A stack of unbound papers hit the desk, making several pens roll off the top and knocking over a tall cup that was half-full of coffee.

“Damn it!” Vice Director Waters seethed.

He knew that the order would be coming across sooner or later, but it’d only been two days. Two measly days! How the ever-living hell did they get a fix on Marjorie? Still more baffling, how did they get a search warrant so quickly? He knew the woman probably had plenty of enemies, but it’s always about the right questions to ask, and who to talk to. He’d calculated that he had at least a week to maneuver.

It was outside of his expectations that they’d find something so fast, and he hated to be the one playing catch-up.

He heaved a huge breath and sat down. Seeing the dark brown liquid running towards his keyboard, Waters ill-temperedly grabbed a few tissues and dabbed at the advancing line, resolving to call in his secretary Tabatha after this call.

He only had one option now anyway.

Snatching his deskphone, he paused and then set it back down in the holster, opting instead for the satellite encrypted phone to the side. He hit the speed dial he’d saved for that infernal woman and waited as it rang. A few beats later, it connected and a sleepy voice picked up.

“Hello? Mr. Waters? Why are you calling so late? It’s 2:00 in the morning.”

Waters felt like he’d just had a blood vessel pop in his temple. He roared, “You think I give a flying fuck what time it is when I call people? I could wake up the New York governor right now if I wanted to, much less some ant like you. Jesus.”

Her voice shook with tiredness and emotion, stuttering out an apology in fear.

He could feel the terror he’d produced in her and a small feeling of satisfaction welled up from within. Suppressing the desire to lambast her more, he growled, “Don’t give me your bullshit. I don’t care to hear it. All I want from you is for you to pack your bags and head to the airport. Book the first flight to Shanghai or any other Chinese city. I want you out of the country in the next six hours.”

Waters calmed down a bit now during the course of his instructions and returned to his icy, charismatic tone, making one think that the earlier episode had never happened. Marjorie’s husky voice gained a little strength, and asked timidly, “What’s going on?”

He sighed. “You’re fleeing the country is what’s happening. I just got a tip off from my contact in the Justice Department that the FBI obtained a warrant to search all of your phone records and data usage for the past six months. They’ll probably take you in for questioning inside the week. I don’t know where the source came from, but it’s obvious they found out something.”

On the other end of the line, Marj’s face turned blue and then purple.

He continued, “In any case, you’re the next link in the chain, and also the only one who can tie the three of us together in all this. Rather than hope and pray that we get lucky, I’d prefer to sever the chain in one fell swoop. Thus, you’re moving. China is a non-US extradition country, and Biolink has many underground research facilities there. You’ll still work - hell, I’ll even give you a monstrous raise - and continue to oversee some of our more important projects.”

“But sir, I can’t speak Chinese.”

Waters’ eyebrows furrowed and then his mouth dropped open. “Fucking Christ, are all women this petty? Can you not see the bigger picture here? Do not make me come and drag you to the airport’s doors, because the next stop I’ll make is your mother’s for a bit of breakfast.”

He felt, more than heard, the shudder from the other side and was satisfied the threat had worked. Marjorie was actually a simple woman when it came down to it. She may be ruthless towards her workers, but she was as malleable as putty when it came to her family. He was seasoned at manipulating people, so now that he’d gotten her to a state of profound fear, he eased off and softened his tone.

“Listen, none of us thought it would end this way, but now that it’s come to it we have to continue onwards in a fashion where we all stay protected. I have a lot of connections. There’s no issue with me setting you up to still have a profitable and satisfying life. It’s true that you’ll never be able to come back to the States, but the alternative is far worse.” His voice turned gentle. “We committed treason, Marjorie. Think about that. Once they figure that out, no amount of well-paid veteran lawyers will be able to save us. I know you’ll be making a sacrifice here, but I promise that I’ll take care of you.”

A deep breath came across the line, and her strengthened voice said, “Okay. I’ll pack a bag and be out the door in thirty minutes. Is there a preferred city beside Shanghai?”

Waters mused, “Any of the major ones should do, but…” He pulled up a list on his computer, carefully reaching over the now cold spilled coffee so as to not dirty his dress shirt. “Beijing, Hong Kong, or Shenzhen should be the first on the list if there isn’t a flight to Shanghai available. Use your encrypted phone I gave you to call me when you buy a ticket. I’ll have someone secretly pick you up when you get there, so remember to just go with the flow.”

She took another stabilizing breath. “Alright, I’ll do it. Thanks for your help, Mr. Waters.”

He smiled while rolling his eyes. “Of course.” He hung up.

He remained motionless for a moment, thinking about all the steps it would take to keep her away from the FBI’s radar, and what to do if things went sideways. Coughing, he sighed and then yelled out, “Tabatha!”

A comely young secretary appeared in his doorway a few breaths later. “Yes, Mr. Waters?”

He looked her up and down and shook his head mentally. She was in the prime of her youth. She’d probably have been out on the town this Friday night if he didn’t stay to work. It was a consequence of the broad contract that she signed, though. Whenever he was here, she was here too. Tabatha undoubtedly hated that she took this hellish job, but stayed on since he paid her so well.

He smirked slightly. There was such power in the money that he had control over. People could be positioned into doing things counter to their desires and nature if the right price was tagged onto it. Like hell he’d give it up and go on the run like Marjorie.

“Could you help clean this up for me? I spilled my coffee.”

She nodded brusquely and said, “Certainly, sir. I’ll go get some supplies from the maintenance closet right away.”

He added out of habit, “Knock before you come back in, please,” to which she she nodded.

After she closed the door, he listened to the receding footsteps and then the entire room lapsed back into silence. Turning his eyes towards the New York skyline, he absentmindedly gazed out from his 30th floor view in contemplation. Making a decision, he stood up abruptly and walked to a cabinet on the wall, opening the door. Inside lay an elaborate safe with biometric and voice identification.

Placing his left hand on the appropriate indentations, the display lit up and a line of words prompted for the passphrase.

His eloquent voice rang out, “Ordo Ab Chao.”

A green light flashed and he quickly turned the handle with one hand while his other reached in, grasping hold of a thick file which laid in front of a temperature-controlled box. As a head of a research facility, it was easy to have such a thing installed and it not look suspicious.

Leaving the door of the safe open, he looked down, lost in thought again. On the cover were the words:

SYRACUSE LAB

PROGRESS REPORT

TELOMERE RESEARCH

His eyes subconsciously cut towards the cooled box and then made a decision. He couldn’t hold onto this himself anymore. It was time to bring in the others. As much as he loathed to lose sovereignty over the project, it was too dangerous now to move on his own.

Placing the file back into the safe, he locked the door and then strode over to his mahogany desk, taking a separate encrypted phone from a locked drawer. Breathing deeply, he pressed a speed dial button and leaned against the side of the desk that wasn’t wet.

After a few moments, the call connected.

***

Adrian awoke mid morning and stretched his arms comfortably. He felt more at peace this morning after relinquishing the alcohol-infused anger he’d carried all night to the dreams that followed.

Surprisingly, however, the dreams - which he could remember in vivid detail now since the serum upgrade - were incredibly bloody. War-torn battlefields and feats of assassinations were practically all that he experienced, one after the other. Hell, his favorite had been when he’d appeared in a castle defense, warding off crafty goblin vanguards as they tried to sneak into the keep. His shield and bastard sword cut them down in short order.

Thus, it’s understandable for him to be surprised at the tranquility he was experiencing right now. A ‘normal’ human being isn’t supposed to thirst for catharsis through acts of savagery, even on the behalf of a noble cause. It’s too brutal, too far from the ideal of what a civilized modern man is supposed to look like.

Perhaps, they had it all wrong. Perhaps… he had himself all wrong.

A tinge of a mirthful smile played across his lips as he rolled over in the silky sheets. Flipping them to the side, he slid out from their warm embrace and immediately began his morning routine. It was a shame that he had yet to gain complete control over his bodily processes, though he was making progress. If he had to make a guess, he was successfully able to reduce the muscular atrophy rate by 30-40%. His body was already efficient to the point of obscenity, but the time spent on working out could be used for better things.

A quarter of the way through his push-ups he said to the air, “Any news of note, Raide?”

The A.I.’s baritone voice soon followed, rising from a small speaker at the side of the bed. “Not even a morning salutation? Sir, I am appalled.” He gave a slight hmph in dissatisfaction, but moved on. “For the news, mostly trivial things, though there are a few worth mentioning that you might be interested in.

“Samsung finally broke ground on their Hungarian gigafactory. That marks the third of such type for the European peninsula. China has announced upgrades to their wireless and cable telecom infrastructure for the immediate future. It’s estimated to boost data speeds in metropolitan regions by upwards of 50% in the next six years. SpaceX was able to successfully remote land their latest Falcon 9, but their record is still dubious.”

Adrian paused at the count of 800, a single drop of sweat on his brow, and said, “Help them out a little next time, alright? Bolster their existing code if possible. I’m sure it’ll freak them out, but I like Musk’s dedication to science and we may need a business partner in the future.”

Raide nodded lightly. “Easily done. Lastly, and this is my favorite, your new President has announced his intentions to sponsor an - you probably guessed it already - Immigration bill. I’ve managed to obtain a copy of it from their computer files and it’s touting a 625 billion dollar price tag, which far outstrips the expected 400-600 range that was expected. The thing I get a kick out of is that this is just to enforce the immigration law that is already there. There’s nothing new about the bill at all. I swear, you humans are hilarious.”

“Go ahead... laugh it up,” Adrian chuckled as he flipped over and started doing sit-ups. He added, “We’ll let them play for a while longer. What’s the media doing?”

“Same old, same old. Stories covering gang violence, cartel wars, the declining education system, a suburban murder, another African American kid teen killed in a confrontation with police...clickbait news stories. They like to fan the flame, but do nothing about it.”

Adrian stopped to grab a 45 lb. plate and hugged it to his chest as he sat on a declined bench, hooking his feet into some restraints. Continuing, he grunted out, “That does sound like them…”

Another minute passed. All of a sudden, he stopped mid sit-up. Looking over to the speaker, he thoughtfully asked, “Raide, have you ever thought about becoming a newscaster?”

The A.I. gave him a blank stare. “You must be joking.”

“No, now, hear me out.” He dropped the plate to the side and got up, snatching a hand towel that was laid out over a chair. He dabbed at his dewy forehead and put his hair up into a ponytail. “What if we utilized, say, 30% of your processing power to set up a website that revolves around digging up news stories and analyzing them impartially. Back off of all tasks except for the corrupt politician search and those other two projects I mentioned. It should free up the necessary CPU strain.”

Raide shook his head. “While intriguing, I fail to see how this will end well. Numerous news stations over the years have tried to play the “unbiased” role and have always failed. In any case, what kind of allure could we bring to the industry to get a headstart on everyone else?”

“We’ll succeed here because you possess some qualities that have never been seen before, like, for instance, your digitally rendered body.” Adrian threw his towel into a basket. “You’ll be the first ‘CGI’ newscaster.”

“Oh wow.”

Adrian grinned. “Interesting right? You can add some flaws to make them think that there is a team of computer graphic engineers behind you, but the story coverage pace combined with the intricate ability to analyse things in a new way will make them lose their minds. Can you map out that scenario pathway?

“Since the television age, we’ve grown used to a certain format of news and the people that do it. We have expectations every time we turn on the television. But introduce your capability and suddenly the viewers will be able to watch an entirely different type of news. You could manipulate crime scenes and render them 3-dimensionally, analyzing them in ways that the police never could. You could map political figure’s facial features and apply physiological analysis to tell when they’re lying on the spot. I guarantee that people would come to this type of coverage in droves.

“Everybody is already used to the ‘entertainment’ aspect of news, but almost everyone I’ve talked to in life has mentioned how they loathe the industry at the same time. People say things like, “Their corporate CEOs have an intricate relationship with politicians,” or, “They only report stories that fit their political agenda.” Get rid of that corrupt influence, utilize a method of delivery they can’t block (the internet), and introduce a brand new way of giving the news.”

“They’ll expect that I have an organization behind me as well, you know.”

Adrian nodded and walked into the living room where he continued, “Certainly. But you’ll show them you don’t belong to either of the major parties by equally thrashing them when appropriate. Over time, you’ll build a rapport with the masses, steadily increasing your influence, and eventually the day will come where they lower their guards. When that day comes…” Adrian flexed a fist. “All the pieces should be set.”

The A.I. mused, “Your plan has merit, but how do I choose the stories?”

Adrian shrugged as he picked up a piece of carbon composite armor on the workbench. “How about butterfly effect potential?”

Raide asked, “You mean for me to choose stories that produce ripple effects, in other words?”

“Mainly, yes. You can search for events that have large impacts on the social order, calculate a statistical view on how beneficial they are to our future goals, and then strain them through the sieve of reporting. This isn’t that different from now, but no one will be able to tell since it’s a point of view that’s never been presented before. This can be celebrity speeches, murders, suicides, wars, international politics, assassinations, science and technological breakthroughs, religious events… you name it.

“Look for pivotal points in history, those tiny changes that lead us in a certain direction. Seek to inspire your audience with a sense of belonging and future and they’ll adore you for it. Such a feeling is, sadly, rarely provoked by leaders of this generation.”

Raide nodded. “I can do that. You were right to allocate 30%. Any less and my story yield would suffer.”

“We’ll give you more processing capability, which I have some ideas for, obviously when we move into our new place. Speaking of which, what’s the deal with the contractor meeting?”

Raide replied in the affirmative and brought up a map of the area with the venue pinged. “You’ll be meeting a man by the name of Brody Carmichael, 7 pm tonight, at the Ruth’s Chris Steak House in central Atlanta. I’ll send both the man’s and the company’s file to your phone so you can memorize it. I imagine you have some errands to run?”

Adrian nodded approvingly. “Indeed. I need some more formal clothes to wear for tonight. I’ll visit the tailor and then come back to continue working. What about the tickets for the flight tomorrow?”

“Already been booked.”

“Excellent.” Adrian grabbed a strange, hairy looking plate from a storage container. Pinching his fingers together in the center of the 6 cm long black fibers, he pulled up and away from the plate, twisting all fibers into a cord. He then applied an open flame from a butane torch to the entirety of the sturdy, but pliable string.

Satisfied by the heating process, he moved the torch to the side and grabbed a razor sharp knife. In a deft movement, Adrian pressed the blade against the string and pushed on it with all his considerable might.

It didn’t budge, and the fibers looked completely unaffected.

Smiling, Adrian coiled it up on a spool to the side. Turning to the monitors, he joked, “We’re going to need a lot more of this.”

***

Right before 7:00, A jet black maybach sedan pulled up to the doors of the Ruth’s Chris steak house where Adrian was supposed to meet Mr. Carmichael.

Gazing out of the back seat window as he waited for the chauffeur to open the door, Adrian realized one thing: he wasn’t ever going to voluntarily go through this again. He knew that Raide had arranged this to elicit a certain impression from the contractor, but he was not okay with this. Several people were looking at the car strangely as he was greeted by an opened door.

“I’ll be waiting out here, sir.”

Shifting his blackened glasses that concealed his unearthly blue eyes, he stepped out onto the pavement, buttoned his suit jacket with a flourish, and thanked the driver before walking through the front door. God, how narcissistic must a person be to enjoy that kind of thing. Granted, Adrian enjoyed a good entrance when the situation called for it, but not while being served by someone. This still grated against his ideals and made him feel pretty uncomfortable.

Quickly being led to his table, he was greeted by an already present Brody Carmichael. A lean, tall statured man, his eyes had a dueling glint of cunning and sincerity. Both necessary to close an advantageous deal, Adrian mused. “You must be Mr. Pierce! A pleasure. Please, have a seat.”

Moving to comply, Adrian sat down after he had removed his jacket, revealing a classy tie-less french cuff shirt and cufflinks, covered by a form-fitting black vest. The showy arrival could be damned, but he enjoyed his clothes and knew he looked sharp. A few ladies at a nearby table confirmed his thought with a look on each of their faces that had a tinge of hunger to it.

Realizing that he hadn’t said anything about his glasses, he expressed his regret in a prepared lie. “Apologies about the glasses, Mr. Carmichael. I had my eyes dilated earlier, so I have to wear these for the evening.”

He couldn’t possibly show another human being his eyes yet. Doing so would only be drawing useless attention to himself. He’d theorized a way to correct the issue, but it wasn’t pressing enough yet to rush.

Carmichael replied, shaking his head. “Brody’s fine, and don’t mention it. Now, let’s get down to business shall we?”

Adrian spoke to the waitress before responding to Brody. “Bourbon, please.” Adjusting his gaze back towards the man sitting across from him. “Sure. I’m looking to build a large compound with a wide variety of... unorthodox needs. You see, I’m an enterprising engineer and I need the facilities. However, because of the private work that will done, it is paramount that no record of this place exist within public record beyond the address and perhaps a generic bogus layout.”

Squinting under the low lighting hanging over the table, Brody tapped his fingers on the wooden top. “Sounds illegal… but doable. You obviously sought us out with the knowledge of our policy. How big are we talking?”

Receiving his drink from the returned waitress, Adrian waited until she was gone before continuing, “500,000 sq. ft. is the current estimate, but like I said, it’s a compound design with most of the square footage coming from the tower and mechanical warehouse portions. I also need a fully independent solar power system combined with fiber optic lines to the nearest ISP node. I’m not going to lie Brody, this project will probably be a massive divergence from the norm. The devil is in the details and there are a lot of them that I need to be perfect.” Brody whistled and then sipped on his white russian while seemingly trying to imagine the scope of whatever this place was supposed to be.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed as they fell on a table full of businessmen not far from them. “I’m prepared to offer an additional 10% as compensation for your discretion and dedicated construction efforts. I’ll foot all of the expedited acquisition costs and such of course. Here’s my budget.” Typing in a long number onto his phone’s calculator, Adrian slid it over to Brody and watched with amusement as his companion’s eyes got large.

“When did you want this done?”

“Late June.”

Brody looked doubtful. “A tough sell. It would be a huge stretch for it to take 6 months, much less the 4 that you want this done in. I can take the designs to my company and see what they say.” Looking again at the phone back in Adrian’s hand, he added while swallowing, “Though, I can say that this figure is probably enough to sway them including the terms that you just stated.”

Nodding understandingly, Adrian smiled at the contractor. “No worries, I had fully anticipated the difficulty of pulling this off. I’ll have my assistant send the blueprint to your email in the next week and we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Just as the ordered steaks were arriving a while later, a buzzing originated from Adrian’s pocket. Pulling out his phone, he looked at the updated traffic advisory versus his plane’s take-off time along with a message from Raide indicating he get a move on. Sighing, he called the waitress and turned to Brody. “It seems another set of apologies are in order. I’ve just been told there was a huge wreck on I-75 and I need to catch a plane this evening. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this short here.”

Brody hurriedly got to his feet to shake Adrian’s hand. “No need to apologize. I’ve had the same thing happen to me many times. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Placing his jacket back on his body, Adrian shook Brody’s hand and walked out of the restaurant with his boxed steak.

***

Four hours later.

A shadow blurred and a lone figure walked out into the dimly lit alleyway. Adjusting his mask, Adrian spoke softly into his com, “Where is he?” He was back in his tactical gear that he used for the raid on the Biolink facility.

Raide responded in the earpiece. “Room 323, north side of the building. He’s been there for about 30 minutes with two unidentified females.”

“Roger that.” Adrian rounded a corner and was greeted by a pair of double doors in the distance. Glancing up to the right, he noticed a small, almost imperceptible security camera. “You have that back entrance camera?”

“Negative. It’s weird, actually. They’re running a secure closed loop system. I can’t gain access.”

“Hmm.” Adrian thought for a moment and then disappeared back into the shadows. A few seconds later, he appeared at the second story level on the exterior building, swinging from window ledge to window ledge. Fairly quickly, he arrived directly above the camera and dropped down, his fingers gripping the grouted seams of the brick wall with inhuman strength to keep himself from falling onto the camera below.

Scrutinizing the make and model of the device, Adrian said, “Looks like we’re in luck,” as he put back the wire cutters he’d one-handedly fished out of a vest pocket.

“Indeed. I just barely picked up their wireless network bubble. If my conjecture is correct, they’re using a router that’s purposefully small and powerful so that they can limit the area of signal propagation away from hotel residents and people on the alley. What are they hiding here?”

The three fingers Adrian was using to dangle his bodyweight on started to itch. Frowning, he said, “We’ll find out in a minute. Are you in yet? I’m bored of hanging here.”

The surprised A.I.’s voice came back, “Oh? Yes! I’ve been in for a while now. Overlaying the feed in 3, 2, 1.”

When the count reached the end, Adrian’s fingers released, allowed his body to easily drop down in front of the double doors he’d spotted earlier. Listening intently for a moment, he determined that no one was moving towards him and fished out a small set of lock picking utensils.

This was one of those small skills he learned shortly before heading north. His tactile and memorization ability were unparalleled, so he practiced until he mastered the art. For all of an hour. Of course, it wasn’t like he could crack a bank vault, but his skills would more than suffice for some back alley door.

A few seconds of tinkering yielded a turning doorknob and he quietly crossed the threshold, pulling the metal door closed behind him.

Once in the dark, he crouched low and slowly moved to the side of the room while his vision adjusted. It only took a matter of moments compared to the 15-30 seconds that it would have taken before the procedure. Cinder block walls steadily revealed themselves, wreathed in the ultra pale luminescence of the thin light that shone from around a corner at the end of a hallway fifteen meters ahead.

Stalking closer, he slowed down once he neared the turn. There was a staircase on his left. Right as he was about to turn to continue down the hall, a noise echoed up from the inky black void that the stairs descended into. Adrian swung his head, eyes piercing the darkness, but even he couldn’t tell what was down there.

Raide spoke up quietly in his ear, “I’m picking up trace soundwaves that resemble a congregation of people.”

Adrian was incredulous. He bobbed his head towards the staircase to hell and asked, “You mean down there?” The A.I.’s quiet voice responded in the affirmative.

Shaking his head, he switched directions and softly padded down the concrete stairs, taking note of the heavy smell of excrement and mold. A thought occurred to Adrian that only served to horrify him and hasten his footsteps.

Stooping down so that he could see into the room a second earlier, Adrian took out a small, powerful flashlight and blazed the light into the prevailing darkness that occupied the entire space. What was revealed to him caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

There were four separate cages, metal bars like a dungeon, lined up in a row. Each of the grated boxes stretched from floor to ceiling and were 8 m x 8 m x 4 m. Inside these cells, however, were about 100 women, all staring blankly at the flashlight and shivering in fear.

Adrian cursed softly to himself mentally.

The A.I. supplemented his approximated count by saying, “I’ve reviewed all the internal security footage. There are currently 94 females of varying ages and nationalities here, split up into groups of 24 per cell.”

Seeing their bruised and battered appearances, terrified and barely lucid from starvation and the darkened environment, Adrian felt something break within him. There were no words to describe this. Was humanity really capable of doing something so cruel to itself? To each other? Saying nothing, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the underground cells from different angles, and then quietly left.

Raide immediately asked, “Are you not going to save them?”

Once he was clear of the staircase and out of earshot, he quietly replied, “I do not have the capacity to help them directly. All we can do is call in the police, slip them this intel, and let them do their jobs.”

“What about Ward, then?”

“Oh, he’ll still be answering some questions,” Adrian grimaced while saying. “After all this, it just makes his relationship with the hotel look all the more suspicious.”

Making his way through the rest of the underground network, Adrian quietly dove in and out of a few offices, snapping the necks of those unfortunate enough to still be working at this time of night. It’s funny, really. Who knew that killing people would be so… simple? He felt none of the emotions that were supposed to accompany the taking of a life. Perhaps it was because of what he’d just seen, but all of the men had seemingly devolved into animals before his eyes.

After seeing some letter heads and uploading Raide to a laptop, it quickly became evident that the hotel was just a front, just as they expected after seeing the cages. As for the company behind the smoke and mirrors, it turned out to be a call service named Envy. From some of the archived emails, Raide was able to draw some connections to the Bratva, aka the Russian Mafia.

Pulling up the sleeve of his last kill, a huge, bald muscular man, Adrian let out a small smile. Chuckling to the air, he said sardonically, “Man, I love it when criminals brand themselves for us with tattoos. It makes it so easy to identify them.” The tattoo itself was a simple thing, merely a dagger with a few Russian words ascribed along its blade.

“Saving the image for future reference.”

“Good.” Adrian nodded as he dropped the meaty arm to land with a wet splat beside the cooling corpse it came from. “While you’re at it, begin a source file for a future surveillance search with the details we’ve learned today.”

“Very well. I will add it to the task list.” Raide paused, and then asked carefully, “Adrian, are you okay? Your vitals have been way off ever since you saw the cage fifteen minutes ago. While I do not know the feeling of emotion, I do, however, possess the capability to create incredibly accurate statistical models of a human psyche. Yours is outside the parameters as we speak.”

Adrian shook his head in annoyance and started to head to neon exit sign at the end of the hall. It undoubtedly led to the residential section of the hotel, and he had one last stop. “I’m fine. I recognize that I’m behaving differently, but I think it’s because I just had an epiphany, or rather a confirmation of a truth.”

Raide asked with interest, “Which was?”

The young man sighed. “That humans can forfeit their humanity. I’d always heard of what my species is capable of, but I’ve never seen it up close. For us, that’s a big difference, because reality is always concentrated around an individual’s perception of the world. If one has never perceived with his five senses the idea of such profound cruelty, how can he claim to understand it? This is what I mean. History tells us of those who have crossed the moral boundary, to act as a cautionary and illuminating tale, but it is quite another thing to see it in the flesh.

“As for how that relates to me, it’s given me insight into what, and who, I consider important in this world. These…” He motioned to the body behind him absentmindedly as he strode forward. He bit at the words, “Men are the dregs of a species, unfit for the responsibility they hold towards society as a whole. They don’t deserve the same basic rights as the rest.

“Indeed, I see it clearly now. If the corrupted politicians are the wounds that riddle the body, scum like these mongrels are the diseased flesh that results from a gangrenous infection. And just like a doctor, I will cut away and cauterize all that hinder the healing process of my patient’s body,” Adrian ended coldly, a dull bloody light coming from his eyes.

Although Raide was not there in a physical sense, he could understand the vastly different tone that his creator was exuding. All he added was, “I see,” and then lapsed back into silence.

A few minutes later, a tactically dressed man in black stepped out of an elevator and made his way to the door of the room where the good senator was, fortunately meeting no one in the hall.

As he neared 323, however, the previously silent AI spoke up again, “Adrian, I’ve picked up and analyzed the vocal vibrations coming from the room using a few adjacent occupants’ cell phones. We have a problem…”

Adrian felt his stomach crater out, narrowing down the list of possible scenarios from that information to a couple in a moment. Stepping up to the door, he heard the muffled sounds of flesh smacking against flesh mixed with incoherent sobs that sounded far too young and distressed to be regular prostitutes.

Raising a boot, he viciously kicked at the door and sending splintered wood flying. Rushing in, the scene he found made his blood run cold.

A moment later, his mind finished snapping.

***

Darkness.

Ward felt groggy as he came to, wincing at the pain burning his lungs and throbbing in his side. Where am I? The last thing he remembered, he was enjoying the pleasures of that succulent little girl named Ashley when… Suddenly sitting up with a start, he felt the cutting edges of the bindings that held him to the metal chair, his mouth gagged. A low chuckle reverberated through the darkness, echoing like they were in some cavernous room.

Ward froze as he heard the sound and the slightly wet ‘pit-pat’ of footfalls drawing near.

He strained his ears and eyes at the rustling to his 2 o’clock, willing his woozy vision into making a shape out of the shadows. The rustling stopped, the sensory input replaced by the visual glow of two, fiery red twin orbs staring back at the senator. He knew they were eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it as they gazed back in unconcealed malice.

Demon eyes...Just then, a voice began speaking out in an elegant tone. If Ward had to guess, this man standing before him was a practiced orator and speech giver. Perhaps a past political opponent?

“Welcome, Senator Ward. It’s a true pleasure having you here this evening.” The voice’s owner moved closer until Ward felt the gag on his mouth being loosened.

Licking his lips, he managed to croak out, “W-who are you?”

The radiant crimson eyes seemed to dance through the air in Ward’s foggy sight along with the voice. “I guess you can say I’m a reaper of sorts. I used to want to reform people like you, give you a chance to change. It’s funny how things end up,” The man mused. He went on,“You were the first honorary mention on my list, you should know... I initially picked you for your overwhelming greed, so imagine my surprise when I came upon you raping two 13 year old girls.” The voice growled out these last few words, inciting the hairs on the back of Ward’s neck to stand on end.

The voice continued on in a bored, narrative style. “Want to ask about my eyes? I’m sure you do. I, myself, was initially confused over their purpose as well. It wasn’t until I killed every single Envy member in the hotel that I figured it out. It’s an evolutionary physical adaptation. A warning to all that come into contact with me that I am dangerous. Yes, just like a poisonous King Cobra, my body displays aggression in order to ward off other animals. What a pity for you, though. You never even knew you had drawn my ire.”

Drawing closer in the darkness, the crackling, electric red eyes outlined the edge of a handsome face, before the man turned and paced away to look towards the van wreathed in shadow at the edges of Ward’s vision.

“W-why are y-you telling me all this?”

Turning in the direction of Ward once again, the eyes blurred and stopped mere centimeters from his face, illuminating his captor in the light’s back splash. Rage dripped from the demon’s tone. “To give you an idea as to the depths of wrath you have inspired me,” he spat.

Backing up a meter, he said evenly after having regained his calm, “You’re a dead man. Tonight. The only questions are just how long until then and in what condition you’ll be in when you step through that hellish portal. Tell me what you know about other corrupt politicians like yourself and the Bratva controlled group called Envy, and I’ll give you a swift death. Otherwise…”

A bloodcurdling scream ripped its way from Ward’s throat as he felt his thumbnail being pulled from its root, the fabric of his flesh tearing away piece by agonizing piece. A warmth trickled down his hand, highlighted by the coldness of the environment, as his hand throbbed in pain. Staring back into those inhuman eyes, he thought, God, what have I done?

***

Adrian quietly wiped his hands on the back of the lightly breathing, unconscious man before him. Walking over to the van, he flipped on its lights that immediately illuminated the blood-spattered body of the senator. Squinting his eyes, he hummed in displeasure and then grabbed hold of the chair that Ward was sitting on, roughly turning it, the bound man’s head lolling to the side, so that he faced the beams of light.

Giving a small smile of satisfaction, Adrian walked back to the vehicle and took out Ward’s cell phone, flipping to the camera function. Placing three fingers in front of lens, he counted down to one and started recording once his fingers were out of frame.

Instead of his voice coming out, though, it was Raide’s that sounded forth in the abandoned building, albeit modulated to prevent voice identification matches in the future. “My message is simple and is being sent to all the Envy organization heads within this phone’s address book. This is your one warning. Cease your operations, take up a legitimate business venture, and release all the slaves you have in captivity. If you do this, I will not hunt you down. If you continue to profane life like you currently do,though, this will be the result for each of you…”

A hand blurred off to the side and a cheap throwing knife sunk into Ward’s skull up to the hilt. Immediately, the body spasmed slightly before slumping downward in the release of death. A hint of a grateful smile remained frozen on his lips.

Raide leisurely continued while Adrian looked on dispassionately, “Some of you may have recognized the man. That was Senator Grant Ward, who died for his crimes which are too long to list. I fear no man, organization, or country.

“Heed my words... or the next death will be your own.”

Ending the video, Adrian pocketed the phone while Raide attached the video to every email address or phone number that Ward had given them. In a matter of moments, it lad left over the cellular network and ended up on the desks and pockets of close to fifty high ranking executives.

Adrian hummed to himself and then chuckled as he had a thought. He said to Raide, “Ya know, I actually hope they’re stupid and refuse to see the writing on the wall.”

“Why’s that?”

A malicious grin spread across his face. “Because then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of sending them to oblivion.”