Isaiah 5:30b
If one looks to the land, behold, darkness and sorrow, even the light will be darkened by the clouds.
The year 31 A.D.C. (After Dry Clouds)
October 22 . . .
Thursday . . .
4:44 A.M. . .
“Initiate the Pandora Project,” a deep male voice ordered.
“Pandora has been awakened,” a female voice replied.
“Good . . . Good . . .” the deep voice said.
“Are you sure the Project is ready?” a second male voice inquired. “Maybe we should give it a few more weeks of conditioning.”
“No. Launch Pandora,” the deep voice ordered. “Let us see what it can do on its own.”
“Releasing the Project now,” the female said, paused, and added, “As predicted Pandora is running.”
“Good . . . Good . . . Let us begin the tests.”
6:04 P.M. . . .
Scattered streetlights partially lit an abandoned industrial district. The wind howled, blowing through over grown weeds, chilling the air of the blue gray night. A few trees and plants adapted to the limited artificial light along with a large variety of weeds. Nocturnal creatures; rats, mice, owls, and cats ruled the alleys and parks of Noir.
A black sedan rolled slowly down the street, its headlights lighting up the dark road. The vehicle stopped, parking at the curb a few hundred yards away from Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse. The four doors of the vehicle opened. Five men in brown suits exited the car, their dark shades hid more than their eyes. Four carried a silver Beretta each, which they removed from their shoulder holster. The fifth wore a Coffin Handled Bowie tucked, sheathed in a belt. The man tapped the hilt eager to draw the knife. Eerily, in one accord, they turned their heads, stared through their black tinted glasses at the rusted toy building, and awaited orders. A parking lot stood between them and their target.
In another part of the city, in a secret place known as the Sanctum, about fifty, large, flat screen monitors covered three walls and lit up a dark chamber. Data filled the screens. Two dozen analysts scrutinized the influx of information coming across the monitors as they typed on keyboards at their workstations. The men and women toiled, compiling a range of intelligence from several projects and experiments.
“All right people, let’s stay focused,” a male supervisor shouted as he and a female supervisor walked up and down the line of workstations. They received updated reports from the twenty-four analysts and kept their employers current on the projects and experiments. “This is the day we’ve been waiting for!”
Each of the analysts wore an indigo jumpsuit with white stripes on the sides. The supervisors wore crimson jumpsuits also with white stripes. All of the employees wore an earpiece to communicate with operatives in the field. The hum of equipment and the chatter of people filled the area.
In the center of the room, two men and a woman, dressed in black business suits, sat at a long table. Each had a laptop in front of them. Shadows concealed their eyes, leaving only their mouths visible in the computer-blue illumination. The Three, known as the Council, read reports as they were delivered to them by supervisors on Hand Held Computers or H.H.Cs.
“Has the Project been located?” Mr. Morta asked in a deep voice as he twirled a gold ring on his dark brown finger. He sat at the end of the rectangular table with the woman to his right and the other man to his left.
“Yes. One of our best operatives, Argus, is watching Pandora,” Mr. Decuma, the smaller of the two men, answered as he smoothed his hand down his bright orange tie.
“Good . . . Good . . .” Mr. Morta leaned back in his chair. “What does the Operative have to report?”
Outside of Etna Toys, a man with shoulder length blond hair, wearing a black trench coat, peered through specialized binoculars. Argus positioned himself in an alley, a block from the abandoned toy warehouse, to watch the building. He noted the sedan across the street, the five men, and reported them over an earpiece.
Within the Sanctum, the male supervisor handed a H.H.C. to the third member of the Council.
Ms. Nona frowned, thinning her cherry-red lips which contrasted her powdery white skin. “We have received a second report from our Operative.” Disconcerted, she scanned the report a second time. “He has spotted five bio-mechas. They are not Proto-Androids, but a new model called Un-Men.”
“Un-Men?” Mr. Morta rubbed his chin, not as surprised as his female counterpart. “Only one department is developing this line of bio-mechas, the Factory.” Disappointed, he exhaled loudly. “So the Factory has started their tests. I hoped they would have waited.”
“You knew this might happen?” Mr. Decuma questioned as he rubbed his finger over a silver tie pin of the word Fate.
Mr. Morta nodded. “Yes, it was only a matter of time, but that means . . .”
“That means,” Ms. Nona interrupted. “The Factory has decided to go against the wishes of this Council.” She bit her lip.
“How dare they!” Mr. Decuma slammed his palms on the table. “We must do something.”
“But what?” Ms. Nona asked.
“More importantly,” Mr. Morta started. “What are their plans for it, for the Project?”
Back at Etna Toys . . .
The wind kicked up sand and debris as the five men, the Un-Men, stood by the sedan. Their Internal Link or I-Link not only connected them to the Factory, but to each other. With the I-Link, they could think and move as one. They shut the sedan’s doors and in one accord, walked toward the warehouse across the parking lot. The one with the knife paused and turned to see the man in the black trench coat watching them from across the street. A blazing-orange dot-light appeared behind the right lens of the Un-Man’s dark shades. Fearful, Argus moved his hand to the M4 strapped over his shoulder. The Operative tensed, not knowing what the bio-mecha with the bowie would do. The Un-Man smiled, then continued, joining its brethren. Argus breathed relieved, dropping his hand from the assault rifle and moved across the street to continue the surveillance of the Project.
In the Sanctum, Ms. Nona rapped her cherry-red nails on the table. “The matter is confirmed. The Factory,” she emphasized the next word, “has gone against our wishes.” Ms. Nona looked to the larger of the two men. “I would like to know our next move?”
“Analyze and record,” Mr. Morta answered. “Our agenda has not changed. The Un-Men will test the Project for us.”
Within the dark Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse, among boxes of discarded toys and debris, sat a cot with a single lamp beside it. In the light’s dim glow, a woman in her early thirties with a shaved head slept. A gash on her forehead bled, sending a trickle of blood to her brow, then down the side of her face, and dripped to the pillow. She wore a white V neck T-shirt, gray-black pants, and black hiking shoes. Her eyes moved rapidly underneath her closed eyelids, and as the dream progressed, her lips moved, speaking, but there was no sound. The woman’s inaudible narration continued, until she spoke out loud, “A love that will not die.”
Her breathing increased, her arms and legs jerked in mock movement as she envisioned herself running. Three shots rang out in her mind, and her eyes flew open, focusing on an old empty building. She sat up, scanning the room as the dream faded, only the feelings of fear and anxiety remained, and the memory of the three shots echoed in her mind. “Was I pursuing someone or was someone chasing me?” she wondered. “Am I the predator or the prey?”
Her head hurt so she touched her temple and examined her bloody fingers. Her voice was calm, almost emotionless. “What happened to me?” She looked around the building. “There is something I should remember. More than faces and names, something happened. Something terrible.” She looked back to her bloodied fingers, and her brow wrinkled in thought. “Is this why I can’t remember?” She sat at the edge of the cot, noticing a table with a few items on it, and picked up a business card with an image of a flaming bird. “A Phoenix.” She set down the card, picked up a note, and read it aloud.
“Katharine . . .” She stared at the name. “Is that me?” She thought about it. “It doesn’t sound familiar.” She continued reading. “Katharine, you must not fail. This is your last chance to redeem yourself. I know you can complete your mission, my dearest Kat. I am counting on you.” The Note was signed, “R.G.” She folded the paper, then along with the card, put them in her pant’s back pocket. A small case sat on the table, she moved her hand to open it, but stopped a little afraid of the container. “What do I fear?” She noticed the last object on the table. A small silver box shaped like a treasure chest two inches and a half long, an inch and a half high, and an inch and a half wide. The chest had a small raised star the size of a dime on its lid. Kat examined it then carefully opened the metal container. Ginn L. Irynkissgthie's Unfinished Melody played, intriguing her. The tune rang sweetly in her ears.
doo-Doo-doo-
“I can’t remember my name. But this tune . . . I know its title and who composed it. Why?” She stared at the small music box, hearing nothing but the haunting melody.
doo-Doo-doo-
Her fear and anxiety vanished as the tune lulled her into a trance and her body relaxed. She entered the Drifting Time.
doo-Doo-doo-
Kat’s eyes slowly closed, she grinned filled with peace as outside sounds became clearer. The wind howled, rustling the leaves of trees and overgrown bushes. A moth repeatedly tapped the glass of a street light drawn to the artificial flame, four car doors slammed, a cricket chirped, and an owl swooped, landing on a mouse.
lub-DUB . . . lub-DUB . . .
Kat’s hazel eyes widened as her heart thumped so loud she heard it. She put her hand to her chest, not in pain, but in fear. “Something’s wrong.” She closed the music box, placed it in the left thigh pocket, and looked around the room. Her voice remained calm. “I’m in danger, I must flee.” Hesitant, she looked to the case sitting on the table, wondered again why she was afraid of it, and turned her attention back to her pounding heart. “I have to get out of here.”
Kat stood to flee and heard two shots. A bullet shattered the ceramic lamp, plunging the surrounding area into darkness. She screamed and dove to the floor as more bullets whizzed overhead. Kat turned the table over for cover, and the case fell, knocking itself open. A metal object clanged to the floor.
Far from the cot, light from the street dimly glowed through Etna’s dusty windows. The light provided limited illumination within the building. In the dull glow, she saw a black gun. Kat gasped, staring at the instrument of death. She looked over the table and spotted two large men in brown suits wearing dark shades. Kat didn’t know they were Un-Men. As far as she knew, they were just men, men trying to kill her. The bio-mechas readied to fire again, and her heart pounded harder.
lub-DUB . . . lub-DUB . . .
The muscle coursed adrenaline through her blood. This hormone reacted with her body, increasing her heart rate, dilated her pupils, and elevated her blood sugar. The adrenaline super charged her body. She put her hand to her chest again. “This is not natural.”
The two Un-Men moved toward her position, calculating the best way to kill the Project. The blazing-orange dot-light glowed bright behind the right lens of their dark shades. One of them stated in a monotone voice, “Target acquired. Moving forward with termination.”