Phoenix Inferno 1

A sharp beeping startles me awake. Acting from long practice, I throw the blanket off, swinging my legs out of the bed before my eyes are even completely open. Muttering a curse, I reach down for my shoes with one hand, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with the other.

“Alright, Nyx,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face halfheartedly. I turn my head towards the small little black speck set in the middle of the wall. “I’m up. Turn off the blasted alarm.”

There’s a sharp noise that makes my ears ring, and it shuts off. I can almost hear Nyx laughing. He denies that he leaves it on that long on purpose, but the rules clearly state that it can only be used when to wake up the agents. You are supposed to shut it off immediately after they wake up. He never does. I always have to tell him.

Nyx is fond of using it whenever. Mostly when I am trying to sleep. Naturally, I am always returning the favor. It’s the sort of under action that keeps life almost bearable. Almost.

Slipping on my shoes, really just black socks with a little padding on the bottom, I stand. Swinging my arms around to help the tension in my shoulders, I sweep my gaze across the small area with the vent in the top. Hardly big enough to contain the bed and myself.

The reflective surface of the glass gives the impression that the room goes on forever. Multiple women going on forever in both directions. Turning my attention away from the size of the room, I study my reflection in the glass walls.

The woman staring back at me still carries the appearance of a teen. Smooth skin, with a faint touch of color in her cheeks, though the rest of her is as white as a sheet. Comes from spending years underground, I think bitterly. It didn’t used to be like that. Not when I was young.

Swatting the thought aside, as one does with a fly, I move my gaze upwards. Focusing on my eyes.

Dark brown. Pools of chocolate, or mud, as Nyx so unromantically termed them. They used to be beautiful, a contrast that brought out the richness of my hair. They ceased to be so long ago. Now they are mirrors of the rotten soul behind them.

Setting one hand on my hip, I look down at my body. At my figure. At the age of thirty four, there should be a little fat. No one keeps the perfect figure of an eighteen year old for this long. No one, that is, except Chimera agents.

I still have the perfect waist, the limber muscles. Very little has changed since they gave me the drug. Since they injected the anti-aging chemical into my body. If someone was too compare a picture of me just before I joined to one of me now, the only difference they would be able to find would be a trace of bitterness in my face that wasn’t there before.

“Phoenix,” Nyx says, his tone bored as it comes through the speaker in the wall. “If you are done staring at yourself in the mirror, you have an assignment.”

“Sorry, Nyx,” I reply automatically. “Just wondering what exactly they did to my body when they first dragged me into this hellhole.” I turn back to the glass.

His sigh crackles, coming out as static. “Still? I thought you were over that a while ago.”

“Of course not,” I say, lightly. “You know, they still have me under surveillance for it.” I shrug, then frown as the rest of his comment hits me. “What assignment?”

“I don’t know,” he says, distractedly. “Your stupid computer keeps beeping.” He pauses, waiting expectantly. “Well? Are you going to come on over and shut it up?”

“I would,” I say, patiently. “Except, you won’t open the door.” A muffled curse, along with a bitter comment about mouthy females echoes through the room.

Throwing a mocking smile in the camera’s direction, I watch the door, darting through the gap in the glass the moment it is wide enough to fit through. Despite my apparent disregard with Nyx, I can’t help but be a little curious. Even excited.

It’s been five month since we lost Python after the shooting at the school in Montana. Five months since he gunned down seven children in the third grade, and was gunned down. Five month since I hit the button that scattered him across the outside walk where he had fallen. Five months since I finished him before he had even drawn his last breath.

Since he was terminated life has grown rather dull. No more missions, at least not real ones. Nyx and I were demoted to the discovery of people for other teams to hunt. Now I am stuck on running sweeps of home computers, and phone conversations.

In the course of the multiple hours I spent, I found two suspects. They were handed up to another level of testing, probably considered for about an hour, and entered into the system as a target. That was the last I heard, but I am willing to bet that they are both six feet under.

Casting a quick glance around the room, I run my eyes over the familiar shape of Nxy’s small glass box off to the side, then move them to the empty shape of Python’s den. Can’t say I miss him.

I smile, remembering how it felt to push that button. That moment was well worth all this sitting around. I have never felt such pleasure before, and I doubt I will feel it again. Revenge is sweet.

Pulling my eyes away, I move towards the monitor against the door at the far side, just opposite of my sleeping space. Rolling my eyes, I stop next to the box, and slap my hand against it. Since the voice recognition doesn’t need any specific word to trigger it, just the sound of my voice, I pour out a loud foul spiel concerning Chimera. It feels good to tell something just what I think about the people that run the country. Even if that something doesn’t understand a word I say.

The computer considers it for a moment, and then releases the lock. Hearing the click, I push the door open. As I step through, my fingers automatically go to the engraving on the door, as they do every morning. Tracing the gold letters etched there. Chimera.

Sidestepping Nyx, who bloodshot eyes glare at me from a face that could revival a baboon for ugliness, I lift my hand to my nose. Gagging on the stench. It could not be any worse if you left a bowl of eggs on the counter for a month to ferment. Nyx isn’t only as ugly as a baboon, but also smelly enough to pass for on in the dark.

Raising my head, I glance at the vent, suspiciously. Sure enough, they’re shut. Sealed as tight as a tomb. Figures.

Hurrying my step, I slip into my chair. Touching my computer screen to awake it from sleep, I reach under my desk for the control for the air with the other.

“Nyx?” I say, sweetly, running through my notifications. “What have I told you about closing the vent?”

A rather too obviously fake yawn sounds from behind me. “Beats me. You are always spouting nonsense.”

Ignoring him, I scan my screen. “You have got to be kidding me,” I breathe. Displayed on the screen, gently pulsing red, is my orders.

Newly arrived. Escort to special training 2394. Lethal force authorized.

I scroll down, eager to know who they hauled in this time. Eric. That is all. No last name, they never give that away, and no pictures. I shrug. I’ll be able to see him soon enough, anyways.

I’m pushing my chair back, and standing when it hits me. Sinking down, I take another look. Just to be sure I didn’t read it wrong. Lethal force authorized.

Lethal force. They don’t ever give permission for that unless you are on a mission. Now they just handed me the order when all I am doing is escorting some bonehead they dragged out of the sewers to training.

What kind of man are they talking about?

Standing back up, I shoot a quick look over at Nxy’s little desk. Letting my eyes drift over his white coffee cup stained black by years of use. Running a hand through my hair, I let a frown settle on my face, feeling it crease my forehead. Thinking it through.

A new agent is good. Means that one of us will get the job of getting him ready for the field. Of course there is that number, 2394. The blueprints I managed to extract from the system had shown them to be a part of this Chimera center dedicated to testing new forms of training. You can understand why they experiment when preparing a newbie can take years. But if they change it around, I might not get the assignment.

Another couple years of paperwork. More reading and watching video. Authorizing testing of new drugs on soldiers brought here just for the occasion. With the country’s new craze for war it’s never hard to find a guinea pig.

Shooting one more deliberate glance at Nyx as he sits there, hunched over his computer, I push my chair back. Sighing, I climb to my feet, casting a wistful look at the empty coffee pot on the table between us. He drinks it like water, though I haven’t seen him touch the real thing. It’s always coffee or some other stimulate Chimera provides. There is never any left for me.

Bending my head, I locate a certain key on the keyboard and press it. The sharp beeping starts again, increasing in volume at my repeated jabs at the button. Turning I meet his eyes, flipping my hair over my shoulder and moving towards the door.

“Live with it,” I bite out, pressing my palms against the glass, and pushing it open. Stepping out, I hold his squinting gaze until I hear the door seal behind me. Then I turn away.

Nyx is a fun person to exchange insults with, but never let him see you waver. He will pounce like a vulture. A hyena. Not hungry for blood, but pain. You have to be, if you want to survive in Chimera. Mercy does not belong here.

This reminds me, if they have given me permission to use lethal force, they will be giving me a weapon. I get a gun. A grin sneaks over my face. There’s a silver lining in every cloud.

Humming a tune, I head towards the door settled between Nxy’s on one end of the room and the entrance into the office area. Slapping my hand on the door, I stand there, impatient to get out of this hole. Red light sweeps up, inside the glass, and scans my hand.

The quiet click seems to echo through the room, and the door gives way beneath my touch. It retreats from my gentle push, pulling away. Revealing the white corridor that lies behind.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself out into the hall. Nothing meets my eyes but the gray concrete of the floor and the stale white of the wall, adorned by silver doors.

There is so many people close by, just behind those walls. Many of them will be sleeping. Or sitting, hunched over their computers. But I have never felt farther from anyone.

Shivering, a faint wind running over me, a current from somewhere above, I take a step. My shoes hit the ground with a small whisper, sounding like an earthquake through these halls. It’s strange how far away I feel from everyone, when Nyx is right behind me, huddled at his desk. And I have no idea how many people are close to me right now. How many of these rooms are filled.

A laugh wells up, breaking through my awe. Yes, it is quiet. Perhaps the halls are clean. But all the stillness and power that hangs over this building cannot hide the fact that it is stained with the blood of innocents. As am I.

Gathering courage from the thought, my step quickens, and I center my line of sight on the door of the elevator. Black against the chilly light of the surrounding area. The only bit of darkness in this godforsaken place.

Casting a look at the wall, stark in the glaring white from above, I speed up. Letting the tension of month of inactively drain. Expending itself on my sudden freedom.

I want to run, every muscle is straining forward. Reminding me that the last time was beyond the stretch of my memory. But I don’t. I have a long walk ahead of me, and if I am lucky, maybe some action as well. I am going to be needing this energy, now isn’t the time to throw it away.

Reaching the elevator, I come to a halt and touch my fingertips to a monitor, perched on the wall beside it. A glimmer of blue light runs up the sides, and the doors slide, smoothly open.

Slipping inside, I crane my neck, peering round at the walls and ceiling of the elevator. Looking for two things in particular. There! I jab a mental finger up at the small box, sheltered in the corner. The camera, recording system, and destruct, all rolled into one.

“Phoenix Inferno,” I say, moving my gaze to the door, watching it close. Trapping me in a grey concrete square lighted only by a thin strip illuminator, running the length of the top. “Agent fifty-nine. Mission at Welcome Center.”

There isn’t any sign of me being heard, not the slightest whir to signify that something has been listening and is now considering my words. But I feel the floor pulse under my feet, and the elevator shoots upwards, leaving my stomach in the pit.