Prometheus sat, legs crossed, on the ledge of a four-story building that had seen better days. He had discarded the outer clothing he had worn and was now wearing only the stealth suit. He had also discarded the case which had contained a variety of tools and weapons, most of which fit on a belt made of the same material as the stealth suit. There were various lock-picking tools, both mechanical and electronic, several throwing blades, and a supply of capsule-like modules. Each of the capsules was a kind of grenade -- smoke, flash, gas and explosive. There was also a helmet – lightweight and thin-walled to the point of seeming flimsy. Even so, it afforded a fair amount of protection and also possessed several vision enhancement systems. Finally, there was a collapsible staff made of a ceramic composite. The staff, normally collapsed to the size of a nightstick, was fully extended to its two-meter length and rested across his lap. His helmet sat on the ledge next to him. The chameleon-like properties of his uniform made it difficult to detect him in the lengthening shadows of the building. He gazed out at horizon with violet, pupil-less eyes that almost glowed in the light of the setting sun. The view was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He was thinking, weighing his options, and knowing already what his decision would be. He might have felt better if the number of options was larger, but it all boiled down to one of two choices. If he continued on his chosen course, he could never go back, never feel totally safe again. It was an awesome decision to make for one who had not yet reached his third year of life. The sun dipped below the horizon, the gold and crimson hues yielding to deep blues and purples, and then finally fading to black. Despite the light filtering up from the street below, he could still make out the stars overhead, each seeming to twinkle at him as he gazed upward. He had recently heard a song about that. Twinkle, Twinkle, little star... He wondered, briefly, which star the song had referred to. He ran his hand over his hairless scalp and reached for his helmet. In the past months he had often wondered why he had no body hair but had never actually voiced the question. Perhaps it was for the same reason his blood was blue instead of red. He sighed a little, knowing it was not likely he would get the chance to find out. He placed the helmet on his head and the faceplates slid quietly down to fully conceal his features. He touched two studs at the side of the helmet and the faceplate amplified the ambient light to near daylight levels. He looked across the street at the building opposite where he sat. Following the line of a drainpipe down to the street, he picked out the detail of a closed garage door. Pressing another pair of studs, the area around the door was outlined in yellow and then enhanced and magnified to permit a closer view. He waited patiently, alternating his view between the garage door and the street that the door faced. It wasn't long before he noted a black sedan coming up the streets with its headlights off. The garage door opened to admit the vehicle, light spilling from the opening. The light sparked his earliest memory… A flash of light in the darkness. Cold. Sterile. Offering no comfort. Another, this time briefly illuminating a face -- a face that was also cold and sterile, and equally lacking in comfort. His vision grew dark once more as the tank tilted back. The liquid began to drain away, causing him to feel the full force of gravity. It was a new sensation and not a comfortable one. The mask that had allowed him to breathe seemed like an enormous weight on his face. Even as consciousness slipped away, he attempted to shift his head to a more comfortable position. He found that he lacked the strength to do so. Consciousness became an elusive thing. When it did come to him, from time to time, a herald of sorts preceded it. That is, before the lights would come on again, he saw it happen before it actually did. He somehow sensed the approach of the event, "watching" it solidify into what would be. He didn't know this was not normal. Initially, his moments of lucidity were filled with the same cold light he'd already experienced. But this time it was accompanied by snippets of sound. Both were equally meaningless. He had no frame of reference, no context to help determine what they meant. The foreshadowing he had experienced with the lights, now included the sounds as well, but it was still of no use in understanding. And always, it seemed as if they would fade to a black silence before he could attach a meaning to them. After some time, finally, he was able to determine what the snippets of sound were. They were voices. This particular revelation was almost overshadowed by the realization that he knew what “voices” were. "... --nguage data upload finished this morning and all indications point to a successful assimilation," said a voice. "I'll run a few more diagnostics and, if they check out, we can start uploading the first of the skill sets. Will they be ready in time?" "Yes," another voice replied. He could not see either of the speakers. "There are a few more checks to run, but I think they should be ready ahead of schedule." "Good. The Director will be pleased to hear it. We should start working on the neuro-muscular programming. Call Bill and let hi-- ..." Once more, consciousness faded. The next time he awoke, he felt strange, as though he were floating. He realized he was once more in a tank filled with a clear fluid of some kind. This time he felt hundreds of little itches and desperately wanted to scratch, but he couldn't move his arms to do so. He was able to move his head slightly and he caught a glimpse of hundreds filaments, stuck to his body. No. Not stuck to... inserted into his body. Before he could get a good look at them, however, the world once more faded to black. The next time he awoke he was still inside of the tank, but the tank was now vertically oriented. He heard a clicking noise and the fluid inside of the tank drained away. He felt the full force of gravity once again. This time, he found that he was able to bear his own weight -- easily. He was a little startled when he sensed the door to the tank opening, but realized that it had not yet done so. He looked up and watched as a sour-faced lab technician approached the tank and opened the door. His body was immediately covered in goose bumps, the exterior air temperature being much cooler than the interior of the tank. As the technician removed his breathing mask, he heard a new voice. "Give the subject a robe, please. It would do no good for him to catch pneumonia at this stage." He responded to the lab technician's command to put the robe on. As he cinched the belt to the robe, he noticed an odd expression on the technician’s face. He looked to the first man and spoke his first words. "Have I done something wrong?" His own voice sounded odd in his ears. Apparently it was something of a surprise to these men as well. "Why did you put on that article of clothing?" asked the first man, apparently the older of the two. "I was told to do so." "Truly? I don't recall hearing Mr. Jones speak. Did you say anything Mr. Jones?" "No, Mr. ... Smith. I was about to just before he put it on," said the other man. The older man, the one called Mr. Smith, smiled. The smile carried no warmth. "Then it would appear that our little experiment is not a total loss," said the older man. "Please go with Mr. Jones. He will see to it that you are more suitably attired. Afterwards, we will be performing some routine tests. Nothing too difficult at first, we merely wish to see how your reflexes and coordination have developed." "I will go with Mr. Jones," he said, feeling the material of the robe. "I would ask a question, Mr. Smith." Mr. Smith arched an eyebrow and then said, "Ask your question." "What is my name?" Mr. Smith looked genuinely surprised. He paused for a moment, and then smiled and said, "We shall call you Prometheus… for now." Prometheus. It seemed an odd choice. The name felt a little strange as his lips formed the word, but it was not unpleasant. It would do... The tests started out small. They included tests of knowledge: 'identify this item and explain it's use,' 'describe the best way to disable an opponent in this circumstance,' 'how would you disable this alarm?' and so on. At first, he would answer every question before it was completed until they demanded he stop and allow them to finish before he responded. He was also given the opportunity to demonstrate his proficiency in a wide variety of weapons, ranging from small arms and common hand-to-hand weapons to slightly more exotic varieties: smoke and gas grenades, specialized throwing blades and a telescoping staff that could be employed in a variety of ways. Later tests were more physically demanding, meant to test reflexes, stamina, and physical limits. The tests ranged from simple physical exercises to engaging multiple combatants in a variable obstacle course -- 'variable' being a euphemism for 'surprise.' At seemingly random intervals, the obstacles would move or even become attackers themselves. But always, he knew it would happen before hand, somehow able to sense the event and then use that knowledge to his benefit. He found he was able to leap distances that far exceeded what his sparring partners could manage. His reflexes were likewise far beyond those of any of his opponents. When he commented on this, Mr. Smith replied with thinly disguised annoyance. "You are receiving constant flashes of the near future. What use would this foreknowledge be if you had no way of acting upon it in a timely fashion? Now please step back onto the mat. In the next exercise, you will engage seven combatants..." It was during this particular test that he discovered something else about himself. His blood was blue in color. This revelation immediately followed a blow to his face that resulted in a bloody nose. It was explained to him as one of the technicians dabbed at his nose that his blood was cobalt-based instead of iron based. “The reasons,” he said, “are far too varied and complex to detail, but both your precognitive and your regenerative abilities required an unusual biochemistry.” “Regenerative?” he asked. The technician replied, “You have just experienced a broken nose. This would normally take several days to heal. In your case, the damage will have repaired itself within the hour…” At the end of each day, he would be sent to a small room where he would rest, hooked up to various monitors and nameless pieces of equipment. Always, the technicians would talk about him, discuss this reading or that set of test results, but they never spoke to him. On one occasion, he overheard a different kind of conversation. "... still weirds me out how that thing can be movin' and breathin.' I know it's s'posed to be organic but... I dunno. Maybe it's those eyes. Ain’t never heard of anything with bright purple eyes." "Don't sweat it. The final field test is tomorrow. If it’s successful, then the project is done. Of course, if it isn’t, there goes the bonus. Either way, it becomes someone else’s problem." "Yeah, well it can't be too soon. I'll be right back. I need a cigarette." Prometheus was a little disturbed by this conversation but before he could consider the ramifications of it, he fell asleep. Then, for the first time that he could recall, he dreamed… He entered a room much like those he had seen before -- sterile and lacking in comfort. Except this time, there was a man with a smiling face who sat in a chair in the middle of the room. Behind him was a table that contained all of the equipment he had been training to use, each item neatly laid out. A second chair appeared, oriented to face the man. "Welcome," said the man. He was the oldest man he'd ever seen -- older even than Mr. Smith. "Please, come in. Sit. There is much to discuss and, unfortunately, very little time." "Who are you? What is this place? I don't remember this place." "No, you wouldn't, would you? Let's just call this a place of learning. It was probably a 'room' very much like this one where you have learned everything that you know. Given time, you would be able to learn much more," said the man, a little sadly. "So much more..." After a moment, he continued. "As to who I am, let's just call me a friend, for now." "Friend, why am I here? How am I here?" The old man smiled and replied, "Essentially, you are dreaming. But it's a very special dream. When we are done here, you will know things that you didn't know before. It is likely the last lesson that you will learn before you go from here. If you are very fortunate, you will never come back." Suddenly Prometheus was afraid without knowing why. "What do you mean?" he said, trying to keep his voice from quavering. "I mean that you are about to be put to a purpose that you were never intended to fulfill. Mr. Smith, as he calls himself, plans to use you to assassinate someone. I designed you for better things." "You designed me?" "Yes. You were intended to be a teacher of sorts, a leader or perhaps guide would be more accurate; A benefactor to Mankind... much like your namesake." "My namesake?" he asked. "Yes. Prometheus – the name means “forethought,” you know – is a mythological figure who took pity on Man. Against the will of the gods, he gave fire to Man for protection, warmth, and... Well, it's a long story." Before Prometheus could ask another question, the old man continued. "Smith wishes to use you and your abilities for... lower purposes. In fact, you were to be programmed this evening with the obedience directives that he designed himself. Fortunately, he isn't as clever as he believes himself to be." "Why are you here? What are you going to do?" "I am going to teach you some of the things you should have known from the outset. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time to be as thorough as I’d like, so I’ll have to cut a few corners. I can't undo what they have already done, but perhaps I can re-direct their intent. All you have to do is look here... The old man brought up his hand and there was a golden ball of light sitting in it. It began to pulse gently and Prometheus found he was unable to look away. Instead of being afraid, he felt somehow comforted by it and soon felt very safe and very relaxed. "You must remember this: do not let on to anyone that we have spoken," he heard the man say from a distance. “If they realize anything is amiss, you will not see another day. Neither will I. We shall start with a few basics...” The next voice he heard was deep and solemn and it was the last thing he remembered until he woke up again. ...Thou shalt not murder... Prometheus awoke to find unusual clothing had been laid out on the table next to his bed. Instead of the accustomed exercise clothing, there was a one-piece, form-fitting garment. The coloring of the garment was similar to the surface of the table. There were additional garments next to that one. Jeans and a shirt, shoes… and a baseball cap. “I have never seen material like this,” he said reaching for the one-piece garment. As he picked up the stealth-suit, the coloring quickly changed to a neutral gray and then to a blue and black color scheme. The material, even though it was lightweight, felt much more durable than he would have believed. “What is it?” “It’s called a ‘Stealth Suit,’” replied a technician. “As long as the battery holds out, it will allow you to blend into your surroundings when you wish to avoid detection. It will also provide some protection against small arms fire but I would still try to avoid being hit. And should you get shot near any point of articulation, the protection will be minimal.” He was instructed by one of the technicians to don the stealth-suit, and then put the remaining clothing on over it. He put on the clothing and the technicians instructed him to follow. Prometheus was escorted to an area of the facility he had not seen before. Shortly, they approached a door that was guarded by two armed men. The technicians retreated back down the hall leaving Prometheus with the guards. One of the guards looked him over dispassionately before opening the door and motioning him inside. Stepping through the doorway, he found himself in a meeting room, complete with an oblong table, chairs and a large, flat-screen monitor at one end. There was a large, closed case on the end of the table nearest to the door. Mr. Smith sat at the end of the table in front of the screen. Two other men sat on either side of Smith. One was a larger man whose face seemed to be frozen in a perpetual sneer. The other was thin, nervous looking man who was holding an unlit cigarette. “Thank you, Benjamin. That will be all,” said Smith, dismissing the guard. After the door had closed, Smith turned his attention to Prometheus. “Today marks a milestone of sorts for us,” he began. “It is both the third anniversary of the inception of this project and the final test of the experiment.” “Experiment?” asked Prometheus. “Yes,” answered Smith. “I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that you were designed to fill a specific need. If you are successful, then the effort and resources expended to produce you will be justified and the project can go forward and bring about a bright future for all concerned.” Prometheus kept his expression neutral. He was certain it wouldn’t be good to let on that he possessed more knowledge concerning his design than Smith had just imparted. “What is the nature of this test?” “It is actually a simple thing. It should certainly pose no difficulty for you, given your abilities.” Smith touched a button on a small control panel. The lights dimmed and the screen on the wall came to life. As Smith spoke, the screen displayed a series of photographs of a man with light brown hair. “This man is Jason Miller. Should he manage to deliver on his promise of revealing certain classified information, he will cause serious harm to this Organization. While the Organization would ultimately survive, it would disrupt a number of timetables, causing setbacks of several months, perhaps even years. Your task is to eliminate this man and retrieve the information he holds.” Fortunately, the dim lighting of the room helped to mask Prometheus’s reaction. He was hard pressed to keep his expression neutral. Smith’s statement had left him with a cold feeling and a knot in the pit of his stomach. He wants me to take someone’s life! He thought in disbelief. Once more, he heard a deep voice, though this time it was barely audible. …Thou shalt not murder… His inner turmoil was such that he almost didn’t notice Smith was still speaking. “… the case in front of you contains fully functioning versions of the equipment you’ve been training with over the last several weeks. It also contains detailed floor plans, security system information and the like.” A map was now displayed on the screen, a small point of light flashing softly. “You will be taken to this address where you will be dropped off. You are to make your way to this building,” a second flashing point of light appeared on the map, “… twelve blocks away and wait for the target to show up. Our sources believe that he will be retrieving the information from some offices that he maintains there.” Prometheus took a slow breath and then spoke. “If you know where the information is kept, why have you not retrieved it before now?” A look of annoyance flashed across Smith’s face and then disappeared. “Miller has displayed a rather high level of competence in keeping foiling our efforts.” The statement appeared to have left a sour taste in Smith’s mouth. “We couldn’t even be certain where he kept the information until today. Tonight, however, he will need to personally retrieve data in order to deliver it to our adversaries. You will need to wait until he has the information in his possession before eliminating him. Are there any other questions?” Prometheus shook his head. “Then go with these gentlemen. They will take you to your drop point.” Smith looked once more at Prometheus and reached into his coat pocket. Withdrawing a pair of sunglasses, he added, “put these on. Your street clothes go a long way towards maintaining your anonymity… but your eyes will be something of a give-away.” Prometheus put the sun glasses on. “I am ready.” Prometheus waited for the street to go dark again as the garage door closed. Once it did, he stood up in a fluid motion, taking his staff in his right hand. He gauged the distance to the opposite roof, took several steps back and ran full tilt toward the ledge, silently launching himself into the empty night air. He landed lightly on the roof of the next building and found the door leading from the roof locked. It was not difficult to open. His foresight warned him of the alarm on the door and, after he disarmed it, he entered the building, a shadow moving among shadows. He made his way down to the office that Jason Miller occupied. The vision enhancements of the helmet—infrared imaging in this case—were sufficient to reveal the location of the bodyguard. He stood outside the door, checking his watch and looking bored; a second figure, obviously Miller, was putting various folders into his briefcase. Prometheus moved quietly down the hall, trying to decide how to approach the man without causing undue alarm when he felt a sudden “ghost pain,” the foreshadowing of a bullet wound bullet wound to his shoulder. He executed a dive to the side, rolling out and regaining his feet just as a bullet tore through the wall where he’d been standing. The guard who had been standing in the hall barked something to the men inside the office before coming down the hall to investigate. He was knocked to the floor by a dark blur as a hole opened up in the wall where he’d been standing. “What the fu—“ “I am Prometheus. There is a sniper located on the third floor of the building across the street. It would be best if you stayed low and watched the entrance.” The man appeared to be torn between attacking and listening. Fortunately for him, he chose to listen. “All right. Jason? We got a problem… but we also got some help… I think.” Knowing that the guard would do as stay put for the moment, Prometheus glided across the floor to a spot just outside the door and stopped. Knowing that he could no longer turn back, he entered the room. The target, Jason Miller, he corrected himself, was kneeling on the floor of the office, retrieving a courier’s case from a well concealed compartment in the floor. Miller turned toward the door, saw Prometheus and nervously demanded to know, "Who are y--" "Prometheus," he replied before the question finished spilling from the man's mouth. "Wha--" "I am here to insure that you collect your information and safely leave the premises. There is an assassin outside the building, one of at least two that were sent to eliminate you as a threat. Apparently I am also a target." "How do you know this?" the man demanded, his eyes darting around the room hoping to find a means of escape. "I," answered Prometheus, "was supposed to be the primary assassin.” "Oh, Sweet Jesus!" exclaimed the man who had been his target. "Wha-- What are you going to do with me?" Prometheus looked at him from behind his dark faceplate and replied. "Nothing. Another path has been presented to me. I have chosen it.” Miller didn’t seem to know whether to be relieved or frightened. He managed both. “Why—“ “A friend… has taught me better. Please finish your task here. I have my own task to complete. Stay low to the ground as you exit the room. Do not waste time. There may already be someone moving in to complete the task. I will do my best to clear the way for you.” Without a waiting for a response, Prometheus left the room and headed toward the roof once more. Once there, he activated the stealth suit and then made a quick scan of the other nearby rooftops. Even with the vision enhancements provided by his visor, he almost didn’t make out the slight movement of the other assassin. Prometheus kept low, picking up speed as he approached the ledge and leapt, throwing himself into the night air for the second time that night. He made short work of the sniper and was about ready to leave when he overheard radio chatter. **Damocles 2 to Damocles 1, report. Are we go for phase 2?** A second sniper! Phase 2 -- another team?! Prometheus silently berated himself for not considering the possibility of additional personnel being assigned to Miller’s assassination. The problem now was what to do about it. He quickly ran through several likely scenarios. Without knowing the location and numbers of the remaining assassins, he couldn’t really determine the best way to eliminate them as a threat. He needed to approach the problem from another direction. Smith merely needed to be certain that both Miller and the information could not be put to use against him. It should not make a difference if the information were in Smith’s possession or simply destroyed. If that were true… Prometheus again leapt back to the office of the building where Miller was, hopefully, preparing to leave. He made his way back to ground level just as Miller and his bodyguard were getting into the car. “Stop! You cannot leave the way you came. There are too many sets of eyes watching for your exit. We need to leave by another route.” “How do you kn-- “Radio communication. There is at least one other sniper and likely one or more recovery teams. Come, we have not time.” Miller looked doubtful, but his options had narrowed rapidly. Glancing at his bodyguard, he said, “What about my car?” “Leave the vehicle. It will be of no use. Quickly, move into the stairwell.” The two men did as they were directed and as they headed through the door, Prometheus took several small modules from his belt and activated them. One, he tossed into the car, the others he tossed to specific areas nearby. Once they were in place, he went into the stairwell, where the two were waiting. “This way,” he said and instead of heading up, he went down into the basement. The lighting was dim, but sufficient to allow the other two men to keep up with him. They moved about a hundred feet down a hall and into a small storeroom. As the door closed behind them, there was an explosion that shook the building, followed by gunfire. “What the hell was that?!” asked the bodyguard. “I rigged the vehicle to explo—“ “What?!” interrupted Miller. “I thought we were just coming back for it later. I just had it detailed.” “No,” replied Prometheus before continuing. “The gunfire is likely the reflex reaction of the recovery team which was on the verge of entering the building. There will be a secondary explosion right about now.” On cue, there was another explosion. This time plaster was knocked off the wall. “We haven’t much time. The wall is thinnest behind this shelving unit. If you two will stand back…” Prometheus pulled the unit away from the wall and, with several quick but effective blows, punched through the wall into the basement of the next building. “How did you know tha—“ “I studied the floor plans of the buildings in the immediate vicinity. Quickly, through the opening…” The men moved into the next room and Prometheus pulled the shelving unit back in front of the hole he had created. Several minutes later, he ushered the men back up to street level. Just before exiting the building he motioned them to remain as he moved outside and faded from view. A few moments later, he returned and directed them to get into a vehicle that was parked a little ways down the street. There was an unconscious man laying on the pavement. “Take this vehicle, “ Prometheus instructed. “The previous driver has no use for it at the moment. Deliver your information to the proper authorities. Do not drive too quickly. It may attract attention. I shall remain to cover your escape.” “Who was… you can’t just…” “This was the one who delivered me here to assassinate you. I didn’t think it would be a problem to commandeer his vehicle for your use.” Miller nodded and he and his bodyguard got into the car and they drove off. Prometheus quickly retreated into a nearby alley and ascended once more to the rooftops. The sound of sirens announced the impending arrival of emergency vehicles. He felt a pang of guilt at the property damage, but he had had little time to plan. He scanned the area for any sign of the other teams and did not notice anything. In all likelihood, they were on their way back to report to Smith. With any luck, they would believe Miller was dead until it was too late. Prometheus took a moment to watch the flames as they began to show in the upper stories. His namesake had defied the gods and had given fire to mankind in order to help the fledgling race survive. He had done something similar. He had defied his creators and used fire to help another man survive. As he turned to make his way into an unfamiliar world, he wondered if there would be any more parallels in his future… |