If there is one thing I can't tolerate, then it's secrets. Long phrases and half-told truths, only to end up beating about the bush. With my fingertips I rub the spot above my right eye. The throbbing has gotten intense in the last few hours. I don't understand why our team is being sent to Europe. And out of all places to London.
Numbly, I worked my way through the case file last night. Over and over I got stuck on the words "neutralize," "unrestricted clearance," and "absolute success." It doesn't need a photographic memory to remember the contents. The command is clear and very well defined.
The percentage of Renegades is particularly high in Europe. They form small resistance groups and cause riots. Most are violent and leave many victims. Just a few weeks ago there were reportedly violent confrontations in France where a child, believing it was a Subject, was shot by a police officer. Self-defense, they said. The girl had lost control and attacked civilians. Before NOS could intervene, it was too late and the girl had died in the arms of her parents. The tragedy is that she had not been a Subject. She didn't possess any special abilities or participate in the riots. She had simply been caught up in a conflict that was none of her concern at all. But the Government’s press release twisted the truth and announced that this little girl was to blame for the bloody riots. They took advantage of the anger among the population so that they can continue to spread their propaganda that Subjects - whether they be children or adults - are a danger to public safety and must be eliminated at once. The policeman who shot the girl was awarded for his heroic act.
And now we are here.
In Europe. In London to provide support to the local police. Although we are not responsible for the conflicts outside of America at all.
Lack of personnel, Neil tried to explain. Precarious issue.
Judging by the photographs attached to the file, this ominous resistance movement is not to be messed with. The first shows an elderly man in a run-down alley with two slain police officers in front of him. According to our director, thirty-three knife wounds have been counted on each of their bodies. An act of violence that usually intertwines with personal motive. The second image is slightly out of focus and reveals his face. A long scar runs vertically across his left eye. His stature is slender, rather than muscular. The last photo shows a warehouse. There are three people standing in front of the trapezoidal sheet metal gate, including the same man with the scar.
Beneath these photos are handwritten notes that include the man's name, Jonathan Redfield, a retired soldier who received several medals in his career. This fact alone makes the mission extremely dangerous. We don't know if Jonathan has any further inside knowledge of the military or the methods of NOS.
I look out the side window. Behind the dull glass, lanterns and neon signs flash past me. We are driving without lights to avoid unnecessary attention and yet my heart stings as we pass a small kiosk. It's the only store in the area that's still open. The blue lettering flickers and looks just as shabby from the outside as I remember.
I sink deeper into my seat.
Maybe my dislike for this mission isn't because of the nature of the command or how dangerous it can get for us, but rather the fact of where we are right now. No one but Neil knows that I spent part of my childhood in Kensington. The tall cement buildings, the park on the corner, the gas station on Main Street ... It all looks awfully familiar and automatically makes me think -.
"Are you alright?" A voice snaps me out of my thoughts and as I look up, I meet Liam's concerned gaze from the passenger seat. "You're unusually quiet."
I sigh. His powers of observation are remarkable, as always.
"Guess I'm nervous," I say.
"You and nervous? That's a whole new ballgame."
"I just have a bad feeling."
Mason stirs beside me. "You mean why do they want us to do the job and not the unit in charge?" Bingo. A thousand points to my blond-haired friend. "Well," he takes a deep breath, "rumor has it that the branch in Europe is under strict surveillance and all Subjects have been prohibited from participating in missions."
That's ... I've never heard of that before.
"Do you know the reason?" I ask curiously.
"Two Subjects managed to escape from the institution," Mason begins to tell me. "Somehow they were able to remove their wristbands and were able to evade all security measures. One assumes they had assistance from outside. However, I think it's much more likely that it was from the inside."
"An accomplice?"
"Maybe a trainer or a researcher," Mason muses, before his expression turns serious. "Either way, the institution has been under surveillance since then. All employees and Subjects are being questioned about the escape. I’ve heard the interrogations are pretty intense."
"And how do you know all this?"
"From Peter."
Of course. Who else would have this information?
But holy fucking shit.
"It's unimaginable," I say, impressed.
"Yep," Mason agrees. "Couldn't believe it at first and thought Peter was setting me up. Until I saw the news. But the fact that you didn't hear about it surprises me more."
I shrug it off. " However, it would be a reason why we, of all people, got this mission," I reply thoughtfully.
Mason tilts his head. "Do you think we can trust the police chief?"
"We have no other choice," Isaac grumbles, visibly annoyed by the whole situation.
I can't blame him. We've been in town for three days already. No one wants to have heard anything about Jonathan. His house is empty and his neighbors last saw him five years ago. His phone and credit card records also led nowhere. Neither has been used since he disappeared.
The police chief reported a gang of minor criminals making their rounds on the edge of town. Jonathan Redfield was said to be among them. When we asked the residents about this, they vehemently denied these allegations. Jonathan, they said, was an honorable man, a war hero. The reaction was always the same, even after Isaac showed them the photos. A piercing look of rage before the door was slammed in our faces.
Our only clue is the warehouse.
The car slows down at a stoplight.
The streets are empty. A few posters are stuck on the walls of the houses. Some are agitating against the Subjects, others are warning about NOS and the current ruling party. STOP NOS! SUBJECT = HUMAN! WATCH OUT! Has been sprayed with red paint across the warning posters.
One, which appears to be brand new, states:
!!! ENFORCEMENT OF THE STATE ORDINANCE POINT NO. 8 !!!
SUBJECTS MUST BE STOPPED*.
Let's work together to stop these vicious creatures before they can spread more suffering upon us. Recognize symptoms early and protect yourself and your loved ones. These include: Confusion, irritability, loss of balance, overtiredness, restraint to the point of isolation, unnatural behavior patterns, and scratching of the skin.
We are currently conducting research and clinical trials based on the data provided, but there is still no proven treatment for this highly contagious disease, the course of which, to our regret, is fatal.
Dear fellow citizens, we call upon you to cooperate.
Help us to prevent the spread of the pandemic.
Take the first step towards a better future.
*Any suspicious persons should be reported immediately to NOS or the police.
My fingers dig into the fabric of my pants. I struggle to swallow the rising anger at these lines.
Why are we being branded? Why us, of all people?
I didn't voluntarily choose to become a Subject. The change is indefinite, but that is what triggers the panic in their hearts. They cannot predict who it will hit next, nor do they have the necessary means to stop it. It happens. Period. After that, you're left with two choices. The choice between life and death. There is no in-between. Not as long as the current government defends the view of eliminating us without consideration.
"Here we are."
Liam's voice brings me back to the present. At the end of the street, the car comes to a stop in the shadow of a broken lamppost. Ahead lies the warehouse in question. Several containers block my view of the rear part of the run-down hall. The old brick building looks ghostly in the eerie light. Metal beams, gates and the roof are covered in rust and don't make a safe impression.
"What now?", I break the silence.
Isaac gives a shoved sigh. "We wait." Before anyone can complain, he continues. "We have to be careful. We don't know their numbers, nor how many Subjects we will actually be dealing with."
That's what makes my stomach hurt. According to the photos from the Intelligence Unit, we only know about Jonathan and about two other persons. It is unknown if he himself is a Subject. The file only mentioned the possibility of that.
After a while, I feel someone tugging on my arm - Mason, who points his index finger at the windshield. "Look."
At first I don't understand what he's trying to show me. Before us lies complete darkness, interrupted only by a few lanterns. But then I see him. A boy running straight toward the hall. I can't make out his face because of the lousy lighting conditions. He is wearing dark clothes which makes it even more difficult to guess his stature. Almost in panic, he knocks against the gate. After a few breaths, it opens and a bulky man eyes the boy. Then both disappear inside.
"Bingo," Liam says. "The cops' statements seem to be true."
Isaac sighs another time. "It's no use. Mason and I are going to scout the area." His gaze crosses with mine as he looks at the back seat and I feel like he's staring at me for a few seconds too long. Almost as if he's weighing his next command with mindfulness. He shakes his head and turns to Liam. "You and Ty will stay in the car for now."
"But -," I want to protest his absurd command, however I get nowhere.
"Are you going to defy me?" Isaac asks directly and I find no answer. Satisfied, he closes the door behind him. Mason squeezes my hand before following our team leader.
Is he trying to punish me? For the thing with the boy the other day and the conversation he had to have with Neil? I'm sure it was about me. About my lack of results and growing distrust.
Neil must have told him to keep an eye on me. Is that why I'm sitting on the imaginary bench? So I can't give the Protection Guard another reason to write a bad report about my incompetence?
I turn on my earpiece. No matter how I turn it, I remain a burden to Isaac. By now, I've stopped counting the number of times he's had to apologize for my behavior. And frankly, it pisses me off. His fucking sense of duty to kiss NOS's ass.
From a distance, I can see his silhouette. He's helping Mason climb up on a shipping container. He deftly hoists himself onto a ledge and jumps onto a metal staircase leading to the roof. Mason is a few months older than me, yet he is a head shorter and has a petite build. He's not particularly strong, either. His results in close combat are always just below average. But he is nimble and very agile. Like a weasel, he overcomes all obstacles and manages to get even bigger opponents off their feet.
"Ty?" Isaac calls in over the earpiece. "Are there cameras?"
"I don't think so," I answer while reaching for the tablet at the same moment. A program opens in the background as I type in various numbers and codes. In just a few steps, I find myself in the city surveillance system. Routinely, I search for the corresponding street and -
Nothing. The nearest camera is pointed at an access road. Even if I turned it completely around, I could only get a glimpse of the gate to the warehouse.
Involuntarily, a thought pops into my head: If there would be a fight between us and the people inside the hall, so that they would try to escape, it would be questionable whether they would succeed. Behind the building is a dead end and the only escape route is in Liam's and my sight. That a former soldier, of all people, would think of seeking shelter here is concerning.
"I can't get you a picture from inside," I say into the microphone.
Isaac comes running back, seemingly unhappy about this information. Arriving at the car, he looks up at the roof. "Mason, what about you?"
"Yeah, I got a good view," he replies in a subdued tone. "Seven people and our target. However, there is no sign of the boy. The giant is also nowhere to be seen. Wait a minute. Is that -"
A shot rings out.
Alarmed, my fingers tighten around the headset.
"Mason," I say, unable to hold back the pure fear in my voice. "Mason! Say something!"
After what feels like an eternity, he replies, "If we want information, we'd better hurry. Jonathan is injured."
Isaac taps on the passenger side window. "We're going in."
Hastily, I unfasten my seatbelt and place my hand on the door handle.
"You stay here," Isaac stops me.
"I can help!"
"Can you really?"
Guess I've found my answer. He actually wants to punish me and keep me on a short leash like a damn mutt. I am well aware of the irony of the situation: I am a tool of NOS. Basically, I already have one foot over the edge should I fail to prove myself useful, and now my own team leader is stopping me.
"I'm not going to say it again," Isaac warns.
"I get it," I concede.
Reluctantly, I press myself into the seat and watch them catch up with Mason.
I am lost. I am aware that my results have been getting worse and worse over the last few months. The thing with the boy is not an exception. At the same time, I don't understand it myself. My doubts towards NOS. They help us, yes. We live only because they offer us the opportunity to be their pawns on behalf of the government. We obtain information. Escort. Infiltrate. Kill. All for a better future.
Just ...
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