Peter Storm

Approximately 2 hours later on floor B40 of the Southrop building in Manhattan, I was standing next to Arthur and the head of the bio division, Samira.

The room was quite drab, filled with medical equipment. Cabinets filled with additional instruments lined the walls. The walls were white and the floor was a metallic gray. It truly felt like an operation room.

Silence almost filled the room. I say almost because Arthur was anxiously tapping his right foot rhythmically. Having run out of patience, he turned to Samira. "Do we know anything yet?"

Samira was a gorgeous middle eastern woman. Her black hair was naturally straight and tied into a bun. The darkness of her eyes contrasts against her smooth and light colored skin. Living in the United States for so many years allowed her skin to become fair.

Even after so many years, she still had her accent from growing up in Saudi Arabia. "There is a foreign object in his limbic system."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "In English please." He immediately realized his mistake. "I didn't mean…"

Samira chuckled. "I know, Arthur. The limbic system controls behavior and emotion. As I mentioned from the preliminary scans, there is something gravely wrong with his hormone levels. This object may be the reason for this."

Arthur nodded. "Can we get it out?"

Samira sighed, tapping anxiously on the tablet in front of her. "It would involve surgery. We can not legally do such a thing unless the patient consents. Unfortunately, he is currently sedated."

Arthur scoffed. "Then wake him up!"

Samira nodded, directing the medical team to follow Arthur's instructions. Her team was made up of both humans and androids, allowing for a perfect mix of improvisation in emergency and precision. A mixed group such as this was truly a perfect complement.

I turned to Arthur while this was all going on. "What are we going to say to him?"

Arthur chuckled. "He has no choice. The man is in a tough situation that he is at no fault for. We can help him out if he complies."

I shook my head. "I just feel horrible for him. He is a good man according to his records."

Arthur shrugged. "All I want is to figure out what happened here and if there is any further risk that can come from it." He then looked away from the table and towards me. "How are the repairs on Mark coming?"

I sighed, not wanting to think about it. "The bullet has been removed as well as the compromised systems. However, he is a completely custom build so the parts need to be manufactured. Fortunately, they are being printed as we speak. They should be ready in a few hours."

Arthur nodded, smiling that the single most valuable innovation the company held right now was going to be alright. "How did he get injured anyways?"

I chuckled, thinking about how ironic it was. "He was hit in the stomach by a bullet. His ballistics calibration is not complete yet so he misjudged an incoming shot. Even though the calibration is 72% complete, the last 28% will make it so he can predict the path of an incoming shot. He'll be able to shoot it out of the air."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock. "That… is amazing. How is that even possible?"

I giggled with pride. This was probably the project I was most proud of in my entire life. "I got the inspiration when I was reading some historical documents. You've heard of Israel's iron dome, right?"

Arthur nodded. "Of course I have. We acquired the designs for the project and implemented it in some of our armor pieces. What about… OH! BRILLIANT!"

I smiled. "Yep. While he won't have projectile defense built in, he would be able to handle it manually through a firearm or any object he can physically throw."

A dissatisfied grunt interrupted our conversation so we both snapped our heads towards the operating table. The man had awoken.

The man slowly raised his hand to his head, rubbing it like he had a bad headache. "Ughh, where am I?"

Samira gently placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. What straight man wouldn't want to be woken up by a drop dead gorgeous woman? "It is okay, you are safe now."

Arthur, however, seemed to be having none of it. "Can he hear?"

Samira looked at the brain scans that were actively being taken and nodded. "He can."

Arthur cleared his throat, raising his tablet so he could read from it. "Peter Storm, 37 years old. Engaged to Linda Olsen and living in a condo in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. You work as an investment banker and are quickly breaking through the ranks."

He paused and scrolled through the file a bit before looking straight at Peter, who was now frozen with a horrified expression on his face. Arthur continued. "I know everything there is to know about you down to when you lost your first tooth. The one thing I don't know, why?"

Peter remained frozen for a few seconds. During that time, I finally got a good look at him. I couldn't help but say that I was jealous of his looks. He had blond straight hair that was very messy. I presumed that was because of his mess of a day. He had deep blue eyes that felt like an ocean when stared into. His jawline was shard and he was also generously muscular. His fiancee has good taste.

He shook his head after those few seconds, clearly in a panic. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who the fuck are you?"

Arthur remained calm, even though I could tell he was seething under the surface. He merely pointed towards me. "Do you recognize him?"

Peter quickly shook his head. "NO! I'VE NEVER SEEN ANY OF YOU FU…"

Arthur immediately cut him off, throwing his tablet to the ground. "PETER! Calm… down. This man here is one of the people you took hostage earlier today after you robbed a bank."

Peter's eyes immediately widened, the blues of his irises on full display. "Wh-what? A bank?"

Arthur nodded, stepping closer to him and looking him straight in the eyes. "Yes, you robbed a bank and then took an entire diner hostage. If this guy wasn't there and didn't shoot you, you'd be arrested and your life would be over."

Peter reacted involuntarily, falling into a panic attack. His legs curled up and he covered his face with his hands. "What have I done? I don't even remember it… Wait, I was shot?"

Samira cut in. "You've already been treated for the bullet wounds and have made a full recovery."

In disbelief, Peter ran his hands over his bare torso and couldn't feel anything. "Wounds?"

Samira nodded. "Indeed, you were shot three times."

Peter shook his head, still confused. "How am I alive?"

Arthur pointed at me again. "Also thanks to him."

Peter sighed, still not accepting what happened. "Still, who are you people?"

Arthur shook his head. "That isn't important. What IS important is that we can help you."

The faint light of hope seemed to light up in Peter's eyes. "How? Everyone in the city should be looking for me?"

Arthur smirked. "Well, what I haven't told you yet is that we believe that none of this is your fault."

Peter's jaw immediately dropped, nearly hitting the floor as his neck also arched forwards. "Wha… How?"

Arthur gestured to Samira so she took over, tapping a few times on her tablet before handing it to Peter. "I will spare you the medical jargon, but there is something in your head. We want to take it out and analyze it. The form on the tablet is a consent form for the surgery. Everything will be paid for and you will make a full recovery within 3 days."

Peter merely glanced at the tablet before looking back towards Arthur. "How does this thing in my head change that I'm a damn fugitive?"

Arthur chuckled. "The wanted status is the easiest part to deal with. The fucking president can't even enter this building without an appointment. Who is going to arrest you? And before you ask, your fiancee with be taken care of. I already assigned a security detail to her and she has been relocated to a safe house."

Peter's hand immediately went back to his head, the headache seemingly getting worse. "She's gonna be pissed. I'm definitely sleeping on the couch for months."

I could only shake my head and pray for him. I knew the pain of an angry wife. One of the first things my father taught me when I became a bachelor was that a happy wife was the key to a happy life. I truly lived by that.

Arthur chuckled. "Honestly, that should be the least of your concerns. I'll see what I can do about helping you keep your job but I can't make any promises. Your face was on the news after all."

Peter started falling back into a panic attack. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! Ten years for NOTHING!"

I decided I needed to step forward. He needed a friendly face. "Hey, Peter, relax. Everything is going to be alright. We will help you. I promise."