by Avatar, Chewy Walrus and The Eurostar
The EPS:
"Stand still."
"Huh?"
"Don't go anywhere."
A yawn.
"For Christ's sake... DON'T WAKE UP THIS TIME!"
John Doe sat bolt upright in his small bed in the eastern wing of the EPS compound. He rubbed the back of his head and scanned the room for activity. Nothing moved among the white walls or steel furniture. His black jumpsuit was still draped across the back of the chair where he had removed it earlier.
"Just another goddamn dream."
Doe laid back down to return to sleep, but after tossing and turning for fifteen minutes, he decided to get an early start on his day. Grabbing his suit, he looked at the diving watch Walker had supplied to him. It read three o'clock a.m. He stretched, finished dressing, and stepped out of his quarters to join the night crew for their last few hours on duty.
The guards posted outside his door stiffened when he emerged but otherwise showed no outward signs of emotion. Doe grabbed the shoulder of the man to his right and whispered into his ear, "Doesn't it just suck to be guarding me?"
Doe strode off in the most ominous and foreboding manner he could manage, barely able to keep from laughing at the thought of how the story would be exaggerated in the barracks when the man got off duty in an hour. He imagined that in the subsequent retellings the man would be using his incredible willpower to hold off a psychic assault from a mysterious, nameless metahuman.
There was nothing more satisfying than being a bastard.
He turned a corner and headed past other member's quarters just as Vidalia Owens stepped out of her room, also apparantly unable to sleep.
Almost nothing.
Doe started to speak to her, but she hurried off in the opposite direction toward the hydroponics sector. She was cradling a sickly looking daisy in her hands, so Doe just smiled and gave her a nod before going on his way.
Man, I'd like to get me a piece of that. Damn, she's hot.
He exhaled and shook his head to clear his mind. A few laps in an electrified pool would be a nice warm-up and would clear his head for the day. He couldn't go around being flippant when people were awake. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. Maybe under different circumstances he could laugh around people besides himself, but as long as he was an executioner, a hunted man, and a hired gun, he'd have to keep himself calm and controlled. Things got very ugly if you felt too much.
It was not like he had saved the woman by refusing to kill her. Someone else had just done it and in a much messier way. The only thing he had gained by sparing the prostitute was a life on the run. She had not looked that much like his mother, anyway.
I just need to hit the pool, he thought.
"Field team report to COC. Repeat: Field team report to the COC for immediate assignment."
The only word that came to Doe's mind was, Fuck.
The members of the Enhanced Procurement Sanction groggily staggered into the meeting room, each taking seats around a large metallic table. At the head of the table sat Dr. Charles Elias Walker. Walker looked over the members seated and noticed one missing.
"Where's Cicciotto?" Walker demanded. No sooner had the words escaped the man's mouth than the doors whisked open, revealing the groggy Italian dressed in his standard EPS-issue bodysuit, which was brown in hue. "Glad you decided to join us, Cicciotto."
The former Eurostar shot Walker a dirty look and slid into the seat next to Vidalia Owens, who now found herself between Doe and the Italian. She smiled at the man, who seemed to brighten at her regarding him. Walker raised an eyebrow at this and began his briefing, pressing a button on the table top.
A large holographic projector raised from the center of the table and lowered from the ceiling. Another few button presses, and the lights dimmed. The holo-emitter burst to life, revealing a sort of desert terrain, surrounding a lone standing complex, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
"Where is this place?" Vidalia asked, raising a finger in the air.
"It looks very familiar," Andy Reynolds said, leaning forward to get a better look.
"I was about to say the same thing," Will Tweed remarked, stroking his chin.
"Well, it should," Walker retorted, steepling his fingers. "What you see before you is known, in most government circles, as the Side-Show. You original EPS members may recognize it as being similar in structure to the Zoo, a military installation we visited in our earlier travels."
"The Zoo..." Doe muttered, twiddling his thumbs absently, "...of course."
"Now, as many of you know," Walker continued, rising from his seat to make this speech, "upon our arrival at the Zoo, we obtained a sample of what I have termed the Pathogen."
Walker pressed another button on the table top, which changed the image on the holo-projector from the Side-Show to a picture of a black cell -- the cause of the Pathogen virus.
"This 'virus' or germ -- whatever it is -- is quite powerful and potent," Walker continued. "Many of us, Cicciotto especially, saw the level to which it empowered the metahuman freak at the Zoo. Now, as it stands, there is no way we can really test the effects of this Pathogen on metahumans, and, to be quite honest, our data is limited."
Another button press. This time, the image changed to a brain, similar to that of a human but a bit more advanced, a metahuman brain. The hologram showed the emission of the Pathogen into its brain stem. In a span of about two seconds (fast motion), the brain had turned completely black. After about ten more seconds passed, the brain began to wither, and wither, and wither, until there was nothing left but ash.
"We think that these are the effects that the Pathogen has on the metahuman brain," Walker explained. "Still, as I stated earlier, our data is sketchy, at best. So this is what I propose. Our mission is to turn the Side-Show into a metahuman testing facility. We split into separate teams, and from there, proceed to inject the Pathogen into one metahuman per team. From there, we will observe, thanks to I.G.O.R.'s hacked surveillance and a few of Dr. Curie's own special spy nanites, the transformation that these metahumans undergo during Pathogen infection. Any questions?"
A raised hand from Reynolds. "Why do they call this place the Side-Show?"
"Good question," Walker said, clasping his hands behind his back and beginning to pace. "Irrelevant, but good, nonetheless. Before your time, the circus included a few very different types of acts. There were the usual clowns, elephants, acrobats, and high-wire acts, but there was also something called a side-show. Here, for the small price of about a nickel or a dime, people could see what everyone affectionately called freaks. Among these carneys, as they were also referred to, were the Elephant Man, the Bearded Lady, the World's Fattest Man (who, as I understand it, ate chickens whole), as well as various midgets and Siamese twins. For the very reasonable aforementioned fee, normal people of the world could sit back and watch these freaks put on display and exploited for monetary gain. Now, in this brave new millennium, we are keeping this wholly capitalistic tradition alive by naming this government institution by the same name as the beloved freak tent. Does that answer your question, son?"
Reynolds, not really knowing how to respond to Walker's spiel, only nodded.
"You mentioned monetary gain," said Tweed, the former crime lord. "What exactly did you mean by that?"
"Well, in this day and age, the wealthiest of the wealthy watch every weekend on a special Pay-Per-View station as these metahumans battle to the death," Walker explained. "This way, not only does the government get rich, but the carnal need for bloodshed among the lusty billionaires is satiated."
"Interesting," Tweed said, taking a swig of his coffee.
"Indeed." Walker nodded his assent. "Any other questions?"
"Where's the new guy?" Turner piped up, placing his brown fedora on his head. "This... Richards guy?"
"Mr. Richards will not be accompanying us on this morning's mission," Walker replied. "As things currently stand, he is still in official training status. Anything else?"
"Yes," Cicciotto said, defiantly holding his hand in the air. Vidalia placed her hand on his arm in an attempt to silence him, but instead Cicciotto rose, a man seemingly full of conviction.
"Yes, Mr. Cicciotto," Walker said, bemusedly tilting his head to the side. "And what can I do for you?"
"You expect me to waltz into this facility and essentially destroy my own people?" the former hero exclaimed, emphatically slamming his fist on the table, sending a small fissure through the metal. "I was the leader of the Revolution! I am not without great powers and even greater convictions! I refuse to be bound by a small demon such as yourself! Your impish ways and twisted mind cannot rob me of my sanity, of my convictions, of my salvation! I am a man! I am a metahuman! And nothing you say, nothing you do, and nothing you show me can make me waver in my beliefs!"
The entire room was frozen in silence. Tears began to form in Miss Owens' eyes, not tears of joy or of conviction or of love, but tears of fear. Turner lowered his hat over his eyes and feigned sleeping. Reynolds and Tweed exchanged a knowing smirk. Doe merely crossed his arms and kept a straight face.
Walker stood at the head of the room, an amused little smile evident on his features. He reached down, very slowly, to the table top, pressing yet another button. The lights brightened. The holo-projector returned to its rightful place in the table and in the ceiling. A side door opened, and in walked a wormy, balding man in an EPS-issue orange bodysuit. In his arms, he carried a baby with miniature asps swarming from its head.
Dr. Walter Curie walked across the room, placed "Eddie" into Dr. Walker's arms, and then produced a syringe filled with a viscous black liquid.
"So, you're saying we should test the Pathogen now and save ourselves the trouble?" Walker said, bringing the needle of the syringe to the child's neck. The clone gurgled in joy as his father figure brought the pointy object closer to his flesh, closer... closer... closer... closer... closer...
"WAIT!" came Cicciotto's plea. "I will do as you ask." With that, the Italian slumped into his seat, covering his face with his hands. Vidalia made no move to comfort him, but instead stifled her tears and turned her attention to Walker.
In accordance with Cicciotto's submission, Walker lowered the syringe and placed it back in Curie's hand.
"Very well, Cicciotto," Walker said, giving the babe a peck on the cheek. "It is good to see that you can be a team player."
Cicciotto was too caught up in the emotion of the situation to hear what the man was saying.
"Now," Walker commanded, "I want you all in the jump rooms in fifteen minutes. That's 0330. Got it? Good. Dismissed."
Vidalia came near Cicciotto, her eyes still wet. "You shouldn't talk that way to Walker," she whispered in his ear.
"You shouldn't worry for me, lady. Walker can't harm me. He can only keep me in check by menacing my son. If not for that, I could destroy this place in a matter of seconds." He said this knowing it was not the truth, that Doe could play with his body like a puppeteer on his puppet, but this was a good moment to introduce his son into their frequent talks.
"You... you..." The expression of Miss Owens quickly turned angry. "You don't understand? If you keep talking this way, Walker will harm not only you, but all of us, also. God only know why he wants to test the serum on those freaks and not on us. So, I'm telling you this once for all -- don't make Walker mad, if you feel something for... not only for your son." Saying that, Vidalia stormed off.
But the image of her green, deep eyes shining of tears was still in Cicciotto's mind. What had she meant? That she cared for him? Why did he feel so joyful around her? He thought of coming near her to reach his son, but now, now he was really curious to know her better.
What's happening to me? I should be mad for how Walker menaced Eddie, or for the crimes he wants me to commit... but the only thing I can think about are those green eyes...