by thedoctor
"Where's McKnight?" Rogers asked Harrison as they walked down the corridor.
"Safe. We moved him as soon as we got your message. It's too hot in the States right now, so we're keeping him in Europe for a little while. Besides, he's got to finish the transaction." Harrison stepped out onto the snow-covered ground. A snowmobile was waiting for him. "You take care of the trucks here. Make sure they get out on time."
"Don't worry. I will, after I take care of something else first."
"Oh..." Harrison cranked the machine up. "...and kill Ellis while you're at it. We've got no room for men who can't follow orders."
"Will do."
Rogers stood for a moment and watched Harrison slide across the white snow and disappear into the dark night before going back inside. He walked down the hall to the office and stepped inside.
"Damn nasty stuff," he heard as he entered. Rogers turned to his right and saw Dirk Bell sitting in the corner. In one hand was a file on the contents of the vats. In the other was a .45 pointed straight at him. Rogers froze and began to think of a way out.
"A flesh-eating bacteria wasn't good enough for you, huh?" Bell continued. "You had to boost it up, make it almost instantaneous." He began to quote from the report, "'Upon introduction of the bacteria, HUMAN test subjects have a life expectancy of no more than three hours.' You bastard. You sold out your country, and you sold out your friends."
"I was never your friend, Dirk. I just pretended to be. And you didn't make it easy. As far as my country, it gave up on me long ago. Turnabout is fair play and all."
During the conversation, Rogers had slipped a small throwing knife into his palm. He flicked his wrist and sent it flying at Dirk. The soldier dodged it quickly, but the knife had served its true purpose. Rogers had slipped out the door and into the hall. Dirk regained himself and took off in pursuit.
Concrete exploded from the walls in chunks. Bullets screamed up and down the hallway. Rogers and Bell returned each others' shots as they moved up the hallway. Rogers finally made it to the end of the hall and disappeared behind a door.
Dirk entered the room cautiously. It was the tank room. Vats of the bacteria filled the room. The door led to an iron grate floor that circled a story above the concrete floor. Suspended catwalks jutted out over the center of the floor and intersected at many points. The vats themselves rose up to the catwalks. Pipes and chains for carrying the ingredients for the vile stew to the tanks crisscrossed the room. Rogers was out of plain sight.
The clanking of his combat boots against iron echoed through the room. He crouched to keep from giving his opponent too much of a target. The sound of gunfire quickly followed by the sound of a bullet ricocheting off of iron dropped Dirk to the ground. He returned fire in the direction he thought the sound came from, but the echo made that harder to do.
All became quiet. The silence was broken by the fast clanking of boots on iron. Dirk turned to fire but was met with a knee to the face. His guns fell out of his hands. The soldier cursed himself in his own mind before his head even hit the floor. He had been careless. This was exactly the thing that he was taught not to do. Stupid.
He knew that he didn't have time to regain his composure. Rogers was probably over him right now, ready to fire. Dirk swung his leg out blindly. It hit its mark against Rogers' side. The man had to drop his gun so that he could grab the railing and not fall over the side.
With blurred but increasing vision, Dirk took another strike. It was a grazing blow, unfortunately, and allowed Rogers a chance for his own attack. A fist hit him in chest, knocking the wind out of him.
Damn stupid of you, he cursed at himself. If you'd just have been paying attention in the first place, you wouldn't be in this mess right now.
His vision came back in full just in time to dodge another of Rogers' blows. Dirk went into overdrive: a left to the cheek, a knee to the stomach, an elbow to the back of the head. "Now you're mine," he said before sparks erupted all around him.
A guard had entered the fray. He had come in through the garage entrance and opened fire with his SMG. Rogers used the distraction to slip away yet again while Dirk ran for cover. Shit! he thought to himself. Out of guns. If I get out of this, I swear to God I'll never let that happen again.
Dirk came out from behind a vat and tossed a grenade before ducking back. It flew well beyond the guard and exploded well out of harm's way.
"Stupid bastard. You missed me by a long shot." The guard's taunting was stopped by a high-pitched whine. A valve began to leak the fluid that it had so long held back. Soon, it began to stream violently before exploding and gushing out gallons upon the floor and the guard. He stood up and began to gag and vomit. If just an ounce could kill a man in under three hours, how quickly could several hundred gallons?
Rogers was trying to make his escape. Dirk ran after him. Using the wall as a springboard, he connected a flying roundhouse kick to the back of the fleeing man's head. Rogers staggered and pulled out his combat knife. Dirk copied. He blocked and countered every move his opponent made. He was falling into the rhythm. The soldier's life of training was really starting to pay off. He went beyond being just a trigger man. Dirk Bell became a fighter, a warrior, a soldier.
Each move came naturally, each parry an instinct, each strike a tactical maneuver that came without a thought, just guided by a higher function, until Dirk finally had Rogers tied up, the soldier's blade resting close to the traitor's heart.
"Come on, Dirk, old buddy," a nervous prey began to plea. "You can't let it end like this."
"Don't give me that bullshit. You said it yourself. You were never my friend. It was all pretend."
"You can't kill me. You need me."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. Just think about it. Isn't it all too convenient that I was your partner and you got pulled up? Or is it that someone put me there, someone with power, with knowledge that Pierce was looking at you, planning on bringing you up. I'm a mole, but I'm not THE mole. You need me to flush the real threat out." Dirk contemplated his situation. "Come on. Give me another chance. Let me get back in your good graces."
Images flowed through Dirk's mind. Meyers, Thomas, Lieutenant Dukes, and possibly even Jackson had lost their lives due to this one man's deception. McKnight had to pay because he planned the whole thing, threatened the world. Rogers had been McKnight's accomplice with a smiling face.
Dirk looked into Rogers' eyes. "Once you sell your soul to the devil, you can't buy it back." He slowly plunged the knife into the man's breast. He didn't want to look into the man's eyes, but couldn't help himself. The sign of pain and agony was almost hypnotic, entrancing, and frightening all the same. It was a sight that would haunt the man for the rest of his life.
As Rogers' body twitched and gasped for breath, Dirk whispered in his ear, "The Dogs take care of their own, in every way." He pushed the body away and let it fall to the bacteria-covered floor below.