To Be Free (16 page)

Despite what's happened in my
life, I'm a proud man. Proud of who I am and what I've become
despite the hell I've lived through. They can take away my name, my
rights and my freedom, but they will never take away my pride.

Because I'm proud to be
something they fear.

“
Good morning gentlemen,” I call with a smirk, casting my eyes
around. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, although I do prefer
going by the name Sebastian than Nine. It sounds so
formal.
”

Recon One
stands around the entrance in a semi-circle, at least two dozens of
the dark suits shimmering in the light and tricking the eye. Each
man and woman has a gun a type I'm unfamiliar with levelled to my
chest, the laser sights dancing around the area and lit up
remarkably on my black suit.

“
Where's
Eleven?” a female voice asks, front and centre of the gaggle of
officials. I shrug a shoulder, and she primes her rifle – it hums
faintly, the blue lights dancing along the sides running even more
quickly and promising pain. “Don't lie to me; we saw him enter with
you.”

There are about five
helicopters idling along the streets, almost invisible to the
eye.

“
He's busy,”
I reply with another shrug, hands still aloft in the air by my
head. Her lips form a tight line and her fingers tighten on the gun
in her hands.

“
Do not
resist arrest,” she commands, and nudges her partner beside her to
strap me. I don't hold a fight, turning my back to them and gladly
placing my hands behind my back for the man to grab by the wrists,
pulling a pair of chips from his pocket. I'm grinning as I lean
forward slightly, flexing my fingers.

“
You might
want to duck,” I remark idly, and the man makes a confused noise at
the back of his throat. Without warning I twist around, kicking his
legs from beneath him and disappearing from sight just as their
guns open fire where I once stood.

It's an interesting thing, my
ability. While in this world of timeless essence, real time is
slowed to almost a halt, the bullets sailing through the air at
barely an inch a second. The world around me is in shades of red,
white and black particles floating in the air and condensed at the
places I have already trod on.

There's also my paradox clones
walking around, jumping along time's lifetime or trekking through
the real world. Some of them are running with Quinn by their side,
others not.

Then there's the ghosts of the
past, the men and women who used to live here and who've come to
pay their respects. The Vigils who slaughtered the people, and the
people who've been left to decay on the streets.

You understand it's a very busy
setting. The past's ghosts are fainter, though, than the ones of
the present or from a different time line, when decisions were made
differently.

In this manner I can walk
freely through the world, and with a laugh I begin the slaughter of
the same variety they've inflicted on the free.

Stepping out of time's flow I
come up behind the woman who was ordering me around, the red, black
and white mist clinging to my skin a moment longer as I grab her
neck and twist it to the side, her spine snapping. The men beside
her are turning to face me, and I kick the first man in the gut and
hit the pressure point on his wrist, forcing him to drop the
gun.

I pick it up and turn it to the
other man, firing at his skull while the other operatives open fire
on me. I drop the gun once he's dead, already imagining my next
move and sweeping my hand out in an arc in their direction, the sky
overhead darkening as the wind picks up dangerously. The bullets
that come into contact with the red haze that forms in front of me
come to a halt, moving through the air an inch a second.

Then, grinning at the men and
women who've stopped firing, staring at me in confusion and utter
surprise, the bullets fall to the ground and I run through time's
flow again to the nearest operative, my hand glowing with the mist
that's the trademark of my gift as I press it to his chest with a
good shove, stilling his lungs and asphyxiating him without much
difficulty. I leave the man to choke to death, turning to the next
operative and doing the same.

The air smells thickly of ozone
just as a bolt of lightning strikes down where one of the
helicopters are, forcing it to blow up and blowing the nearest
operatives to bits. The searing heat makes me break into a sweat as
I shove the next man into the one behind him, both of them affected
with the affliction I've forced upon the first man. Hitting a woman
in the solar plexus and making her crumple to the ground
lifelessly, I see stars a moment when the man to my right lands a
lucky hit at the back of my head, making me fall forward. As I
stumble I see him.

The air around Quinn's alive
with energy – so much energy it's visible to the naked eye, a
bright blue that hurts the eye to watch. The source of the smell of
ozone is clear as day – and he stands in the centre of a handful of
operatives, but he doesn't look scared. The wind is shifting
irregularly around him, the arms of his suit charred off as the
electricity dances along them, burning his skin.

As they level their weapons at
him he grins, tensing his body just before he takes a step forward
and disappears into the wind, a burst of the gale forcing the men
and women to stagger back, hands shielding their faces as best they
can. Then, a moment beyond that, he reappears behind the first man
and does what I did at first; grabs his head and snaps his neck,
the electricity dancing along his arms running on his victims and
killing him before he even does so.

At least I don't seem to have
to worry about him.

I turn back to my kind hosts,
and we fight.

Once Quinn dispatches the
handful of operatives that had him surrounded, he joins the fray by
my side, eliminating our enemies with a touch that electrifies
them. The ones I touch die a slower death, knowing the agony of
asphyxiation as they succumb to death, the one truth in our
world.

At one point Quinn and I are
back-to-back, and we shoot each-other a brief grin before
dispatching the remaining soldiers around us.

Charred bodies are our legacy,
smoking faintly and clearly marking the difference between my
victims and his. Our hands aren't clean, that's for sure, but they
weren't to begin with so I'm not really upset at this
realization.

I find the woman, their
commander, and pull the helmet from her face, her short blonde hair
falling into place as I pull the cracked helmet on my face. Quinn
doesn't comment; instead, swaying, he sits down on the pavement
littered with the corpses of our enemies and rests his head on his
knees, trying to realign the world.

The communications is still
active, a man's voice buzzing from the speakers over my ears and
demanding a status report. Grinning, I press my hand to the side
and offer my greeting.

“
Guten tag,
my friend. I'm afraid your commander has resigned, though she
was quite the mindless soldier, I assure you,” I remark, and the
voice quiets with remarkable speed. The visor is full of static and
interference, but it comes to life and shows me the fractured image
of a man in his late thirties glaring venomous hate at
me.

His hair is greying already,
his skin pale and his eyes a light blue hue. I grin in response,
knowing that he can see me clearly.

“
I presume
you're Sebastian,” he hisses, and I tilt my head curiously, sitting
by Quinn's side and rubbing his back soothingly.

“
Have we met?” I question, frowning slightly. He
does
look a bit
familiar, I'll admit. A moment later, it hits me. “You're... no. No
way.”

“
Your demons
catching up to you at last, Jaeger?” he asks with a mocking lilt,
the accented English making my blood chill in my veins. “Mark my
words; I will not rest until you're lying six feet
under.”

Quinn's looking at me, his gaze
unfocused and his brow sweat-soaked, his arms from his fingers to
his elbows red and charred.

I swallow thickly.

“
...you're
supposed to be in Germany,” I accuse shakily, and he laughs once
dryly.

“
No longer
smug, are you? I have plenty of commanders at my disposal, and we
will stop at nothing to get your IG, and that of your friend there
as well.” He's grinning a cruel grin, and I feel like bursting into
tears right then and there, everything else be damned. “You think
you knew hell with her? My boy, you don't know hell until you've
spent a day with me – which you will soon enough.”

I take off and throw the helmet
so fast it flies, crashing onto the pavement and rolling away. Of
course, I wasn't fast enough to not have heard his cruel laughter.
My heart is beating in overdrive in my chest and I'm
hyperventilating, my hands shaking with the fear I can taste in my
mouth.

“
Why...” I
plea, the tears trailing down now that I no longer see his face.
“Why now...?”

Quinn, still shaky and hurt,
turns to look at me fully and holds my head up so I can catch his
tired gaze.

“
What's
wrong?” he questions, pushing my hair from my face and wiping my
tears away. My head falls forward, my forehead resting on his
collarbone as a sob rips through my chest.

“
Sarah's
father...” I choke out, hands fisting on my thighs. “He's supposed
to be in jail – he... he attacked me in court, but the fact that
he's out now; Quinn, he's a dangerous man. He's got the worst
possible connections and he will stop at nothing to get what he
wants.”

His hands card through my hair,
calming me in the only way he can as we kneel among the dead and
the damned. I sigh, wrapping my arms around him and pulling myself
against him, as his touch is something I kind of need at the
moment. He pulls me against him in response, and for a while we
kneel in the carnage and smoking remains, seeking comfort in each
other, as the rest of the world doesn't give a damn about us and
would rather see us die.

People
usually Run because they want to save themselves or have someone
they want to protect, something they can't live without and are
trying to continue living alongside. Fighting because that's the
sensible thing to do, it's the
right
thing to do.

Giving up is never an option to
them.

And I'll die if it means I can
protect this love I've found. Before the N.O. tarnishes it and
turns it into something vile, something that's the complete
opposite of what it is – pure and true – I'd rather die before they
turn it into something to be ashamed of.

That truth is staggeringly
clear to me as he holds my face and smiles at me, the sight forcing
me to return the gesture because that's just how it is with us
now.

“
I'm not
ashamed of who we are,” I admit, and he arches an eyebrow, my words
coming from absolutely nowhere. I forge on anyways. “I'm not
ashamed of the fact that I'm falling in love with you, or that this
world is making that seem like a sin. I'll keep fighting and I'll
die before I let them turn what we have here, right here between
us, into something to be ashamed of. We'll win.”

Quinn nods, closing his eyes
and kissing my forehead, letting his lips linger on my skin
there.

“
I love you
too,” he says simply, and I believe him. He's a terrible liar
anyways. “If we can, we'll stay together forever – and if we
part...” he catches my eyes again, smiling slightly, “we will
reunite.”

I return the
small smile, nodding slightly; it's just a truth for us now, a
staggering reality where we couldn't avoid the truth if we'd tried.
The world could think us the antichrist for all I care, but so long
as the feelings between us, tying us by an ever-cliché red string
of fate, remain pure, I'll gladly take that hate.

As long as we're connected, I
can survive.

• Carry On,
  Brave Little Soldier
  

QUINN

We slip into
Oregon within the next two days, right under the noses of the
helicopters and running
by
more than one set of troops scouting for us on
foot. Seb and I don't get much rest during those long hours, one of
us taking watch at night while the other sleeps a handful of hours,
switching roles mid-way through the night and taking off in the
morning.

More than once, we have to run
through the night. Blind as can be, we make tracks through the
plains and thin copse of trees until we reach Ashland, and wait out
the troop shadowing us with heavy footsteps behind the fence of a
modernized home, panting for breath and shielding ourselves from
the eyes of any curious passerby by covering ourselves as best we
can with the cloaks on our backs. Seb's looking dead on his feet
when we stand, and he staggers into me, clinging with hands weak as
a kitten.

His spells have been getting
worse in the last few hours. More than once we've had to rely on
his abilities to get us out of a sticky situation, and it's just
piling up one after the other. His skin is paler than usual, and
his eyes have this permanently unfocused look, stained red with the
telltale sign of time messing with his mind.

I pull his arm over my
shoulders, and he leans against me, shaking so much I'm surprised
he hasn't shattered yet.

“
Make it
stop,” he pleas quietly, his voice breaking. Hearing him beg for
respite makes my gut lurch in a painful way, and I press a chaste
kiss to his jaw before I begin leading him along the grassy lot
hidden from the public with a high fence and thick trees almost
blocking out the sunlight. The sky is a winking mirage between lush
trees slowly bleeding out their vibrant hues.