filled her nose choking her. Everything was blurry and everything hurt, she had not felt this amount of pain since her escape from Mountain View, not even the bear mace was this bad. For about a second she thought she had cracked several ribs but the fact that she was slowly able to breathe easier meant they either held during the impact, or doing their regenerative healing thing. The ringing in her ear was replaced by multiple voices, the sun that was beaming down on her minutes ago covered by “shadows.” Finally coming to her senses, she realized a crowd had formed around her of DC’s concerned citizens. Well some were concerned while others had their phones up in her face taking pictures and videos.

She could make out someone asking if she was okay, that an ambulance was on its way and not to move. Other questions were if she was an alien, a mutant, or a stunt double for a movie. In a minute, she was going to tell them all to get the hell out of her face when screaming began to ensue and the crowd scattered like roaches when the lights came on.

Sophia’s vision finally returned to normal to see them descend from the skies above and hover several feet off the city streets kicking up dirt and trash while vibrating the store windows around them.

They were massive, at least thirteen- to-sixteen feet tall, with two hind legs similar to a cat or a dog. That along with their four finger appendages that gripped the rifle-like cannons aimed at her made their appearance look alien in origin. The glowing white eyes did not make them appear any less inhuman either.

However, the black urban military colors on their hulking metallic hides were a dead giveaway that this was not any close encounter, and there were four of them. All the motivation Dennison needed to rise to her feet.

“Wow… she looks pissed… wonder why?” #2 asked casually.

“Could be she remembered us from a party way back,” said #3 brandishing a sadistic smile within her cockpit, “and we weren’t nice to her…”

“Thought I said to cut the shit…” ordered #1 before switching to external audio to address their target. “Sophia Dennison… you have five seconds to surrender and comply before…”

An enraged Sophia leaped into the air ignoring #1’s order looking for blood, only for #4 to shoot her out of her midair assault.

This time it was a shot to the gut sending her through the 10th floor of the building she just crashed into. #2 and #3 joined in concentrating firepower into the tunnel #4 made with Sophia. Screams of terror emitted from inside the building as poor souls ducked for cover. The crowd on the street scrambled trampling over each other to get to safety. Those foolish enough to stay and try to record the events where frustrated over the fact that neither their cameras nor cellphones where working to record what they believed to be an invasion from another planet.

“Cease-fire! Cease goddamn fire!” yelled #1 at his trigger-happy team. “You want to dead level the entire building?!”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Several blocks away, on the outside of the military blockade now set up at New York Avenue, Armitage’s car screeched to a halt as both him and Mercer spilled out trying to find out what in God’s name was going as they ran up to an equally clueless King.

“What the hell is going on, Doug?” demanded Mark looking at the smoke rising from a distance.

Gunfire he had never heard in his entire life echoed from the same direction as the smoke.

“Apparently there’s a massive fire fight going on between your girl and something huge!” reported King gritting his teeth. “Four of them!”

A cold sweat washed over Mark at the sound of the word “four.”

“So what the hell are we doing?!” he pressed.

“We are waiting for back up to show up!” ordered King not wanting to get in the middle of a superhuman fight that could cost human lives, namely him and his agents.

“This shit will be over by the time “backup” shows up!” snapped back Mark, who had no designs on waiting.

“Weren’t you the one saying we weren’t equipped to deal with something like this?!” King willingly fired Mark’s own words back at him. “I’m not risking one agent’s life on this madness; not even yours… we’re waiting for military back up! You try and cross that barricade and I will shoot you myself.”

King revealed his sidearm to Mark daring him to test him.

“Can’t we at least get some eyes in the air to tell us what the hell is happening?” a frustrated Mark asked.

“We have eyes in the air… but they can’t relay a signal back… something is interfering with communication on a large radius,” informed an Agent coordinating communication between the teams in the vicinity. “Radios, cellphones, cameras, everything is acting screwy, even radar! That’s why the military isn’t coming in yet. They can’t tell what they’re attacking!”

Mark cursed in frustration as he looked at the black smoke rising to the heavens coming from the direction of the chaos. He was powerless to do anything, and bothered by the fact he was genuinely scared for a woman he had just met a couple of minutes ago.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at McPherson Square which was officially a battleground, black smoke and flames now bellowed out from the side of the building that was all but obliterated, while people inside either injured or terrified spilled out from the building running for cover, searching for help, or both.

“Intel coming in from command, government, military, and local police both evacuating and blocking off this area within an eight mile radius,” reported #2. “We’ve got a window of less than twenty minutes to wrap this shit up before we see some heavy guns coming.”

“Fine then let’s secure the target or what’s left…” #1 began to say until his words were cut short again.

This time by the sound of a sonic boom, that shattered almost all of the windows within a five-block radius. Actually what cut #1’s words short was a vicious hit from what can only be described as a flying tackle propelling him through the building behind him by a very small and powerful unidentified object. An object moving so fast not even his own teammates saw when he took the hit leaving their presence. All they were left with was the near deafening pop of the sonic boom, shards of glass raining down on them from above, and the now muffled hollers (or screams) of #1.

The other side of the building that Sophia drilled #1 through exploded with the sight of a massive machine coming out back first with a small-enraged woman gripping its chest plate with both hands.

The force of her initial charge ended as they sailed across the street crashing into another office building before falling to the streets below taking out whatever was unlucky to be under them on the way down.

#1 sat rattled within the cockpit of his mech trying to get himself together.

Sophia already up sprang on top of his machine raining down trip hammer blows as she screamed, “Son of a bitch! I’ll kill ya! I’ll kill all of ya!”

She concentrated her punches on what appeared to be the head of the mech caving the side of its skull. The blow shorted out the visual camera on the left side of the machine. #1 in a fit of desperation managed to swat her off landing her on a parked car. He struggled to right his mech and find his weapon.

“Got to get up! Got to get up, I could use some fu (static) help…” #1 yelled until his distress call was also sheered in half.

While he was attempting to right his machine Sophia who had already shrugged off his backhand rolled off the car she landed on. She decided to take that very same car and swing it like a bat taking out #1’s legs from behind landing him on his back again. She then leaped into the air violently clobbering #1’s mech with the 3,565 lb. vehicle as he desperately tried to cover up.

“Goddammit! Somebody get this crazy bitch off of me!” #1 hollered.

Sophia growled as she took what was left of the Nissan Maxima slamming it again into #1’s downed mech before coming under heavy fire from his teammates finally arriving on the scene.

“Light this bitch up!” howled #4.

This time Sophia stood defiantly against the barrage of firepower reigning down on her, as she used her right forearm as a shield for her eyes against oncoming shell fire. Vehicles hit nearby exploded sending shrapnel flying all over the place. The trio in the air decided to spread out making it hard for her to pick a target as they concentrated their firepower on her from different angles. Only her clothes became the worst for wear from the vicious volleys that now ricocheted off her impervious form.

“We’re not making a fucking dent in her!” #2 gritted his teeth.

“Switch to plasma heat rounds!” screamed #3. “Remember the ten second capacity recharging delay between shots!”

On command of their operators, the B.A.Ms quickly switched out the magazines to their rifles. The guns automatically locked and loaded by themselves emitting a high humming sound along with a bright orange light. #3 was the first to fire a volley of heated energy, which Sophia took head on with her forearm. She felt the blast down to her spinal column along with the smell of burning leather and flesh.

“Ow…” she managed to get out while staggering backwards.

Two more volleys from #2 and #4 hitting her in the side and shoulder sent her flying into the Honda Accord behind her. She screamed and gasped at the excruciating pain of her flesh being charred down to the muscle.

“We got her! We fucking got her!” squealed #3.

“Getting her doesn’t mean stopping her! Look!” gestured #4 that the fight was in no way over.

True to #4’s word, Sophia rose again due to her initial wounds healing in the order she was shot. Confidence filled her once again as she knew that once she was fully healed she would be impervious to their energy volleys. She started to advance in the direction of #4 when #2 fired another round, which Sophia deflected with her forearm.

To her horror, she felt the same excruciating pain again of her arm scorched for the second time. Instinctively she dived out of the way as #3 and #4 fired rounds of their own, one of them hitting her in the meat of her thigh. As she clutched her burnt leg, out of the corner of her eye she saw #1 finally up with his rifle locked on her.

In her head she screamed, “Move, dammit move!” forcing her body to do what her mind commanded. She dived through the storefront window of a Chinese restaurant as #1 lit up the sidewalk.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Far off from the battlefield in the safety of his black Sikorsky private helicopter, which also doubled as a command center, the Director observed the action with a smile on his face.

“So… you do have a weakness,” he nodded.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at the now war torn McPherson Square, #2 dropped out of the sky impacting the street and opening fire on the Chinese restaurant forcing Sophia to scramble to her feet and dive over the counter; she covered up now gripped with fear.

What was happening, why was her defensive invulnerability not kicking in? Clearly, her regenerative capability was still working, but the pain was far too much for her.

This was not a comic book and she was not a hero, or a soldier. She was a wife, a neurosurgeon, a girl from a regular family out of little Mount Vernon that just wanted a nice normal life.

This was crazy, colossal machines shooting at her, trying to kill her. She wanted to go home; she just wanted to go home.

It was just then that she remembered she no longer had a home because of the individuals outside. Images of how defenseless and terrified Robert was just before they murdered him filled her head.

The final image of his face looking at her with tears in his eyes, the four years of agonizing hell she went through before they stuck the needle into her arm. The image of her dying for a crime she did not commit was what stoked the fire back in her.

“Get over yourself,” she thought, “you wanted this! You called them out on live TV! You wanted to fight! You wanted this! You wanted this!”

Her defensive invulnerability may not work, but her other abilities did, as she willed herself to her feet and charged to the back of the store. She needed to get a bit of distance between herself and them so she smashed through the back door taking her to the alley.

Out of the way of gunfire for a few seconds, she took the time to reaffirm herself, “You’re not human anymore… you’re more… so start acting like it…”

The sound of thrusters and heavy metallic footsteps meant the hounds would be on her soon, she needed more distance, but not before snatching up a three hundred pound old cast iron manhole cover. She then quickly smashed through the steel door of the building in front of her. Sure enough, #2 hovered overhead, while #1 stood in front of one of the entrances of the alley hunting her.

“She’s in the next building! Move into position!” barked #1 scrambling.

Sophia ran from the back where she crashed through into a beauty parlor where the patrons and employees all huddled together hiding. They screamed as she walked into the middle of the floor.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she tried to calm them; she then quickly noticed a woman with a bright orange and red hairstyle and gestured, “Love the colors…”

She quickly crouched down and shot through the ceiling going four floors up into a dance studio where little ballerinas, their teacher, and parents huddled together screaming and crying.

Sophia rolled her eyes looking up not amused at another cosmic joke.

“Really? Really?” she sneered.

Before she could give her Creator the finger for constantly jamming her up, #2 hovered with his rifle aimed at her ready to blow where she was standing to pieces, and she could not allow that happen. With a thought, she remembered Allen Dempsey from college who had a talent for throwing a Frisbee with such insane accuracy that he could hit a football in midflight as she hurled the manhole cover with the velocity of a patriot missile. An unsuspecting #2 took a manhole cover smack to the face of his B.A.M spinning it in midair. This gave Sophia the advantage she needed to charge and crash through the front window jumping on #2’s machine’s back getting a good grip and ripping off the back thrusters keeping it propelled in the air. She remembered seeing the move done in some super hero cartoon as a kid, thought it was a good idea and executed it flawlessly.

“Oh shit!” #2 screamed as he dropped into the street below like a stone.

#1 took aim to blast Dennison out of the sky but not before she threw the thruster still in her hand at him as he opened fired.

The plasma charge from his rifle blew the thruster up in his face blinding him. She remembered that from a movie she saw as a teenager, thought it was a good idea and executed it flawlessly. Sophia landed in front of a burning #1 attempting to swat the flames out, and charged right at him. As #3 and #4 rushed into position to take her down, Sophia already underneath him coiled up once again and leaped exploding off the concrete slamming into the upper chest of the B.A.M taking it into the air drilling it into the side of a building rattling #1 inside once again.

Because of her close proximity to #1, #3 and #4 were forced to watch as Sophia somehow managed to perform a one-arm shoulder judo throw in mid-air on the B.A.M weighing several tons dropping it back first on top of a parked SUV before landing herself.

“Screw the order,” growled #3; “kill the bitch… now!”

#3 and #4 took aim-opening fire as Sophia continued her offense. She remembered the Flash live action TV series on CBS she was forced to watch with her younger brother because they only had one television in the living room. Surprisingly she thought it was somewhat cool although she acted bored when she watched it. On the first try, she was able to mirror Barry Allen’s superhuman speed though not as fast as the special effects used to give John Wesley Shipp the ability on the television.

Using her newly learned Barry Allen moves, she combined her speed with memories of known football and basketball players using fancy footwork in order to evade barrages coming at her. It was like going for a touchdown or layup as she easily ducked, spun, and dipped through the hail of firepower destroying the block she was on in an attempt to kill her. The duo’s targeting system was no longer able to lock on her due to the speed she was moving. Sophia decided to make a mad dash for #3.

“She’s coming this way,” shuddered #3. “I can’t get a lock on her!”

#4 gave chase trying to line up a shot before Sophia reached his teammate as #3 backed up as far as she could; her mech’s back thrusters scorched the building behind her.

She fired volley after volley, which Sophia dodged, juked, and jived until she was out of her range. #3 cursed as she hit the thrusters taking her upward, but Sophia once again used her powerful legs to become airborne getting face to chest with #3’s machine.

“Shit…” said a frustrated and outmatched #3.

While this was going on #4 lined up a kill shot to the back of Sophia’s neck ignoring the bring back alive order, and knowing full well he could blow away his teammate in the process.

“Mine… bitch…” he said, licking his lips.

What he did not calculate was Sophia dropkicking #3 into the building behind her sending her half way through it while using the momentum to launch herself backwards into a spin at #4 delivering a crushing flying shoulder charge knocking him into an insane tailspin.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shiiiiiiiiiit!” he screamed while bouncing around in the cockpit.

The force of the hit sent him flying about fifteen blocks before he actually hit the streets where his machine bounced violently off the concrete destroying everything in its path going another five blocks before coming to a rest. Black smoke began to seep out of the damaged areas of his mech as #4 slumped in the seat of his cockpit rattled and dazed.

Sophia brandishing a confident smirk, descended back down to the streets. She was doing it; she was winning. She was beating the giant manned killer robots.

In normal reality, she would be like everyone else in the vicinity running, screaming, cowering for safety. Here she was in the middle of it all. No longer running, she was fighting, and winning.

For a split second, she felt unstoppable, until she remembered there were four of them as a recovered #2’s mech leaped into the air with its cannon for a rifle aimed right at her. It was then Sophia remembered that she could not actually fly which meant she was literally a sitting duck in midair.

“Oh shit…” she said, breathing heavily.

Point blank range, despite trying to cover up, Sophia took the full hit of the hand cannon that was the length and size of a Harley Davidson. She felt the sheering heat once again as it scorched her skin and clothing. The force of the impact propelled her through an office building sending people screaming and diving for cover as she exited out the other side hitting like a meteorite destroying everything in her path unintentionally while bouncing off the concrete creating human size craters before coming to stop in a heap.

Smoke wafting from her caused her to choke again as she slowly rolled to fight back up to her feet despite being in agonizing pain. Her skin felt like it had first-degree burns, while her lungs felt as if filled with smoke and acid. Her vision was extremely blurry; she looked like a train ran over her dragging her nonstop for about five miles straight.

She was so out of it she could not react to the B.A.M crashing down on top of her. Smoke and debris flew everywhere, some of it shattering windows and taking out parked cars as people ran ducking and looking for cover from the warzone.

As the smoke cleared those brave enough to peek out and look could see Sophia trapped underneath the foot of the massive B.A.M belonging to #3.

“Where’s that puffed up chest now, bitch?” she said going external with her taunt.

Sophia groaned and growled as she managed to get her hands underneath her and perform a push-up getting some space between her and the ground. #3 growled as she tried to crush Dennison under her machine’s foot, but Sophia refused to budge as she managed to get her feet underneath her. She then used her piston like legs to explode with enough force to hurl #3 off her landing her several yards away on her back. #2 cut her offensive attack short as he sprung out of nowhere driving a crushing bi-pedal foot into Sophia’s chest drilling her further into the crater. It was amazing how the ground did not give way altogether dropping them into the sewers of DC.

A determined Dennison covered in dirt and blood from wounds that already healed growled again as she gripped the bi-pedal toes of the humanoid machine standing on top of her pushing her further into the crater. Sophia continued to struggle even with #2’s cannon trained on her once again at point blank range.

“You move super bitch,” #2 warned, “and you die… doubt you can survive me unloading several rounds in your face at this range.”

“What… part of me… killing all of you… did you not get?!” said a defiant Sophia literally ripping the bipedal foot of #2’s mech in half spilling an unknown red fluid all over her.

It forced #2 to scream feeling the neural feedback. It felt as if she actually did rip his foot in two. #2 still managed to pull the trigger, but not before Sophia lurched forward and stuck her entire arm up the barrel of the mech’s gun causing it to blow up right in front of them.

The force of the explosion along with shrapnel sent a badly damaged #2’s machine crashing to the concrete, while Sophia also dashed to the street by the impact let off a blood-curdling scream clutching her charred right arm. Tears of rage ran from her equally badly burnt face as she watched her arm; with half the skin burnt from it reform before her very eyes, while #2 desperately tried to right his now smoking machine on its badly damaged foot.

#1 and #4 both no longer with aerial capability came running down West Virginia Avenue joining #3. Sophia once again fully healed rose to her feet. With no more words wasted, they opened fire on her, but instead of outright dodging, she made slight movements and short speed bursts zipping out of way; dodging the barrage of cannon fire. As they tore up the street she weaved through shot after shot getting closer to them; it was a clear message she was sending to them. She was going to kill them… and nothing on Earth could stop her, not even them.

“We need to fall back… now!” said an unnerved #1.

Just as #1 gave the order to retreat, Sophia like a lioness on the hunt launched herself plowing into #2 barely able to stand taking his machine completely off its compromised feet.

#2 in desperation tried to throw a right from his back to knock her off him, but Sophia, proving to be much faster and far more powerful, simply caught the mechanical fist eight times the size of her own hand and crushed it in her grip. The neural feedback made him scream again as if she turned his actual hand to powder. She then grabbed the machine’s arm by the forearm getting another good grip, and ripped the entire arm off completely sending the weird fluid that looked like blood flying everywhere. Within the cockpit of the machine, #2 hollered again in pain as if she ripped his own arm off while sparks and mini explosions erupted inside all around him.

“Fall back now,” the director’s voice came over #1’s audio system, “lead her to the rendezvous point.”

“Sir… #2,” stuttered #1.

“Is dead as of right now,” said the director coldly as he gestured to the technicians within the helicopter.

Lights went off in #2’s cockpit along with the sound of a female mechanized voice. “Self-destruct sequence has been initiated… self-destruct in five seconds…”

“No! No! No!” screamed #2.

While outside Sophia with her bare hands tore open the chest plate of the machine and got a glimpse of the black clad human she had seen four years ago within her bedroom. One second before the B.A.M blew underneath her along with the torn off arm delivering a force that would leave no recognizable trace of the machine, or the pilot. The force of the blast sent her flying while taking out half the block around her. The other three machines staggered backwards barely shielded from the intense blast that had now claimed #2.

“I have now bought you sometime,” the Director began to instruct #1. “Fall back to the rendezvous point before she comes to… I will take care of the rest…”

“Sir…” confirmed #1 to the director, he then motioned to #4 and #3, “you heard the order… let’s move out…”

#4 and a livid #3 turned tail and ran following #1 as a now smoldering Sophia knocked a good six blocks away by the blast rose to her feet off a now smashed in BMW X5 courtesy of her. Aside from the hit to the leg she took earlier, her leather pants weathered the battle. Her now torched jacket however did not survive.

She looked around and noticed Nathanial Walters a.k.a Deuce in his business suit cowering and trembling in a store entrance looking at what was left of the parked X5 she stood on.

“My car…” he stammered.

A replacement for the vehicle she wrecked. Mr. Walters realizing her eyes were on him went faint collapsing to the concrete floor.

With a shake of her head, Sophia hopped off the wrecked luxury vehicle quickly noticing a mannequin wearing a red mid-riff leather jacket in a storefront where the glass was shattered.

She leaped into the display area pulling out whatever charred bills she had in her pockets tossing it at the foot of the mannequin. She then unzipped the now- one-armed jacket she had on, which fell apart due to the scorching heat from the explosion tossing it away. Next, she tore off what was left of the still smoking blue skintight short sleeve Under Armour shirt quickly revealing her frilly red push-up bra chest.

She quickly took the jacket off the mannequin throwing it on. It was a snug fit, but it would have to do as she zipped it up.

Clothed once again, she hopped out of the storefront and exploded into the sky with a leap now hunting the remaining three D.E.A.D members.

Despite the head start they had on her, Sophia could see them booking for their lives down Maine Avenue. She planned her next leap for the Reflecting Pool and from there she launched herself further in order to cut them off before they got to the Jefferson Memorial.

#1 had the lead as #3 and a badly damaged #4 trailed behind him. People scattered screaming for safety as the trio turned quickly on 14th street clearly heading for the Memorial.

“Keep moving! We are almost there! We’re almost there!” yelled #1 gunning his B.A.M.

Almost would not be good enough as the sound of what could only be described as a Tomahawk missile grew louder before a massive impact cratered a portion of 14th street sending chucks of street their way.

The trio backed their machines up in defense mode as Dennison causally hopped out of the crater she created dusting herself off.

“Hey… where yawl goin?” she asked. “Don’t you all wanna see how much my life has changed?”

She advanced cracking her knuckles while the trio of the most advanced machines unknown to man reversed clearly in fear of the walking female juggernaut now playing the grim reaper. As she prepared to charge for another round, a blast of dust and the whirling sound of a black Sikorsky helicopter appearing in the sky overhead interrupted her. Slowly it began to descend between an irritated Sophia seeking vengeance and the remaining disheveled D.E.A.D looking for sanctuary.

Knowing in her heart that inside the descending craft was the head of this sick and twisted operation, she allowed the copter to land safely so she could come face to face with the person who orchestrated the ruination of her life.

The winds died down as the helicopter finally came to a rest. She stood unimpressed as the door slid open and storm- trooper-like soldiers in black full body armor hopped out by the dozen circling her at a wide radius.

Finally, the Director himself stepped out with a calm smile on his face and a manila folder in his hand. Behind him, Special Agent Slater brought up the rear holding what appeared to be some form of restraints. Sophia’s left eye began to twitch at the sheer gall the Director was displaying.

“Sophia Dennison, you’re gonna have to come with me,” the Director said plainly.

“Is that so, and who the hell might you be?” she snorted.

“You know ‘who the hell’ I am,” he returned. “I’m the man responsible for who you are, and you need to come with me.”

“To coin the phrase,” she fired back, “you and what friggin’ army?”

Director Rosen, with no fear, walked right up to her.

“I don’t need a ‘friggin’” army,” he smiled, “all I need is this.”

Director Rosen handed her the manila folder, which she snatched away from him flipping it open. Her eyes widen and she staggered back trembling, unprepared for what she saw inside of it.

Inside the folder, she looked at the picture of a little girl with hazel eyes and her complexion with thick, curly black hair wearing a light green jumpsuit with a pink flower imprinted on the front and a pink shirt underneath sitting in a small chair in what appeared to be a sterile room. There was a blank expressionless look on her face, which was close to fretting. She had seen it in pictures her parents had of her when she was young, but it was those piercing hazel eyes, which forced tears from Sophia’s own eyes making her heart heavy. They were Robert’s eyes.

“Now… before you do anything stupid…” the Director warned.

It was too late; she snatched him by the front of his suit at breakneck speed thrusting him into the air. The shock troopers immediately trained their laser sightings on her from their high tech rifles along with the D.E.A.D in their machines, but Rosen holding onto her forearm with his right hand, threw his left into the air for them to stand down as he calmly looked down at her from her grip.

“Where is she?!” she screamed.

There was a crackle and whimper in her voice, despite her power and strength, the Director now knew he was in control.

“In a facility in Oregon… on the other side of this country,” he informed her. “What you don’t see in that room is a man waiting to decapitate her if you don’t comply with my orders.”

It was as if his words had sapped her strength, as she reluctantly lowered him back down to his feet.

The Director smoothed out his ruffled six thousand dollar custom tailored jacket.

“We figured out that was the only permanent way to dispatch someone like her,” he continued to speak, “if we put a bullet in her skull she’d just become just like you. It’s still a theory, but she would be our first test subject. Anyway we’ve wasted enough time rough housing in our nation’s capital.”

Agent Slater walked up with the restraints.

“I doubt these will keep you fully restrained, but they should be strong enough to hold you and allow us to do whatever we have to do to your daughter should you step out of line,” said the Director. He then leaned in whispering to her, “So I advise you to be a good little girl for now on.”

As the Director took the folder from her, Agent Slater proceeded to place the high tech restraints on Sophia, no longer willing to fight. They looked like large cannon shells covering her forearms and hands, while the shells connected together with a malleable thick metal bar. He opened the panel on one of the cannon like shells flipping on a switch and turning up a digital dial to its highest level. Sophia’s face winced as she began to feel intense pressure on her arms.

“Feel that?” said the Director smiling with fascination. “That’s an electromagnetic field delivering a gravitational force of several hundred tons. A normal person’s arms would be crushed to dust, but apparently that’s nothing for a big girl like you… shall we?”

Sophia stared the Director down with eyes stained with tears and thoughts of murder. She straightened herself up as best she could as she walked with head held high to the helicopter. The Director smirked as he realized what she was playing at. She was the Alpha female, and no restraints, no threats, could take away nor diminish that fact as long as she continued to carry herself as a threat the playing field was still level. So she thought.

As the Director watched as she entered the helicopter, he turned to Special Agent Slater.

“Tell those three idiots to get those mechs back to the hanger,” he coldly snapped, “then get the other one.”

“Dead or alive?” Agent Slater asked.

“Dead if they find the samples and any data he has… alive if they don’t,” he ordered. “We must locate those missing samples at all cost… it was already a pain lifting the samples and data from the FBI Houston office… tell them if they have to, kill anyone that’s with him if need be.”

“Yes, sir. What about all the commotion here?” Agent Slater asked, looking around.

“Come now, Agent Slater,” Director Rosen smiled, “we’re the United States Government. We convinced the entire nation to go to war looking for WMDs… in time people will think this was some promotion for a blockbuster movie.”

“And if they don’t?” Agent Slater asked.

Rosen smiled with a shrug. “We’ll still be fine.”

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About two miles off from the extraction point Mark stood chopping at the bit ready to go. The second he saw the ominous black Sikorsky helicopter flying overhead he knew who it was; the pieces to the puzzle came into place revealing a very dark and terrifying tale that basically said the Constitution and Bill of Rights combined were no longer worth the ink and paper they were written on.

He could not allow that to happen, not on his watch, not after all he sacrificed. An unsettled Dustin watched as his partner looked like a linebacker with a roid case waiting for his coach to send him in.

King, however, had him; Mercer and the rest of his agents stand down while he tried to speak on the phone with his own boss, Director Stan Miller.

“What are we doing? What are we doing?! They are going to take her away! They’re going to take her away, goddammit!” yelled a frantic Mark Armitage.

King ignored him listening solely to the man in command on the other end of his phone.

“Yes, sir… yes, sir,” he nodded. “I understand, sir… it will be done… yes, sir.”

King closed his phone with a grim look on his face that made Mark want to vomit on the spot because he knew what he was going to say.

“Orders are to stand down, fugitive has been captured,” commanded Director King. “Sophia Dennison is no longer our problem…”

“No! No! No! This is bullshit!” Mark roared going into an unsuspecting rage over Doug’s orders. “Who are they Doug?! Who the hell are they?!”

“I said this is over!” King yelled fiercely.

“She’s a United States citizen with rights!” Mark yelled back, not believing this type of injustice was happening.

“I don’t know what she is! But she is no longer our problem,” King delivered his final warning to end the conversation.

“Fuck you!” Mark howled refusing to end it getting in his face. “It’s not over!”

“Someone get this son of a bitch out of my face!” yelled King on the verge of firing or slugging Mark on the spot.

“Move me, Doug!” Mark spat back. “You goddamn coward! You…”

Before he could finish his third insult laced with a slew of vulgarity, three agents grabbed him pulling him out of King’s face.

It forced Dustin to step in pulling and slugging the agents off his partner. He grabbed Mark who lunged at King.

“Mark stop! You gotta stop, man!” a bigger and stronger Dustin yelled, pulling him away.

“Get him out of here before I take his badge, Dustin!” King issued his final warning.

“You fucking coward! Our badges are worthless if we let them take her! They’re fucking worthless!” Mark screamed at the top of his lungs, fighting to get free of his friend’s grip.

Mark continued to struggle until he heard the whirl of the helicopter once again, making his heart sink.

The fight was taken out of him as he looked up to see the Director’s helicopter fly off, taking Sophia god knows where, never to be seen again. At that moment, Mark reached his breaking point.

“Get off me, Dustin,” he muttered, “get off me… I said get off of me!”

Mark exploded breaking away from his friend.

His head was buried deep within his chest; his heart had sunk so deep into his gut and felt so heavy it felt like it was never going to come out ever again. He turned to walk away.

“Where you going, man?” Dustin asked, throwing his hands up.

“I’m going home…” Mark quietly replied.

“Mark, talk to me man,” Dustin behind to him, trying to understand his outburst. “Don’t just…”

“I wanna go home, Dustin!” Mark shot back screaming. “I haven’t been home in almost seven days… and I want to go home… I just want to go home.”

Mark walked off, heading to his vehicle, ripping off his vest as he flew open the door. He chucked it into the back seat, hopped in, and sped off as Dustin tried to catch up with him, not even thinking about how his partner and friend was going to get home.

He drove in a daze, his mind filtering everything that went on for the past several days. In a blink of an eye, Mark had seen that the world around him go insane and the person he had been chasing for the past six days was truly the sanest person in a now crazed world. It made him drive faster; never in his life did he want to go home so badly.

CHAPTER 19

He pulled up to the small Victorian style home. Mark quickly got out of his vehicle locking it up. He was not even thinking about his vest, which he was supposed to either take inside with him or lock up in the back of his vehicle. He even ignored the piled up mail filling his mailbox. He just wanted to get inside his house as he fumbled around with his keys finally unlocking the door so he could be still and away from the world.

He thought it would take it away, being inside his house would take away that bad feeling that was working its way down to his bones, but it did not. The quietness only amplified what he felt to nauseating levels. He marched over to his bar to pour himself a drink. He poured a glass of Bourbon almost to the rim and went to take a sip. A taste he used to savor at the end of the day with a good cigar was like battery acid to him with a side of ass. It officially put him in a state of rage as he threw the drink across the room.

“Goddammit!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The feeling was now in his bones as he thought about what Dennison said before she walked away from him; that he was the last nice person she believed she would ever speak to, Armitage looked around his house painfully realizing how empty and lonely it was. On the mantle of his fireplace was a picture frame with a photocopy of his divorce papers. A poor taste of a joke as it sat next to other pictures that outlined his life, pictures of his ex-wife, Michelle, long since gone along with their twins, Annie and Penny. Mark walked over to the mantle, now holding the picture clutching his heart. He fought back tears as he remembered why the words hit him so hard. He was not a nice person.

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Eight years prior, there was life in his house; the regular life expected of a family of four. Back then, Mark did care about moving up the ranks. He had just made Special Agent in Charge and desired to be either executive assistant director or director one day, which meant taking on high profile cases and working some late hours. Sometimes it also meant missing occasions and family events. Other times it meant forgetting not to bring your work home with you. It did not bother Michelle at first; she was a former elementary school teacher who decided to be a stay-at- home mom when the twins were born. It was the usual understanding that he was working hard to provide for them all. She could take a missed or forgotten anniversary or birthday here or there.

Like everything in life things change, especially when children begin to get older. Penny was more like him; a little rough around the edges for a girl, very loud and active, who was into sports like baseball and martial arts. She wanted a pellet gun when she was ten just so she had a gun just like him. Annie was more like her mother, quiet, soft, and very book smart.

So it was only natural when one who was so much like her father became disappointed when he started to miss her games and track meets on a habitual basis, while one was disappointed she got very little of his attention at all. As any mother would react, it was okay if he was doing it to her; she chose to love and stay married to him despite his faults honoring the “for the better or worse” deal. It was a completely different story when he did it to her flesh and blood. Michelle knew Mark was a good man who loved her and the children in his own way. She fought with him so much to save him from making possibly the biggest mistake of his life.

Sometimes he sat and took it, giving a mutter of an apology and in his eyes a justifiable explanation. Sometimes he bit back, howling and preaching the importance of his work in order to keep monsters off the streets. How it took time and some sacrifice, and how no one complained when his success spelled promotions, which meant better living for all.

Michelle would always make sure to interject somewhere in the argument, usually in the end, “You’re going to regret not being here.”

He would always end it walking out the bedroom to his daughters’ room mustering up some apology while giving them a lighter version of his explanation.

They would say it was okay, and they understood. He would then do something the next day to make it up to them; taking them shopping, to the zoo or movie; one time he screwed up so bad he had to fork out for Disney World.

Eventually, children grow up, and the, “It’s okay, Daddy” turned into “Whatever, Dad.” Gifts and trips began to lose their luster, and the time does come that they do not have time for you. Mark got a taste of what he dished out over the years, and he did not like it at all. In his best efforts, he tried to spin around the Earth turning back time. It only worked in the movies. He had to weather the storm he knew that he brought on himself. It was not easy, but eventually it did ease and sunlight poked holes through the dark clouds over him. The hand of trust once again extended to him, and he reached out for it one morning during breakfast.

“Oh, Penny, remember I have that job interview for that teacher’s position at the Dunbar High School this afternoon so you’re going to have to take the bus to your karate class,” reminded her mother.

“Ma… it’s Tae Kwon Do…” corrected Penny, rolling her eyes.

“You know what I mean…” she said while making another pancake.

“I can skip out of my science club and go with you,” offered Annie. “Then mom doesn’t have to double back to pick us both up.”

“Or… you can go to your club… I can pick Penny up,” said their father out of nowhere, “wait for her, then pick you up and all three of us can get some ice cream for dessert tonight, come home and help your mom make dinner.”

The female trio of the house looked at Mark like he was the elephant in the room, not just because of what he offered, but because he rarely spoke during morning breakfast anymore other than to say “Good Morning,” “I love you,” “Study Hard,” and “Goodbye” sometimes with a kiss depending on his mood.

“What?” shrugged Mark. “I’m a Special Agent in Charge, Dustin can carry my workload for half the day; the man owes me his first born for all the favors I do for him. It’s not a problem.”

“Mark, you don’t have to…” Michelle softly pressed.

It was a light gesture for him to opt out; she actually wanted him to.

“Yeah, Dad, it’s…” chimed in Penny.

“Dude, I haven’t been to one of your classes in like ages,” her persistent father cut her off, “be nice to see if you’re now tougher than your old man.”

Another awkward moment dropped on the table as Penny cocked an eyebrow asking, “Did you just call me “dude?”

“Yeah, he did,” Annie smiled in disbelief.

“Ain’t that the term now?” he shrugged, acting cool. “Or is it dudette or shortie?”

“How about none of those terms,” Penny waved begging her father to stop.

Laughter and banter was back at the table; it had been lost since the girls entered their preteens. Mark looked up to see Michelle with a smile on her face and a small breath of relief. She saw her family coming back, and it made her happy.

2:30 PM, Penny was where she was supposed to be, but Mark was not. There was a break early that morning in the Eduardo Mendoza case, the head of an up and coming Brazilian Cartel known for trafficking weapons, drugs, white slavery, prostitution, and the extortion of minors. A business meeting carried out by one of Mendoza’s high lieutenants with a foreign diplomat from Somalia for a deal on black market firearms, and drugs to finance their ongoing civil war had gone down that day and they were there with a team to finally make the collar and bring the lieutenant in. Mark decided to sit in on the interrogation, forgetting that his daughter was waiting for him.

At 2:45 PM, Matthew Anderson, a senior in Penny’s high school and a student at her same dojo, saw her and offered her a ride. She took it, seeing her chance to catch a ride with her long time crush, an excellent opportunity to muster some courage and see if he possibly liked her. Before she drove off with him, she would borrow his cellphone to call her father.

Mark not recognizing the number would not pick up, sending it to voicemail, continuing his interrogation, forcing her to leave a message.

“Daddy, I know you must be busy,” she whispered, “it’s okay… this guy from my class, Matthew, offered to drive me so I’m going with him. When you finish what you’re doing, you can pick me up, we can still come back and get Annie, and we’ll just keep this a secret between us. Love you, Daddy.”

Penny drove off with Anderson in his Ford Mustang GT. After getting six blocks, Matthew, having the green light and driving within the speed limit would have his car broadsided on the passenger side by Austin Campbell going sixty miles per hour in a twenty-five speed limit, a thirty-eight-year-old stockbroker with a habit for afternoon cocktails with a side of cocaine and three DWIs already under his belt.

Matthew’s car would flip over eight times before coming to a stop, despite wearing seatbelts and an airbag; Penny died instantly, while Matthew Anderson died on his way to the hospital; Austin Campbell survived with only six stitches to his skull; his blood alcohol level was 0.21.

Mark got Penny’s message at 3:05 PM after he had finished his interrogation and acquired cooperation of Mendoza’s lieutenant in obtaining key shipment locations for his contraband. It was an exchange for not spending the rest of his life in a Federal maximum prison. An agent told Mark the news at 3:07 PM.

He went home to a sobbing distraught wife who hugged him tightly as he walked through the door a destroyed man. Annie would not go near him. A week later they buried Penny, her Sensei gave them the brown belt she was working so hard for at her funeral.

Michelle never blamed him for what happened; never ask him why he never showed up at the time he promised to show up to pick their daughter up. She got the job working at the high school. Annie stopped talking to him altogether. Life went on like this for six months as Mark did the only thing he could do; throw himself deeper into his work to hide. The later he came home, the less he had to see their faces and know that he failed them.

Until one night he walked into a dark house, noticed things were missing but there was no forced entry. Annie’s room was bare. He walked into the bedroom with everything there except Michelle’s belongings; on the bed were divorce papers and a note that read, “My daughter is dead, and now my husband is dead. Annie and I cannot live in a tomb.”

He never went looking for them. He did send an agent to do him a favor and make sure they were safe. Michelle had rented a two-bedroom apartment for them on the other side of town.

He sat on the papers for at least a month before signing them. He waited at the high school one day as she walked out.

She was a bit stunned to see him walk up, a bit fearful he would make a scene.

He just handed her the papers, saying three words, “Are you okay?”

“Yes… I am,” she nodded.

“Is Annie okay?” he looked around not making eye contact with her.

“Yes…” she nodded again trying to make eye contact with him.

Mark looked down at the ground, shook his head, and mumbled, “Take care of yourself.”

He walked off leaving her standing there. It was not clear if he thought she would run after him screaming, crying, and slapping him for acting the way he was acting, for closing up, shutting down, killing Penny, but she did not, and that was the last he saw of her or Annie.

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As Mark looked at his copy of the divorce papers in the picture frame, a wave rage came over him.

“Stupid,” he yelled, “Stupid fucking old man! Stupid!”

Grabbing the frame, he smashed it to pieces against the mantle of the fireplace sending glass flying everywhere before throwing it across the room. He should have been there, he should have fought for what really mattered. He should have clawed, kicked, and hollered, begged if he had too. As he stood there, he came to a decision that would probably change his world forever. He reached into his pocket pulling out his phone and dialed a number he never called before. It rang a couple of times before going to voicemail.

“This is the Hudson residence,” said a familiar soft female voice, “we’re not in right now, but please leave a number and a brief message we will get back to you.”

Mark drew a deep breath before finding the words he wanted to say.

“Michelle… Annie… hi,” he said nervously, fumbling with his words, “you guys must be out or something. I hope you’re both safe. Listen… I’m… I’m sorry; I wasn’t there, and I know it’s too late. I know… I always thought… one more case… one more mission… that I was working for a better tomorrow, a better country. Some shit you hear in a stupid commercial, and I believed it… so much that I forgot what was most important.”

The tears began to roll, an emotion the old Army vet had not felt since losing his parents and Penny.

“I fu… I messed up… really badly,” he finally got out. “I messed it all up. Everything I fought and sacrificed for… it was all for a lie, all for a damn lie. I just wanted you both to know that I have to go away… to do something right for a change. If I get back… when I get back… if it’s okay, I’d like to tell you this in person… and if for some reason I don’t. Annie… the second greatest day in my life was when God gave me you and Penny… and the only reason why it’s the second… is because you giving me the privilege to share my pathetic life with you Michelle and giving me two awesome kids was the greatest day of my life. I regret every day I didn’t cherish either one of you. I’m a stupid slow old man, but I get it now… I get it now… I love you both.”

Mark hung up his cell and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He had wanted to say more but he knew the answering machine would cut off the rest of his message. He hardened his heart one more time as he dialed another number; the person picked up after two rings.

“Nick… how you doing?” Mark asked.

“Mark, what’s going on, man?” his old friend said with concern. “Saw it all over the news, you guys had some crazy shit going on in the Capital today, you okay?”

“I’m good,” he confirmed. “How’s the family?”

“They’re good, boy’s growing like a weed,” Nick chuckled. “I’m about to break my daughter’s Iphone one of these days. Susan asked me yesterday if I spoke to you.”

“Tell her I miss her meatloaf,” he smiled.

“You’re the only one who’ll eat that shit,” Nick joked. “But you didn’t call for small talk… did you?”

“I’m asking if you and your boys in the FAA can check and confirm the whereabouts of a black Sikorsky private helicopter,” he said finally getting down to business. “It would have landed after 2:30 PM at either a commercial or military airport here in Washington or another airport on the East Coast… preferably private or military. I also need to know what aircrafts took off from that same airport and its destination… specifically private and cargo planes.”

“You okay, man?” Nick came back with the same concerned voice at the start of the conversation. “You never “ask” me for anything… you usually demand.”

“I’m fine, Nick. I’m also asking for one more favor,” Mark hesitated to say knowing what asking would mean, “I’m going to need a pilot and plane once I get this information… like tonight. Ex-military, willing to fly with no questions asked.”

There was a pause on the phone before Nick responded. “I’ll see what I can do. You sure you’re okay, man?”

“I’m fine Nick, just fine… as soon as you can.” Mark hung up his phone and went upstairs to pack.

His phone went off due to an incoming call; the ID said Doctor Senji Kumamoto. An eerie feeling told him to pick up.

“Dr. Kumamoto?” he asked as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

“Special Agent Armitage… glad I got you… I have been trying to contact you all day. I finally got your number from someone in your office,” said Doctor Kumamoto with great concern in his voice, “someone has stolen all of the samples and data from the lab this morning concerning Ms. Dennison.”

“What? How?” Mark asked in disbelief, while having a good idea who did it.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” said the Doctor, “but I called to tell you after compiling Ms. Dennison’s entire medical history. I found something very interesting.”

“What is it?” Mark asked with great interest.

CHAPTER 20

Mark walked the tarmac of College Park Airport heading blindly into the unknown without hesitation.

Sure enough, Nick came through; he confirmed that a black Sikorsky private helicopter did land at Leesburg Executive Airport at Godfrey Field in Loudon County, Virginia. A private corporate plane took off thirty minutes later; it’s destination the Oregon City Airpark; typical that it would be all the way across the damn country. An almost six-hour flight made the trail considerably cold. Not that it was stopping him from going; Nick also came through with a pilot and a plane. Ex-military as usual who would not ask any questions and would get him to his destination. An advantage he needed considering he was carrying a mixture of his old military, F.B.I gear and all the guns and ammo in his possession.

He drew a heavy sigh walking to the plane with his gear as the last person he wanted to see stood in front of him with a none too happy look on his face.

Dustin walked up to him with the intent to slug him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he spat at Mark.

“How’d you find out?” Mark asked dodging his question.

“You’re frantic ex-wife and daughter called me and told me you left some insane message on their answering machine,” he seethed. “I put it together that you weren’t somewhere putting a bullet in you skull. I then called Nick threatening to come to his house and beat his ass in front of his wife and kids if he did not tell me where you were. Now what the fuck are you doing?”

“You know damn well what I’m doing,” Mark fired back at him.

“Exactly what you were ordered not to do,” Dustin moved closer getting in his face.

“This is not your concern…” Mark began to tell him.

Dustin shoved him backwards sticking a finger in his face.

“You selfish son of a bitch it is my concern!” he seethed. “Let’s start with Michelle and Annie who still give a shit about you, and then there’s me whose supposed to be your partner, then let’s add the fact that you’re jeopardizing your entire career as well as your life if you fuck with this guy! If he kills you, he cannot be touched! So you tell me why I shouldn’t knock you on your ass and drag you out of here in restraints till you come to your senses?”

With no time to get into fisticuffs with Dustin, Mark pulled out a folded piece of paper in his pocket handing it to him.

Dustin snatched it out of his hand opening it up to see a picture of a little four-year-old girl with hazel eyes and thick curly black hair wearing a Catholic schoolgirl outfit. The picture was on a printout of an Amber Alert for Kimberly Stone.

“She had a daughter… that’s why she surrendered,” Mark informed his partner while pointed at the picture.

“What are you talking about?” Dustin asked for the first time without the information in his grasp.

“Sophia Dennison was pregnant while on trial,” explained Mark. “Doctor Kumamoto was running into a dead end with the blood so he pulled all of her medical files and found out she was pregnant while in Harris County Jail during her trial. Dr. Hampton wasn’t just visiting her as a concerned friend; she got the request to appoint him as her designated obstetrician.”

“Say what?” Dustin erupted stunned and frustrated over the never-ending madness.

“The baby was reported coming out stillborn,” Mark went on. “He signed the death certificate and by Dennison’s wish had the body cremated. Something seemed funny so I dug around in the birth and adoption databases narrowing the field down to a month… he wasn’t even subtle about it… Hampton signed a birth certificate for this little girl the following day at a closed adoption to a couple in Boston, Massachusetts.”

Dustin stood there in disbelief at yet another puzzle in this crazy affair.

“Why would they fake her baby’s death?” he asked throwing up his hands.

“I don’t know,” Mark shook his head before going on. “What I do know is almost thirty-six hours ago Mr. and Mrs. Brian and Jamie Stone where both found dead in their home in Boston. No forced entry, DNA, or fibers found at the crime scene… both dead from carbon monoxide poisoning and the child… this child is currently missing.”

“We need to…” Dustin began formulating a plan for the first time that involved going to King with this new information.

“I’m more than six hours behind,” Mark enforced his already made decision, “I don’t have time for the red tape.”

“Then I’m coming with you…” Dustin demanded.

“No, you are not!” A furious Mark with very little patience got in his face. “You are not going to make Bethany a widow or leave Kyle, Marcus, and Angie fatherless. You’re going to start answering your goddamn phone when your family calls you! No matter how stupid or petty it is! You’re going to stay here and watch my back, especially if I don’t come back. Tell Doug what I found, and make sure I don’t disappear in some propaganda cover-up bullshit.”

Dustin stared down the man who was the godfather to his kids, and as much as he wanted to argue with him, he knew the truth, he had to stay.

“I know this is all messed up man… but why?” he shook his head. “Why does it got to be you?”

Mark looked up at the dark starry sky as if the answer was there.

“Because I didn’t sacrifice everything for a country where good people are butchered in their sleep,” he grunted, “while their loved ones take the fall for it… and no one points a gun in my face and gets away with it.”

Mark passed Dustin no longer looking to get in his way, but not before putting a hand on his shoulder.

“The rest of the files are printed out on my desk at home,” he sighed. “Was going to leave you a message about them. You know where the key is. Give me a six hour head start, and then get them to Doug… open his damn eyes… make him listen.”

“Tell me you’re coming back,” Dustin said with a heavy heart. “Tell me you’re coming back and I’ll do it…”

“I’m coming back,” Mark patted his shoulder before walking off to the plane.

It was a half lie he said leaving his friend standing there, if Mark had it his way he would do everything in his power to come back, but even armed to the teeth his fate was not up to him. He was still leaving with all the fear and uncertainty in the world in him. Uncertain if he would find the director, Dennison, or even the little girl, and very much fearful that he might not make it back from wherever he was headed to; fearful because this was not him on tour in some unknown foreign country. This madness was going on in his backyard.

As he walked up the steps boarding the plane, he heard Dustin yell at the top of his lungs, “Yay tho I walk into the valley of the dead… I shall fear no evil!”

Mark finished the prayer they always recited when they were heading out into the shit, “Because I will be the baddest son of a bitch in that valley… Amen.”

CHAPTER 21

September 9, 2008, after almost seven hours between the flight and traveling via a 1990 Honda Civic he acquired from a used car lot for six hundred dollars in Wilsonville; Mark pulled into the town of Klamath Falls. The trail was not cold… it was arctic. After landing in the Airpark Aviation Condominium in Aurora he confirmed with air traffic control and ground crew that a Bombardier Challenger 300 did land followed by the landing of a Boeing C-17 Globemaster III. Five minutes later two M1070 truck tractors with M1000 heavy equipment transporter semi-trailers pulled onto the tarmac where three massive containers were then unloaded from the Globemaster onto the trailers. Finally, a female occupant in some weird type of restraints exited the Challenger 300 with armed guards; all of the occupants of the private jet immediately boarded another waiting black Sikorsky private helicopter heading south followed by the military transports no doubt taking the I-5S.

After almost five hours of driving hoping he could play catch up and coming up with basically nothing; he needed to get his bearings, find a lead, a breadcrumb of some kind. Being up for almost twenty-four hours minus the three-hour nap on the plane, he pulled into the Black Bear Diner in Klamath Falls, Oregon for some black stuff. He hoped to ask the locals without alarming them if anything big and weird rolled into their town that day.

He quickly looked at his phone, contemplating turning it back on to check his messages but thought it best not to take the chance. All it would take is a second for it to be on, Doug would know his location and have agents down on him faster than he could sneeze, which was why he was forced to purchase a car in cash instead of renting one. The only way he was going to complete his mission was to stay off radar.

As he entered the diner, the locals either raised their heads or turned their necks to acknowledge he was at the door, before returning to their business. Armitage found himself sitting at the counter where he knew the regulars usually sat. The waitress behind the counter walked up to him with coffee in tow and a friendly bright smile obviously happy to welcome a new face into their establishment.

“How are you doing today?” she smiled pointing to her nametag. “My name is Carolann; I will be your waitress today.”

“Mark,” he smiled with a nod, “please to meet you Carolann.”

“Would you like some coffee Mark?” she chirpily asked.

“Yes, please,” he nodded again. “Black… two sugars.”

She quickly poured him a cup and finished placing two sugar packs to distribute into his coffee how he saw fit. She then placed a menu in front of him and pulled out her pad to take his order.

“I’ll take a vegetable omelet, please,” he narrowed his eyes quickly looking over the menu, “and a side of orange juice.”

“Coming right up,” she smiled taking his order.

Ten minutes later Carolann was back with her perky smile, his omelet, and orange juice.

“Here you go sweetie,” she beamed.

“Thank you,” he said looking for the ketchup to throw on the omelet before digging in.

“So what brings you to Klamath Falls?” she asked, making the basic small talk.

Mark used it as an opportunity to see if he could get some Intel from a local.

“Vacation,” he said in between bites, “decided to do some camping and hiking… get some nature and clean air in me.”

“Where you from?” she asked with a bright, near obnoxious smile.

He needed a trick answer for an honest question seeing as how the vehicle he pulled up in could no way be a rental car. Only an oddball coming from another state buys a vehicle in the same state he is going on a camping trip or someone hiding something.

“Sacramento,” he said dismissively.

“Wow,” she emitted with some shock, “that’s a heck of a drive!”

“People I’ve spoken to told me it’s worth it,” he shrugged, “especially for the experience.”

“You headed to Gilchrist State?” she asked while leaning flirtatiously forward and showing Mark much cleavage.

“Considering it,” he said while remaining polite, “or Sun Pass.”

“Well, if you’re going to Gilchrist or Mount McLoughlin by Upper Klamath Lake be careful,” she warned. “The black bear population has been growing in those areas… they stay away from folks for the most part, but they love wrecking camp sites looking for food.”

“Good to know,” he said lying through his teeth about doing any camping.

Just as she decided to walk off to attend to other patrons, Mark decided to put his nose to the floor and see if he could sniff out a breadcrumb.

“So, are there any military bases around here?” he asked innocently while taking a bite out his omelet.

The question caused her smile to fall a bit as if she was trying to hide obvious concern for what he just said; Mark saw a possible breadcrumb. His suspicion became bigger when some of the locals within earshot gave him a dirty look out of the corner of their eyes.

“Why do you ask?” Carolann inquired with a partial smile and a nervous tone in her voice.

“No reason really,” he shrugged. “While driving up here two huge military trucks came up behind me on the US-97 bearing down hard; rattled me so much I have to pull over. As I said, I plan to do some hiking and didn’t want to make the mistake of walking into some restricted area… would really suck if I got shot or something.”

He finished cracking a genuine smile to put her at ease.

Her bright smile came back full blast as she pointed out, “There’s a National Guard Army base in Ashland, that’s probably where they were headed, but no there are no bases in this area.”

“Good to hear,” he returned keeping on the fake smile while cursing inside as he lost the breadcrumb again.

Carolann moved in closer to have a more private conversation with him, again showing much cleavage.

“I’m real sorry,” she whispered, “I thought you were one of those conspiracy theory people.”

“Excuse me?” he responded, this time was of genuine confusion.

“Every now and then someone comes up in here asking about “secret government bases,” she began to explain. “Fans of our local conspiracy theorist…”

“Local nut job is what he is…” the patron to Mark’s left interjected.

“Be nice Bernie,” Carolann scolded before going back to Mark. “He’s talking about Eric Dunbar… he runs this conspiracy theory website out of his home called “Break the Iron Curtain.” He believes that somewhere in Mount McLoughlin is a top secret US government facility where they do experiments unbeknown to the public like cloning or creating high tech weapons… he goes up there from time to time looking for it…”

“And ends up back in town the next day drunk as a friggin’ skunk either on his lawn or in front of my shop talking about how high tech soldiers grabbed him and “drugged” him.” Bernie added in disgust and contempt, “One time he and this tree hugging broad from New York who was a so-called believer was arrested for being drunk, high, and butt ass nekkid in Veterans Memorial Park downtown… disgraceful.”

“Wow,” Mark leaned back pretending to be startled. “Drunk… high… and naked… I guess I’m going to Mount McLoughlin then.”

The joke made both Carolann and Bernie chuckle; Armitage, however, was smiling because he finally got his breadcrumb. Eric Dunbar was not a hack; he saw behind the iron curtain and knew something was shitty at Mount McLoughlin, and it was not the bear droppings. He had to find him and find out what he knew.

Mark finished his omelet, juice, and coffee, said his thanks and goodbyes leaving a decent tip, and left heading to his car to figure out how he was going to find Eric Dunbar with no help from the Bureau or the ability to walk into a local police station and ask for help.

He figured he could walk into a library or cyber café if there was one in town, but how much more down time would that take off his search for Dennison and her daughter?

With very little resources at his disposal and time against him, dread came over him that he would never find them in time to do anything.

“Who are you?” said a voice behind him.

Mark slowly turned around to see a slender man in his mid to late twenties, with fiery red hair underneath a black skullcap with a matching full unkempt beard. The hollows of his eyes meant he had not had a decent night’s sleep in a long time; he also had a couple of bruises on him that were healing. He seemed quite agitated in his black long johns and blue coveralls that were three sizes bigger than he was.

“You said you were from Sacramento,” the young man pointed out, “but your temporary plates are from Wilsonville… so who are you?”

“Eric… Dunbar?” Mark guessed pretty sure that was who he was talking to, “you were in the diner? No one…”

“People talk about me whether I’m there or not,” he said flatly. “They don’t acknowledge that I exist, because of the things I allegedly did… you didn’t come here to go camping or hiking… are you one of them?”

“One of them?” he asked having a good idea who he was talking about, he just wanted to hear him say it.

“One of the agents from the base hidden in Mount McLoughlin,” Eric bluntly said getting agitated, “the ones who’ve been fucking up my life and making me look like the town loon.”

“No… my name is Special Agent Mark Armitage from the F.B.I,” Mark confessed also putting it out there, “and I need to find that base… there is a woman and a young child who were abducted by those people, and I need to find them and stop whatever they plan to do with them.”

“How come you’re here by yourself Special Agent?” Eric asked with a head tilt unsure if he believed him.

“Just like you no one believes me, or has the balls to do something about it,” he said earnestly. “What happened in DC yesterday was because of those people. They’re violating people’s rights for their own agenda, they murdered the little girl’s adoptive parents and just took her, and they have her biological mother. The woman you probably also saw on the news. I have to help them. Will you help me find them?”

Dunbar looked over Armitage’s shoulder noticing Carolann and some of the patrons looking out the window being their nosy selves.

“When you leave this parking lot,” he said with a low tone, “make a left and drive down four blocks, make a right and then wait for me. When I walk away, turn around and shrug your shoulders like you were just confronted by a nutcase.”

Without another word Dunbar walked off, Armitage doing exactly what he said turned around seeing a concerned Carolann along with Bernie and a couple of other patrons looking out the window. He shrugged his shoulders with a smile, waved hopping into his car, and drove out of the parking lot following the directions given to him by Dunbar.

As he reached the destination and pulled up to park, Eric Dunbar came out of nowhere hopping into his car. He turned on his radio and pushed the volume way up. Apparently, the Civic he bought was a “Fast and Furious” type car because the custom speakers were near deafening. Vexed he went to turn the music down until Dunbar slapped his hand away holding up one finger telling him to wait.

He pulled out a small pen and pad from his coveralls. He wrote feverishly without looking at what he was writing.

He then held it up for just Mark to read, it said, “I’m bugged, somewhere on my body that I can’t see!”

A normal person would have thought he was nuts, Mark would have thought he was nuts if he had not witnessed the things he witnessed the past few days.

Dunbar went on writing something else without looking at it. “They may probably be onto us now, Mount McLoughlin is one hour from here. Drive and follow my hand signals to where we need to go.”

Mark nodded as he shifted the clutch into first and pulled off with one eye on the road and the other on Dunbar’s hand gestures, which would guide him to his destination. The breadcrumb was leading him to a trail that was thawing out, would he make it in enough time to make a difference was another question.

CHAPTER 22

Mark accomplished the hour drive in less than forty-five minutes behind the wheel of the old tuner car with Dunbar guiding him. Luck was on his side as he was able to evade speed traps while taking sign language directions from his passenger who believed someone implanted him with some type of surveillance bug that was relaying data back to somewhere.

After finding a remote spot, Mark already out of the Civic suited up putting on his old military fatigues, before throwing on his FBI tactical armor. He then loaded up with two Glock 23s, a M4 Carbine, and a Heckler & Koch MP5; he then strapped on several needed ammo belts. He thought about turning on his phone and texting Dustin to alert him to his position, but if he could find him, they could find him. He needed to stay under the radar just a bit longer.

“I can talk now,” said a now enthusiastic Eric. “What do I get to carry?”

“You get to carry your ass back to town after you point me in the right direction,” instructed Mark.

“Hell no, screw you; I’m coming!” Eric’s face contorted.

“Listen kid, these are very dangerous people.” Mark got serious with him. “They see you coming with me they’re not going to knock you out and play some stupid prank on you… they’re going to kill you, and I don’t need your blood on my hands. And if you are bugged as you say you are, they probably know we’re here right now and will know our position the second we enter the forest.”

Eric, unfazed with Mark’s scare tactic, leveled with him. “You know how this all started?” he said while fidgeting, “my dad use to take me up to a cave in Mount McLoughlin to go exploring when we went camping up here… before he died of colon cancer. One day I went up there just to go to the cave to remember him and the great times we had together; a so-called park ranger came out of nowhere and advised me not to go up to the cave because the bear population was heavy there. I told him I’d take my chances. Next thing you know after a couple of yards I blacked out. That’s when it all started. First it was just dropping me off at my campsite… I thought I was going crazy, thought it was aliens, but as they kept upping the ante. Finding ways to embarrass and humiliate me in front of my friends and family, I knew I wasn’t crazy, that there was someone up there who didn’t want me to see or know what they were doing.”

“Why did you keep going back?” Mark asked, thinking the kid was just a glutton for punishment.

“My dad never gave up. Even with the cancer was killing him,” he looked down at the ground kicking some dirt around. “He kept coming with me on these trips… so how could I?”

He raised his head looking Mark in the eye.

“Also, I knew there was something just wrong about whatever these people are doing, and you confirmed it,” he nodded with a hint of nervousness, “so you’re taking me… or you can walk around these woods finding this place yourself.”

Mark glared at him, he really did not have time to argue with him so he reached into his bag grabbing extra body armor handing it to him. He then pulled out a Remington Model 870 shotgun with a case of shells.

“Put this on,” he ordered while handing him the vest and shotgun, “standard issued shotgun, ever shot one?”

“Dude.” Eric grinned. “This is Oregon.”

“Take the keys to the car, the sign of a fire fight you get the hell out of there, get to this vehicle,” he instructed. “Drive and don’t stop driving till you hit town. When you get there you call the second number on this phone.”

Mark reached into his pocket handing both the keys and phone to him.

“The password is Penny,” he continued, “all lowercase, you tell my partner Special Agent in Charge Dustin Mercer everything that happened, you got it?”

“I got it… I got it,” Eric nodded tightening the straps on the body armor.

“Lead the way… but stay close!” Mark warned him one last time.

Dunbar with shotgun in grip lead the way as Mark quickly put the rest of the gear he could not carry in the car locking it up before following him. He prayed the kid really did not have a bug on him.

A part of him knew he would regret taking the kid, but time was against him leaving him very little choice; he had to find that base, he had to try to save them.

A half hour later they were deep in the forest heading toward the mountain, Mark had to grab the kid a couple of times to reel him back as he checked out their perimeter making sure there were no unsuspecting snipers or traps. He figured that was how they were taking the kid down. The last thing he needed was to go out like a light and find himself in an embarrassing predicament along with the kid or worse.

“We’re almost near the area where they take me out,” Eric whispered to him, “sometimes they stop me cold… sometimes they let me get a little further before putting my lights out. Last time they just came out of nowhere and started kicking my ass.”

“Say what?” a startled Mark whispered back.

“Yeah,” confirmed Eric, “they had on some crazy heavy body armor like storm troopers from head to toe.”

“Thank you for now mentioning that,” Mark whispered harshly, “and stay close, last thing I need is to carry your ass while we’re getting shot at.”

At this point so deep in, they moved from tree-to-tree in hopes of being less of a target for what was out there. Mark was uneasy. His old military experience told him there were eyes everywhere, but he could see nothing. At least the Predator displayed some sort of silhouette before gutting someone. These people, if they were out there, were literally ghosts in every sense of the word, and they were patiently waiting for the right time to attack.

“Dude,” Eric whispered again, “I’ve never been this far in… we’re almost to the cave… maybe they left or something.”

“Yeah… may…” Mark was about to answer until he saw the silhouette. A green laser pointed at Dunbar’s neck, naked to the untrained eye.

The old dog still had the sight; he also knew that if Dunbar had a laser on him, he had one too. He booted Dunbar in the ass sending him flying face forward before diving himself. He was not fast enough as a bullet or dart hit him from behind, luckily in the back of the vest.

“Dude! What the?” Eric howled.

Mark ignored Eric’s temper tantrum over kicking him in the ass, quickly grabbing and dragging him around the largest thickest oak tree he could find before putting a portion of his body out with his M4 Carbine to shoot at who or whatever was taking a shot at them.

The objective was to try to rattle them into making a sound so they did not have time to set up another shot and take them out. His shooting was apparently pretty close to the proximity of the snipers because he could now here slight movement of something unnatural; he continued to fire near the sound.

Off a ways a pack of five Shock Troopers, in heavy camouflage body armor stood by as bullets fired from Mark’s M4 whizzed by them hitting the trees. Two shots luckily struck two of them in their chest plates of near impenetrable armor, which was probably what Mark heard.

“Intruders have made our position,” the Lead Shock Trooper instructed his unit, “switch to live rounds… move in… move in.”

Heavy gunfire erupted back at them ripping into the trees, Armitage fired back but he knew he could not hold their position long.

He quickly grabbed Dunbar by his vest looking him in the face.

“Remember what I told you?!” he yelled.

A terrified Dunbar shook his head in obedience.

“Then go! I’ll cover you! Go! Go! Go!” Mark screamed.

Eric fought past his fear and ran back in the direction he came moving from tree to tree to avoid the barrage of bullets flying. Mark returned fire and began to move too. He let it fly hoping to draw all the attention to him and away from Eric. He also hoped someone else would hear the commotion and call for help as well.

He moved while returning fire, a bit winded sliding behind another big oak now ripped to shreds by automatic gunfire. The old man was use to chasing people down, not running and ducking for cover. Quickly he changed out the clip to his M4 locking and loading as he sucked up as much air in his lungs to get a second wind.

“Come on you sons of bitches,” he gasped, “let me see your faces… so I can blow it off…”

He went to aim and shoot when a humming bird whizzed right up to him, the last thing he expected in the middle of a gunfight, until he realized in disbelief that it was mechanical. Its eyes blinked red as it let out a high-pitched noise that got louder before he could react.

“Oh shit!” he yelled.

Instinct told him to run for it, which he did, but he did not get enough distance between him and the flying robotic assassin as it detonated with enough concussive force to throw him several feet slamming into one of the great oaks of the forest.

His head rang and everything went blurry, the veteran in him quickly grabbed body parts checking to see if anything was missing. Limbs still attached. Everything was still here. His vision came back enough to see that they were already on him from different angles.

Armor and weapons he had never seen before, one of them had what appeared to be a hi-tech version of a mini-gun. They definitely looked like storm troopers but more terrifying and ruthless. Mark slowly raised his hands fearing the worst.

“Target has been captured… prepare to terminate,” the Lead Shock Trooper ordered.

“My name is Special Agent Mark Armitage of the FBI!” yelled Mark at the top of his lungs, “you are under arrest for charges of murder and kidnapping of a minor! Agents now know where I am, and they will be coming for me and for you! Believe it… you sons of bitches!”

A last ditch effort for a condemned man, but it was enough to have the Lead Shock Trooper turn and talk to whoever was giving him commands from behind the scene. With one swift motion the Trooper pulled out his side arm and fired a shot into Armitage’s neck without hesitation, only it did not feel like a bullet. The world started to go black. He imagined this was probably what Dunbar’s world was like.

Mark heard the trooper utter one final sentence before going into the darkness, “Secure the perimeter; bring the transport so we can take him back to base…”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Light slowly came back into Mark’s world along with the taste of cottonmouth. He braced himself for probably being butt naked with something stuck in him in the intersection of the town of Klamath Falls for all to see, but that was not the case. They removed his body armor along with all of his gear and weapons. He was in chained shackle restraints. Under arrest was his second thought, prepped for agents coming to take him back DC to face disciplinary action for going rogue.

The room he was in was more of a large sterile conference room with a large silver table that stretched from one end to the other. One of those comlinks that he hated using sat in the middle, extremely uncomfortable chairs one would see in the Jetsons, and a huge flat screen like monitor.

Two guards wearing lighter black armor versions of the ones that captured him stood at attention on opposite corners of the conference room confirming his suspicions that he had made it alive inside of the base in somewhat one piece.

He adjusted himself in his seat bending forward to shake the cobwebs off; his movements did not make the guards jump at all, which meant they were highly trained to expect the unexpected, not the obvious. In his current state, he was not going to fight his way out of that conference room. Even if he got lucky, they would gun him down the second he exited the room with no clue as to where he was.

His best hope was to sit tight, gather as much information as he possibly could, and pray that Dunbar made it out in time to contact Dustin who would be there with some agents on the ground looking for him.

“Any chance a guy can get some water around here?” asked Mark out of nowhere.

Still no reaction, but he really did need water, the cottonmouth was getting to him, and he did not have anything other than the breakfast that morning. Just then, the door in front of him slid open and his prayers went up in smoke.

Eric Dunbar a little bit worse for wear also in chained shackle restraints walked through with another guard bringing up the rear.

“Sorry man… I ran as fast as I could,” said a disheartened Dunbar. “Everything just went black again…”

“It’s okay, kid,” he smiled. “It’s okay.”

The guard gave Dunbar a sharp tap on his shoulder with the butt of his rifle to keep moving forward escorting him to one of the chairs where he took a seat. The guard then positioned himself by one of the vacant corners of the conference room.

A minute went by before Mark turned to address Eric asking, “They give you water when you woke up?”

“Uh… no,” answered back Dunbar giving him a weird look.

“Me neither,” Mark shook his head, “what a stingy joint.”

A minute later, the door slid open one more time. The devil himself walked through with his entourage of Agent Slater and Ms. Barrett bringing up the rear holding her tablet, still walking in her trademark pink flip-flops.

Armitage stood up ready for anything, Dunbar did the same trying to mimic him in looking tough. Rosen, however, ignored Mark all together and made a beeline straight for Eric.

Director Rosen walked up grinning with his arms open.

“Eric! Eric!” he beamed. “You made it, Eric! You made it!”

Mark and Dunbar looked at each other with utter confusion as an approaching Director Rosen gave him a warm hug rubbing his back. It was like some twisted scene out of Wily Wonka and the Chocolate factory… the Gene Wilder version.

“Great to see you, Eric… finally great to see you in person,” the Director let out a sigh of relief as if they were old college friends.

“Yeah… okay,” Eric answered with a weird smile pretending to know him, “who the hell are you?”

“Come on, Eric! Veterans Memorial Park.” Rosen gestured with a hurtful smile, trying to jog his memory. “The police chief’s patrol car… candy store… City Hall.”

“City Hall?” Mark turned to a now livid Eric.

“Son of a bitch had me drunk on a bench in my boxers wrapped around a goddamn blowup doll,” Dunbar bared his teeth.

“That’s not too bad,” shrugged Mark.

“It was a male doll,” seethed Eric.

“Candy store is my favorite,” the Director beamed wagging his finger while walking away. “Francine, the store owner, didn’t know whether to laugh or be mortified with you sleeping in the jelly bean pit in just a diaper and bib.”

Rosen chuckled and sighed as he clasped his hands smiling like a father with pride.

“Eric, you’re like my Wile E Coyote,” he shook his head. “Time and time again venturing up here looking for us, no matter what embarrassing, humiliating, or hysterically funny situation we left you in after we bag and tag you. Well… here you are, you’ve made it… you’re not crazy Eric or some drunken reprobate. This is a covert government facility with the sole purpose of creating advanced weaponry ensuring that the United States of America remains a Super Power in the world for like forever.”

After finally giving Eric his golden ticket the Director sadly lowered his head.

“Unfortunately,” he inhaled deeply before releasing it, “as wonderful as it is to see you, Eric, you now know far too much.”

“So what,” Eric nervously smirked, “this is where you blow my brains out?”

“Come now Eric… I told you… I like you,” Rosen scoffed at him for making a ridiculous assertion, “but we are going to do something to your brain… Ms. Barrett.”

As the guards moved into position around Armitage, Ms. Barrett looked at her tablet typing something in, instantly Dunbar’s face went blank as he dropped to the floor a drooling catatonic mess. Mark lost it attempting to rush the Director. The hindrance of his restraints allowed the guards to quickly overpower him.

“You son of a bitch,” Mark roared, “what did you do to him?!”

“Nanites, Special Agent,” the Director sighed, “nanites.”

“How do you think we were able to stay fives steps ahead of him? After his third attempted try to breach our perimeter here, we decided it was best to keep close tabs on him. You were right; we did know you were coming. We were considering notifying the local authorities to deal with you especially with the “firepower,” you came with,” Rosen chuckled, “but seeing how resourceful you’ve proven to be, we couldn’t risk probably bringing more problems to our doorstep so we decided to let you come and deal with you in house.”

The Director walked over kneeling down next to Eric rubbing his head.

“These are in their early stages,” he smirked, “the programming for something so small to do complex things is very difficult, but these were given the specific functions that allow us to both hear and see everything around him, as well as track him. In this case, they performed a high precision lobotomy leaving him in his current yet somewhat functional vegetable state. One day they’ll be able to permanently correct erectile dysfunction in men.”

“You fucking monster!” Mark shrilled fighting to get free.

Director Rosen got up and moved closer to Armitage with an irritated bewildered look.

“I’m a monster?” he snapped at him. “You blaming me for this, Special Agent?”

He pointed at him baring his teeth, “This is your entire fault. You brought a civilian to a highly classified government facility jeopardizing national security when given strict orders not to pursue this case any further. You did this to Eric. I could have you shot for treason.”

“You tell me, where’s the national security in murdering a family and kidnapping a little girl, you sick piece of shit?!” Mark spat back.

“An unfortunate necessary evil that had to be done to ensure the creation of the ultimate defense for this country Special Agent,” the Director said somberly before motioning to Ms. Barrett. “Please take Mr. Dunbar out of here… make sure he’s found in a hiking accident. Make sure there’s an anonymous payment to cover his medical expenses… make it look like a bunch of his conspiracy theorist followers pulled together on his behalf… looks good… pay off any debts he may have too… it’s the least we can do for him.”

“Yes, sir,” she motioned to two of the guards who shouldered their rifles. They walked over grabbing Dunbar off the floor and dragged him out as Ms. Barrett followed them.

“Also bring in Ms. Dennison,” he added to his request, “might as well have her present since I hate repeating myself.”

He turned to Mark.

“You want the James Bond treatment,” he narrowed his eyes, “you got it.”

A minute later after Ms. Barrett walked out with Dunbar the doors flew open again with Sophia walking in. Her arms and hands still donned the huge shell like restraints. She still wore her battle-worn clothes from yesterday flanked by four heavily armed Shock Troopers. Bringing up the rear, were the remaining members of the D.E.A.D partially out of their gear. She appeared to be quite calm and relaxed despite her current predicament.

“You alright?” a concerned Mark asked.

“Doing good… pretty… pretty… pretty good,” she nodded with her best Larry David impersonation. “You come here to rescue me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Good job,” she nodded with a sarcastic smile.

“If you two are done with the plot filling banter,” Rosen interrupted.

“Allow me to quickly explain why you.” He pointed to Sophia. “Are here, and you…” He turned pointing to Mark. “… should not be here. Project Evolution or the Olympus Project as it was known back then was started the same time the Manhattan Project was created in 1942.”

“You mean 1939,” she snidely corrected.

“Yes… give or take a year,” he turned sneering back at her. “You see our government at that time realized that the Nazi were right… in order for us to remain a super power in this world, we as a nation had to evolve not just on a technological level, but a physical level as well. So while one division was creating weapons of mass destruction in the light for all to see, this division was kept in the shadows working on creating advanced weaponry and biological technology to would make us in the near future forever independent of nuclear arms.”

He began to walk around.

“You see after Hiroshima and Nagasaki we came to the obvious realization that nuclear warfare is ineffective,” he began to explain. “Sure, you can drop a bomb and devastate an entire country… kill millions, but at the end of the day, you end up destroying billions upon billions of dollars in land and natural resources. War at the end of the day is about making a profit… and it does not pay if you blow your profit to shit. Germ warfare and dirty bombs hold similar problems… that on top of the possibly of accidentally infecting your own troops and country is just too damn high… you don’t need to see ‘28 Days Later’ to reach such a conclusion.”

“Love that movie by the way,” he stopped to add, “conventional warfare, though not as destructive, still costs and is one of the reasons why this country is now in astronomical debt due to our current leader putting two wars on a credit card. While our enemies, who don’t even spend a quarter of what we currently spend in defense, still achieve very high and effective body counts. That’s because as “hardcore” as we claim to be, our enemy is more hardcore with no fear of death, and no remorse for who they kill as long as it’s in the name of their god and achieving their objective. The only logical solution is to take death off the table in regards to us. That is why we have been feverishly working to upgrade the age old tool that has won wars for centuries and is cheap… man.”

“Another damn super soldier project,” Mark muttered in disgust.

“Not “another damn super soldier” project,” the Director mocked Mark’s voice. “A superhuman project… and in order to build the perfect superhuman it’s been concluded that it needs to be done on a genetic level. Drugs produce temporary changes with long-term extremely harmful side effects… sometimes fatal. Cloning, although unethical to the bleeding masses, is one option but takes too damn long. Only in the embryo stage can we achieve successful gene alteration, we need effective soldiers like yesterday.”

“But by creating a virus that when injected into the body would destroy, replicate, and mimic the functions of whatever cell it encounters… becoming a superior cell in every shape and form of the way… we could create a superhuman from the inside out in a matter of days,” said the Director proudly.

“Sounds like the perfect version of the A.I.D.S virus,” Sophia snorted.

“How’s the saying go? Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs?” the Director coldly said to her. “Unfortunately the homosexual community got a bad rap due to an infected agent with an uncontrollable heroin habit which we thought was suppressed in a time when idiots who did that shit shared needles. Back in the early stages of the project there was a process each D.E.A.D agent had to go through before they were injected with the virus so it did not reject and kill them by attacking their immune system. Those that did not go through the process… well you get the idea.”

“We did our best to try and contain it, but in the end we were forced to cover our tracks and cleanse the rest of the agents in our stable,” he sighed shaking his head, “set our D.E.A.D project back two years… but that’s what happens when you recruit a junkie serial killer.”

Sophia and Mark had mirrored looks of grimace realizing what Director Rosen was talking about as they looked into the eyes of the remaining D.E.A.D.

“That’s right people… members of the D.E.A.D are beta testers for a more superior and elite America,” said the Director finally introducing them. “The Disavowed Extermination Assault Division was created after the Vietnam War. Once again, our government realized that there were monsters in this world so terrifying and so ruthless they could not be dealt with by regular soldiers, nor were regular soldiers capable of executing certain unnerving tasks needed to deal with such monsters.”

“So we went looking for the most homicidal sociopaths in this country, made them dead on paper… virtual ghosts,” the Director motioned with pride. “Genetically altered, trained and equipped them with the most highly advance weaponry no one has ever seen before. We then sent them out with one command… to kill and slaughter any and anyone we saw as a threat to the national security of this country.”

“So you spit on real soldiers,” Mark motioned to the remaining members of the D.E.A.D in total disgust, “by turning these sick…”

#4 having enough of Mark’s mouth walked over and took the air out of his lungs with a gut shot doubling him over. The enhanced punch was powerful enough to lift him off his feet dropping him to his knees. #4 went to pull him up for another one but the Director waved him off.

“You put… this country’s trust into the hands of these murderous scumbags,” he coughed getting it out.

“These “murderous scumbags” are still Americans serving their country, and I trust them far more than I trust you.” Rosen walked over patting #1 on the shoulder. “Especially since each of them is implanted with the same nanites that were implanted into Mr. Dunbar.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind…” Mark sneered.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” the Director mocked him again. “Aren’t we playing the hypocrite… you were a soldier once Special Agent. You know firsthand the ravages of war. If there were a way to save one man from dying on the battlefield… if you could stop coffins with flags from coming home would you not take it? I’m saving the economy and making sure all of the young men and women we send into battle come home alive and in one piece. You tell me where in that am I out of my goddamn mind?”

“Because I fail to see the ‘good’ in them.” He motioned to the D.E.A.D. “Turning a bunch of psychopaths into unstoppable monsters who murder and butcher innocent…”

“Dear god, stop… please stop with the holier than though speech.” Rosen shook his head rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Who do you think were flying those planes on 9/11? You think they were soldiers? Studies show that the average “terrorist” has seen his first dead body or body parts up close and personal by the age of five, their playtime is poking rotting corpses with sticks. That same terrorist has either killed or seen a person killed by the age of thirteen. While almost ninety-five percent of the soldiers in our very own military has neither seen nor killed anyone until they’ve been in actual combat… why do you think so many of them are in an ‘f’ed’ up state when they get back? As of 2008 we’ve had the largest suicide rate for service men since 1980, one hundred and twenty-eight confirmed suicides by serving Army personnel and forty-one by serving Marines.”

“We figured out a long time ago that the perfect killer is not one that is trained or condition. It’s one that is naturally born with the joy of killing,” the Director drove the point home. “I personally find it far more productive than having them out there cutting up little girls in the Midwest, wasting taxpayers’ money on a trial, appeals, and accommodations for either a life or death sentence.”

#4 raised his hand.

“I’m more partial to cutting up whores,” he interjected.

Everyone turned to look at the dumbass elephant in the room.

“Just saying,” he shrugged.

“So this is what it’s all about? Huh? Taking a dump on the Constitution and murdering any and anyone who stands in the way of your quest to create a Master Race. So is there a color requirement or a dollar amount to get an ‘S’ on your chest?” Mark threw out there as he slowly got back to his feet.

It was actually a tactic by him to buy some time to think of something to get them out of this obviously impossible situation.

“You think I’m Oliver North?” the Director laughed.

“You think we spent the last almost seventy years busting our asses to become gods to sell it off for some printed paper, metal, stones… oil?! I should shoot you myself on mere principle… especially for implying that I’m a racist, my banker is black goddammit,” Rosen sneered at him.

“I told you we’re here working to save “American lives,” if Russia wants to make their own Ivan Drago,” the Director laughed before getting serious again, “let them figure it out for themselves along with the rest of the world. This one the good ole US of A is strictly keeping for ourselves … which is why you should be rejoicing… a dawn of a new day Special Agent… soldiers like you use to be will soon be just like her.”

Rosen walked over motioning to Sophia.

“The only thing we’ll need a military budget for is some cool highly durable uniforms,” he brightly smiled, “who needs to spend billions of dollars on tanks or fighter planes we don’t need when you can drop five of her into a hot zone? You need to stop thinking of this as some stupid comic book hero villain situation. Our enemies out there have promised that if it takes five hundred years they would not stop until they destroy this country. We’re just making it where we’re still standing five hundred years from now to laugh in their faces when they finally realize they’ve failed miserably and need to bow down.”

“What we are doing right here, right now is for the good of this country,” the Director emphasized. “Our country… and the only way to do that, is to reclaim our spot as a true superpower of this world… by speeding up evolution and becoming the image of what we were modeled from… God Himself.”

“So my husband was butchered for what?” Sophia finally asked joining in the conversation. “Exposing your quest to turn men into gods?”

Director Rosen sighed as he turned with an emotionless look on his face to address the living goddess in the room.

“Your husband was ‘executed’ for betraying his country and his unit when he planned on leaking classified information about this division to the press,” he coldly answered.

“You’re lying,” she smirked in disbelief. “What would…”

A wave of emotion ran through her as her legs buckled underneath her dropping her on her rear.

She slowly shook her head wanting to believe it was all a lie, but the pieces to the puzzle when formed revealed the only clear picture; the Director words only put a stamp on what she knew was the horrible truth… why Robert knew he was going to burn.

The Director walked within safe distance of her stooping down to look into her dazed teary eyes.

“Finally figured it out huh… the reason why there were only three in the room that night,” he sighed heavily, “was because #4 was sleeping right next to you… actually his call sign was #2, but you already knew that didn’t you… deep down. I can tell you it wasn’t my idea to make him a part of this outfit… that blame belongs to his daddy for breaking protocol to get him in here.”

“The… General?” Sophia seethed with rage in between the tears that fell.

“Yes, the General. The job application requires that you are a one-hundred percent grade “A” murdering psychopath,” explained Rosen, “but daddy took it pretty hard that his little Marine couldn’t be all he could be anymore. So we were forced to make an exception… even had to wave off the nanite implant, which fucked up moral a bit… but he is the head of this division.”

“I’m just one pay grade below him,” Rosen shrugged. “Your husband did have promise. The virus repaired his injuries and enhanced him quickly… you wouldn’t have known because he wore prosthetics to make him appear still injured. So while you thought, he was going to rehabilitation, hanging out with friends, or screwing someone else. He was half way around the world slaughtering whole regimes with the rest of us via our orbital jump program which would take too long to explain… the initial plan was for him to eventually divorce you… but after the job in Ramadi…”

“Oh… god no,” Sophia bent over sobbing.

“Yeah… anyway… like I said… not a job for ‘regular’ people.” Rosen shook his head. “And as I predicted his conscience kicked in. We found out he was contacting this reporter and planning to go to the press with what happened in Ramadi and expose this operation. Over sixty years worth of good work, this whole division possibly being compromised by your dry snitching husband could not be ignored… not even by his own father.”

The Director’s reveal even made Mark sway in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he slowly shook his head.

“Yeah, even I didn’t think the old man had the sack to give the order,” Rosen acted somewhat surprised, “if it’s any consolation, I wanted to get him done in the field. A random mugging gone bad… it was the old man’s idea for you to take the hit… personally I think the whole thing’s bullshit… holding you responsible for his son’s military downfall.”

Rosen rose once again to his feet.

“But I’m not one for getting into family drama,” he huffed.

“So… my husband infected me that night?” she finally asked. “That is what made me like this?”

“Close, but no, doctor, we can’t take full credit for what you are.” The Director shrugged his shoulders. “You see the current virus we created is only capable of enhanced attributes… strength, speed, endurance, healing within a couple of days. We were far from our final goal which is you. Making sure we didn’t duplicate the mistakes from the past, the new strain we created does not infect humans during sexual intercourse or through blood transfusion like the strain of old… we, however, did not foresee procreation and conception.”

“Wait,” Mark jumped in attempting to wrap his brain around what Rosen said, “you’re saying…”

“You’re not the first super human, Ms. Dennison,” Rosen cut him off wanting the big reveal for himself, “your daughter is.”

He pointed at her still sitting on the ground.

“The missing ingredient which we’ve tried to avoid, but obviously couldn’t get around was fresh new cells,” she emphasized, “the virus just didn’t like consuming and replicating aged cells. We found that the younger the subject the better the replication process, and as you can imagine there’s only so far we can “ethically” go when it comes to test subjects. The night you and your husband did the deed was the night the virus within your husband found what it really wanted… fresh new cells to consume and replicate from.”

“I don’t understand,” a confused Mark asked, “so how did she…”

“Our good Dr. Zimmerman’s hypothesis is that some form of symbiosis occurred between her and her daughter during the nine months of pregnancy,” The Director cut Mark off again wanting to hurry the conversation along. “It probably detected stress levels within you which could have led to a miscarriage. I guess there is nothing more stressful than being on trial for the murder of your husband with a possible death sentence. Therefore, as a defense mechanism it replicated all of your cells to ensure that you were able to carry her to term.”

“It was also how we were able to figure out your daughter was still alive,” the Director informed her. “There’s no way you could be who you currently are and she not survive.”

She did not answer him as she sat there looking at the ground.

“Very clever still how you were able to fool all of us, even the General.” Rosen wagged his finger at her in admiration. “It wasn’t because we didn’t have the technology or the information within our grasp to find out. It was because the General didn’t believe you were sneaky or smart enough to pull off something like faking your own daughter’s death. Guess the joke was on him.”

She still did not answer him.

“Currently your genetic makeup is superior to hers because of all the trials and tribulations you went through,” the Director continued, “but from the blood sample we took from her, it shows she has the potential to reach your capabilities and far beyond you if ‘pushed.’” The cool part for us is that through the whole ordeal you endured,” a smile formed on the Directors face, “the cells within you can and will replicate all aged cells. But to answer your question; your daughter saved your life… not your husband.”

Sophia remained silent trying to wipe her face with the sleeve of her jacket, her dreads now covering any visible expression she had on her face. Rosen now tired of the dramatics clapped his hands together to “liven up” the atmosphere.

“Okay, now that we have done the whole James Bond tell all master plan crap… time to get down to business.” He snapped his fingers pointing at Mark. “You… we’re going to put into a little cell for now. Until I decide whether it’s best to lobotomize you or just kill you for being so damn nosey and unruly.”

“And you,” he pointed to Sophia, “are going into a shiny egg like container were we have a nice little sharp pointy device capable of piercing that thick hide of yours so we can take enough samples to make more of you.”

“You’re not going to do anything to him,” she said plainly, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Excuse me? You seem to forget we have your little girl,” he reminded her of his trump card.

“Yeah, you do… for all I know she could be dead the minute I step into that “egg,” she shrugged.

“She could be dead right now so what’s to stop me from breaking these restraints and killing every last one of you in this room… except for him,” Sophia motioned to Mark.

“Thanks.” Mark nodded with appreciation.

“If you’re expecting me to bring her in here as proof,” Rosen pointed to her, “you are out of your goddamn mind.”

“No… I know you’re too smart for that, but I also know everyone in here is terrified of what I am capable of.” She smiled. “Especially if I think I have nothing to lose… so here’s the new deal.”

“He lives.” She gestured to Mark again. “I see him walk out of here with my little girl… and you can do whatever you want with me… as you said… my genetic makeup is currently superior to hers… it’s what you need to make more of me… so you really don’t need her.”

Director Rosen narrowed his eyes, pointing at her again. “You promise to play nice?”

“Like a good little ‘girl,’” she said coyly.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You got a deal.”

Sophia glanced over to Mark, their eyes locking briefly; they knew as soon as they got her in that chamber they were going to try to kill her, and they were definitely going to kill him.

“Come on sweetness,” #4 brazenly walked up to her, pulling her to her feet, “time to…”

It was over in one motion; the once standing #4 fell like a slab and lay dead at Dennison’s feet with half his skull caved in along with his neck snapped. Considering the fact that Sophia’s hands were still shackled with the heavy high-powered restraints it was clear she killed #4 via a head-butt.

“Holy… fuck,” was all #1 could utter.

“Oops,” Sophia shrugged her shoulders with a disturbingly innocent look on her face.

A beyond enraged #3 pulled out her side arm walking up to Dennison to empty a set of rounds in her face.

“Holster your weapon #3,” Rosen ordered her.

“But, sir,” she screamed, “this fucking bitch…”

“Killed #4 in front of us… yeah, I saw that,” he said dryly. “Nobody told his dumb ass to get that close to her when she clearly said on live TV she wanted to kill the four of you… now holster your weapon before you send a ricochet around this place hitting me.”

#3 with teeth bared trembled as an evil sinisterly grinning Sophia looked her dead in the eye. She did not need to utter a word, as #3 knew all too well, what she was thinking… two down.

Director Rosen stepped over the body of #4, moving #3 out of the way to face Sophia.

“Do that again,” he shook a finger at her, “and I’ll have Mr. Slater over there cut your daughter’s little head off with a dull hacksaw… and have it play over this facility’s PA system for you to hear while you tear this place apart searching for her. You wouldn’t want any more blood on your hands like your friend Dr. Hampton or Lieutenant Scott and his entire family.”

Sophia’s eyes widen in shock as she gave off a nervous laugh, tears formed in disbelief at what her ears were hearing.

“You’re lying,” she fretfully snorted. “You… you didn’t…”

Yes… I very much did,” he said with a sarcastic sadness. “Dr. Hampton knew way too much about your physiology, while Lieutenant Scott now knew way too much about the D.E.A.D than he already knew thanks to you.”

But Elizabeth… the children,” she shuddered.

We knew his wife knew everything, especially since she saw you ripping their door off its hinges with your bare hands,” he continued with his sardonic gloomy act. “The children were… unfortunate collateral damage… but we had to make their deaths look like an accident… and aren’t there enough orphans in this country?”

She lowered her head weeping as her body shook; her restraints cricked and creaked with its feeble attempt to keep her secure. She wanted to slaughter everyone in the room save for Armitage—saving the Director for second to last, the safety of her daughter was what kept her weak and feeble… obedient.

I’m going to kill you,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear her.

Yeah… no… I don’t think so,” Rosen said dismissively.

You forgot people know I’m here in Oregon, they’re looking for me. There’s evidence of what you did,” Mark reminded him.

No, they’re not,” laughed the Director. “You went rogue Special Agent, you disobeyed direct orders, and now you’re being hunted by local and state authorities.”

Rosen strolled over to him delivering his version of what could possibly happen to him.

“Whether you turn up captured or dead is entirely up to us. As far as evidence goes… you have none,” he arrogantly scoffed. “I told you there were higher powers behind this, and you should just let it go. You think you’d learn your lesson after your daughter, Penny.”

Mark’s eyes widened as the Director’s words knocked him on his ass.

Read your psyche files after your mandatory sessions to see if you were still deemed fit to remain a field agent.” The Director shook his head in disgust. “You just couldn’t let that interrogation go to pick up your own daughter.”

An irate Mark lunged at Rosen screaming at the top of his lungs. The soldiers flanking him again overpowered him.

“You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!” He frothed at the mouth clawing the air to get to Rosen. “I swear to god I’ll kill you for saying her name!”

“Wow… everyone wants to kill me today,” the Director sarcastically shuddered acting hurt. “Giving me a complex… get him out of here and get her prepped. We’re already behind schedule with this nonsense.”

CHAPTER 23

Mark was lead down a hallway by a triple-armed guard detail passing a series of cells. His initial rage over the Director conjuring demons within him had subsided; he had to focus and figure a way out of there. If what the Director told him was true about no backup coming because of him labeled a rogue agent, there was a chance he was not leaving the mountain alive. He would be lucky if he ended up like poor Eric Dunbar although his fate appeared to be worse than a death sentence.

One of the guards opened the cell while one trained his rifle on him as the third removed his restraints and shoved him into the cell. No chance of fighting his way out; he had to wait for another opportunity. The first guard, kept his rifle aimed at him, as the cell door closed. Mark listened to the fading of their heavy boots as they walked away.

He examined the cell, looking for a way out which clearly had none, when he heard a groan from the cell across from him. A fellow inmate meant a possible fellow ally.

“Hey! Hey! Anyone there?” he yelled. “You with me, buddy?”

He heard shuffling from behind the cell door as the person he was attempting to communicate with struggled to get up. Two hands finally gripped the bars in front of the small window of the cell door as Mark’s eyes widen, while staring into the face of a dead man.

“Doctor Hampton?” Mark said in disbelief, “they said they killed you!”

Badly worked-over, but very much alive, was Charles Hampton from what Mark could judge from the limited view he had.

“Those bastards damn near tried,” he groaned. “I was at home watching the news about what happened in DC… next thing I knew I passed out, and I woke up to a right cross from a big nasty looking son of a bitch with a horrible disposition.”

Mark figured it must have been Slater; he fit the bill for cruel and unusual punishment.

“Why’d they take you?” Mark asked.

“They’re looking for the samples and data I have on Sophia. She told me to destroy them and I was, but something kept telling me it was too valuable to destroy.” He sighed, a bit disappointed he did not do what she asked. “So I sent them off for storage which trust me is not easy to do in an age where everything is tracked and you’re almost watched 24/7. It’s probably why I’m still alive because I think they would have killed me if they found it.”

“Like they killed Lieutenant Scott and his family,” Mark said in disgust.

“Are you serious?” Charles asked in disbelief.

“From what I can tell, yeah, and it looks like we’re stuck here till we can find some sliver of a chance out,” Mark said running his hand across the door to his cell. “So how about passing the time by telling me why you helped Dennison fake her daughter’s death?”

Charles drew a sigh, which only made him cough due to his battered ribs. Since his fate was clearly up in the air, it was time for Agent Armitage to hear his confession.

“Four months into her pregnancy she started to have nightmares,” he began, “reoccurring dreams of her daughter as an infant crying hysterically looking for her while walking around aimlessly in a warzone littered with corpses wearing nothing but just a bloody American flag. She said every time she had the dream it was the same, except the flag got bloodier and bloodier, the bodies started to look like friends and family and were stacking higher, and her cries became louder to the point of shrills. In her culture, recurring dreams were omens… she was sure that the dream meant she had to keep her daughter away from the General at all costs.”

“Her father-in-law.” Mark confirmed that he was the center of all this madness for sure.

“General Matheson’s entire family legacy is military dating back to the Civil War, I think.” Charles nodded. “All four branches and all serving in every known conflict. He’s the only one ever to achieve the rank of four-star General. She knew if he had his way he’d influence her daughter to join the military, and she didn’t want him to do to her what he did to Robert.”

“She married a soldier but hated the military?” he asked not understanding her logic.

“Exact opposite… she respected the military a lot, and she loved Robert, but she knew that he wasn’t meant to be a soldier,” Charles explained. “Physically he had all the makeup of one, but it wasn’t in his heart, she said. Robert was just doing it to please his old man; he loved and respected him to no end.”

“He figured he’d do his four years, have it under his belt, get his dad off his back.” Charles shrugged. “Get his trust fund and start the custom car restoration company he wanted. Who knew 9/11 was around the corner. Let it be said he wasn’t the same man coming back.”

Charles coughed as he clutched his still aching ribs.

“During his first tour.” He continued on, “Sophia said every time she spoke to him it felt like his soul was dying bit by bit. I saw it too in a video message he sent, but she hung in there with him praying for the day his tour of duty would be over, then the General ‘somehow’ got him to enlist again… ‘Mathesons are in till it’s over… till every man comes home,’ and all that bullshit.”

Mark listened with disgust, more so because it was apparent the General and he had similar traits.

“Sophia wanted children… but she didn’t want to have them with Robert over there, so she waited,” he went on with his story. “You can imagine what happened when she found out he reenlisted and was going back over… they argued every day. One time General Matheson paid her a visit to ‘educate’ her on being a ‘proper’ military wife. She had a couple of uneducated words for him that day… anyway… Robert went back over and then he got injured.”

Mark knew what happened after that from the conversation he just had with the Director.

“She said she’d rather die with her baby and burn in hell than let the General have her, and if I didn’t help her, she’d find a way to kill herself and the baby because she wasn’t having an abortion.” Charles swallowed with a rattled look in his eyes. “I knew she’d do it, and I knew she knew how to do it. So we got an attorney to help appoint me as her doctor. I was also given power of attorney to facilitate a closed adoption for her when the baby was born and found a very nice family. We told no one what we were doing… when she went into labor we told no one. I delivered the baby and signed a birth certificate giving the child the adopted parents’ name and then a death certificate telling everyone else the baby was a stillborn due to complications and that Sophia wanted the body cremated by her wishes. It was a million to one chance, but everyone bought it. We probably wouldn’t have pulled it off without her money.”

“Her money?” Mark furrowed his brows.

“The joint accounts pertaining to her and Robert were all frozen,” Charles recalled, “but Sophia had almost over a million-and-a-half dollars in a personal savings account before Robert was murdered. Before he went to Iraq, he paid off the house and both the cars. Sophia didn’t want for money… they were living comfortably off his trust fund and military pay. She took her paychecks from Memorial Hermann and just saved a bulk of them. She also had investments and stock options. Robert advised her to keep it in a separate bank due to all the identity theft going on. Her name was also on the house with Robert. That is why her killing Robert for money was all bullshit. Anyway, she liquidated it all and put me in charge of using it to pay for or pay off whomever we needed. She spared no expense to keep her daughter hidden from General Matheson.”

“Well, I got news for you, Doc.” Mark drew a heavy breath. “These sons of bitches murdered that nice little family you found, and they have the little girl.”

“What?!” He coughed profusely. “Why?!”

“The little girl is actually the first superhuman,” Mark informed Hampton. “Dennison inherited her powers from her child while she was still in her womb somehow… her husband Robert was recruited by his father, General Matheson, to become a part of this superhuman death squad known as the D.E.A.D, which are apparently beta testers for a much larger super human project. They killed him for trying to expose the truth and framed Dennison for his murder.”

“Oh god,” a stunned Charles uttered as he braced himself against the door fighting to stay up while absorbing the gut checking news. “I know what her dream was about the little girl, the bodies… she killed all those people shedding blood for this country.”

“What?!” Mark asked, demanding the 411.

“If what you’re saying is true… if what they told you is true,” Charles began to babble while forming calculations in his head. “Wait! It all makes sense! That’s why Robert didn’t want to sleep with Sophia when he got back!”

“Say what?” Mark asked again trying to keep up with his ranting.

“For months after getting back from Iraq and the hospital after his injury, he refused to touch her; she thought it was due to the PTSD. Then she thought he was cheating on her. He was probably afraid whatever was within him would be passed onto the child!” concluded Charles.

“How do you know they weren’t having sex?” Mark asked, mystified that Hampton had intimate knowledge of Sophia and her late husband’s sex life.

“She’s my best friend,” returned Charles. “She tells me everything. Anyway, that little girl has the potential to be a thousand times more powerful than Sophia if nurtured and developed… possibly god-like.”

“I don’t think they’re looking to develop her abilities,” Mark muttered while examining the cell door again, “they seem more interested in stealing them… like they plan to do to her mother.”

“That’s even worse! Wait, Sophia’s here?!” Charles said, officially flipping out.

“Yeah, she’s here,” confirmed Mark. “They plan on harvesting her cells for the virus so they can make more of her.”

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Charles pounded against his cell door in frustration. “Doesn’t someone know you’re here?!”

“Someone knows what state I’m in, but they won’t find the exact location, not in time,” sighed Mark, sadly remembering Eric Dunbar. “The person who could have given them my location they just lobotomized right in front of me… for now we just have to sit, wait, and pray for a miracle… if they still do exist.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

In a different section of the base, Sophia had already settled into her confines. They were a lot bigger and cleaner than her cell at Mountain View. The entire cell was constructed of some pure metal alloy: titanium, tungsten, or a mixture of both. The door to her confines was massive and vault like. The only two sitting areas were the metal toilet on the other side of the room, and the folding steel cot attached to the wall; there were no windows to look out. Not even in the heavy sliding door so she could look into the hallway like Armitage and Hampton who were several levels up from her.

As instructed, she removed all of her clothes, showered under supervision, which was uncomfortable. She slipped on an extremely skintight red, white, and black sci-fi bodysuit complete with attached booties that they put in her cell. There were three black metallic ports on each of the arms and legs, and four ports on the spine of the suit. She figured they were the insertion points for the injection needles taking the samples from her, which would be one hell of a trick considering there was not very much out there that could pierce her skin these days.

She looked around the bare sterile white room with the typical florescent medical lights. The only other color in there beside her and her little to the imagination bodysuit were the four black orbs planted in each corner of the room, watching her every move.

Slowly she strolled over to the heavy sliding door she came through. She placed her hand on it pushing forward a bit making a handprint in the metal. The force of her push made the metal door emit a hard creaking sound. It caused the four orbs to turn red with four beams locked on her. She removed her hand from the door as the beams remained on her tracking her for another fifteen seconds before shutting off and returning to normal.

Even if she was fast enough to smash through the door as explained by the guard, who led her into her cell, there were motion sensors and cameras throughout the entire facility, most importantly, the hallways.

She also did not have a clue where they were holding her daughter, which meant for the time being she was a prisoner again.

She pulled down the metal folding cot attached to the wall rolling onto it. Surprisingly it held her weight; she closed her eyes and concentrated on Charles, Ken, Liz, and their children Sammy and Ashley.

She tried to focus on the good times they had, Charles and her graduating medical school together, Ken’s speech at her and Robert’s wedding, Liz pregnant with Sammy who she was able to hold in her arms, and then Ashley.

Various other memories flooded her head, causing tears to pour; she curled up into a ball and wept bitterly. They were all dead now because of her, because of the mess she brought to their doorsteps.

It was memories of Charles that broke her heart. He never gave up on her; he never stopped believing in her, and he was always there whenever she needed him even when she pushed him away and did not feel the same way about him that she knew he felt for her. She was trying to protect him, to keep him away from all of the hell and madness, and she failed. She wailed as memories of the little time they spent together flooded her head, even the stupid bear mace incident.

“Charlie… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… oh god… I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

Her best friend was gone all because of the lies and deception of her own husband; someone she thought she knew but did not. Memories of special moments and the deep love they shared were mixed with the imagination of the nights he supposedly left to hang out with friends or needing time to himself, but was off half way across the world murdering innocent people; men, women, and children.

Destroying their lives for no reason just like the D.E.A.D destroyed hers, all for his father’s legacy.

Uncontrollable sobbing turned to blind rage as she rolled off the cot screaming. She ripped it from off the wall and flung it across the cell smashing it into the opposite wall. She then turned and proceeded to hammer the metal wall, the force of her blows sent shockwaves throughout the facility; the orbs became red again locking onto her, but she did not care.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You stupid goddamn son of a bitch! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

Blow after blow she rained down on the wall leaving dents the size of craters. Her last punch pierced the metal wall going straight through hitting mountain rock. It was then she remembered her daughter. The night she gave birth to her, Charles was the one who delivered her, and who she secretly gave power of attorney to both oversee her adoption and make sure that no one, not even the General himself, knew she had survived the birth and was alive.

She remembered that when she came out she only cried a little, her little lungs no doubt quickly adjusting to the harsh air because of her genetics. She looked right up at her as if she knew Sophia was her mother.

She held her all night long while the child just looked at her until she fell asleep. The next day Charles took her away to her new parents; she cried for almost the entire week. Sophia pulled her hand out of the wall looking at her fist and remembered what the Director said, that her daughter saved her life.

Her husband was dead, hating him now would solve nothing, and nothing she did, no amount of vengeance would bring him, Charles, nor anyone else back. Her daughter was alive, out there, and she needed her.

She walked over to a bare unscathed wall, sat down, and waited for her time.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

From the command deck of the facility ran by various computer analysts and technicians, the Director watched on the massive flat screen with satisfaction the subsiding of Sophia’s temper tantrum inside of her cell along with Dr. Zimmerman, Ms. Barrett, 3# and #1 the two remaining members of the D.E.A.D.

“See… just a little moody.” The Director motioned to everything being okay. “Probably her time of the month. How goes preparation, doctor?”

“Based on the current DNA sample we have of her, I am sure we will be able to extract viable blood samples of the superior more compatible virus that can be used on future test subjects,” confirmed the Doctor.

“Excellent… when can we expect to begin the procedure?” the Director asked.

“Another half hour of calibrations and we should be ready,” Dr. Zimmerman estimated off the top of his head.

“Sir, General Matheson is on hold,” Ms. Barrett announced. “He wishes to speak with you.”

Director Rosen massaged his nose for the last person he wanted to speak to.

“Put him on the screen,” he sighed.

General Matheson appeared on the screen with his usual stone-faced demeanor wearing his service uniform.

“Report,” he snapped.

“Procedure is scheduled as planned, sir,” reported the Director. “Subject is cooperating and we should have samples within the next hour or so.”

“After the debacle here, I have been forced to put out your fires Rosen,” the General said distastefully. “Which is directing a light to a project not yet ready to be revealed, which also directs light… to… me, and I don’t like the spotlight.”

“Well, sir, with all due respect this wouldn’t have happened if…” the Director went to defend his position.

“Do not preach to me about past failures Rosen,” the General cut him off denying him the chance. “I am a man who moves forward, and the fact is my bloodline was able to produce the results you failed to deliver all of these years; now… what of the child?”

“Safe,” said the Director flatly.

“Take care Rosen… that is my granddaughter in your custody,” the General warned. “Anything happens to her and I would not want to be you. As for her mother, when you’re done stripping the bitch… get rid of her… for good… are we clear?”

“Crystal, sir… crystal,” the Director again flatly acknowledged the General’s orders.

The General signed off as Rosen massaged the bridge of his nose again feeling another migraine coming on.

“I swear,” he groaned, “that man needs more fiber in his diet.”

“Sir… after the procedure shall I begin scanning new candidates for the D.E.A.D project,” Ms. Barrett asked, “now that #2 and #4 are deceased?”

Director Rosen dismissively glanced at the other two remaining members.

“Negative,” he ordered. “The D.E.A.D project will be put on hold pending the trial tests of the new virus.”

#3 glared at #1 then got up walking off.

“I’m going to take a piss,” she yelled out.

The Director scowled his face turning quickly to watch her leave before looking back at Ms. Barrett.

“Did she really need to televise that?” he shuddered.

CHAPTER 24

She sat on the floor humming a little tune, something her mother use to hum to her as a child to help her to sleep. She remembered being in a similar situation almost seven days ago, but that woman sitting paralyzed with fear was no longer there. Sophia waited with a lazy calmness for them to come for her.

As the door slid open she did not even flinch, nor look up at the sound of heavy boots filling the room as two heavily armed guards and two lab techs in light white versions of the guards’ armor walked in. One of them holding the restraints they had on her before was visibly quaking with distress. One of the heavily armored Shock troopers cautiously walked up to her casting a shadow over her.

“Dennison… it’s time,” the first guard announced.

She rolled her eyes, and then sprang to her feet causing everyone in the room to coil back in either fear or precaution. She extended her arms without order waiting for the jittery lab tech to walk up to her and fasten the gravity pressure restraints. The hum of the device meant it restrained her again.

It did not stop her from moving so fast she was literally nose-to-nose with the lab tech.

“Boo,” she whispered.

The lab tech let out a small squeal as he fell to the floor while the guards in the room trained they rifles on her, could have been the fact that even though she was in restraints before, she killed an enhanced soldier with a head-butt to the skull.

“Why so jumpy boys?” she smiled. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

She walked out of the cell with her escorts, who rushed to keep up with her. The guards flanked her while the lab techs hung back a safe distance until they led her into an elevator which took them several levels further down into the facility. The lab techs hugged the walls of the elevator until it opened up and she was lead out.

She moved at a fast brisk place, as she seemed to want to get there in a hurry. Her stride being swift and constant forced her entourage to move double time with her. She moved with purpose as if drawn to the location. Unlike before where she walked with fear and dread of the end, it appeared as if she looked forward to it, almost welcomed it. A smile almost formed on her face until she hit that final turn.

At least a yard away from her destination stood #3 leaned against a wall waiting for her. She appeared to have a dazed look on her face, but when she turned to look at Sophia, there was pure hatred in her eyes; the type one would find in a demon. She had a walk as if she was drunk, but it appeared to be more with insanity.

“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded the second guard.

#3 did not even hear the guard’s words as she focused strictly on Sophia.

“How’s it feel?” she asked her bluntly.

“#3, answer me!” ordered the second guard again.

It was as if only she and Sophia were in that hallway alone. She looked like she had the shakes as she edged closer to Sophia with the intent to pounce on her. Sophia smirked wishing she would.

“How’s it feel to know that your Kill Bill vengeance riding off into the sunset bullshit with that little turd of yours was all for nothing?” #3 asked her question in more detail, “That in a couple of minutes you’re going to be nothing but period lumps in a Petri dish?”

“#3, cut the shit and stand down… now!” ordered the first guard.

Sophia knew what was going on; it appeared the sadistic bitch had a soft spot, and she struck it when she killed #4. It was the only clear explanation to her erratic behavior.

“I wanna know,” #3 continued with tunnel vision on Sophia, “how it feels to know that despite all your so-called strength and power you failed to avenge that two-bit traitorous lying sack of shit for a man that I carved up like a turkey.”

“#3, I told you!” The second guard moved forward to get into #3’s way.

She violently kicked in his kneecap breaking his leg in half, and then grabbed him launching him skull first into a nearby wall where he fell into a heap. A faint groan revealed that he was barely alive. The first guard quickly raised his rifle with laser sighting at #3’s skull as the now terrified lab techs stood there unsure what to do. She was almost within striking distance-taunting Sophia.

“You’re going to go through those doors right now, where these lab geeks are going to tear you apart bit by bit till there is barely anything left,” #3 hissed. “I might just go do the same to that little girl of yours. Maybe I’ll ask the Director if I can keep what’s left after they’re done stripping her of what they need. I could be her mommy… dearest.”

Sophia knew what she was after, but she would not give it to her; instead, she gave her the answer she was not expecting.

“You trying to get a rise out of me little girl,” Sophia tilted her head disappointed. “You don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here? Who you really are? You think you’re some soldier? You believe they’ll pin a Medal of Honor on you when all of this is done? You’re an attack dog… less than a mongrel… another one of this country’s dirty little secrets, a shit stain, due for a deep treatment. Nothing more than a number easily replaced, and will soon be obsolete if they’re successful of making more of me. No one will know who you are, or be told the so called “deeds” you’ve done for your country.”

She leaned in closer looking #3 in her soulless eyes whispering, “Yeah, I know I might die here today because your boss wants my very value DNA. But you… you’re going to die because you’ll now be worthless to him… just like your man, who I killed in front of you.”

“Tell me… do they have a nice little coffin for him all wrapped in a flag with a twenty-one gun salute? Or is he lying on a slab somewhere waiting to be chucked into a furnace like the garbage he is?” Sophia smirked.

#3 visibly enraged moved closer baring her teeth. Her attempt to get under Sophia’s skin backfired, Sophia was the one dousing salt into her open wounds. She wanted to drive her carbon fibered dagger into her skull repeatedly if she knew it would not break on impact against her ultra-dense skin.

#3 leaned forward for one final verbal assault.

“When the police report said forty-one stab wounds they were very accurate,” her fuming voice quivered.

“And that little neurotoxin, the one that paralyzed his muscles but kept his nerve receptors all intact,” she continued to taunt as she moved closer, “it didn’t just make him feel everything… it amplified it… like a cat’s tongue. Poor little Marine tried to scream and cry out your name as you sat across the room from him while I did him… do you know he pissed himself? Your doctor friend had more balls than him… at least he only squealed like a pig when I slit his throat from ear to ear, but nothing gave me greater joy than dressing up and pretending to be you. The bank… the ATM… the drive to Oklahoma… the hotel… being in your skin… wearing your clothes… and imagining the look on your face when you saw yourself doing all those horrible things and not remember doing any of them. I almost creamed myself thinking about it.”

Sophia leaned in closer herself, locking eyes with #3.

“The only reason you’re still standing and breathing,” she came with a growling whisper, “is because there’s still…”

Before she could finish her sentence, D.E.A.D #3 fired a glob of spit into Sophia’s face. She grinned and braced herself waiting for a reaction, waiting to see if she would lunge at her.

Sophia just looked at her with a dull blank emotionless glare as she allowed the saliva to run down her face.

“Still two more left,” she continued to say. “The other one… and the Director… before you die… and when you die… I promise you… you will suffer… and I will watch you die screaming.”

“As much as I find this little verbal catfight entertaining,” boomed Director Rosen’s voice over the PA system in the hallway, “#3… get your narrow white ass out of the way before I turn that dumb blonde skull of yours into mush right in front of her… now.”

A scowl of embarrassment was now plastered over #3’s face as additional guards and a med team showed up to take care of the guard she badly injured. She took her time lazily moving out of the way keeping her eyes locked with Sophia. Sophia continued to her destination once again uninterrupted with a new escort team of eight guards and the original two lab techs. As the double doors slid open it was as she expected it to be, another white-tiled sterilized room with those god-awful operating room lights.

What she did not expect was the massive black-chromed egg in the middle of the room. At least six technicians flocked around it for last minute checks. They all stopped for a minute to gaze on her, the superhuman who they would soon be harvesting.

One by one, they came to their senses quickly going back to the task of readying the egg like chamber. On her face was written a “let’s get this over with” expression while her heart was beating a bit faster on the inside. Being superhuman did not mean her fear was gone, that it would not eventually set in. Her continuation to advance was purely motivated on someone depending on her.

As they finally neared the pod, it cracked open in the middle emitting a frosty smoke that bellowed out as the two halves slid open. She saw a metallic cross like table inside similar to the lethal injection table back at the Mountain View Unit, only this one had a metallic coiled harness and restraints for each of her limbs. For her head, there was a helmet comprised of a metallic crystalline material attached to a cylinder.

Just as she suspected, there were ports that aligned with the ports on her bodysuit. Sophia also noticed that the egg attached to a cylinder base, leading down to an opening in the floor in the shape of the egg itself. Her guess was once she was strapped in; the egg would close lowering her down somewhere. What a way to go.

One of the technicians that escorted her to the room finally came over and removed the restraints from her wrists, allowing her to wipe #3’s spittle from her face with her forearm and nurse her wrists, which had to endure kilotons of pressure on them.

An armored Shock Trooper tapped her back with the butt of his rifle.

“Get in,” he ordered.

She ignored his order still nursing her wrists, planted in place refusing to move.

The Shock Trooper Guard tapped her much harder.

“I said get…” he began to raise his voice.

She responded with a vicious backhand to his helmet not even looking at him as she sent him flying across the room into a wall before falling into a heap on the floor. Rifles once again trained on her as technicians backed away to the nearest wall in fright. She continued to nurse circulation back into her wrists. It was one final act of defiance.

“Is there a problem?” the Director’s voice came over the PA system.

“You’re damn right there’s a problem,” she said, “I’m not moving an inch until I see my end of the bargain fulfilled.”

“Very well,” the Director sighed.

One of the monitors in the room came to life showing Mark Armitage holding the hand of Sophia’s daughter. Sophia’s smile appeared then quickly disappeared as she saw the troubled expression on Armitage’s face, while the little girl looked around aimlessly without an apparent care in the world. The screen panned out to show them surrounded by Shock Troopers pointing their rifles at them; off to the side was Agent Slater in his own light Shock Trooper armor gear brandishing a large machete like blade.

The remaining guards standing in the room with her swarmed in front of the only door blocking it. Sophia now enraged prepared to rush the doors she came through tearing whoever was in her way apart.

“That’s not the deal!” she howled.

“Go ahead… try it,” the Director dared her. “She will be dead by the time you get through those guards and tear those doors open.”

“You back stabbing son of a bitch!” she screamed, “That was not the deal!”

“Well, I am changing the deal!” he snapped back at her. “You now see your daughter alive and, well, the deal now is you will step into that egg to ensure that her life continues. Frankly I am tired of this drama.”

“I am tired of the General… your dead husband, and I am tired of you standing in the way of progress. I have waited long enough, and I shall wait no… more,” ranted the Director. “So you have until I count to three, and then you can rip through those guards, and tear open those doors, because the next thing you will see are the guards on the monitor opening fire on your daughter and Agent Armitage. Followed by Agent Slater lopping off your daughter’s head with the blade in his hand ensuring she can’t regenerate and become like you.”

“Tear this place apart afterwards I really don’t care,” he continued to taunt her, apparently at his limit, “because afterwards you will have to live with the guilt that your selfishness caused the gruesome death of your daughter. You alone will live with that guilt for the rest of your life, which will apparently be for a long life span. So decide now, the chamber… or mourning over a headless bullet riddled corpse? One…”

“All right!” She held her hand up. “All right…”

She wiped away tears of frustration, and turned, giving in; there was nothing to think about, her life was worthless in comparison to the life of her daughter, and she did not want Agent Armitage’s blood on her hands either.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

What she did not know was that Armitage remained locked in his cell along with a very-much-alive Charles Hampton. Behind the cameras, Armitage removed his face to reveal one of the many agents of the Director standing in for him. The Shock Troopers lowered their weapons upon Agent Slater’s command.

“Feed has been looped… all clear,” a technician in the room reported.

Agent Slater walked over to the little girl, still brandishing the blade, looking down at her with a smile on his face.

“See?” He shrugged. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? All make believe.”

The little girl does not answer him as she looked around with a fretful look on her face unclear why she was in this place alone without her parents and with no knowledge that her maternal parent was about to lay down her life for her.

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Back at the lab, Sophia, with no assistance, stepped in and laid on the table. She could feel the cold of the steel through the thin skintight layer she had on making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Cautiously the technicians came over and tried to position her body to align with the ports of her suit to the ones on the table.

They called on the help of some of the guards to assist in moving her due to her immense weight. As her exterior ports fell into the interior ports of the table, a technician flipped open a panel on the table, typing in a sequence code activating the table, which proceeded to lock all of the ports together, fastening her to the table via the bodysuit. The guards that assisted the technicians joined the rest of their squad watching with their guns partially lowered as the technicians applied the harness, restraints and finally the helmet itself.

Lights on the helmet, the harness and each of the restraints came on serving a double function of both keeping her restrained during the procedure while constantly checking her vital signs.

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Back at his observation deck, Director Rosen was once again smiling as Doctor Zimmerman oversaw the final preps before the operation.

“You see everything is fine,” the Director gestured to Ms. Barrett. “All she needed was a little motivation.”

“Would you have done it?” Ms. Barrett nervously asked. “Murder the General’s granddaughter like that?”

“Yes, I would have,” he said with no hesitation.

The fact that he did not flinch or pause to think about the question unnerved Ms. Barrett; she tried her best to hide it.

“Does it trouble you, Ms. Barrett? Are you having thoughts?” the Director asked.

“No sir… not at all,” Ms. Barrett answered with almost no hesitation.

“Very good,” he said cheerfully. “I do value your services, wouldn’t want you to miss another Administrative Assistant’s day. Dr. Zimmerman, whenever you are ready.”

“Subject is secure, vital signs are online and monitored,” Dr. Archifeld Zimmerman gave the order. “Activate fields and prepare to close and lower the containment unit.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

The lights on the helmet, harness, and restraints brightened as she now felt immense pressure on her skull, wrists, ankles, and chest. It was similar to the field in the restraints she had on but a lot more powerful.

“No wonder the damn country is going broke,” she muttered to herself. “They’re making crazy shit like this.”

It was a joke to take her mind off what was going to happen next. She knew what they were planning. They needed actual blood samples and fresh DNA where they could extract a pure form of the virus within her. In order to do that they would have to pierce her near impenetrable skin, and with no anesthesia on the planet capable of knocking her out, it meant she was going to feel every bit of it, which meant it was going to hurt… at lot.

As the hatch closed and the pod lowered into the floor, she said one final prayer with the time she had left.

“Lord… thank you for taking me this far… thank you for letting me see my little girl,” she prayed earnestly as tears fell from her eyes. “Thank you for giving a sinner like me a little more time, even though she had vengeance in her heart. Now I ask of you one more favor… if my road ends today… please spare my little girl this same fate. Please…”

“Begin super heating syringes and moving them into position,” directed Dr. Zimmerman.

What Sophia did not know was the pod she was in descended closer to the atomic fusion reactor, which powered the entire facility. The power of the reactor channeled into the cylinder and into the pod itself where it superheated spike like syringes within the ports of the table. The power of the reactor would also deliver the force needed to drive the syringes into her body. She could feel the heat building up behind the table.

“Iridium syringes had been plasma superheated to 3.2 million degrees Fahrenheit, estimated 85 tons of psi force for penetration,” reported the technician to Dr. Zimmerman.

“Initiate injection… now,” ordered Dr. Zimmerman.

A press of a button casted Sophia into hell; white pain could not describe the sheer agony she felt as each of the plasma super-heated syringe spikes pierced her arms, legs, and back, each one straight down to the bone. It was so excruciating she was barely able to scream or cry; tears poured down her eyes as she whimpered while her body shook violent from the spikes roasting her body from the inside.

“Doctor… extraction syringes have successfully pierced subject’s skin,” informed the lab technician. “Blood pressured has spiked to 200 over 190.”

“Super-cool syringes,” directed Dr. Zimmerman, “and then proceed with the sample extraction.”

“Yes, sir,” the lab tech acknowledged.

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With another couple of computer key strokes, Sophia went into spasm-like convulsions as the spikes within her body went from heat almost equivalent to the sun to sub-zero temperatures; she could see her breath with every exhale. She wished she could black out, but her regenerative healing was keeping her awake through the whole ordeal as it fought to heal her.

She then felt it, fluid sucked from her body at a very fast rate, each syringe attached to a thick tube that ran from the table in the pod, through the cylinder it was attached to, down to a secured lab filling five two-gallon canisters of her blood.

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“Samples successfully being extracted,” reported the lab tech, “subject’s blood pressure has lowered, but remains slightly elevated.”

“Extraordinary,” the doctor said to the Director. “She has already filled up each of the canisters half way… her regenerative capabilities are unparalleled.”

An emergency message sensor appeared on one of the lab technician’s screen in charge of periodically monitoring the pod.

“Sir! Something is dissolving the syringes within her body,” nervously informed the lab maintenance technician.

An on-screen x-ray scan showed that the Iridium syringes, one of the hardest metals known to man appeared to be slowly eroding within her body.

“Her body is going into defense mode,” Dr. Zimmerman turned to the Director, “trying to protect itself, she will soon become stronger than the Iridium in her body.”

“I think we’ve got enough out of her, don’t you think, Doctor?” The Director exhaled before taking control. “End the extraction process and reheat the syringes to maximum capacity.”

“Yes, sir,” obeyed the lab tech.

Ms. Barrett turned away officially uncomfortable with the scene as Sophia let out a blood curdling scream to near insanity as the spikes were once again re-heated to scorching temperatures searing her once again from the inside of her body. Instinctively she fought to break free, the restraints delivering kilotons of pressure to keep her restrained were now creaking and cracking as if they were about to snap any second despite her weakened state.

“Fire the cranial spike and flood the chamber,” ordered the Director.

“Firing spike, sir”, announced one of the lab techs.

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In an instant, Sophia’s eyes were widen and dilated as a heated spike from the headrest of the table fired through the helmet and pierced the back of her skull into her brain tissue. Her body went limp and consumed by the raw energy of the fusion reactor below now channeled into the pod for her destruction.

Only her bodysuit designed to withstand the heat nearly equivalent to the sun remained intact as the rest of her burned slowly down to the muscle and eventually down to the bone. It was unclear if she felt anything after the spike pierced her skull.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

“Subject’s heart in cardiac arrest… subject has now flat lined,” reported the lab technician. “Heart Failure at 13:56… Officially brain dead at 13:58… Subject is officially deceased at 13:59 PM.”

“Shall we stop, and extract more samples?” the doctor asked the Director.

“No need.” the Director took a breath finally glad the whole ordeal was over. “We have acquired all of the samples we need, and we have her daughter… incinerate all remaining material.”

Dr. Zimmerman motioned to the lab technician to increase the atomic fusion incineration to quicken the destruction of Sophia’s remains.

Director Rosen with a “somber” look on his face turned his back to the screen.

“Thank you, Ms. Dennison.” He bowed his head. “Your contribution to your country will not be forgotten.”

HEART BEAT…

Director Rosen’s head slowly rose thinking either his hearing was off or that he heard feedback from the audio speakers, but it happened again and again becoming more powerful with each second.

“What’s going on?” the Director asked for the first time visibly shaken and disturbed. “What is going on?”

“Heart beat and vitals have returned and are increasing, systems show subject is regenerating rapidly, atomic fusion is not destroying her cells anymore,” the first lab tech nervously fired off.

“Sir! The reactor is losing power!” rattled off a second lab technician.

“Losing power?! How?! By how much?!” the Director frantically demanded to know.

“By forty percent!” the second lab tech reported. “The subject is…”

“I know what the subject is doing!” Director Rosen yelled back at him. “Cut the power and tell me how she is doing it!”

“We’re… we’re trying, sir!” he said frantically. “Initiating emergency shutdown parameters!”

Director Rosen looked over to a now terrified, yet fascinated, Dr. Zimmerman with his knuckles in his mouth. He muttered to himself as he ran a rainstorm of calculations on how life found a way again. The Director marched over to the doctor grabbing him by his arm to shake him back to some form of reality in order to find out what the hell was going on.

“Doctor… what is going on?” The Director shook him demanding an answer. “You confirmed that the cells could be killed by high plasma based energy… fusion energy… because it did not have a solid form for her cells to analyze and defend against… what is happening?!”

“It needed time… and we gave it to it… it needed time…” rambled the doctor.

“What needed time?” He feverishly shook him to his senses.

“Her body… we… we got it all wrong…” he said with an almost hysterical chuckle.

“Make sense, man!” The Director slammed him up against one of the super computers in the room.

“We… we thought that her brain had developed an independent higher function calculating and instructing the rest of the body to create defenses,” the doctor timidly looked up explaining to him, “so if we destroyed the brain her body would die, but that’s not the case… each of her cells has its own higher function. Like organic versions of our nanites but far more advanced, they work as a collective network, which means even if the vital organs fail, the functioning cells work together continuing repairs and building defenses.”

“But why the massive energy drain?” the Director demanded to know.

“It… it needed time to analyze the threat attacking it,” the doctor continued. “Don’t you see? The cells breakdown the material in order to analyze it so that it can build future defenses, plasma rounds are pure energy unlike a bullet slug lodged in her body. The second the plasma struck her body, it caused damage burning and killing cells and then dispersed not giving her living cells time to analyze the attack and determine the best solution to defend against it. Energy however still has some mass to it! We’ve exposed her body to enough of it via the spikes and flooding the chamber giving it all the material it needed to analyze and come up with a final solution.”

“What solution?!” the Director yelled frantically, wanting a straight answer without the scientific jargon.

“A… a new form of sustenance,” he finally revealed.

The Director swallowed hard at Doctor Zimmerman’s answer.

“How is that possible?” he shuddered.

“It’s basic science,” chuckled the doctor with hysterical fear. “Our bodies are made up of protons, neutrons and electrons, the same properties that are within atomic energy… the average human body can generate between 10 and 100 millivolts of electricity. With hers beyond any fatal ramifications… it’s the only logical choice.”

Director Rosen went from being his calm, cool, and collected self to a man who appeared to be having a stroke with pants full of fecal matter. At that moment, the emergency lights came on via the backup electrical generators, as the power to the fusion generator shut down entirely; but it was both clear and apparent…. the damage was already done.

“We didn’t kill her… we made her stronger,” trembled the doctor.

“What do we do?” the Director shook the doctor one final time like an eight ball praying he’d give him the answer he wanted to hear.

The doctor looked up locking eyes with Director to give him the only solution they had left.

“We… run,” he whispered.

CHAPTER 25

Back within the pod it was dead silence, the inside was still smoking from the raw power it was flooded with to kill its current resident. Sophia continued to lay lifeless still locked in her badly damaged restraints despite readings dictating otherwise, her body once again fully healed, including her pierced skull and brain. The Iridium syringes dissolved completely within her body, processed by her cells. She survived an event no normal human being should have had to endure.

Her face still appeared empty, the damage done irreparable despite her abilities. Until a faint blue light began to flicker in her eyes, and then grow.

The pod she was in exploded emitting a raw blue energy that expanded taking out whatever was underneath it, namely the partially powered reactor and everything above and around it obliterating half the base while shaking the mountain it was in. It also forced the residents of Klamath and other towns to come out of their homes and places of business to view what appeared to be the destructive force of a miniature nuke ripping through the side of the mountain.

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Outside the Black Bear diner, patrons and staff members walked out thunderstruck by the destructive force they just witnessed and the smoke now bellowing out of the once volcanic mountain.

“That’s… Mount McLoughlin,” confirmed Bernie nervously.

“They found Eric Dunbar up there like an hour ago after his accident,” Carolann chimed in.

The two of them looked at each other realizing there was a possibility that the person of ridicule may actually have been screaming the truth about the mountaintop.

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Back at the base, the situation was total unadulterated chaos to the seventh level of hell. Personnel that were still alive scrambled for their lives with the new objective… survival.

Back at the detention area, Mark pulled himself off the floor staggering about the place. Apparently, part of the cellblock was right under the blast area.

“What the… Hampton! Hampton!” he hollered. “You dead?!”

“No! What the hell happened?!” yelled Charles from his cell.

“A… it could be Dennison… B… it could be Dennison… either way all hell has broken loose,” Mark formulated.

He examined his door, either by blessing or luck his door cracked open due to a malfunction or the force of the explosion.

He got a good grip, dug in and growled pulling on the door, opening it wide enough for him slide through. He found Hampton’s door cracked open as well, which meant it was definitely a malfunction throughout the entire facility. He went to work pulling his door open along with Hampton helping from the other side finally getting him out.

“Thanks… so what’s the plan?” Charles huffed.

“Find Dennison’s daughter… and get the hell out of here… in that order… you feel up to it?” Mark asked.

“Lead the way,” motioned Charles.

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Upstairs at the control observation deck, the chaos continued. Due to the blast, debris dropped from the ceiling killing two technicians instantly. The remaining technicians continued with their duties rattling off damage report after damage report.

“Over forty percent of the base destroyed from the initial blast, seventy percent of the facility systems are down,” reported a male lab technician.

“Casualties reported on almost every level!” a female lab technician confirmed.

“Where is the subject?!” demanded the Director.

“Don’t know, sir. All surveillance systems are down… we’re literally blind!” relayed the first lab technician.

“Sir,” Ms. Barrett nervously beckoned to the Director, “General Matheson is on the line!”

The Director swallowed hard as he waved her over; she patched the call through her tablet where an extremely displeased General Matheson sat.

“It is all over the news,” he roared. “What is going on over there?!”

“Sir…” Director Rosen tried to explain the situation, “we’ve run into a slight situation…”

“Is she dead?!” was the only answer the General wanted to know.

“Sir…” was all the Director could utter. For the first time, he was at lost for words.

“Is… she… dead?!” was the only thing the General wanted to hear.

He could not answer him, he could not lie and he could not tell the truth because for the first time in his life he did not know what was happening. He was not in control, giving the General all the answer he needed.

“You have disappointed me greatly Director,” said General Matheson looking at him like a bug, “and forced me to take matters into my own hands in order to clean up your mess. You have exactly twenty-five minutes to evacuate your location with all the materials and my granddaughter, and if I see you with one and not the other, you will wish you stayed where you were. Twenty… five… minutes.”

The transmission ended with the Director swallowing hard knowing what the General was referencing.

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In Washington, the General sat at his desk. He pulled out a key from out of his shirt attached to a chain around his neck. He snapped the chain off. With the key, he unlocked one of the draws revealing a digital safe. He then punched in a security code opening the safe and reached in grabbing a black Land Rover military S8 3 cellphone with NSA encryption technology. He slowly dialed a number and waited as it rung.

A male voice on the other end responded first. “Sir.”

“This is General Bernard Matheson initiating Deadman Protocol,” he said without hesitate giving the command code. “Activation code Alpha Bravo Omega 61794385921783474969.”

The voice on the other end confirmed, “Voice imprint recognized… activation code has been accepted…orders will be carried out, sir. Time of executed order?”

“Twenty-Four minutes,” ordered the General.

“Yes, sir,” said the voice on the other end.

General Matheson shut off the phone slowly placing it on the desk. He then turned looking out of the window clasping his hands together at the flag waving outside.

“For the good of the country,” he muttered.

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Back at the base Rosen turned to Ms. Barrett with a look of clear fear on his face.

He quickly turned to one of the technicians still alive.

“Can you confirm if the helipad was destroyed or is it still intact?” he barked at him.

“Can’t confirm, sir, surveillance is still down,” reiterated the technician.

To which the Director ran over grabbing him. He screamed in his face, “Call the damn pilot and find out if he’s still alive and if the helicopter and pad is still intact!”

“Sir… I’ve already done it… the pilot said the helipad was not badly damaged and the helicopter is ready for departure,” Ms. Barrett quickly confirmed for him.

The Director shoved the technician back in his seat and pointed to her.

“Get Agent Slater,” he commanded, “tell him to meet us there with the child.”

He quickly turned to Dr. Archifeld Zimmerman.

“Coordinate the move of the canisters to the helipad as well,” he instructed him, “four minutes! Now!”

He then gave his final order to remaining technicians.

“Sound the evacuation alarm!” he yelled.

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As the alarm blared, personnel and guards scrambled to evacuate. As a squad of guards ran together in formation, one straggled behind and became prey to Mark who bum rushed him slamming him up against a wall. It was a struggle as a stronger, younger soldier in body armor overpowered Armitage going for his rifle; Charles Hampton growing a pair jumped on his back trying to execute a rear naked choke.

The guard used the back of his helmet-covered head to smack him in the nose, busting it open, and then broke free knocking him down with a spinning elbow. During the commotion, Mark managed to snag the knife from the soldier’s boot and drive it underneath his chin as he turned back around to deal with him.

The soldier gagged choking on his own blood as he fell into a heap. Armitage crouched over to Hampton nursing a busted nose.

“You alright, man?” Mark asked grateful for the help.

“Yeah… I don’t get it,” he said blowing bloody snot on the floor. “It worked on TV.”

“You didn’t keep your chin tucked in,” Mark grinned helping Hampton up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw two more soldiers coming around the corner.

“Look out!” he screamed.

Hampton pushed Mark into a deep doorway entrance before taking a hail of gunfire. Armitage quickly ducked down grabbing the dead soldier’s rifle staying low. He returned fire gunning down the two soldiers as the firepower from his rifle was the only thing capable of piercing their body armor for kill shots. He does a quick check to see if anyone else was coming, then grabbed a bloodied Hampton wheezing and coughing up blood propping him up against a nearby wall.

“You gotta go man… you gotta go…” said Charles, trying desperately to breath.

“Not without the man who saved my ass,” Mark tried to help him up.

“I done, man,” Charles stopped him, “and don’t tell me I’m not… I’m a doctor...”

Charles cracked a nervous smile as Mark grabbed his hand, which shook as he appeared to be going into shock.

“Dr. Melissa Green… in Baltimore,” he wheezed, “she has… the samples and data… if you see Sophia… do not… tell her… I died here… would break her heart… promise me… promise me…”

“I promise,” Mark gave his word.

“Go… get her little girl… and get the hell out of here… in that order…” Charles coughed. He took three more deep breaths before the light went out in him.

Mark closed his eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder putting his head against his.

“Another kid gone over this bullshit.” He shook his head.

Mark picked up the rifle and detached the dead soldier’s holster and side arm quickly snapping it on. He then looked at the late Charles Hampton one final time before running off to finish his mission.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

At the helipad, which was still intact, Director Rosen power-walked with Ms. Barrett trotting behind followed by four heavily armed Shock Troopers, two with mini-guns ready for anything. Agent Slater showed up with Sophia’s daughter carrying her. From time to time, the entire base violently shook with massive explosions going off. Director Rosen did not know if it was the aftermath of the first explosion or if something was coming. Either way he was not waiting to find out. As he and his entourage neared the black Sikorsky private helicopter to hall ass back to the airport, he was bewildered to see a petrified Dr. Zimmerman standing there as if he had seen the Devil himself.

“Dr. Zimmerman! Is the cargo loaded? Where is the pilot and extra security?!” yelled the Director, wondering why he was just standing there.

Out of nowhere, someone or something tossed the three bodies of the former guards followed by the pilot from the entrance of the helicopter like sacks of rice hitting the pavement. A cold chill went down the Director’s spine as #3 and #1 walked down the steps of the copter extremely different from when they last saw them. They were taller and much stronger, they were not wearing body armor and the skintight bodysuits they usually wore under their armor fit extremely tight over their now powerful physiques. #3 appeared to have taken the boots from one of the dead guards since hers apparently no longer fit, and they were carrying none of their usual weapons.

“A slight change of plans Director,” smiled #3, “We’re taking the blood… and the child.”

“Ms. Barrett,” the Director turned to her with no further stomach for insubordination.

Without hesitation, Ms. Barrett typed in the termination codes for the nanites within #3 and #1, but nothing happened.

She typed it in repeatedly, but the screen displayed the same thing. “NO NANITES DETECTED.”

Ms. Barrett turned to Director Rosen with a horrified look on her face as if she was about to wet herself.

The Director quickly turned to his Shock Troopers in desperation as Agent Slater backed away putting down the child drawing his Glock 23 from his side holster.

“Kill them!” he yelled.

Dr. Zimmerman hauled tail on his little legs cowering on the other side of the helicopter as the Shock Troopers with the mini-guns stepped forward and opened fire on #3 and #1 only to confirm what the Director already knew. The nanotech weaving in their bodysuit made them already somewhat bullet proof, but they still should have gone down to the blazing force of the mini-guns, especially with shots to the face. They stood there like metal pillars as the bullets created for piercing the densest of metals ricochet off them. Signifying they were now officially impervious to conventional firepower with or without the bodysuits.

Agent Slater did not even bother firing a shot as he moved farther back with the child to avoid a ricochet. After bathing in their new found power for half minute, #3 and #1 moved in for the kill, forcing the other two troopers to open fire.

#3 facing off against the first mini-gun toting trooper grabbed the rotating barrel crushing and stopping it cold. The bullets still fed through the barrel causing the gun to explode in both the Shock Trooper’s and her face. The Shock Trooper barely survived the explosion due to his armor, while #3 stood without a scratch. As he tried to crawl away, she grabbed him by one of his legs, leaped into the air with him, and then came down smashing him into the concrete floor of the helipad like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum breaking a doll she did not like. She then chucked him over the helipad platform to his death if he was not dead already.

#1 went straight to the point as he walked through the bullets bouncing off him. He snatched the mini-gun out of the Shock Trooper’s hands and tore it in two in front of him. The Shock Trooper then went for the automatic rifle on his back but not before #1 grabbed him by the front of his armor and punched a hole through his chest.

He then pulled his arm out and took the Shock Trooper’s body launching it with one arm taking out the one behind him still trying to take him out with his automatic rifle. #1 then leaped into the air and came down delivering a crushing stomp to the back of the third Shock Trooper breaking every bone is his upper torso for good measure killing him instantly.

#3 used her new found speed to finesse her next kill by blitzing the last Shock Trooper who was now nervously firing away unable to hit her. She sped behind him getting him in a waist lock and German suplexed him skull first into the concrete; she does not let go as she rolled with him taking him up as his now limp and probably lifeless body dropped his rifle.

#3 lifted him high in the air into a reverse military press.

“I always wanted to do this,” she said with a savage grin on her face.

She delivered a backbreaker snapping the Shock Trooper in half-like a twig before rolling him off her knee.

The helipad became as silent as a graveyard with only the mountain wind blowing and the sound of a whimpering Ms. Barrett in hysterical shock still typing in the code to activate the Nanites only for her tablet screen to come up with the same results. #1 walked up to her taking the tablet from out of her hand.

“I think you know by now… that’s not going to work darling,” #1 smiled. “Funny thing about this virus… it apparently kills anything it sees as a possible threat to the system… they were destroyed the minute we injected the blood into us.”

“Please… please,” Ms. Barrett broke down crying.

“It’s okay… it’s okay… I just need the tablet,” he calmly reassured her.

#1 walked away, giving Ms. Barrett some sense of relief. He delivered a vicious backhand to her upper body knocking her out of her flip-flops. The force of the blow sent her flying through the thick glass circular wall of the helipad at break neck speed where she fell several thousand feet hitting the hood of a transport vehicle below; the final resting place for now her lifeless body.

“But I don’t need you,” he sighed motioning to #3. “I got the data.”

The Director tried to slink away in the chaos only to run into #3 now standing before him.

She latched onto his throat hoisting him high into the air.

“God it’s going to take a while for me to get use to this,” she grinned.

“How… how?” the Director Rosen gasped trying to breath.

“Arthur… Arthur… for all of your ‘see all, know all, two steps ahead’ bullshit,” she pulled him closer whispering, “you still talk in your sleep. And your security is extremely laxed when you’re getting some. You don’t think I know that you order the visual and audio features to my nanites shut down, so people don’t see the ridiculous faces or sounds you make while you’re sticking me? Sedatives also helped; guess where I put them?”

“Hint,” she licked his ear, “it wasn’t the wine glasses you were licking it off of. Then with the nice fancy training I was given, I was able to rummage through your computer as you undetected and found what I needed.”

“Additional access codes, info on how the virus actually works. It was just a matter of timing,” she rattled off, “the original plan was to get you and Ms. Barrett in one of our usual play sessions tonight knowing you’d be in a celebrating mood. I’d kill you both… and shut down the Nanites via her tablet which the little bitch carries everywhere long enough for #1 to secretly breach the lab and get the samples.”

“The ruckus Dennison made screwed up our plan which was kind of disappointing because I really wanted the chance to roll around in your blood,” she shrugged, “but made it easier for us to get to the blood samples when you had it transported here like I knew you would. With communication and surveillance down you have no idea where we were or what we were doing, luck was also on our side as the late Ms. Barrett was apparently too scared shitless about what was going on to check our whereabouts. You apparently didn’t care either as it was clear you were going to leave without us… you didn’t even notice #1 leaving the deck when all hell broke loose… so after we killed everyone bringing the samples here save for the doctor, we injected ourselves with the blood… it bonded with us in a matter of minutes. Then all we have to do was help each other shove our vanadium carbon fiber blades under each of our ribcages and the virus just went to work… it hurt… a lot… but as you can see totally worth it… apparently because we’re already enhanced everything just works faster… which is just dandy.”

“You… have… no… idea… what… you… have… done… dead… dead man,” he uttered barely able to breathe as she applied more pressure to his throat.

“You became a dead man when you made me stand powerless watching as that bitch killed #4.” #3 gritted her teeth. “By the way… I may have been screwing you, but I was in love with him… lucky for me I also love #1.”

“We like keeping it in the family,” #1 shrugged.

“It’s true Arthur… we love killing… it’s like crack or candy to us… but we love killing on our terms. You think you’re any different from the pieces of shit you send us to kill? You sit in your high priced suit never getting your hands bloodied while people like me go bathing in it willingly—changing the world as you reap the reward.” She bared her fangs at the Director unmasking her rage and hatred. “It’s not fair… and it’s going to change.”

“That’s why we’re taking the blood, the good doctor who has nowhere to run!” She screamed for Dr. Zimmerman to hear, “and the kid… we’re going to create a world where only the truly fit and worthy survives.”

#3 crushed and snapped the Director’s neck with her right bare hand before dropping him to the floor.

“A world where we crush people like you… underneath our heels,” she stomped on his skull crushing it like a melon while caving in the floor underneath her.

Some blood splattered up on her as an insane grin appeared on her face. She then looked up at Agent Slater with the little girl. Slater took the hint that he was no match for the duo as he held his hands up with his gun dangling from his thumb and slowly backed away from the child.

“I don’t want any part of this,” swallowed Agent Slater. “You can take the little brat and…”

Before he can finish his sentence, the ground exploded behind him. A hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and flung him like a ragdoll several feet at great speed hitting the top entranceway of the helipad. He fell hitting the concrete in a painful and awkward way. The little girl quietly turned looking up to see her mother standing tall with her dreadlocks covering her face which forced #3 and #1 to back up taking defensive stances. The metal ports on her bodysuit either melted off or were absorbed into her body revealing not a mark on her where the Iridium spike syringes pierced her.

As Agent Slater weakly attempted to struggle to his feet, Mark finally showed up pulling out his side arm that he acquired and lit him up with two shots to the chest and one to the skull thus ending Agent Slater.

“I told you… no one points a gun at me and gets away with it,” Mark said fulfilling his promise.

“You’re late,” Sophia said not looking at him.

“Yeah, well… place is a rat’s maze… had to get past the rats,” he explained.

“Take my daughter and go,” she ordered him.

“What about…” he motioned to the remaining D.E.A.D.

“Don’t worry about them,” she said with no hesitation. “They belong to me now… go.”

Mark nodded as he picked the little girl up. Without even knowing him, she putted her arms around his neck resting her head on his shoulder, which took his aback for a second. He speed walked off the helipad back whence he came from. The little girl raised her head a bit watching Sophia who continued to stare #3 and #1 down. Armitage found the emergency stairs he originally came through taking them back downstairs hoping they lead all the way to the bottom and out.

“One down… one more to go,” Sophia addressed #3.

“There’s two of us bitch, much stronger than when you first came here,” #3 warned her, “and if you chose to fight with us, we’re only going to get stronger… so why don’t we just call this even… I took something from you… you took something from me… walk away, and let bygones be bygones… what do you say?”

“Things will never be even between us, and you’ll never be stronger… than me,” Sophia informed her.

“Cocky little slash aren’t ya,” cackled #3, mocking her. “What are you, over nine thousand now?!”

“You know in the movies… in the final scene… when the good guy and bad guy fight,” asked Sophia with her eyes closed. “Bad guy gets the upper hand during most of the fight… but the good guy finds a way in the last minute to win.”

“This ain’t a movie,” #3 scowled reminding her.

Sophia finally opened her eyes to reveal them no longer normal at all; it appeared as if her irises and pupils were completely gone as her eyes had a deep blue glow from the raw energy surging behind them.

“You’re so damn right about that,” she scowled.

Before they could even react, she was face to face with #3, only a trail of red, white, and black with a blue energy signature from her eyes revealed how she got from point “a” to point “b.” She was now doing what John Wesley Shipp needed special effects to do.

In one motion, she grabbed D.E.A.D # 3 by the front of her bodysuit, hoisting her into the air. With a spin, she flung her effortlessly into the helicopter sending her and it through an unscathed portion of the circular glass of the helipad, revealing a still cowering Dr. Zimmerman almost crushed. A stunned D.E.A.D #1 reacted too slow as Sophia zipped and stood before him with her hand inches from his face.

Blue energy burst from out of her pores flowing into her hand forming a blue ball of pure energy that grew in the palm of her hand to the size of a baseball and equal to the intensity within her eyes. It was like falling into the deadly charm of a cobra.

“Now… you die,” are the final words #1 heard from her.

The sound of the blast was almost pure white noise, while the blast radius of the energy forming in her palm went from the size of a baseball to the height and width of a freight train. It engulfed everything in its path including #1 and his screams. The blast tore through the facility and the mountain escaping to the outside where it went god knows where before dissipating; not even ashes was left of #1; while two other explosions rocked the facility.

One was the helicopter falling to its destruction taking out any and everything in its path in the process, which were several more levels of the facility not touched by Sophia.

The other was #3 hurled at a velocity equivalent to a railgun, sending her out the side of the mountain like a missile projectile into the Oregon air.

She screamed her lungs out while throwing a couple of curse words in as she fell like a meteorite into the forest of the Sky Lakes Wilderness hitting with a thunderous impact of a wrecking ball destroying several ancient trees in the area. Her dense body created several human size craters before finally stopping. As she tried to rise, she collapsed onto her knees battered and bloodied, her regenerative healing not working fast enough to repair the damage done.

As she tried to fight to her feet once again, she heard the sound of a sonic boom exploding out of the mountain. She beheld the sight of an airborne Sophia flying out of the hole she created while blasting #1 to atoms. It was clearly not one of her regular super leaps as she hovered in midair due to the energy she was dispersing at the bottom of her feet.

She soared down to where #3 landed stopping again hovering in midair, she then slowly lowered herself to Earth sending dirt and debris flying everywhere as a defiant and enraged #3 stood waiting for her.

When she was low enough, she dispersed the energy giving her flight landing gently to the ground so that she could stand toe to toe with the last of the D.E.A.D.

“How…” #3, who has seen everything demanded to know in disbelief at what she saw.

“The energy from the reactor that was being used to kill me… somehow it siphoned into me like a charger to a car battery,” Sophia confirmed. “Apparently my body likes it. So much, it involuntarily blew me out of the pod taking half the mountain to get to the reactor, which was below me. Cells just went to town taking the rest of the energy. That’s why there was no fall out… as for now being the ‘fastest woman alive’ and the ‘up up and away’ I forgot to mention that I also have the ability to not only remember, but physically duplicate moves from anyone or anything I’ve ever seen in my life real or unreal, movies… television… video games… just with a thought.”

“If you think you can scare me…” #3 bared her teeth trembling with a mixture of rage and fear.

“I don’t really give a shit if you’re afraid of me or not,” Sophia laughed, cutting her off without a care in the world. “I just know I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands.”

“Fuck…” was #3’s verbal answer to everything.

Before she could finish her vulgar sentence, a calm and cold Sophia for the second time was already in her face.

“No… fuck you,” she answered back.

And just as D.E.A.D # 3 was not prepared to be flung through the facility like a pillow, she was not prepared for the lightning straight right punch to the chest that propelled her once again through the forest shattering more trees as she came crashing back down at the foot of Mount McLoughlin by the now abandoned security wall.

As she fought to her feet again fighting to breathe after the cannon shot punch, she saw a red, white, and black blur coming at her with a speed that was uprooting trees. She barely covered up to defend as she was hit with a punch backed by a Mach 15 sonic boom knocking her through the security wall back into the facility obliterating everything in her path, and almost sending her out the other side of the mountain.

The impact ignited an array of explosions and caused a section of the facility to come down on itself. Debris and smoke rained down everywhere some of it burying #3.

It was clear Sophia wanted to keep the battle at the mountain so no one else got hurt.

D.E.A.D # 3 managed break free of the rubble that fell on her as she clutched her chest spitting up blood. She was still regenerating, but her body could not keep up with the damage Sophia was dealing to her. The last mountain destroying punch felt as if she pulverized both her forearms that she used to block the punch aimed at her head. It was also clear that Sophia was pulling her punches; she could have easily obliterated her defense and punched her head off if she wanted to.

She wanted to drag this now one-sided fight out and make #3 suffer as she promised.

#3 would not go quietly into the night. As Sophia walked through the smoke and rubble coming for her, #3 snatched up the largest slab of concrete debris that had to weigh nearly eight tons. She swung for the hills hoping to knock her into the next town or at least stagger her. The slab just shattered on impact like glass hitting a tank.

“You wanna try again?” Sophia asked taunting her.

#3 growled taking what was left of the debris in her hands and waffled her skull with it like something out of a wrestling show, but that piece just crumbled on impact against the immovable force.

She took what was left of the debris that was now half her body and launched it with all of her might directly into Sophia’s face. It was like hitting her with soft newly fallen snow. Now covered in dirt, rubble, dust, and debris an unscathed Sophia opened her glowing blue piercing eyes to look into the soul of #3.

“Fuck you…” was the only answer that came from #3’s quivering lips.

“You said that already,” Sophia sighed. “Such a limited vocabulary you have.”

“So what now, huh? This the reckoning?” #3 threw her hands up in ranting frustration. “Vengeance served cold and all that shit? You finally get your ‘Kill Bill’ moment. Well, then come on!”

“No,” Sophia said flat out to her.

“No?! What the fuck do you mean… ‘no’?” #3 demanded, not loving being the one now toyed with.

“I want you to know this is no longer about vengeance. I’m not here to kill you for what you did to my husband… or for what you’ve done to me,” Sophia calmly explained to her. “I’m going to kill you because you came after my daughter… that… is the only reason… why you die today.”

#3 bowed her head and started to giggle as blood drooled from her mouth down the front of her bodysuit. Her giggle turned into a maniacal laugh as she wiped tears from her eyes with her forearm. No one would know if the tears were of fear or insanity. She became silent again; a growl emitted from her as she rushed Sophia with all her might kicking up dust behind her. A vicious boot to the gut by a much faster female titan upended her. Sophia did not stop there as she grabbed the front of her hair and knocked the taste out of her mouth with a thunderous right sending a couple of teeth flying. As she spun around, Sophia met her with another bone crushing right while executing what could described as a “flash step” allowing her to move to the opposite side of her within milliseconds in order to greet her once again with another freight train of a punch.

#3 was nearly out on her feet after Sophia’s two brutal hits. She however was not finished with her yet as she caught her from falling, shoved her backwards, and proceeded to unleash an attack on her with moves straight out of a fighting video game.

The former neurosurgeon, who had not taken even a Tao Bo class in her life, was taking the highly-trained death squad assassin to school. She remembered and pulled from the countless kung fu movies she watched, and the weekend video game marathons she had with her husband while in college. That coupled with her unbelievable speed and strength made her an unstoppable combatant.

Sophia at this point was toying with her as she leaped into the air faking her with a 360-degree roundhouse kick setting her up for 360-degree legsweep sending her into a tailspin, but before #3 could hit the ground, Sophia clobbered her with an explosive spinning backhand fist swiping her out of midair. The force of the hit sent her crashing through several walls shaking the facility once again.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Elsewhere in the facility, Mark staggered cradling Sophia’s daughter as he tried to make his way out nearing the bottom of the base.

“Sweet baby Jesus… I’m too old of this shit,” he groaned to himself.

Out of nowhere, Mark was close to having a heart attack as the screeching spider monkey belonging to the late Director Rosen jumped on top of him almost making him fall down the stairs. He was about to grab the animal and fling it away when Sophia’s daughter took the monkey in her arms cradling it as it clung onto her.

“You better be the last surprise in this goddamn place,” Mark shot Cornelius a dirty look as he continued his way down the stairs.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Back at the fight, as #3 staggered to her feet, Dennison the flying scud missile slammed right into her taking her for a ride. She took pleasure in putting her through additional wall after wall until they came exploding into the quad of the complex that was behind the now destroyed security wall.

Sophia was not done with her yet as she angled her trajectory dragging #3’s body across the hard concrete creating a shallow trench. Satisfied that she probably took half of #3’s skin off her back she quickly took her up into the air. She then executed a spinning nosedive aiming for a rather large armored personnel vehicle below them. #3 fought to break free from Sophia’s iron grip with her own strength, but it was all for naught as the strongest of the two with the ability to achieve flight drilled them into the vehicle.

The brutal impact ignited the diesel within the vehicle causing an explosion sending flaming shrapnel everywhere. Some of it hit a nearby fuel supply causing a devastating chain reaction of explosions, which took out almost every vehicle in the vicinity and another part of the facility.

Smoke and fire roared and bellowed everywhere. A large piece of smoking debris flung from the wreckage of the initial crash site happened to be #3 bouncing off the pavement before rolling to a painful rest.

“Oh… oh god,” #3 groaned in now agonizing pain.

Out of the flames and wreckage strolled Sophia casually swatting flames off her now slightly torn and burnt skintight plug suit. It was still extremely durable despite the punishment it endured.

“Oh… you calling for God now… you think he’s listening?” Sophia inquisitively asked.

“Wait… wait!” #3 pleaded as she stumbled backwards holding her hand up in a begging gesture with true fear in her eyes, “You don’t understand! It was…”

“Your job, was that what you were going to say?!” Sophia screamed at her, the first real sign of emotion she emitted since her third resurrection. “You gonna tell me you were just following orders?! Or maybe you wanna tell me about how ya daddy beat the shit out of your momma, and molested you? How you had such a hard life? Go ahead! I dare you to tell me that no matter what I do it won’t bring my husband or my life back! That it won’t erase the four years of hell I had to endure because of you!! And then… you not only threatened my kid… murdered my best friend… you spit on me!”

Her eyes glowed brighter and more intense with rage.

#3 just stood there looking at her, realizing that this was what it meant about “fate being sealed.” She imagined that this was how her victims looked when they begged for her mercy and found none. How many cried, sobbed, and whimpered through their words as they attempted to bargain for their lives. Lives she thought as worthless, puny… easily extinguished and forgotten about. Killing was erotic pleasure for her. She happily bathed in the blood of the innocent as well as the guilty with no regrets. Here she now stood attempting to reason with one who she had inflicted the greatest offense.

One who she just told in intricate detail less than an hour ago how she took great pleasure in obliterating her life. It did not matter if she confessed that she did not kill her best friend the now late Charles Hampton; the other evidence was too overwhelming. Sophia had already tried and convicted her. This was now her long walk. No appeal in the world would change her fate.

“What?!” Sophia roared loud enough to emit a low-level sonic boom with just her vocals. It shattered every glass within her vicinity, while causing a mini avalanche on the mountain base.

#3 looked dead at the unstoppable force in front of her, now void of all reasoning, and hated her for making her beg for her life.

“Well… since you’re not willing to listen to reason,” sighed #3 rolling her eyes.

She stomped the ground in defiance creating a crater under her foot as she brought her hands up getting into a stance ready to bang. If she was going to get the beating of her life, she was going to get it fighting back.

Sophia got into her own stance as well; she looked like a seasoned combatant as she etched closer to #3 ready to strike. Out of nowhere, she channeled some of the pure raw energy now stored in the cells of her body into her fists causing them to glow as she clutched them; the intensity of the heat faintly burnt the sleeves to her plug suit.

#3 could feel the heat from her fists, and just shook her head in disbelief thinking she was in some crazy anime movie.

“Just don’t hit me in the nos…” #3 was about to request.

BLAM!

Before she could finish her sentence, Sophia faked her out blasting her in the face. Not with her fists but with intense blue atomic eye beams, scorching her face and nearly blinding her. #3 screamed in agonizing pain unable to touch her now smoldering face.

“That’s… for Charlie,” Sophia bared her teeth.

“Awwwwww…. u fuckin’… biter,” #3 seethed trembling as her face healed from the first-degree burns she received.

She roared throwing a fury of combinations, which Sophia easily blocked. #3 appeared to be throwing faster powerful strikes. She almost looked as if she was matching Sophia’s speed. It seemed as if she was close to finding an opening, until Sophia showed her the difference between the two of them. She may not be the first, but she was still the most powerful as she effortlessly powered through #3’s combinations battering her with shockwave shaking blows. Her hands where like lightning twin pistons as she threw every punching combination she had ever seen within less of seconds targeting #3’s ribs, sternum, abdomen, as well as her left and right jaw bone and nose.

#3 swung for the hills in desperation only for Sophia to catch her right haymaker. The impact of the punch sent a massive shockwave through the facility collapsing already weakened structures. It still proved ineffective against Dennison’s near god-like strength.

Sophia snarled as she doubled her over with a body blow to the gut. She then grabbed the front of her bodysuit leaping into the air with her and hurled her into the skies of Oregon. Sophia exploded into to the air going after her.

Several thousand miles up, she flew past a screaming #3 waiting to set her up and delivered another sonic boom powered right cross sending her spiraling back down to Earth. Sophia then went into another nosedive with thrusters on full blast straight for #3. #3 crashed back down into the facility creating a colossal crater, while emitting shockwaves once again creating tremendous structural damage.

There would be no rest for the wicked as a roaring Sophia pulled out of her dive but continued to fall delivering a diving knee crashing down on top of #3 widening the crater and causing a second more devastating shockwave. It not only created untold mass destruction but also caused a minor earthquake that shook the mountain, and majority of Jackson County up pass Klamath.

Mark barely made it out the door into the hell outside where he dodged flying chunks of debris the size of cars while cradling Sophia’s daughter. Behind him, half the facility and mountain collapsed in on itself no longer capable of withstanding the brutality unleashed on it by Sophia’s raw strength and power.

As he staggered over to the ballpark size crater, he witnessed Sophia standing over a beaten and broken #3 choking on her own blood.

“Hey… you bleeding on yourself.” Sophia snapped her fingers to get her dazed attention. “Wanna see something cool?”

Sophia raised her hand into the air. With a thought, she commanded her body to channel the raw energy within her into a sphere in the palm of her hand once again, this time making it grow bigger. #3 just looked up at her in disbelief; she knew she was doing it for the crack she made earlier. Of all this ways to go, this bitch was about to kill her with a one handed Spirit Bomb.

Mark held her daughter at a safe distance, standing there watching imagination come to frightening reality. He made sure to turn the child’s head away so she does not see what the mother she had never met before was about to do.

This was usually the part where he as an agent of the Federal law would say, “If you do this than you’re no better than her,” or “think about your daughter.”

Mark did not believe in any of that shit; he believed that someone as sick and twisted as #3 with even a fraction of Sophia’s power should not live.

“Wait! Wait!” a disheveled Dr. Zimmerman with cracked glasses screamed as he came running into the quad somehow also surviving the destruction of the base. He collapsed on his knees completely out of breath. “Help us! You have to help us! A nuke! He launched a nuke right at us!”

With another thought, Sophia dispersed the ball of unfathomable destructive force, which had grown to the size of a semi so that she could hear what the Doctor had to say.

“What the hell are you talking about? Who launched a nuke?!” Mark demanded to know.

“The General, “Deadman Protocol” fail safe,” the doctor panted, “a contingency plan to stop dangerous subjects such as Ms. Dennison!”

“To launch a goddamn nuke at us?!” Mark yelled in disbelief.

“Mark… my daughter,” Sophia warned.

“Sorry…” Mark said patting the silent little girl’s back as if she were his own.

“How long doctor?” she calmly asked.

“We had twenty-five minutes to leave Oregon, two minutes ago the missile was launched… I expect five minutes… once it reenters Earth’s atmosphere!” Dr. Zimmerman confirmed.

“Thank you, doctor… one more thing,” she turned looking up at the sky.

“Yes?” he asked, thinking she had a tasked for him.

The one more thing for the good Doctor was the last thing #1 saw; a huge flashing blue light before Sophia turned him to less than ash without even looking in his direction.

“That’s for the chamber,” she snarled.

#3 started to cackle impressed, believing that Sophia and she were not so much different after all. Sophia stopped her laughter as she brought her foot down on her throat smashing her windpipe while keeping her pinned down.

“Well… guess that doesn’t leave us much time.” Sophia removed her foot from #3’s throat grabbing her by her hair ripping her to her feet.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Mark nervously asked knowing time was running down.

“Figure if I can get to it and destroy it while it’s in Earth’s thermosphere you won’t have to worry about fall out,” Sophia judged as if she had done something like this before.

“So why are you taking her with you?!” he gestured to #3.

“Because this is a one way trip for both of us,” Sophia said, breathing a deep sigh.

“But you could just fly up there… blast it out of the sky or launch it back into space,” he started to advise her.

“And this would never end,” she debated back.

“But no one can mess with you now!” Mark continued to argue with her. “You’re the most powerful person…”

“And this would never end!” she delivered her final argument. “As long as she and I are around we’re proof that man can become gods… and eventually monsters.”

“Speak for your fuckin’…” #3 groaned.

Sophia quickly gut checked her taking the air out of her once again as well as her ability to speak.

“Nobody asked you jack,” she sneered.

“So committing suicide is your only answer,” Mark asked, throwing up his free hand in despair.

“It’s not suicide if you’re saving the world,” Sophia smiled looking at him. “This is more of a sacrifice… only the three of us standing here alive know about my daughter… and soon there will only be one. One who I believe I can trust to make sure that no one ever knows about her… my daughter… died here on this base… can you make that happen for me, Mr. Armitage… can you grant the wish of a ‘condemned’ woman?”

“You have my word… I’ll make it happen,” he nodded.

“One more thing,” she asked. “At Charles Hampton’s apartment… in his closet is an old gym bag with our college emblem… the Goodwill…”

“The store manager said he forgives you… and I got you covered,” Mark reassured her.

“The rest belongs to my daughter,” she finished what appeared to be her final will and testament.

“You have my word,” promised Mark before motioning to her daughter. “What should I tell her when she asks about you?”

“Tell her… the best thing I ever got out of this life… was watching her come into this world,” she became misty eyed, her tears glowed as they ran down her face, “and I said thank you… for saving me.”

“She’s right here, don’t you want to…” Mark gestured to holding her.

“If I do… I won’t be able to leave… besides… I have a final image of how beautiful she’s grown… that is enough for me… goodbye, Mark.” She turned to #3 squeezing her by the throat while looking her in the eyes. “Remember when I said I’d watch you die screaming?”

With those words, Sophia leaped into the air with a gagging and screaming #3, with enough distance between her and the ground she channeled the energy within her to the soles of her feet creating the thrust she needed to gain flight again. Before she took off, she turned back at the facility hovering while extending her left hand. It appeared as if the world itself shook as Sophia channeled a ball of pure blue energy the size of a medicine ball.

“Holy…” Mark uttered.

It was his cue to take the child and hop into the nearest unmanned vehicle, a still intact black high tech version of a Humvee. Luckily, it had the keys inside the ignition as he drove like a bat out of hell blowing through what was left of the destroyed security gate and flooring it. If the vehicle was built to do 230, he was trying to get three times the speed out of it.

Sophia deciding that Armitage and her daughter were at a safe enough distance, unleashed god like furry on the facility obliterating. Except for some small gas explosions, only a massive cloud of thick black smoke wafted for miles as far as Los Angeles along with the intense blue light. She scorched the facility from the face of the Earth while bringing down Mount McLoughlin in the process. Satisfied she destroyed the complex and everything contained within completely, Sophia rocketed away with #3.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Mark looked to the sky while driving to see if he could get one more glimpse of her.

“That’s my mommy,” said the silent little girl out of nowhere, looking up at the sky with the spider monkey in her lap.

Mark slowly turned looking at the little girl who he thought mute with fear.

She pointed up at the sky and said again, “That’s my mommy… flying up in the sky…”

Her little words unnerved Mark as he gripped the steering wheel tighter wiping his eyes that got blurry all of the sudden.

“Yeah, honey…” he grunted, “that’s your mommy.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

High above God’s blue sky Sophia flew beyond the speed of sound as she searched for her target with a struggling #3 in the grip of her right hand trying to break free. Even through the great winds and thin air, she could hear her screaming and begging.

#3 struggled in vain to break free while trying to reason with her.

“You don’t have to do this!” she squealed. “You said it yourself! You’re a god! We’re gods now!! We can rule this planet! Make it how we want it!! You don’t have to do this!!”

She ignored her tempting talks of godly rule as she stopped in midair hovering. She searched the skies until the rocket finally came into view. The son of a bitch had actually done it she thought to herself. Sophia cursed hoping to take it out in the Earth’s thermosphere, but it was now well within the mesosphere, and nearing the stratosphere with great speed.

“Goddammit!! You don’t have to do this!!” protested #3, still trying to break free from her grip.

Sophia clamped down on her throat to shut her up, while pulling her close to look her in the eyes.

“No, I don’t have to…” she whispered. “I want to.”

With those final words, Sophia placed a vice grip hold on #3’s throat with both hands as she launched herself toward the speeding missile with a screaming #3.

It would be over in a few seconds, but she took in the view of #3 with tears of rage in her eyes, struggling, and roaring to get free. They were now too high and moving too fast for her to hear what she was saying anymore, but she imagined she was cursing her and her ancestors to eternity.

Vengeance… Justice… whatever the name for it, Sophia had her fill as she closed her eyes. In her mind, she said one final prayer forgiving Robert for all that he had done. Thanking him for the one good thing they brought into the world.

“I’m going home… I’m going home,” she softly sang, “I’m going home… I’m going home.”

The world came to a standstill as the heavens became red and blue with flames for all to see.

CHAPTER 26

One year and seven months later… at the United States Disciplinary Barracks Leavenworth, Kansas, two correctional personnel walked side by side with former four-star General Bernard Matheson now in prison garb and shackles. Despite being charged for treason for willfully firing a nuclear warhead on his own country which entailed the death penalty on top of the public humiliation and dishonor, he held his head high as best he could still believing that his actions were in the best interest of his country.

In actuality, Matheson was more of a scapegoat, the incident in Oregon and what really happened, the D.E.A.D project as well as any and all records of project Evolution and Sophia would be buried as best as possible excluding the incident on Interstate 10 and memorable battle in Washington, DC seen by many. Despite Big Brother’s reach it was no match for freedom of speech, the vast power of the Internet and the thousands that cellphones with video cameras on those days. New conspiracy theories would arise but the government remained silent on all matters except the deeds of the General, hoping that bringing him to justice for his actions would appease the masses… it did not.

The two correctional officers lead the General to the doors of an interview room, a stark stone room with just a long table and four chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table from him was Mark, reading one of the two file folders he had while waiting for him.

The General actually smirked as he took a seat sitting across from him. Mark did not even bother look at him as he kept reading.

“Thanks, boys,” motioned Mark. “If you don’t mind waiting outside… this won’t take long.”

The officers nodded departing from the room to stand guard outside leaving both the General and him in the room all by themselves.

Mark gave a sigh as he closed up the folders slapping it down on the table now looking at the General with a semi placid smile on his face.

“Let me first say thank you very much for giving me an audience,” Mark broke the ice, “dammit how rude of me… I should first introduce myself…”

“I know who you are Special Agent Armitage,” nodded the General.

“Yeah, well it will be former Agent in two weeks… retiring due to health reasons… you know radiation and me don’t really mix,” Mark explained, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Sorry to hear that,” the General said with an unsympathetic tone.

“Yeah, well.” Mark sighed. “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“What can I do for you, Special Agent?” the General asked, wishing to get to the point.

“Off the record… was hoping you’d be kind enough to tie up some loose ends for me.” Mark reopened the file he was looking at.

He took some of the pictures within and tossed them out in front of the General to see; they were pictures of his lifeless son taken from the crime scene over four years ago. The General spread the pictures out to get a better look at them.

“I just wanted to know what type of cold blooded, heartless, piece of shit, son of a bitch orders the brutal execution of his son and then frames his wife for that murder. That on top of placing him in a super death squad,” Mark flat out asked.

General Matheson did not answer him as he sifted through the pictures looking at his dead son.

“I guess it comes from the same deep dark f’ed up place that would make you go and watch the execution of your ex-daughter-in-law,” he huffed as he threw out more photos revealing the General entering the Mountain View Unit and taking a seat on the witness side of the lethal injection room.

“Must have been quite a shock to see the woman you hated so much, who you blamed for the ruination of your son’s military career, resurrect right before your eyes refusing to die. At least I now know how the late Director Rosen and his goon squad knew to show up that day… because you called him,” Mark finished his detective like summation, staring into the General’s eyes, trying to find what little soul he had left.

“Do you have children, Special Agent?” asked the General, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes… I do,” returned Mark.

“Then you must know… a parent’s love for a child… and what a parent would do for that child.” The General leaned forward looking him back in his eyes. “I have shouldered two burdens… one for family and one for country. My family has served as soldiers for this great country since the Civil War… my son… wanted to be a soldier. A proud Marine like I was… and that miserable bitch poisoned his mind instead of knowing her place… made him doubt himself and his duty to his country… my son was dead before he was injured in Iraq… and I as his father tried to breathe life back into him with the D.E.A.D project.”

“So that he could continue your “legacy?” scoffed Mark.

“So he could continue the Matheson legacy,” the General forcefully corrected. “A proud legacy of sentinels chosen to protect this country from all foreign enemies so that your children can sleep peacefully at night.”

“A legacy that was apparently worth the life of your son,” Mark returned, unimpressed with the General’s little speech.

“The life of one… is not worth the life of millions… Special Agent,” returned the General, a sliver of emotion filled his eyes as he shifted in his seat. “Not even the life of my own son.”

“I guess that’s where we differ,” Mark returned, “because I’d rather have the world burn than give up one of my own flesh and blood… and you’re a lying sack of shit considering you were willing to kill millions all for one person… i.e. why you’re in here.”

“I don’t have to answer to you, Special Agent… despite all of ‘this.’” The General looked around as if the facility could not hold him. “I will still be remembered as a soldier who served and defended his country to the end.”

Mark slinked back into his seat, shaking his head in disbelief; to him it was like looking at his former self.

“You’re right, ‘General,’ you don’t have to answer to me,” he sighed, lurching forward to grab the pictures stuffing them back into the file. “You’ll be answering to the Devil if there is one when it’s time for them to hang your sorry ass. I had a big long final speech I wanted to leave you with but after looking into your eyes and hearing the garbage out of your mouth. I just realized how pointless it would be… you’re just like me… another stupid old dog with the inability to stop shitting on people’s lives.”

Mark pulled three more pictures for the inside of his jacket tossing them onto the table, a picture of the late Charles Hampton. A picture of the burning wreckage of Kenneth Scott’s SUV Expedition which was blown up with him and his entire family, and finally a badly lobotomized Eric Dunbar forever a living breathing vegetable sitting in a wheelchair.

“And there’s only one road for stupid old dogs like us… the back of a tool shed… thank you for your ‘time,’” Mark said as he rose to his feet while taking up the pictures.

He knew that they probably did not stir any form of guilt in his dark twisted soul. He just wanted the monster to see his dirty work, the lives he destroyed trying to secure his legacy.

“Can I ask you something off the record, Special Agent?” the General threw out.

“Shoot,” Mark said with a cough.

“My granddaughter… what happened to her?” the General asked, carefully reading him for a reaction.

“Dead,” Mark answered while giving him a cold hard stare, “accidently killed during the battle in Oregon.”

“Is that so?” General Matheson grinned as he searched his eyes.

Mark gave him a “Go screw yourself”’ look.

As he picked up his files and prepared to leave, he went into a mid-turn snapping his fingers as if he forgot something.

“Shiiiit! I knew I forgot something,” Mark smiled, “again off the record… a final report just came out on the destruction of the base in Oregon. Now I’m just paraphrasing what the eggheads stated, “Though the force of the energy used for the destruction of the facility was extremely controlled… its destructive power was equivalent or possibly greater than the Fat Man which detonated over Nagasaki.”

Mark let out a light laugh pretending to not notice that the General was not finding anything funny about what he was saying.

“Ain’t that some shit?” he beamed. “She was at an atomic level before she went toe to toe with that warhead.”

A cold sweat appeared on the General’s face as he realized what Armitage was getting at.

Mark leaned forward placing his hands firmly on the desk to look the General in the eyes one final time.

“The more you hurt her… the stronger she gets,” he grunted, “the eggheads gave her a 30/70 survival rate. I’m more inclined to say if I were you I’d pray for the rope to come… before she does.”

On that note, Mark smiled, stood up, and turned heading for the door.

“It’s been almost two years!” lashed out the General. “Almost two years and no body!”

“That’s right… two years… and no… body,” Mark mocked as he knocked on the door. “Guard… let me up out of this bitch.”

“That’s because there is no body! The bitch is ashes!!” howled the General. “Burning in hell where she belongs! You hear me?!”

His words fell on deaf ears as the door shut close leaving him alone once again. General Matheson looked down at the table trying to find composure, but he could not stop the trembling, nor could he get rid of the sick feeling that entered his stomach.

“Bitch is burning,” the General nervously muttered to himself, “in hell… where she belongs.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

As Mark exited the facility heading to his rental car, his cellphone went off. He quickly pulled it out of his jacket to take it.

“Hi honey,” he smiled. “Yeah, tell the girls I’ll be home soon… and bringing ice cream… I’ll be on the next plane in an hour… yeah, back at 7 PM… love you.”

Mark closed his cellphone overtaken by another hard cough forcing him to clutch the rooftop of his rental car as he neared it. He pulled out some cough medicine from his pocket opening it up and took a swig to ease his throat. He hopped into his vehicle and drove off exiting the prison facility.

Before he could turn onto the main road, the sound of thunder overhead forced him to look up. The sound was not of a storm coming; or a jet flying too low… one can easily see it was coming from a human figure streaking across the sky at unbelievable speed in a colorful outfit heading to an unknown destination. His senses diverted up the road to the sound of something other than a machine tearing down at near supersonic speed. All he could make out from the blur that streaked past was that he or she was wearing silver and white, and definitely running on two legs. A small sonic boom rocked his rental seconds after the person passed.

“Wait up bitch!!” screamed the speedster chasing the flight propelled superhuman.

A dry smile came across Mark’s face.

“Legacy.” He chuckled.

He turned onto the main road, heading back to the airport and home where he belonged. He turned on the radio listening to CNN.

Ashleigh Banfield on from 11 AM to noon began her news report.

“Moving from the near crippling financial crisis here in the United States and around the Globe,” she announced, “as the death toll from the Judgment Virus continues to rise worldwide so does the growing superhuman population. Many continue to asked the question are these the sign of the times, the end of days? With us are a panel of well-known scientists and religious clergy to weigh in on this discussion.”

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Several thousand miles off the West Coast of the United States at the bottom of the Mariana Trench a bright blue glow shined cutting through the blackness, causing all sea life capable of surviving at that depth to flock around it in curiosity.

Massive flounders and shrimp fluttered close to investigate the clear blue sac that appeared to be a mixture of a jellyfish and an actual embryo sac, only to quickly swim away as they encountered the powerful shockwave of the heartbeat pounding within. In the center of the sac, a young woman with long dreadlocks slumbered curled up in a fetal position. At a glance, it appeared as if the blue energy within was bathing her, but in truth, the energy was emitting from out of her uncontrollably as she slept… the sac meant to protect what was inside also protected everything from the outside looking in.

“My name is Sophia Dennison,” whispered a voice, “and I did not kill my husband…”

Eye opens…

In the beginning…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kipjo K. Ewers was born July 1, 1975. At an early age, he had an active imagination. By the time he started kindergarten he would make up fictitious stories, one of his favorites was about a character named “Old Man Norris,” who hated everyone in the world except for him.

When he attended our Lady of Victory Elementary School in Mount Vernon, he continued writing and reading stories to his classmates. His teacher, Mrs. Green told him the children would laugh, but she would remind them that that is how some of the great stories that they read actually came about.

After elementary school, he went onto Salesian High School in New Rochelle, NY then on to Iona College, also in New Rochelle.

He would go onto to work for several major firms and companies within the New York area, but his passion was about wanting to become a journalist/writer. Therefore, it is not surprising he decided to write his first book/novel.

Kipjo began working and creating a new superhuman universe, finding inspiration and solace in the loss of his first daughter due to an unfortunate miscarriage that devastated both his loving wife and himself; he began writing a hero origin story now titled “The First.”

He hopes to continue this story as a novel series and as a comic book series in the near future.

Thank you for reading and your support.