“What does not kill me makes me stronger"

Friedrich Nietzsche

The next few seconds were pandemonium.

Trials screamed and lunged at Matthews as the rifle kicked, and the world seemed to slow down. Too late, too late…

Trials smacked into Matthews and forced him to the floor at the same time that Mike’s head snapped back, a bullet passing cleanly through his eye. Matterson was flung backwards in a spin as the same bullet passed into his shoulder.

Trials saw red, punching through the bloody haze at Matthew’s head, blow after blow hammering into his former mentor as he raged. Something inside him was still maintaining a watchful eye, however, and he rolled off the now motionless figure as a bullet flew past him, grabbing the rifle as he went.

Trials came up instantly, rifle raised directly at Matterson. The man was making a break for it, empty pistol already discarded in his haste. Trials pulled the trigger…and was stopped as Korez now barrelled into him.

It became a ruck, Trials sending punches crashing into the mercenary wherever he could, kicking up with the full force of his amplified muscles at every opportunity, but Korez kept coming. They were both still on the floor, each prevented from standing by the other.

A blow to the side of his skull sent the world spinning, and Trials gave an almighty push to the figure now above him, sending the man flying back. Somehow, Korez managed to twist himself just so in the air, landing on his feet as Trials clambered quickly to his own. Trials could not have credited the hulk of a man with such agility if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

What most disquieted Trials, though, was not his unseemly power or agility. What most disquieted him, even through the furious anger that now flooded his mind, was that Korez was smiling. He was enjoying this. Some part of Trials’ mind that was still acting as an observer registered the discarded rifle that must have until recently been slung across Korez’s shoulders. The man had discarded his weapon for this fight.

Korez didn’t wait, but threw himself at Trials, dropping his shoulders in a charge that would definitely badly wind his target. Trials saw it coming, however, and stepped smartly to the side. Trials turned to follow as the man charged past him, raising his hands to deliver a powerful double-handed blow… and was met with a kick to the face that sent him backwards, stunned.

The man had deliberately missed him in order to open his defence. Trials would never understand how Korez managed to turn a forward charge into a rearward kick of such power, but now was not the time for surprise.

He thought his nose was broken.

Staggering backwards, Trials crashed into the hard stone wall that was much closer than he remembered. His breath was coming fast, adrenaline coursing through his system as well as fear. This Korez was a fighter like none he had seen.

Calm down, he thought to himself. You’re panicking. Don’t panic.

Korez had spun himself with the momentum of the kick and was once again facing Trials. His knuckles cracked as he closed his fists.

You don’t need all this oxygen, Trials told himself, forcing his breathing to slow. It’s superficial damage only.

He knew this was true. Though his body hummed with pain, he wasn’t badly injured.

This pain is obsolete. An old setting, not calibrated for what I am now.

Still, the next blow from Korez hurt.

The fight continued for minutes, for eternities. Trials managed several good blows, but Korez never seemed to feel any ill-effects. With each attack, his smile only grew wider. His teeth glinted, a predator’s grin. Trials wasn’t even sure whose blood it was that trickled down the mercenary’s face. He was losing plenty, to be sure.

Did the man have nanites in his blood? It shouldn’t be possible, but he was going toe-to-toe with Trials at every moment. No, he was winning. Trials wasn’t able to slow him for a second. He felt despair well up, and forced it back down.

No, Trials could win this. There was a way. Korez might be strong as all hells, but Trials was a god-damn super soldier. Or something.

Trials felt a pang of regret that he had never really got the hang of psyching himself up.

The next swing from Korez knocked him flying. Trials didn’t even manage a decent retaliation, grabbing weakly at the arm that struck into his side but failing to hold. Korez’s smile was fading as he became bored with his prey.

It took one more punch to knock Trials to the ground. He lay there, unable to move as Korez crouched over him and placed two brick-sized fists around his neck. Trials felt his breath give as the pressure increased, as his trachea was crushed. Everything slowly went black.

The pressure disappeared in an instant, air rasping into his lungs painfully through his windpipe. Trials’ eyes shot open to see Korez’s face puffed painfully purple above him, eyes bulging as he flailed at his neck, at the cord that was pulled tightly around it.

Matthews was holding the ends of the cord, pulling at it so hard that it began to cut through the skin of Korez’s neck. He held it there for what felt like an age, until the weight of Korez slackened and his body slid off to one side. The dead mercenary’s face fell to the floor and stared sightlessly directly into Trials’ eyes.

“You fucking fool,” said Matthews.

His voice sounded nothing like Trials had ever heard, far coarser and rougher than its usual refined tones.

“You let him beat you? You let him nearly kill you?” Matthews was raging.

“What…” wheezed Trials, “What… was he?”

“What was he?” Matthews was almost shouting as Trials lay curled up gasping for air. “He stopped your breath for three minutes and you’re fine – and you are scared of him? What was he? A fucking junkie, that’s what he was.”

Trials didn’t understand what Matthews was talking about at first, until Matthews marched over and pulled up the dead man's sleeves.

Livid puncture marks scarred the tissue from wrist to as much of the upper arm as was visible. Black scars were marked with fresh. The Gener… Matthews kicked at the man’s lower leg to expose further puncture wounds under the clothing.

“Probably taking a lot more than just intravenous drugs, too. Matterson must have convinced him to take a whole cocktail of chemical enhancements. Trying to find a way to match chemically what we do with machinery. Surprised the brute could stand, let alone focus so well. My son really does have a great control of people’s minds.”

Matthews turned and picked up the rifle.

“Not as good as I, though.”

Trials pushed himself backwards as the barrel swung up to point at him.

“I want to thank you, Jake. You were my best agent. So unquestioning, so willing to do what it takes to accomplish our goals. My goals.”

Matthews wiped at his cheek while he spoke, and stared at the blood that smeared his hand.

“But I think our partnership is at an end. You’ve become too corrupted by outside influences. Boy, did you let my son do a number on you. I should be proud that he managed to undo so much of my work in so little time, but I’m simply rather disappointed. I still had plans for you.”

Trials held a hand out as if he thought he could block bullets with his palm.

“You could have been so much more, Jake. This mercenary here has nothing on you – he only had a mixture of chemicals to push him past his limits, but you don’t even know where your limits are.”

Matthews sighed.

“Still, I guess I have enough data from you to understand any effects I might encounter. A pity about your friend, really, but I couldn’t let Matterson take him.”

Trials glanced over to the prone body of Mike, lying where it had fallen. He let his horror show on his face, let Matthews believe he was in no state to fight back… and threw himself forward.

The tackle pushed Matthews to the floor and span the rifle away from him, a little out of arm’s reach. This time when Trials went for the attack, however, Matthews moved much faster. His forearm easily blocked Trials’ punch and returned with one of his own, sending Trials sprawling backwards. Matthews sprang up to his feet, a flip up from the floor that would have impressed the most dedicated gymnast.

Matthews was upon Trials in an instant, throwing just one blow that hit harder than anything Korez had mustered and sent Trials onto his back. Trials willed himself to stand, to find a way back onto his feet, but his muscles would not respond. His abdomen was fire, his breath coming shallow and painful.

The rifle lay just out of reach.

Matthews followed Trials’ eye line, stared down at his slowly reaching hand. He laughed and smashed a fist into the outstretched arm. For Trials the hideous cracking sound was worse than the pain.

Matthews swung a flurry of blows into Trials, fists moving faster than the eyes could keep up with. The world blurred – any normal man would have passed out by now.

The pain stopped.

Matthews continued to rain blow after blow on Trials, but the pain was gone. In its place, a strange, dull thudding sensation pulsed through Trials. His body seemed distant, no longer a part of him but something he controlled from afar. He watched himself catch a swinging fist in its tracks, diverting its power to pass futilely through the air. His elbow raised at the same time as his knee, smashing powerfully into Matthews’ chest and spine. Matthews’ attack faltered.

This was all Trials needed. He sprung up as if propelled by a rocket engine and practically flew over the rifle, reaching out to grab it with one hand as he sailed over it and tucking into a roll. The roll turned into a twist halfway through, and he came up with his rifle raised and firing towards where he had last seen Matthews.

Matthews was already moving, diving behind the plinth, but not before one bullet carved through the back of his calf muscle, eliciting a cry of pain from between clenched teeth.

Trials still felt no pain. He felt as if he were underwater, the world swimming around him and any exterior movement slowed by water resistance. It was what morphine felt like – except he was in full control of his own actions.

He caught Matthews another shot, this time to the shoulder, when Matthews came diving out from behind the plinth and darted into one of the darkened passageways. Trials pursued, and this time his eyes turned the blackened tunnels into brightest day. He could see Matterson sprinting away further down the way, pumping his muscles as hard as he could, but Trials had no problem catching up with him.

A quick jab to Matthews’ leg in mid-stride sent him crashing to the floor, scraping along the stone surface with the momentum of his dash. Though he rolled quickly around, Trials was faster. He was already on top of the injured man, straddling his chest and pointing the rifle point-blank at Matthews’ forehead. Matthews froze.

“Don’t… move,” growled Trials.

Matthews’ eyes shook and he trembled as he focused, cross-eyed, on the end of the barrel.

“Ok, Matthews, I have a few questions. I don’t know if giving me the answers can save you, but you’ll have a damn better chance than if you don’t. So…” demanded Trials, pushing the barrel against Matthews, “The Ministry was just a façade?”

“Don’t be a fool, Trials,” sneered Matthews, all fear suddenly gone from his expression. “The Ministry has been around for generations before me, and will likely continue for generations after.”

“So you decided to use it for your own ends?”

“No, Trials. My god, you’re bad at this. You should just go back to being an attack dog. My attack dog. I am the Ministry, and I fulfil all its long-term goals.”

“You use it to further your own goals!”

“Yes, I do,” said Matthews, in a voice that suggested he was talking to a particularly slow child, “because they are the same goals. Jake, I only want what the Ministry wants – to protect the world from dangerous elements. And I do. I am the best.”

“You used me to test the nanites, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. They will be extremely beneficial to our cause. They already have been.”

“What? How?”

Matthews stared at him defiantly, saying nothing.

“You steal, cheat and lie.”

“That, my boy, was you.” Matthew’s voice was gradually returning to the way Trials had known it. “You did all those things, and more. You did them for the Ministry, to be sure, but it was you who made the final decision.”

“You killed Mike. You were going to kill me…”

Trials stared at Matthews, searching for some clue to help him understand the man.

Matthews’ arms came up at the same time as he replied;

“I still am, boy.”

The knives plunged deep in between both of Trials’ shoulder blades, one in each of Matthews’ hands. White lightning coruscated across Trials’ eyes and he lost his grip on Matthews, who pushed him off.

There was still no pain, but now Trials found his body did not move as he wanted it to. His arms stuttered and jerked, rifle barrel swinging wildly. He pulled the trigger, sending a spray of lead down the passageway, but Matthews was already gone, darting around one corner after another, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Trials fell to his knees, then face forward onto the ground, tumbling into darkness.

He seemed to spend a lot of his time there.