Chapter 03: Acquaintances Past

The papers of my file were secured to the folder by a pair of flexible metal brads along the top of the right hand side; I rolled back the front page to see more, but I found even less. Black lines covered most of the page, redacting everything known about me.

The last sheet in the file, however, did have one sliver of valuable information. It was a doctor's report stating I'd been given triple the normal dosage of the serum because I had an unusually high tolerance to it. The injections had occurred for three weeks, two weeks longer than the other patients, as it required a greater amount of time for the serum to take hold. The doctor who had written the report recommended my termination due to this difficulty.

I put the file away and examined the last drawer. It held an interior blueprint of the facility, designating all rooms and their locations. I studied it for a moment, finding it easy to memorize. It made me wonder if my lost past and rapid memorization were connected with what they'd done to me. Did I have any other abilities?

Pushing the unknown possibilities aside, I focused on a quickly formulating list of objectives. Because I didn't expect to retrieve all the information I wanted before the alarm sounded, I needed quick and easy ways in and out of the base. Knowing the numbers and patterns of people coming and going from the island, as well as their methods, would further prove useful when I decided it was time to leave the island.

I returned the file room to the exact manner I'd found it, leaving no residual trace of my presence. Following the brightly lit hallways of bare concrete, I headed toward the air conditioning maintenance room. As I ducked inside, I quickly looked the room over.

There were no signs of hostiles, and the noise generated by the industrial sized air conditioner made it unlikely any sound I caused would be detected. Picking up a screwdriver, I took out the screws holding a section of ductwork together. The vent system ran along the ground, otherwise I never would've considered it as a viable transport route. The flimsy metal conduits were designed to withstand the flow of air, not the weight of a human being.

I took a few tools I might need and crammed them into my pockets before kneeling down and crawling into the vent head first. The shaft was covered in dust that accumulated instantly on my fatigues when I slipped inside. I moved slowly to avoid letting anyone in the rooms I passed know they had an intruder, but in the back of my mind, a silent alarm screamed at me about the guard I'd incapacitated waking up. I needed to hurry, but it simply wasn't an option.

The base schematic I'd found in the records room was most useful as it had shown every ventilation shaft in the facility. Going by memory, I slipped through the dusty and dark conduits until I reached the network hub. Installed in a rarely used back room, the network for running the entire base's computer systems was remarkably unprotected. In all likelihood, no one expected an enemy to make it this far unnoticed, and I intended to make them regret their lapse in security.

The network room measured eight feet square. Floor to ceiling frameworks held the various computer hubs where long loops of cables were connected in multiple locations. To the untrained eye, it looked like a mess of colored spaghetti. The cables weren't bundled in any way, so the possibility of them becoming tangled was almost a certainty.

Removing the tools from my pockets, I set to work. I picked up a spare section of cable from the ground where it had been carelessly dropped when not needed. Splicing into the spare wire and one of the cables already connected, I easily hooked into the network.

An out of date laptop computer sat on a ledge protruding from the wall. I opened it up and deduced it had been placed here for any technicians needing to run diagnostics. It suited my purposes today. Plugging the opposite end of the spare network cable into the laptop, I accessed the computer system.

Passwords and encryption software attempted to block my entry into the base's functions, but it only delayed me. My fingers flew across the keyboard, keys clicking softly at each touch, and I circumvented the computerized defenses in only a few moments.

Once granted mainframe access, I wrote and installed a few simple but effective programs to assist me in my future visits, including a backdoor into the base computers. I replaced the cover on the vent and removed all evidence of having spliced into the network. When ready, I triggered a fire drill program.

Alarms began blaring throughout the station as red lights flashed in every corridor. People bolted for the exits, and I could hear them running past the room where I waited. When the commotion ended, indicating a complete evacuation, I readied my gun and walked out the door.

The hallways were deserted, and I made good time jogging to the exit. I met a crowd of people in the corridor leading to the front doors, but they were more eager to leave the base than observe those around them, so I didn't have to worry about them noticing the dust on my camouflage fatigues.

When the group I was following exited the base, I made an abrupt right turn and went around the side of the complex rather than forward to where everyone was being checked by the soldiers. As I was walking toward a pallet of fuel drums I'd spotted earlier, I heard the one thing I had hoped to avoid.

"Halt!" came the shout, as a guard stepped out from behind the building and swung his gun to point in my direction.

I moved instinctually, throwing my rifle at the man, and following quickly with a rapid delivery of punches to disable him. The guard went down, but the commotion generated had drawn the attention of others; I could already hear their running boots as they closed on my position.

No time to collect my rifle, I left it behind, sprinting for the fuel drums and abandoning all pretense of remaining in disguise. A wood plank was leaning up against the first row of drums, providing a perfect ramp. I ran up the plank, jumped to the second level of steel drums, and finally dived to grab a low hanging branch. My momentum allowed me to swing up and over the razor wire atop the chain link fence surrounding the base.

I landed in a crouched position, rolling forward immediately on contact to dissipate any remaining inertia. My boots dug into the soil as I bolted for the cover of the jungle with all the speed I could manage. Gunfire tore into the greenery around me as the soldiers opened up with their weapons.

"Stop it!" shouted a voice over the hail of bullets. "Hold your fire!"

I ducked behind a tree and carefully looked out to discover who had called off the soldiers. A man in a white lab coat stood among the military forces guarding the compound. His hair matched his coat in color, and gold wireframe glasses were perched on the bridge of his wide nose.

I remembered him from the papers I'd examined in the file room. His name was Dr. Bernard Powel, and he'd been the resident medic when the United States military had controlled the outpost. His level of authority had apparently increased since then.

"We don't want him dead," Powel told one of the guards harshly, "at least, not yet."

"You don't know what he can do," the soldier replied.

"Precisely," Powel insisted. "The reason we dumped all the test subjects on this abandoned island is to test their new abilities in a practical setting."

"You don't know what he was capable of before you enhanced him; I do," the soldier continued to argue.

"Mr. Clayton, your former partner was an ideal choice," Powel explained calmly, dropping his hands into the wide, front pockets of his lab coat. "The serum was designed for enhancing covert operatives' abilities, but we can only gain so much data from experimenting on the random civilians we capture. By enhancing your former partner, we get a prime example of how a real soldier can put these abilities to use."

"The serum is random in the strengths and abilities it gives out," Clayton reminded. "Not knowing what secret arsenal you may have given a man like that is risky to the point of insanity!"

"Nonsense," Powel dismissed. "His new abilities will be instinctual at first, and it will take time before he can master them. We are the only way off the island, so he will have to come back to us eventually. Besides, subject nine is a more immediate threat. Move your fire teams north and bring me subject nine alive. Try not to lose any more of your men like the last time."

Powel turned away and sauntered back to the base as if not having a care in the world. My focus remained locked on the soldier, Clayton, he'd left standing by the fence, my former partner. Even through his fatigues, I could tell he possessed a substantial amount of muscle. His red hair had been cropped to only a slight fuzz over his scalp. The cold and ruthless gaze of his green eyes made me wonder what type of person I'd been before in order to be partnered with such a man. I couldn't remember, and I considered for the first time the possibility that I might not want to remember.

I eased slowly away into the jungle, careful to avoid making any noise. Continually checking over my shoulder, I made sure I wasn't being followed. I didn't know if the soldiers explicitly followed Powel's orders, or if they only feigned obedience for the time being. My old partner, Clayton, could easily be running his own operations, but since I couldn't remember him, I had no idea about his methods or loyalties. Considering his knowledge of me, it gave him a significant advantage in any future encounters, an advantage I would need to deal with before we met again.

Stopping suddenly, I crouched down before holding perfectly motionless. Keeping my breathing slow and soft, occasionally holding it to avoid it interfering with my senses, I scanned the jungle. Something felt wrong. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Lush foliage covered everything in shades of rich green. The treetops swayed occasionally in the breeze that couldn't reach the jungle floor where I crouched. Shafts of golden sunlight speared down between the moving palm branches. It seemed peaceful, even idyllic, but I couldn't shake the ominous feeling of something being horribly wrong.

Left with no choice, I began moving forward, still in a crouch. My eyes searched everywhere for a source to the danger I felt. My alertness was barely enough to let me dodge the knife, thrust out from behind a tree. I leaned backward, arching my spine, and the knife sliced through the air in front of me. Seizing the wrist of the person who held the bladed weapon, I pulled hard on the wrist before angling down and back up in a loop. The maneuver dragged my attacker out into the open before flipping him over on his back.

Dressed in identical camouflage fatigues as me, the man's blonde hair had been streaked with the same paints applied to his face to help him be invisible in the tropical terrain. His eyes were dark, soulless, and filled with rage as he rolled over and got back to his feet. The knife he used had a black blade, and only the sharpened edge flashed in the sun.

The man was clearly skilled with his chosen weapon, forcing me to expend considerable effort dodging the quick swinging blade. His speed was incredible, and I suspected that even with my memories intact, he'd still have been the fastest man with a knife I'd ever faced. A slash across my right arm drew blood, and pain jolted through my left side as a secondary strike connected against my ribs.

He swung a right hook, the knife leading the way toward my throat, but I brought up my left arm and blocked his forearm with mine. I struck hard with my right hand. It was covered in blood from the wound I'd received, but the blow still delivered the proper amount of force to my foe's chest. He staggered backwards slightly, and I grabbed hold of his weapon hand. A firm twist broke the bone and forced him to release the knife.

I would have kicked him away, but the pain from my injured side prevented it. Settling on a backhand, I still managed to drop him on the ground for the second time. Before he could rise, and without conscious thought, I pulled my sidearm and fired two rounds. My opponent immediately ceased trying to get up.

"Who are you?" I asked him as I knelt beside the stranger. He looked at me in a peculiar way.

"You should know, murderer," the man wheezed before dying. His eyes closed as his head lulled to the side.

The pain of my injuries began demanding my attention. I wrapped my arms tightly against my sides, applying pressure simultaneously to my sliced arm and ribs. I needed shelter for the coming night and a safe place to tend my wounds. The map of the island I'd memorized in the file room showed a likely spot. Taking my opponent's knife, I moved off into the jungle. Pausing for a moment, I looked back at the dead man.

Murderer. Had he labeled me as such because I'd killed him, or did my unknown past figure into it? Considering my instinctive elimination of my foe, the possibilities terrified me. Whoever the soldier had been, he'd known me, called me a murderer, and now he was dead. I looked at the blood on my hands, wondering how much was there I couldn't see. What kind of monster was I?