Mid-day light streams through the one-way windows of Laboratory C. Monitors beep in neon harmony, green except for two red ones, glowing like misplaced Christmas lights among the wires and dials. Roughly twenty Scientists dart from monitor to monitor, flickering and flitting like schools of white fish.
All are in perpetual movement, all except for one.
"Head Scientist O'Connor," a voice calls.
The Head Scientist turns away from a hologram, which abruptly switches off.
"Yes, Max?" the man pries in a deep monotone. He turns his head in his adresser's direction, meeting him head on with a steely grey gaze. The Head Scientist is an older man, his hair a shock of grey-white on his squared-off head. His age, however, does nothing to disguise his power. His shoulders, wide and thick, show even under his lab coat; his eyes glare from his head with an assertive, controlling confidence.
Max's eyes dart to the ground, bowing under his superior's gaze.
"Someone is here to see you," Max mumbles.
"Tell them they can wait," O'Connor snarls, switching the hologram back on. The image of a young girl's face is briefly visible, mouth moving quickly as if talking to someone.
"I don't think you understand-"
"No, Max, you don't understand. This is important. Leave me in peace."
The younger Scientist opens his mouth in protest, but then turns away with a nearly-silent "suit yourself." He walks away, almost fearfully, but doesn't bother to look back. The Head Scientist continues to look at his floating picture.
With a sharp crunch of breaking lock and a loud clang, the doors of the lab burst open. In walks a figure clothed in black, flanked by white-uniformed Enforcers.
"Leader," O'Connor grins with open arms, "Nice to see you."
"Shut up, Dale," the Leader growls.
Dale O'Connor frowns, brow furrowing.
"You got a problem?"
"You're brave to talk to me like this. And yes, I have a big problem."
O'Connor crosses his thick arms, his expression barely conveying curiosity.
"I have been informed of an issue concerning two of your patients. I expected you to find a way to resolve it, but judging by the way it has progressed-" the leader gestures towards the now-kissing hologram, "You have done nothing to fix it."
"You gonna kill me like you did Roberts?"
The air in the room grows instantly heavier with the collective fear of the Scientists. In a far corner, Max hides his small smirk, his teeth holding back a triumphant "I told you so."
Dale O'Connors stares at the figure that could have him killed with an idiotic confidence. His courage is so shocking that the Leader seems swayed. After a brief pause, it speaks.
"No, I won't have you killed. At least, not yet. I have simply come here to suggest a solution to our little problem, since you are obviously too idiotic to devise one."
The Head Scientist frowns and stares challengingly at his superior.
"Hit me," he says.
"I don't know as much about your technology as you do, but I have been thinking. Dale, if you kill someone in a simulation, do they die in reality?"
"Uh... We've never really tried. But yeah, if they were killed suddenly in the simulation, they would almost definitely die in reality. The shock of apparent death would be too much for the body to handle, and it would simply... shut down."
"Good," the Leader says cheerfully, "Then my little plan will work. Send an Assassin into the simulation and kill the boy, Jason. This will effectively rid us of our main problem while also crippling the girl, probably to the point of suicide. Kill two birds with one stone, I say."
A shudder ripples through the Scientists and silent horror registers on some of the faces. A wordless doubt clings to every lab coat, worming its way through the crowd and touching almost every man. Killing is a bit extreme, right?
"Sounds delightful," O'Connors grins, "but really, are two conscious kids that much of a threat?"
"Why the hell would I be here if they weren't?"
O'Connors shrugs his burly shoulders and the Leader turns for the door.
"Hey!" he calls. "Where's my Assassin?"
The Leader gestures carelessly with one hand and a someone in an Enforcer uniform steps through the broken double doors into the lab. The cold figure crosses the room swiftly and comes to a stop in front of the Leader.
"No mercy," the Leader snarls, then ducks out the door.
"So, you're the Assassin," O'Connors beams, "Welcome to our little Lab. Now, do me a favor. Prove you have the nerve to kill."
"Just tell me who," a high-pitched voice snarls from behind the mask. Unnerved by the light sound of the voice, the Head Scientist pauses.
"Who did you say you are again?"
"I didn't say. Now, who do you want me to kill?"
"Take off your helmet," O'Connors commands.
"Why would that be necessary, sir?"
"Just do it."
Without further hesitation, the masked figure removes the helmet. Long, black waves of hair tumble down to the waist and blue eyes glint fiercely from the pale face. O'Connors scowls.
"They sent me a girl. A girl."
"Actually, I'm a woman. And I have a name. I'm Anika Kirtz, Assassin First Division." Her voice is smooth, confident, and oddly accented. She seems to carry herself with some regal dignity, as if she thinks she rules all she sees.
Kirtz extends a firm hand in the direction of the Head Scientist. He shakes it warily.
"Dale O'Connors," he grunts disapprovingly, "but you can call me Head Scientist."
"Alright, Head Scientist. I'm waiting for your orders."
"Seeing as we're the scientific type," he begins, glancing around the tense room, "I'll have you help me with an experiment. I want you to enter the simulation and kill some insignificant member of the rebels. Let's say... Tristan Parren, over in the corner." All eyes turn to the unsuspecting victim, and hair stands up on the back of every neck. O'Connors keeps talking without missing a beat.
"We're doing this just to, you know, make sure it will work when it needs to. You will be given a gun in the simulation. I assume you're a good shot."
Kirtz nods and cocks her head to the side, coldly absorbing every detail. In mere minutes, she has formulated a plan.
"I'm ready," she says.
A voice, tentative yet emotional, erupts from one member of the crowd. It belongs to a young man, half panicked and half accusing.
"So, you're just going in there...to kill an innocent?" Max blurts. He stands, small and alone, among his cowardly companions. Fully exposed to the Head Scientist's stare, he bows his head and shuffles his feet.
"Exactly," O'Connors says, quickly following up with a low "And shut up, Max. No rebel is innocent."
The scientists point Anika Kirtz towards a metal coffin and open the lid tenderly. She steps in, and after a moment's adjustment the lid is shut.
In the eternal minutes that follow, there is silence. Hearts are still, and breath is held; some hope the Assassin succeeds while others pray for the alternative.
All too soon, a monitor shrieks a steady scream in the corner. Max alone races to its coffin and grabs the screen in both hands.
"No heartbeat," he breathes, "She killed him!"
The young Scientist's face registers a heart-wrenching mix of shock and horror. The other men react in different ways - some stare sadly at Max, others glare at the floor and others even grin sickeningly.
Kirtz steps out of her coffin, smiling triumphantly.
"I shot him straight through the heart," she gloats, "If it didn't kill him, he's immortal."
Max takes one look at her at turns away. He pushes through the throngs of Scientists and clears the double doors. The sounds of his retching into a trash can are the only things that can be heard in all of Laboratory C.
O'Connors strides to the coffin and opens the lid. Inside is the body of a boy, no older than sixteen. Its blonde hair is plastered, now cold, to the forehead, and the eyes are rolled halfway back into the head. No wound is visible, but the life left the body in such a way that the hands still grip at a pain in the motionless chest.
O'Connors himself struggles visibly to keep down some strong emotion. Several Scientists follow Max's example. Anika Kirtz grins savagely.
"It worked!" she declares.
"It worked," O'Connors' voice echoes emptily.
"Who's next?"
"Your new target," O'Connors sighs, "Is Jason Browne."