Intended Extinction (35 page)

The Twilight
Zone.

That title could have described the elevator ride. Everyone remained silent, thinking of what lied ahead. It was surreal.

Jonas Repik. All the answers I was hoping for were only a few minutes away. Everything that happened to Tara and I. Justin’s parents. The soldiers. The death of Archturus Slate. Everything funneled to this moment. The more I realized what was about to happen, the more my mouth began to water.

But when that elevator door opened and the chime rang in my ears, I froze.

“Mark?” asked Tara.

She stood at the threshold, holding the doors open. Her face was calm, serious, and accepting.

“I know we can’t hold a candle to the others,” I began, watching them move silently past the first set of double doors toward the gleaming second set at the end of the new corridor. “So why am I freezing up?”

Tara thought for a moment. The fact that she didn’t care about the mission more than another one of our conversations made me relax.

“Maybe it’s because we
haven’t
been in Genesis as long as they have.”

I thought about the others’ commitment, their dedication and fervor. Bollis risked his life for us—twice—even before he knew us. Dodge
died
for the cause.

“They really are heroes,” I said. “They’ve given up everything.”

Tara cocked her head back to watch the other three approach Repik’s door.

My statement was more of a contemplative one. Here I was, fearing what lied ahead, while my friends—who had endured ten times more than I—were pressing on without hesitation. Standing in their presence humbled me. I felt small against their wake.

Tara turned back to me. She placed a gloved hand to my check.

“
You
are a hero. You would give your life for any of us. Even Justin.” She smirked. “Let’s end this, Mark. Let’s go home.”

“Charges in place—Mark, Tara, get up here,” said Bollis.

I grabbed Tara’s wrist and stared into her iridescent blue eyes.

“Let’s get some
answers
,” I said.

“What are we going to do if he’s not here?” asked Vexin when we caught up.

“Regardless of his presence,” said Vane, “there are thousands of stored records behind this door. We’ll have what we need.” He paused for a moment, looked back at the door, and then turned to us again. “And
then
we’ll find him.”

“Here we go,” said Bollis.

Our demolitions expert counted down from three.

The explosion was quick and succinct. Not a second afterwards, we infiltrated the office. Out of the smoke, my eyes feasted upon the magnificent room. Luxury was an understatement.

The CEO’s workplace was covered in dark, reflective marble flooring, with a second, raised level. The walls and vaulted ceiling had flecks of gold and sapphire glinting from within. Four giant pillars lined the pathway to a glass desk at the end of the room. The desk supported a 90-inch Fuse, an AI pedestal, and four supercomputers built into the foundation. Bookshelves, a few sofas, and gaudy décor dotted the entire space.

But the splendor fell away when we realized we were the only ones in the room.

“Damn it!” shouted Vexin.

Jonas Repik was nowhere to be found. Which wasn’t much of a shock, but rather a reminder that luck was never going to be on our side.

“Turn this place upside down,” commanded Bollis.

The rest of us remained speechless. Our footsteps echoed as we filtered through the place we had been studying for weeks. My heart rested at the bottom of my abdomen. I was furious, depressed, and anxious. I had envisioned the encounter with Repik so many times. What would this mean? The CEO wasn’t stupid enough to just leave his arsenal of incriminating data for us to collect. Was he?

But remembering what Dodge had died for, I held on to what little determination I had left. We
had
to find something.

Before I could begin my search, Vexin approached me. He looked around, making sure no one else could hear us.

“Mark, do you remember what we saw in that basement room?”

I thought back. The man hooked up to the wires. The weird machine. Vexin had said he recognized it.

“You remember now?” I asked.

He nodded. His voice turned into a whisper.

“That’s what Simone looks like,” he said, referring to the Underbed’s nanomachine-injecting program. “Behind the wall,
that’s
what it looks like.”

I furrowed my brow.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought Vane built Simone from an ancient military prototype?”

“That’s what bothers me. Why does GenoTec have something exactly like it?”

“I don’t know,” I said, not really putting any weight on his speculation. “Something feels wrong, though.”

We looked at each other for a minute before continuing our search. No one was saying much. The sound of shuffling books and ripping drawers open were the only things creating sound.

I stepped up the single stair onto the raised level, looking past the glass desk. Something instantly caught my eye. Located directly behind Repik’s station was a wall of monitors, still buzzing with life. While everyone worked in their own area, I moved passed the table and focused my attention on the weird, Big Brother-esque wall.

“I found a data cache,” said Vane to no one in particular. He used a portable monitor by the entrance to begin compiling information.

I ignored everything else. I couldn’t take my eyes off of what I was seeing. Partly because of the specific information being displayed, but even more because I had seen the same stack of monitors in Primary—Vane’s office.

On the right side of one screen, a male figure was outlined in neon green. On the left was a description:

Marcus Phillip Wenton.

Birth: February 12
th
, 2014.

Height: 6’1”. Weight: 193.5.

Status: Infected. Vax Influence: approx. 12.6%.

Location: GenoTec HQ.

Oversuit Capacity: 45%.

Mental Stability: Under Duress.

History: Depression. Anxiety. Adrenoprene Addiction.

Usage: Support. Dispensable.

It was my whole profile.

I took a step back, full of horror. I read more by touching another tab. Hair and eye color, weapon proficiency, birthplace, family names, places of habitation, monthly acquisitions of survival items.

Everything.

I fell into a state of shock. There were no words to grasp my confusion. On every other monitor, the other members of Genesis were displayed in the same manner. Jordan Dabbs, AKA “Celia.” Curtis Mundson, AKA “Dodge.” Valiant Davis, AKA “Vexin.” Ryan Caprete, AKA “Bollis.”

By now, Tara and the others started converging on my location, noticing my utter despair. Once I had scanned each monitor, a wave of annihilating fear and paralysis overcame me.

There was one name missing.

The sound of an electrified fence erupted from behind us. Bollis, Vexin, Tara, and I turned to find a transparent wall of what looked like a network of pink neurons; the surface rippled like a tight piece of fabric. We were imprisoned.

Vane stood on the other side.

“What’s this?!” shouted Bollis.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” said Vane coolly. He was still stooped over his portable monitor, uploading data. He paid no attention to our flustered group.

Bollis took a few steps forward, eyes wide. “Vane . . .” he said, his chiseled jaw clamped and quivering.

“What the
hell
?!” shouted Vexin. He lifted a small lamp off of the glass desk and threw it at the pink barrier. When the lamp collided with the shield, sparks flew everywhere and the lamp ricocheted back, half melted.

I pushed past Vexin. “Why isn’t your name on this?!”

I was inches away from the barrier, feeling the dull heat.

The atmosphere on our side was corrosive. There was so much unknown outrage and uncertainty. My heart was leaping around my chest cavity like a rubber ball.

Finally, with no urgency whatsoever, Vane stood and turned to us. He walked toward the barrier, stepping up the second tier. When he came within feet of the pink shield, he smiled and began to speak.

“It’s called a Kinetic Voss Shield. It’s the only one of its kind. Really quite beautiful. Impenetrable. Powerful.”

He admired the glowing technology with the utmost pride.

Bollis lashed out, “You better tell us what the—”

“In a few moments, none of this will matter anyways,” Vane responded.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” growled Vexin.

Behind Vane, a small beep sounded from his monitor. He stared at us a little bit longer before going back to check the screen. More impatient curses came from our end of the field. Then Vane’s face frowned for the first time. He tapped a few things on the see-through keyboard and looked our direction for a split second.

“It looks like we
do
have some time,” he said, his voice mildly changing from a low, raspy tone, to a more sophisticated, younger one.

He stood straight and craned his neck. The rest of us watched with intense perception. Our leader stepped away from the computer, placed his hands on his scalp and began to rub in a circular motion.

Through the shroud of pink, I thought I saw pieces of skin start to fall off. No—whole sections of his head! We watched in disgust as he ripped the white-blonde hair from his skull and toss it to the floor. He did the same to his face, peeling away a fake nose and discarding an entire neck brace of false skin.

His head was turned away, hiding his face, but it gave us a front row seat to the black tattoo that snaked down the back of his skull, continuing into his collar. Designed like a grouping of veins, the tattoo sparked an unbelievable memory within me. Out of one of his lumbar pouches, he withdrew a loose, silver contraption. As he held it in one hand, he took his other hand and reached into his throat and pulled out a tiny device. Gagging a little, he threw it to the ground and placed the other metal contraption around his mouth and nose, clamping it down at the base of his cranium. Slowly, the muscular man turned to us. His eyes were black holes. His brow line was caveman-like, lined with bushy caramel eyebrows. The metal contraption covering his mouth and nose had slits across and two indented circles on either cheek.

He inhaled, as if breathing through a megaphone. The unnatural metallic voice sent a green poison spike through my brain.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Archturus Slate.”

INTENDED EXTINCTION

Never had
I felt so sorry for myself than at that moment. The whipping vines of corruption and deceit bound my feet. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Standing before me with a truly emotionless face, Slate embodied the essence of everything evil about my life. My nervous mind tried to grasp the concept of his betrayal, but the reach of his deception was unfathomable.

“You—you’re alive,” said Bollis in the most restrained voice he could muster.

Slate blinked. He continued to stare at the four of us, mocking our entire existence.

Tara approached the barrier and gritted her teeth, “The whole time. You . . .” She couldn’t find words to adequately describe her anger and confusion.

“You only have fifteen minutes,” our false leader said, “I suggest you find something more productive to say.”

The distinct reverb of his tin can voice garroted my flesh as if I was being scourged with thick barbed wire.

“What do you mean?” snarled Vexin.

“In fifteen minutes I’ll have total control of GenoTec once more. And it’s all thanks to you.”

A flood of answers burst through my core.

Slate was Vane, Vane was Slate. He had tutored me, raised me. His wisdom and experience trained my mind and soul to new heights. My mind flashed white.

“You should be grateful,” Slate spoke, “you’ve contributed to the future prosperity of this planet.”

“Bullshit,” said Bollis, pointing at Slate. “What’s going on?!”

Slate stood motionless. “Am I
supposed
to tell you?”

There was silence. The pink kinetic shield made an irritating buzzing noise. As a matter of fact, everything was irritating.

But I guess Bollis’ command held some gravity. Slate extended his neck back and pondered the request. As he began to speak, someone else overrode him through the room’s intercom system.

“This is Roger Celement. I have your boy. In ten minutes, I’m going to kill him. Turn yourselves into me and I’ll spare him.”

Everyone exchanged glances. Slate scoffed.

Tara whipped her head to me, a glance of utter hopelessness.

“Ten minutes,” repeated Celement.

I could feel my veins and tendons stretch as I clenched my fists.

“Well,” said Slate, “it looks like you’ve lost five minutes.”

There was nothing we could do. As long as we were behind this shield, we weren’t going anywhere. And what was Celement’s play here, anyways? He would attempt to draw us out by using Justin? Maybe it would work on Tara, but the others would never go for it. Celement
had
to have known that.

“Let Justin go, you sick bastard!” yelled Tara.

“Me?” asked Slate incredulously. “Working with Celement? That cockeyed freak? I have nothing to do with your tag-along.”

“Then what the hell is going on?!” she answered.

“It would be a waste of time to explain it all,” he began. “You don’t deserve to know anything.”

Bollis spoke low. “You . . .
wanted
this to happen.”

Slate remained still.

My mind was running a million miles. Had Slate faked his death? What had happened between him and Repik? What
was
Genesis? Was the last month of my life good for nothing?

Bollis seemed to be catching on quicker than anyone. “You,” he began, “you used us.” He shook his head in silence.

Slates eyes pierced through Bollis.

Suddenly, a flash of realization overtook me. Repik
must
have wanted Slate dead. If Vane had been Slate’s vehicle to reclaim the throne, then Bollis was right; we had been used to fulfill a madman’s plan.

“When all is said and done,” started Slate, “you can put your blame upon Jonas Repik.”

“Why, because he managed to kick you out? You couldn’t even control your own corporation?” accused Bollis, confirming my suspicions.

The insult rebounded off of Slate. He began to pace across the floor and glanced over at his computer screen.

“Admit it!” Tara exclaimed. “Repik tried to kill you. All this time we’ve been feeding your revenge.”

“This world,” Slate said, “is so fragile and malleable. Without me, it would crumble into factions and districts with no purpose or desire. Repik made a grave mistake trying to eliminate me.”

“Get off your ledge,” jeered Vexin.

“Why Genesis?” I asked. “Why the weapons and secrecy?”

“Genesis,” said Slate as he paced, “was a plan devised back in the ‘20’s. Asia was giving us a lot of grief back then. We were trying to prevent World War Three. If you really want to know the truth, you were our ‘prototypes.’ Prototypes of the perfect soldier.”

Prototypes. Genesis was an anti-terrorism program? The “perfect soldier”?

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “You used your
own
corporation as the objective.”

“Conflicts around the world settled down around the time we started recruiting. Think about it. Using GenoTec as the enemy allowed us to control what information we used to rally your emotions. We had to keep you active and goal oriented. You should feel privileged—you’re the only ones who knew the truth.”

So our cause
was
true, but we were working
for
GenoTec the entire time.

“No wonder we had stalemates,” discovered Bollis. “And that’s why you were always gone.” He murmured to the floor. “How could I have been so blind?”

We were in a daze. Vexin looked sick. Tara’s face was red and her eyes never stopped misting.

We had been pawns. This entire time—Celia’s six-year tenure to my one month—was all for nothing. It didn’t fully make sense. All of my training and improvements in the Underbed—all of the life threatening events afterward—were just a sideshow.

Tara answered my question before I had a chance to ask. The question that had been burning inside of me since the night of the Turnmont incident.

“So why the hell bring me and Mark into this?” asked Tara.

Slate shrugged. “The more members, the easier it would be to regain control. You’re entrance into Genesis was purely situational. I needed two more, I found two more. I also got to see how quickly a person could be trained using our methods.”

“That’s why we were targeted,” I muttered, being overwhelmed with knowledge. “Repik must have known you had chosen us! He tried to take all three of us out that night.”

Slate clapped twice. “Congratulations, Mark. You figured it out.”

“You put your success upon us?” asked Bollis. “How did you know we wouldn’t turn on you? How could you possibly know that this would work?”

“Why are you using your time to ask such worthless questions?” replied Slate. “Look where you’re standing. It worked, trust me.”

“And what about Repik then?” I asked. “What happened between you two?”

Slate stopped pacing, staring at the ground. He turned to his monitor.

“When GenoTec was an infant,” he began, “there were six founders. Myself, Repik, and four others. Our goal was simple: ‘changing the world.’ However, my colleagues didn’t exactly share my ambitions. Except for Repik. He and I led GenoTec to where it is now—to the top. But he became greedy. He saw my leadership as a barrier to GenoTec’s true destiny. He was and still is a fool.”

“You couldn’t even manage your own servants,” said Bollis, laughing. “No, congratulations to you.”

Slate smiled with Bollis. “I knew all about Repik’s plan from the start,” he began. “Everything I did—from my death, to my abduction—was planned. Repik never knew where Genesis was, until
I
leaked the information. Everything I have done was to use Repik’s coup against him. I
knew
Repik wasn’t going to be up here. But once I gained access to the building, Repik knew he couldn’t control me. It’s over. And so is Genesis.”

“So you fake your own death, you use us to get back here, and now what? What’s your next move?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said frankly, “you’ll all be dead anyways.”

An evil thought crossed my mind. I didn’t want to even
think
about it, but I couldn’t contain myself.

“How could this happen? How did GenoTec survive Edge?”

Slate’s black eyes rose to meet mine. He inhaled, enjoying the satisfaction of being in control once more. He took a few steps forward. When he spoke, I don’t think I completely understood. I don’t think I was mentally ready for it.

In the most prideful tone, full of sadistic pleasure, Slate uttered the words that could have ended my life right then and there.

“I created Edge.”