Is that really fair?
I am a Subject. Why am I spared while others are rounded up like cattle and slaughtered to death? What am I useful for?
My mind wanders to the selection process. The promise they give us sounds like a deception and yet we cling to it. It's the only thing that drives us forward.
But it feels wrong.
It's the same with this mission. I look at the photo the police chief gave us. It shows a younger version of our target. Well-groomed hair, a trimmed beard, and kind light brown eyes. A child sits on his lap. Both grin carefree into the lens. I glance at the case file. Five years. He managed to avoid NOS for five years. Until he was spotted with a Subject a few days ago. And now he's supposed to be here? - That doesn't make any sense.
A crackling sound catches my attention. Voices are coming out of my earpiece.
"What are you doing here?" a woman snaps.
No one responds. It takes a while before I hear Isaac, who speaks in an indifferent tone, "Are you Jonathan Redfield?"
"I am." He sounds unusually meek. "Can I help you?"
"You were seen with a Subject a few days ago. Is that right?"
A barely audible laugh. "What if that was the case? Are you trying to kill me?"
"Boss!" shouts a deep yet concerned male voice.
"You guys are from NOS, right? I'm not afraid," Jonathan counters. "On the contrary. I've been waiting for you guys."
"For what, exactly?" Isaac asks and I can hear it. The cocky smirk on his lips. "We have an execution order on our hands, Jonathan Redfield." A click comes through the earpiece, followed by a strangled intake of breath. Without seeing the scene, I know what has just happened. Isaac has unlocked his pistol and raised it against our target. "What amazes me, though, is how easy you make it for us. It's as if you don't bother to resist. I expected more from a former war hero."
At that exact moment, several things must be happening in the hall at once. I hear two gunshots, groans, several screams, and Mason's warning to Liam.
I don't hesitate for a second and yank open the car door. As fast as I can, I get closer to the hall. Still wary, I stay in the shadows and pull myself onto the metal staircase. The banister rattles menacingly against the screws as I struggle up the steps.
While I can't see what's happening below me, I can hear it.
"Mason, watch out!" Liam shouts.
I hear grunts, the sounds of knives slicing into skin and limbs smacking at each other.
A drone hovers just a few containers away from me. The humming grows louder as it approaches. How convenient it would be if I could hack into its system. It could show me what's going on right now.
It's not that it's hopeless. I once managed to manipulate a drone into helping us on a mission. With complete success. Only with its help were we able to capture the targeted person in the end. NOS and Neil were very pleased at first. Until I was pulled out of the dormitory that night and punished by an officer for what I had done. Since then, there have been improvements to the warning systems that make it almost impossible to crack the firewall. The key word is almost.
Still, I'd rather not take my chances.
I carefully pass a missing step on the stairs and reach the broken window, which allows me a view into the interior.
The hall is larger than expected and, to my misfortune, hardly illuminated. Left-behind crates and metal pallets are piled up in the corners.
Something crackles in my ears. Small flames reveal the fighting below me. Immediately, my eyes catch Jonathan's figure. His hair is longer and he has lost weight. On his body he wears a worn-out coat. He slumps heavily on a filthy mattress and watches the action with tired eyes, one hand resting on his left shoulder.
I am puzzled by his behavior. He watches impassively as his comrades are cornered.
One of them throws a knife at Liam. Skillfully, he manages to dodge the blade and hits the guy right in the face. Compared to the rest of my team, Liam has the most physical strength, so it doesn't surprise me how his opponent just collapses.
The woman who reacted so flippantly attacks from the side. In her hand she holds a dagger tightly clasped. She tries to hit Isaac in quick stabbing movements. With the next blow he grabs her forearm and before she can say anything she sinks to the ground.
Mason, on the other hand, is busy with the giant who let the boy into the hall. This one is almost twice as tall as my friend, but his steps are slow. With ease, Mason wraps his arms around the giant's neck and lifts himself onto his shoulders. Then he rams his elbow against his temple and knocks him off his feet. Before the giant can regain his balance, Mason gives him a roundhouse kick.
Back to back, Liam and Mason stand together, keeping the remaining four attackers at bay. When the two are this close together, I think how they are complete opposites in nature.
Mason is friendly, kind-hearted, and can get on your nerves with his direct nature, whereas Liam is overly reserved and controlling that the people around him are keeping their distance.
In one erratic motion, Liam pulls his lighter out of his inside jacket pocket and flicks it on. In the aggressive orange, small flames gather in his splayed palm and form into a ring that grows larger and larger. Gently, Liam raises his hand and the ring of flames separates Jonathan with his followers. Now he is at Isaac's mercy.
I'm about to turn away when I notice movement in the far corner of the hall. It is so inconspicuous that I almost overlook it. From my position, however, I can only make out a smaller person.
The boy! I draw the connection.
Since I have no time to think, I rush down the stairs and use my ability. With each passing second, my body slowly disappears until I am completely invisible.
Meanwhile, inside the hall, there is a standstill. The remaining followers have given up trying to break through the barrier. On their arms and hands I can see burn injuries.
How stupid, I scoff, they know it's futile, and yet they risk it.
And in the same breath I envy them. Their concern and loyalty to Jonathan is genuine.
I avert my eyes and sneak behind the crates. Then I spot him. On tiptoes, the boy is peering at what's happening before him. His face is as white as a sheet and yet you can read anger, hatred, doubt, confusion and restlessness.
I reach out to him, but suddenly he disappears. He emerges again in front of Liam and swings his knife blade up. Liam barely manages to pull his head back in time. Mason stands protectively in front of him and reaches out, but his fist also hits emptiness.
The narrow blade flashes in the warm light of a spotlight. He wants to attack Isaac from the back! I quickly jump onto the crate and rush to his side. Too slow!
"Isaac!", I shout a warning.
Abruptly, the knife comes to a stop in front of his face. With an ice-cold stare, Isaac turns to the boy. Blank fear is written on the boy's features as he desperately tries to free himself from the iron grip.
"Let him go!" Jonathan interjects. "He's just an ignorant child."
"He's a Subject," Isaac corrects coldly. "No. A renegade."
Under these circumstances, it couldn't have been more obvious what my team leader is trying to say.
"I beg you," Jonathan continues. "Spare the boy."
A hollow laugh shrills through the hall. "You want to negotiate with me? Don't overestimate yourself, old man."
"Isaac ..."
Slowly, I become visible again. As soon as our eyes cross, Isaac rages, so he ignores Jonathan and all his attention lands on me.
"What are you doing here?" he snaps at me. "Didn't I order you to stay in the car?"
"I wanted to help," I explain.
He grunts. "I've got the situation under control."
"You do?" With extreme caution, Jonathan stands up and fixes Isaac. His eyes have a strange, determined gleam. Behind the ring of fire, there is a sudden noise. The followers are agitated and in their features I see sincere concern. But Jonathan just smiles. "You shouldn't underestimate me, lad."
It happens quickly. I just bat my eyelashes together once and his followers are gone. Even the boy who was trapped under Isaac's grip.
The silence, broken only by the crackle of flames, is frightening. I stare at the broad back of my team leader, expecting another outburst of rage. When it finally comes, I cringe nonetheless. Driven by anger, he lunges to strike. Furious, his fingers claw at the worn-out coat, forcing Jonathan to stay on his feet.
"What have you done?" he snaps at him.
"I won't let you harm a hair on their heads," Jonathan gasps weakly, but satisfied.
Isaac snorts in disdain, then turns to us. "Split up. Find -"
"No use. You'll never find them." Fearlessly, his counterpart juts his chin. "If you don't believe me, try your luck. Use your ability!"
I am surprised that he is apparently aware of our powers. Determined, Isaac confronts him.
Empathy.
It's an ability that allows the user to empathize feelings and strong memories. Not only that. It allows one to hear things that have been said, see what has already happened, and feel what emotions are going on inside a person. Isaac's power is special because it also allows him to communicate telepathically with the person he has established a strong connection with. He is often called to the interrogations because of this, to help the Intelligence Unit get valuable information. But even he has limits. People with strong wills resist him and it seems that Jonathan is one of them.
"Tobias." The coldness on his face makes me freeze. "You know our mission. Execute it."
Shocked, I bounce back on my feet as if I've been slapped in the face.
"What are you talking about?", I ask.
Isaac fixes me silently and I realize how serious he is about his command. There are those moments when my friend's harshness startles me. Mason tries to change his mind, but Isaac stands firm. He wants me to get it done, and I understand that it's my redemption at the same time. He wants me to prove to him that I stand behind NOS and will no longer hesitate to pull the trigger.
Reluctantly, I take my pistol out of my holster and aim it at Jonathan.
Behind me Mason takes a sharp intake of breath.
Now I wish I had stayed in the car. The mere thought of what Isaac is asking me to do makes my stomach rebel. I have no choice, I know it, and yet it's no less cruel.
"You're all still green behind the ears," Jonathan sighs. "Trust a faceless person too easily and forget how to think."
"Why didn't you run?", I ask.
That his followers are no longer in the hall suggests only one thing. Jonathan is a Subject and his unique ability is teleportation. Long ago I read about it in my father's documents. In a blink of an eye, it allows the user to teleport someone thousands of miles away. The downside is the rebound of energy use. The fact that he managed to get his people out of the hall is remarkable. Even with one person, most lose consciousness and take a while to recover. Still, I think he would have managed to escape together with his followers.
"What would be the point?" he asks a counter question. "I'm tired of running away."
"But with that ... you die."
His open posture alone tells me that he is well aware of this. My hands are getting sweaty.
"Does a Subject even have a choice?"
"Yes!" it jumps out from me. "NOS -"
"Is good at manipulating people like you." He points at my wristband. "I'd rather die than live like a pet in chains. Tell me, boy. Is this a life worth living?"
"Still better than choosing death!", I argue against it.
"Really?" There's a fire burning in his eyes that makes me uncomfortable. "It looks to me like you already are."
"What do you know!"
"Nothing," he says doggedly. "That's the problem. I can only pray that my followers will be braver."
"What are you doing, Ty?" Isaac interjects. "If you want to survive, pull the damn trigger." His face runs almost as red with impatience as the shirt he wears underneath his jacket. "Kill him!"
Jonathan's hand, still resting on the bullet wound, is bloodshot by now. He laughs. "You guys amuse me. Are these the options that NOS offers you? Killing people in order to stay alive? You are doing things you have absolutely no understanding of. Wake up! They are tying you up, imposing their will on you." His stare bores into mine.
"Shall I tell you a secret?" he continues. "Your beloved institution -"
"Enough of this nonsense! Tobias, get the goddamn job done."
I take a step back. Why should I shoot him? Under normal circumstances, we would take him and question him about his activities within the resistance movement. I am not prepared for an execution as a show of loyalty to our institution.
Frustrated at my insecurity, Isaac grabs my hand in which I hold the pistol, yanks it up, and presses the muzzle to Jonathan's forehead.
"Do it! Kill him!"
"Please don't make me."
"You have no choice," he growls mercilessly. "Shoot him!"
I try to pull my hand away, but for some reason Isaac is stronger. "I can't."
"Do it!"
Slowly, I shake my head, looking down at Jonathan's slumped form. We've won. Why do I have to kill him?
"Because you need to learn to control your emotions!"
Speechless, I look at him. Did he just interpret my feelings?
"Isaac ..."
"Do it before it's too late."
"I -"
"Ty. Kill him!"
What choice do I have? There's no turning back. The grip on my wrist is hard as concrete. It hurts, but that pain is nothing compared to my heart. Throbbing, it presses against my chest. And suddenly everything comes to a halt. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and pull the trigger. Deafening, I hear the bang, notice how Jonathan flinches and falls onto the mattress.
I feel nauseous when I open my eyes again.
The grief, horror and cruelty of the act overwhelm me, threatening to tear me apart from the inside. Finally Isaac lets go of my hand. At that moment, I feel an unspeakable rage against him.
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