"Enhanced" - excerpt

 

by Madeleine Urban

 

The scientist and the engineer ran down the hall, trying to keep up with Nighthawk while Brimstone stalked a ways behind them, keeping an eye on the hallways they passed. “Who the hell are these guys?” Cary asked for about the tenth time.

 

“Cary, will you shut up about it? You want to live through this or not?” Ryne hissed.

 

“How do we know they won’t just kill us and go join the V3s?”

 

“Because we’re still human.”

 

The two men stopped in place, almost running right into Nighthawk. “We’re still human, and from what you just briefed us, they never were,” the soldier said. “They won’t accept us. That’s why we were put on ice in the first place. For the new wave of soldiers to move in.”

 

Brimstone walked past them, face set in a permanent frown. “Get moving,” he said in a clipped voice.

 

So they followed Brimstone now, moving as quick as they could down the passageway, considering Ryne’s injured leg. “Why didn’t they just kill you?” Ryne asked over his shoulder.

 

“Commit mass murder? Wasn’t quite possible. So they put us away - for ‘just in case’, you know? Me, I was just me, so I really didn’t care. Happy to still be breathing. Or not breathing, as the case was,” Nighthawk answered frankly. “But alive.”

 

“So why’s he so pissed off?” Cary asked, nodding his head at the soldier stalking ahead of them.

 

The V1 didn’t answer right away as they moved down the hallway. His movements were silent on his bare feet and when he did speak, it was just as quietly. “He left a family behind.”

 

Ryne frowned. “How long have you guys been in there?”

 

“What year is it?” Nighthawk asked as they turned a corner. Brimstone was most of the way up the passage already.

 

“2085,” Cary said.

 

Nighthawk stopped in his tracks and looked back at them, his dark eyes clearly shocked. “I thought cryo was only good for twenty years max,” he hissed.

 

“Yes, that’s right,” Ryne said, frowning as they stopped. “The other eight in the bays were dead.” He looked over Nighthawk’s shoulder after Brimstone, but the other V1 hadn’t stopped. He was now checking doors.

 

“We were put down in ’28,” Nighthawk said angrily. “They said ten years, at the most, then we’d be processed out as civilians. Fuck...” Now he turned and looked after Brimstone. “All dead. He’s gonna be pissed.”

 

Both Cary’s brows flew up. “And how is that a difference from now?” he asked, voice nearing strident. “Guys...we better get down there or the pissing will start now instead of later,” he said, pushing them to start back up the hall as the scruffy V1 looked toward them, scowling. They caught up with him at a nondescript sealed door.

 

“Open it,” Brimstone ordered.

 

Ryne took one look at his face and tried a couple codes. The third one opened the door, and Brimstone strode inside. The other men followed, and when the lights flickered on, Cary turned in a circle. “Armory,” he identified.

 

“Pft,” Nighthawk dismissed, already rifling a clothes locker. “Brimstone’s gotta have his guns to get his rocks off.”

 

“Shut your trap, asshole.”

 

“Sure thing, Brimstone,” Nighthawk said back, voice bright and shiny.

 

“You guys are something else,” Cary said as he sat on a bench, watching Ryne wander farther back in the room.

 

Nighthawk pulled out black jackets, web gear and more. “Here, put on these.” He tossed a set of trousers and shirt like his own at Cary, hitting him in the chest.

 

“What for? These are V3 uniforms.”

 

“Really? Even better.”

 

“Why better? I don’t want to look like one of them,” Cary objected.

 

“You want a hole in your leg like Ryne’s?”

 

“I’ll just go change now.”

 

“There’s a jacket and more,” Nighthawk said, shrugging into the gear himself and pulling out boots.

 

Ryne stopped some distance away from Brimstone as the V1 shoved through a locker. “What are we going to do?” he asked.

 

Brimstone’s eyes shifted to him. They were cold, but even so, they still had much more life than a V3’s. “First, we’re going to remove the noncombatants from the zone. Second, we’ll infiltrate the facility’s substructure and eliminate the central command. Third, we’ll find the V3 nerve case and blow it. That sound okay to you?” His last words were clearly sarcastic.

 

“As long as the command center is taken out – like I said, that’s where they’re coordinating everything from. But destroying the nerve case - that would decimate the entire military,” Ryne said, a little shocked.

 

“You want the V3s to run the country?” Brimstone said sharply.

 

“No!”

 

“Then we take out the nerve case, or this’ll be happening again in a year, and you won’t be around to get someone to do something about it.” Brimstone closed the few steps between them and reached down to grab Ryne’s torn-up leg. The redhead yelped and tried to jerk away. “If what you said tracks, when it hit you, it took a tissue sample. It will know you, wherever you are, wherever you go. That’s standard fluid and tissue tracking. There’s no escaping it unless the whole damn thing is taken down.” He released Ryne’s leg and stalked back to the locker. “Should never have gone up in the first place,” he muttered.

 

Ryne watched the dark man shrug into a heavy jacket and wrap belts around his chest and waist before sliding into boots. The V1 moved with an economy of motion that captivated him. It reminded him of what he’d read on the computer. “Your specialty is munitions - that’s why you wanted the armory,” Ryne said, making the connection.

 

Brimstone’s chin jerked around. “You read my file?”

 

“I was looking for someone to help us. I knew military would be the best bet – but it had to be military that wouldn’t really know what’s been going on.” Ryne shrugged apologetically. “Luckily, I stumbled across some old records about the deep freeze. We got Nighthawk, then you.”

 

Jaw shifting, Brimstone frowned. “What about the rest of my team?”

 

Ryne shut his mouth, inhaled sharply through his nose and swallowed on it. “They’re dead. The cryo failed – it’s been far too long. It’s amazing that the two of you are still alive.”

 

The little bit of life in the V1’s eyes went out, replaced by implacable focus. “Put these on,” he said roughly, shoving a black V3 uniform against Ryne’s chest.

 

Wandering into the washroom, Nighthawk walked up behind Cary, who stood in front of a small mirror mounted on a locker. “This isn’t going to work,” the soldier said, pulling on Cary’s platinum tail of hair. “Not exactly regulation.”

 

“Can’t do anything about it,” Cary said, pulling off his glasses and sliding them into a pocket.

 

“I can,” Nighthawk said, pulling a sharp knife out of an arm sheath. Before Cary could protest, the knife sheared close to the scalp through his hair, and Nighthawk held the tail out to him.

 

Cary blinked at the hair, then back up at the mirror. “Great,” he muttered.

 

Nighthawk grinned and reached up to cut some of the sides so it tapered messily close to his skull. “That’ll pass muster.”

 

Cary rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll just grow it out again. If I live through this,” he said sarcastically.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nighthawk purred, leaning close and sniffing delicately along the line of Cary’s neck. “I like it short.” His lips just barely brushed along the bared neck, and Cary shivered, eyes widening.

 

Grinning because he wasn’t pushed away, Nighthawk slid his hands onto Cary’s waist. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you live,” he murmured, lips against Cary’s ear with a smile. “You’re kinda cute.”

 

Cary couldn’t stifle the snort. “Gee. Cute. Thanks.”

 

“I like cute,” Nighthawk said, setting his chin on Cary’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

 

“You wake up randy?” Cary poked.

 

“Mmmm hmmm,” Nighthawk answered, rubbing against him from behind.

 

Cary laughed. “Your sense of reality is so skewed.”

 

“Mmmm baby, let me rock your world.”

 

Ryne turned to look back into the room as Cary’s laughter echoed around them, but he and Nighthawk weren’t in sight. He glanced back when Brimstone snorted. “What?”

 

“Nighthawk never could keep it in his pants,” the V1 muttered. Ryne’s brows hit the ceiling. Brimstone glanced at him and shrugged. “Try this jacket,” he said, holding one out.

 

Ryne accepted it and slid it on, fastening the web belt, sending another odd glance in the direction of the washroom. Brimstone looked over it and reached to tighten the jacket around him, pulling on the straps around his chest and waist. “Not too tight?” he asked gruffly.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Ryne answered, looking at the swinging dog tags and chip swinging across Brimstone’s chest. The soldier turned away and tucked the tags into his tank before pulling on a jacket himself. “How are we going to do this?” Ryne asked.

 

“There is no ‘we’ - you’re leaving,” Brimstone said in a clipped voice.

 

“Leaving? I’m not leaving. What are you talking about?” Ryne asked in shock.

 

Brimstone slammed the door shut and turned on him. “You. Are. Leaving.” Then he stalked back toward the door.

 

“You can’t do this without me,” Ryne objected, following him.

 

“Watch me,” Brimstone said succinctly. “Nighthawk,” he barked. “Zip it up and get out here.”

 

After a long moment the other V1 sauntered into the main room. “Are we ready to party?”

 

“Arm up,” Brimstone said.

 

“You can’t do this without me,” Ryne insisted as Cary walked out, flushed and smoothing a hand over his shorn head. Ryne did a double take before looking back at the grim soldier.

 

“Why not?” Nighthawk asked as he pulled a large gun off a weapons rack and handed it to Brimstone.

 

“Because I have all the pass codes,” Ryne said, straightening his shoulders. Nighthawk raised one brow and looked from the scientist to the other V1 and back. Then he started whistling quietly, turned right around, took Cary’s arm and walked him into the washroom.

 

“Wha...” Cary said.

 

“Trust me,” Nighthawk said, pulling him around the corner and starting to grope again. “This will be much less violent.”

 

“You have no experience for this mission,” Brimstone grated as he sat on the bench and started working on the gun.

 

“But I’ve got all the knowledge you don’t,” Ryne argued, crossing his arms and standing in front of the soldier. “It won’t work without both components.”

 

The V1s eyes narrowed. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“I’m a geneticist, yes.”

 

“So you know what makes the V3s tick?”

 

“I know about the genetic and biological components. You’d have to ask Cary about the actual programming,” Ryne said, voice revealing his unease. “What do you need to know?”

 

“I need to know what we’re up against. Obviously, I only know the bare bits you’ve told us about the V3s, plus a few rumors from before I went under.” Brimstone grimaced. “This is not a good idea,” he muttered.

 

“Yeah, well, the whole situation is fucked, so I don’t know what to tell you,” Ryne muttered, sitting down and wiping sweat off his brow. His cheeks were a little flushed, and he fanned himself with one hand.

 

“How did a scientist find out about this plot, anyway?” the soldier asked suspiciously as he pulled another gun of the rack next to where he sat.

 

“Rise in percentages of genetically engineered components in the V3s without them being expressly planned. Drop in averages of genetic adjustments in the general population. Higher causal deaths in nonengineered population.” Brimstone looked at Ryne like he was spouting another language. Ryne sighed. “I’m also a numbers cruncher. I know what improvements are being used on the V3s, and more were showing up than I had records for. They were being made stronger, less instinctual, more highly programmed with artificial intelligence instead of genetic knowledge. They’re practically machines now.”

 

Brimstone’s eyes were clouded as he looked across the room. “Do they carry the same enhancements the V1s did?” he asked, practically cordial.

 

Ryne shook his head, tilting his head as he studied Brimstone’s closed face. “A lot of the early genetic manipulations went bad in V2. The engineering that took in V1s mutated in V2s, and the entire project fell apart. That run was scrapped, and the V3s were designed from the ground up.”

 

“So it’s been how long since anyone’s dealt with a V1?” Brimstone asked, still staring off at nothing.

 

“Fifty years, give or take. I’d never even seen the research until I started looking for more information. I had no idea that the subjects were even created. I’d been told V1 was all lab work. Even with my knowledge, I didn’t understand most of what they did to V1s. And most of the research was wiped from the database. The only reason I found your bays was an old maintenance order.”

 

Brimstone’s face got pinched. “Fifty years,” he murmured. “So how do we take out the V3s?”

 

“I don’t know about you guys, but Cary and I are no match for them. The strength is incredible. Guns work, the V3s are still primarily flesh and blood, except for the brain and cybernetic components in joints and such,” Ryne explained, leaning back against the lockers. “But the nerve case is really what keeps them going. Without the transmitted programming they shut down and the clean up sequence starts.”

 

“What’s that?” Brimstone asked, grabbing yet another weapon.

 

“Basal conflagration decomposition. The components burn themselves out and consume the body within one hour. It was conceived as a way to keep the battlefields cleaned up.”

 

The V1 set aside the gun and leaned on his knees, looking across at Ryne measuringly, seeing the scientist’s athletic build only emphasized by the uniform. He was obviously a book man, but perhaps not so useless - or helpless - as Brimstone had initially judged. “Are the people in the command center human or engineered?”

 

Ryne was thrown by the jump, but after a moment his face filled with an ill grief. “Human, maybe 5% engineered, like the general population,” he said quietly as his eyes dropped to his fists. “Megalomaniacs, but human.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Brimstone asked, his voice gentle enough to draw Ryne’s gaze back to the soldier’s face and his changeable eyes. The soldier knew well enough how difficult it was to come to terms with having to kill.

 

“What they’re doing is wrong,” Ryne answered, a hint of steel in his voice. “Engineering was meant to improve the human race, remove disease and defects, extend age and improve quality of life. Not for making a superior master race.”

 

Brimstone studied him and then nodded slowly. “You listen to me when we’re out there, you understand? I’ll do my best to get you out of this, but I think we both know this is bigger than any of us and has to be stopped.”

 

The scientist raised his chin. “Yeah. It has to be stopped.”

 

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