Alistair - 007

I waited for Harris and Richter to regain consciousness, every second frozen as my neurons fired several times faster than last week. I meticulously organized the battle plan in my mind.

Reviewing the events sequentially, I aligned the memories and details thoroughly. The clandestine lab where they experimented on me, the faces of the doctors, "Major" Tiberius's voice, the layout of the facility—all these pieces formed a coherent image. Still, in retrospect, nothing abnormal aside of the questionnaire.

Mentally, I could see the cold, sterile rooms, the placement of equipment, and the mannerisms of the staff as they went about their work. Every facet was a potential clue, in the advent they exfiltrated from their site.

My thoughts were interrupted by a groan from across the table. Harris was the first to stir, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled to shake off the lingering effects of unconsciousness. Richter followed soon there after, rubbing his temples and wincing as he sat up. I watched them closely, noting the slight tremor in Richter's hand and the way Harris's eyes darted around the room, assessing the situation.

"Good to see you both up," I said, my voice calm and measured.

Harris blinked, focusing on me. "What... what happened?"

"You gassed the room," I replied, leaning forward slightly. "But now you're awake, I need your help."

Richter, still groggy, frowned. "Help with what?"

"From where I am sitting, you need our help." Harris commented.

I answered, my gaze steady. "And from where I am sitting, you need my help. I remember everything, in singular detail, from about the false G.O.D. Center."

Richter and Harris exchanged glances, skepticism etched on their brow.

I nodded with a raised brow, "I think if you really deemed myself a threat to the interior, I would be somewhere less... pleasant, so officers, should we raid the site?"

Richter rubbed his chin, considering my words. "You can lead us there?"

"Now," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Now, I could map every part of the facility- layout, personnel, even security measures."

Harris sighed, looking at Richter. "If he knows where this is, it's worth it."

Harris nodded slowly. "Alright, Galen. We'll go with you. But if you attempt anything—"

"Could not dream it," I interrupted, my tone firm. "Now, let's get on."

I stood up, stretching my muscles. The weight of my armor felt reassuring yet claustrophobic. Harris and Richter followed suit, still wary but more willing to cooperate. 

Harris radioed for escorts, his voice steady but tinged with a sense of urgency. "We need Capitol Security to our location. Twenty-four men, full gear. and transport."

"Copy. Bay 94."

Moments later, the heavy footfalls of Capitol Security echoed through the hall outside the room, their presence announced by the synchronized clanking of their armor.

Richter and Harris stood, their eyes meeting mine with a mixture of caution and determination.

"Let's go," Harris said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I nodded, adjusting the fit of my armor. As the door swung open, the unit filed in, their faces hidden behind visors, their movements precise and practiced.

We stepped into the hallway, flanked by the detail. The soldiers surrounded me in a tight formation, their hands hovering near their weapons, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. I couldn't help but notice everything about them—their stances, the subtle differences in their armor configurations, the way they shifted their weight. Each was a piece of a larger puzzle, and I began to mentally assemble the picture.

As we walked, I simulated a fight with them for amusement. I identified the ones who would likely attack first, their initiatives signaled by micro expressions of their stances and ranks. Critical weaknesses betrayed by the slight hesitations in their steps or the uneven distribution of their gear. I ran through several variations of the fight, each one ending with my victory, satisfied with the outcomes.

The first man, taller and heavier, would be slower, his left knee slightly favored indicating a past injury on his right. but his exposed neck under his helmet made him vulnerable. The second man, leaner and quicker, would rely on speed, a fatal match when I could predict each blow by micro variations in the mans stance. He would feint from a powerful knee strike to his ribs, followed by a crushing elbow to the temple.

A conglomerate came at me simultaneously, trying to overwhelm with sheer numbers. I ducked under a wide haymaker, grabbing the attacker's arm and using it as leverage to flip him over his shoulder into another man. I spun around, delivering a broadside kick to the next one's midsection, sending him sprawling toward his mate behind him. Knee to the stomach. Parry. Kick. Block to the left. Leg swoop. As the first one attempted to rise, I produced a swift heel to the spleen, ensuring he stayed down.

Four of the remaining attackers hesitated, yielding just enough time to close the distance. I parried a knife thrust from the larger of the two, twisting the blade from his grasp and slashed at the second attacker, who recoiled in pain. Dodge the knife. Break his hand. Catch the knife. Score multiple flesh wounds onto the three. The big guy would perservere. With a fluid motion, I elbowed where his jaw turns to meet his ear, dropping him to the ground, before finishing off with a stomp to the groin.

My thoughts then turned to the last three. Harris and Richter and the head of the detail. Harris opened the fight with a series of rapid jabs, his fists blurring as they aimed for my vital points. I dodged and deflected, my own strikes countered by his expert defense. Meanwhile, Richter moved in with heavy, bone-crushing swings, each one capable of incapacitating me if it landed. I weaved between their attacks, using Harris' agility against him by positioning Richter in his path. The leader of the security detail circled around, looking for an opening to exploit. When he lunged, I sidestepped and used his momentum to throw him into Richter's path. They collided, giving me a brief respite.

I took the opportunity to launch a counter-attack. I landed a solid punch on Harris' jaw, but he barely flinched, responding with a swift kick to my side. The pain shot through me, but I fought to stay focused. Richter recovered quickly, charging at me like a bull. I used a combination of grappling moves to redirect his force, throwing him off balance and into the path of the security leader's knife. The blade grazed Richter, but the distraction was enough for me to deliver a powerful kick to the captain's chest, sending him into the pile of men.

Harris and Richter regrouped, their eyes filled with determination. The fight continued in a flurry of blows and counters, each side pushing the other to their limits. My mind raced, analyzing their patterns, looking for any weakness to exploit. I ducked under Harris' high kick, sweeping his leg and bringing him to the ground. Before I could follow up, Richter was on me, his massive hands closing around my neck. I twisted, using my legs to break free and deliver a crushing blow to his side.

As the fight wore on, I could feel my energy waning, but I couldn't afford to stop. Harris and Richter were relentless, their combined assault forcing me to dig deep into my reserves. With a final burst of strength, I launched myself at Harris, delivering a series of rapid punches that left him dazed. I turned to Richter, who was already charging at me. I sidestepped his attack and delivered a powerful strike to the back of his neck, finally bringing him down.

After a few rounds of this mental sparring, I shifted my attention to the city. The tall buildings loomed over us, their glass facades reflecting the post meridian sun. My escorts, still wary and on high alert, consistently asked for directions. I quickly calculated our bearings, using several of the taller buildings to orient.

"We need to head east, towards the central district," I said, my voice calm and assured.

The platoon tightened their formation, moving with Harris' commands. As we made our way through the bustling city, the people, the vehicles, the sounds and smells of the city—all of it was a constant stream of information feeding into my mind. Every sector brought us closer to our destination, and I could feel the tension mounting within the group.

The officers stood beside me, their eyes scanning the traffic for any sign of trouble. I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, a thrill at the thought of what lay ahead. 

As we neared the central district, the buildings grew taller, casting long shadows over the pathways. The sense of urgency heightened, and I could see the determination etched on the faces of my escorts. We were getting closer, and the stakes were higher than ever.

"Bear Left," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "We're almost there."

The group approached the location of the center, a nondescript building that seemed to blend into the surrounding structures. The entrance was unassuming, the kind of place one could walk by without giving a second thought. Harris and Richter exchanged glances, a silent confirmation passing between them.

"Down here," Harris instructed, leading the way to a discreet stairwell. We descended into the depths, each step echoing in the confined space. The air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp metal and old rust.

When we reached the lower levels, the sense of abandonment became palpable. The team moved into position, their weapons drawn, ready for any sign of danger. The door to the facility was solid metal, its surface marred by years of neglect. With a nod from Harris, one of the security officers activated a hyper-point burst, a concentrated pulse of energy that breached the door with a deafening crack.

We continued to force through each checkpoint until we reached the main complex. As the door swung open, they revealed an office space in disarray. Material littered the floor, and the overhead lights flickered sporadically. The faint smell of gun oil and antiseptic lingered, reminder of the clinic which this facility operated. The room was eerily silent, devoid of the usual hum of activity one would expect in such a place. The soldiers moved in, their movements precise and methodical, sweeping the room for any threats.

I followed, my eyes scanning every detail, mentally recording the layout and the remnants of occupancy. The walls bore the faint outlines of removed equipment, and the floor was scuffed with the marks of hastily moved furniture. Each piece of evidence painted a picture of a someone frantic, of a place abandoned in haste.

"Clear," one of the officers said, signaling that the main office was secure. We continued to move through the facility, the officer's team maintaining their surgical tactics, weapons at the ready. I moved with them, absorbing every detail, my mind replaying the final moments of occupancy based on the subtle evidence left behind.

We entered the conjoining rooms, each one spelling the same story of abrupt departure. Empty desks, overturned chairs, and scattered lab coats all pointed to a sudden and chaotic exit. My senses were on high alert, my mind piecing together the timeline of events.

"Check those rooms," Richter ordered, pointing to a set of doors along the hallway. The team fanned out, breaching each room with practiced precision. I followed them into what had once been the gene rooms. The space was barren now, devoid of the pods and fluids that had once filled it. The walls bore faint stains and marks, scraps across the floor.

I ran my fingers along the grooves in the floor, where heavy machinery had been dragged away. Every ghost haunted Harris and Richter, this place was thirty minutes shy of scrubbed clean.

"Nothing here," one of the officers reported, his voice tinged with frustration.

Nothing but the indentations where the pods had been, the discoloration where fluids had spilled and dried, the subtle scratches on the walls from equipment being unbolted and moved.

"Keep moving," Harris urged, his tone sharp.

In one room, I found a discarded syringe, its needle still glistening with a residue of the fluids once used here. I picked it up, examining it closely. The label was partially torn, but the remnants of a code suggested it had been used for something highly specific.

"Let's go," Richter said, pulling me from my thoughts.

We moved deeper into the facility, the sense of urgency growing. Every step brought us closer to understanding what had happened here, but also to the realization that we were too late. The place was a shell, its secrets stripped away.

As we reached the deepest layer, the final door loomed before us. The security detail prepared to breach it, their movements tense and focused. I stood ready, my mind racing with the implications of what we might find—or not find—beyond that door.

The door opened with a groan, revealing a large, empty chamber. The walls were lined with hooks and brackets where equipment had once been mounted. In the center of the room, the floor bore deep scratches, as if something massive had been dragged away.

I stepped inside, my eyes sweeping the space. No pods, no fluids—just the lingering traces of their past existence. The walls were bare, but the story they told was clear. This place had been at the heart of the genetic modifications, a nexus of experimentation.

"Empty," one of the officers said, his voice hollow.

I absorbed it all, my mind reconstructing the facility's final hours. A scene of scurrying white coats, unnamed military personnel, and illegal equipment moving in and out.... all in the same direction.

"Let's move out," Harris ordered, his voice breaking the silence.

"Wait." I said with the same tone I address my men. "Can't you see?"

I pointed directly ahead, at an empty wall.