Once again the big man came away with a jerk. This time, however instead of finding a dark and quiet room surrounding him, he found himself staring at the business end of an automatic rifle. A dark and unblinking eye of absolute certainty that told him that if he made a wrong move, it would be his last. It was so close, he could feel the muzzle's metal cool on his cheekbone, the smell of lubricating oil and cordite sharp in his nostrils.
Slowly he let his eyes climb over the muzzle's business-like grimness to the equally grim face of the law enforcement officer staring down its sights at him. As he matched the officer stare for stare, the man quickly ran a self-diagnostic.
Last thing he remembered from when he was conscious before was the third bullet hammering into his body, biting brutally through muscle and organ, tearing and shredding its way deep into his person before its momentum was finally spent. It came to a rest against the back most curve of his third rib after having passed only millimetres from his pulsing aorta.
Together, the three bullets fired into his chest at close range had done their fair share of damage. If he had been any smaller or less powerful, they would've killed him. They did, however, leave him badly wounded and in a coma.
Both of which, much to his surprise, he seemed to have recovered from. Better yet, he wore some sort of overalls in the place of the smock he had worn before.
But, even as he marveled at his physical recovery, he felt a wave of disappointment wash through him when he found his mental abilities still missing. He didn't push them hard enough this time to elicit a trickle of blood from his nose or ear, but enough to send a sharp stab of pain through his cortex.
He turned his eyes away from the grim looking police officer to ponder that. He didn't have to feel with his fingers at the holes to know that they had been sealed by a force other than his own native healing abilities, though they were, in themselves, quite powerful. And that healing force had also done something to his brain, to the psionic cortex nestled deep within. Deactivated it, by the feel of things, giving his neural tissue the chance to regenerate without a psionic EMF to constantly deal with.
Deactivated? Him?? It wasn't possible! But another sweep of his psionic cortex, still very much alive but showing reduced activity revealed that not only was it possible, but it was already done! The question now, of course was what did he need to do to get it reactivated?
Without his own abilities on line, he wouldn't be able to work past the block that seemed to be in the way of his abilities functioning normally. Either he found the person who put the block in the way, or he could hope that the block itself would terminate once his neural tissues completed their repair cycle.
Abruptly his train of thought was interrupted when a second rifle muzzle poked itself into his face from the opposite direction. And then a man appeared out of the dimness near the foot of the bed he was lying strapped onto, as if a crazed psychotic. He hadn't even bothered to check the leather straps that pinned his arms and legs: they seemed solid enough.
A frown appeared on the man's face, as he looked the big man over, from head to toe. Then he was reaching into his belt.
"Undo him," the man commanded in a low voice, his uniform the same as the ones worn by the two men holding the guns on the man on the bed.
The dark eyes of the twin muzzles never wavered as two additional sets of hands appeared to undo the straps at first his hands and then his ankles. As the big man slowly brought his hands together to rub at where the straps had chaffed the skin raw, the two rifle muzzles brushed against his cheek, a not-so-casual reminder that he was being given absolutely no margin for error.
Without warning, something silvery flashed through the dark air of the room he was in, to land heavily with a metallic tinkle on his chest. A glance downward revealed that it was a pair of handcuffs.
"Put those on," the man at the foot of his bed commanded roughly and the man slowly looked up at him, letting his eyebrow climb towards his hairline.
"You're not going to buy me dinner first?" he asked hoarsely, his voice unused to working.
That garnered soft chuckles from the two officers holding the guns on him, as well as from unseen officers in the darkness away from the bed. Which, in turn, earned a hard look from the officer at the foot of the bed.
"Don't make me hurt you, smart ass," he hissed tightly. "You'll not like it if I have to put them on for you."
"But I'm sure they'd look much better on you than me," the man replied, getting more soft laughter.
"Hold him," the officer at the foot of the bed growled and a couple of sets of hands came out of the darkness into the pale circle of light cast by the single lamp just above the big man's head to take hold of his brawny arms.
The big man winced as he stepped into the hallway, cuffed both at the wrists and the ankles, the cuffs chained together to effectively hobble him, as the bright light hurt his eyes. But he wasn't allowed to stop to wait for his eyes to adjust; with irresistible force, two rifle muzzles pushed into the small of his back to urge him to continue into the hallway beyond.
Which, as he quickly discovered once his eyes adjusted, had been completely cleared of hospital staff. Now, only grim faced police officers in combat armor and helmets lined the long passageway, hands not straying far from the triggers of the sub-machine guns they carried with comfortable familiarity as they stared at him.
"You shouldn't have gone through all this trouble for just little old me," he husked. Then the two muzzles in his back were pressing even more tightly into his flesh.
"Just keep walking, pal," a hard voice from behind him commanded and, with a mental shrug, the big man began to shuffle forward at his best speed. The sooner he got this damn charade out of the way, the sooner he could get back to doing what he needed to do: destroying the Brotherhood!
The armored van was waiting for them by the time the big man and his escort stepped from the hospital's front doors. With a bevy of armed police officers securing the area with grim efficiency, the doors leading into the van's interior swung open to reveal a knot of heavily armed officers sitting inside, weapons ready.
One hopped out, clipboard in her hand. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, with a wisp of red hair escaping out from beneath her black combat helmet. She nodded to the commander of the escort then looked down at the clipboard.
"The special witness known as Mordecai?" she asked, her husky voice hard and business-like. The escort's commanding officer had to shake himself and tear his eyes from the woman's perfect face before he nodded. Unfortunately he thought she looked even better in the black special ops uniform and Kevlar flak jacket she wore.
"Yeah, this is him," he verbally confirmed. "Safe and sound and ready for transfer."
"Right. I'm Constable McMaster. My team will convey the witness to the airport where he will be transported to Headquarters in Ottawa. Can I have your signature here, constable, to verify that you've passed him to us in good condition?"
The commanding officer nodded and stepped forward as the officers in the van hopped out to take custody of the witness, though he looked more like a prisoner in his cuffs and chains and simple light blue overalls. They included an Asian female officer and a Sikh officer, wearing a special helmet made to accommodate his turban, in the same black as the rest of his uniform, which also included his ceremonial curved dagger, its sheath in plain black leather, instead of its usual gem-encrusted silk.
The knot of officers efficiently hustled the man into the van, securing his chain to a heavy eye hook set into the frame of the heavily armored vehicle. Finishing his signature, the escort's commander forced himself to look past the gorgeous constable and into the van to confirm that the witness was being properly secured. As soon as he saw that it was so, he gave the redhead's credentials a quick scan to confirm that she too was legit.
"Thank you, constable," he replied, handing the genuine identification back, satisfied that he was handing over a valuable witness to fellow RCMP officers.
Nodding and smiling slightly, the redhead took her credentials back and, after securing them, she turned away and stepped into the back of the van with the witness and the rest of her team, closing the door behind her. Without further ado, the van's engine started and it sped away, leaving the escort team staring after it.
"I hope that's the last time we see that big sonovabitch!" the escort commander said before turning to his team. "All right, folks. Let's get this place cleaned up and us out of here, hey?"
In the light shed by the mellow fluorescent bulb set into the van's ceiling, Mordecai slowly looked at the circle of police officers that now guarded him. As a unit, they looked just as grim and filled with deadly purpose as the guards back at the hospital, fingers close to the triggers on their weapons.
But there was something different about them. It wasn't anything he could put a finger on right away, more something sensed. Sensed or not, there definitely was something different about this lot.
Without wanting to, Mordecai found himself gazing into the intense green eyes of the female officer that seemed to be in command. Thoughts churning as he examined the possibilities, including this group being in the employ of the Brotherhood, he began to open his mouth to ask the woman in front of him who they worked for.
Before he could utter a word, however, the van took an abrupt turn to the left and accelerated. Collectively the guards become much more tense than before, their eyes darting back and forth between him and the armored grill that connected the back of the van with the crew cabin. 'Something has just happened,' he thought. 'Look at them! They look like they're getting ready to go into battle. Burn me, but for one solitary telepathic scan!'
"We're not going to the airport, are we?" he asked softly. The woman across from him slowly shook her head 'no'.
Dee watched as the man pondered that, a thoughtful expression painted on his achingly handsome features, visible in the light cast by the overhead bulb. It seemed a good time to put Duffy's plan into motion, while Mordecai's mind was still relatively open as it considered the Rapid change in events.
"And before you ask, no."
"No?" he repeated softly, without looking up at her.
"No," Dee said once more. "We don't work for the Brotherhood."
The intense almost purple eyes swung up to bore into her, the internal flames flickering high.
"How do you know that name?" he hissed tightly. Almost instinctively he gave the chains a hard tug, readying himself for anything.
Much to their credit, none of the transition team flinched at the gesture. Dee quickly exchanged glances with Davinder before she cleared her throat and began speaking, softly and intensely.
"Never mind how we know. Just be satisfied that we do. We also know that you're involved in a renegade organization in direct conflict with the Brotherhood. Your ongoing battles have left parts of Calgary in ruins. We also know that you and your people possess incredible powers, which separate your kind from ours. However, we will no longer tolerate this warfare within the boundaries of this city!"
"No?" the man repeated in a flat tone, sitting back against the wall to stare hard at her, his face a stony mask. "As far as I can see, there's nothing much you can do about it."
"And, according to the CAT and MRI scans, neither can you," Dee fired back and, with a soundless snarl, the big man jerked forward, rattling the chains with the force of his abrupt charge as he reached for her. He only settled back with Davinder and Elisa Chang, the Asian constable, pressed their weapons into the sides of his head.
"I see that struck a chord," Dee noted coldly and the big man's lips writhed in a snarl. "I'll concede that we don't have the resources or the abilities to counter the Brotherhood and what's happening here. You, however, while not currently possessing the abilities to match the Brotherhood, do possess knowledge sufficient to arm us with the intelligence to at least resist the Brotherhood's invasion."
A nod from her was enough for Davinder to fish out the keys to the cuffs on Mordecai's wrists. Inserting the key as Mordecai frowned at him, Davinder gave them a quick twist and, with a metallic ringing sound, the cuffs fell into Mordecai's lap, leaving his hands free. Slowly Mordecai rubbed at his wrists to work the circulation back into his flesh as Davinder bent to undo the cuffs on his ankles.
"And what exactly is this?" he asked warily, clearly puzzled. That confusion only grew as he watched the transition team slowly lower their weapons and safety them.
"A chance to hurt the Brotherhood again," Dee answered in a low voice. The van slowed then stopped. There was the sound of a door opening and closing then, after a brief pause, the back door swung open to spill in late afternoon sunshine.
Mordecai twitched involuntarily as the warmth of the sunlight brushed against his leg, his head swinging around to let him stare at the solitary officer standing behind the van.
"Your offer is sweetened by giving me my freedom?" he husked before swinging his gaze back onto Dee.
"I'm giving you a choice, Mordecai," Dee replied, waving the rest of the transition team out before she leaned forward to gaze directly into the big man's eyes, despite the fact that she knew he had violently attacked several constables before being shot.
"You can either walk out that door," she gestured towards the open door with her head. "And possibly survive long enough to regain your abilities and fight your own battle against a common enemy. Or you can hook up with us, take advantage of our resources and hurt the Brotherhood now!"
As Dee's last words hit the air, Mordecai could feel probability sluggishly shift around him, his talent unaffected by the injury to his psionic cortex. What was this? Normals actually acting to change probability? The possibility was enough to bring Mordecai's eyes back to the redhead's face.
Perhaps this event was what was needed to shift probability enough to see the Brotherhood fail: an alliance with the Normals. The very thought of such a thing, a massive breach of the Shield, made the big man visibly wince. But the Shield would not only be breached when the Armageddon Project moved into its final stages; it would be completely and utterly obliterated! Unless Mordecai did something now, within the limits that had been imposed on him. And that meant ... The struggle with his own powerful morality didn't last long.
"Very well," he husked softly. "I will align myself with you and your organization. But only because time is short and we must strike at the Brotherhood immediately." A quick check of his internal clock made him hiss tightly when he saw that two complete weeks had passed while he was in a coma following his shooting.
"And we have even less time than I thought." He paused to look deep into Dee's eyes. "But, before we shake hands on this venture, I will have an answer from you to a question that burdens me."
"Go ahead." Dee nodded. "If it's within my power to answer, I'll answer." Tottering on the edge of something she and Duffy had only imagined two weeks ago, she had to fight to keep her heart from leaping into her throat and her breathing from racing into excited gasping. Mordecai was actually considering helping them! Hopefully his question was something she could answer.
"Exactly what is the depth of your knowledge of my people and the Brotherhood?" he asked softly and, by the earnest tone of his voice, Dee knew this was a pivotal question.
"Up to a few days ago, absolutely nothing," she answered truthfully. "Until the massive incident on 16th Avenue, we only guessed that a mysterious third party was responsible for the odd happenings in the city. However, the Brotherhood assault on the hospital clued us into to who and what was responsible for the destruction. It also gave us a lot of information about your people and their abilities. If you can call some names and places as well as a brief overview of some of the abilities being used against us, a lot of information."
"And how many people are aware of this smattering of information?" Mordecai pressed. Dee could only shrug.
"I'm not really sure. Myself, a handful of others, possibly. Depends on how far up the chain of command my reports have reached. A select few in the RCMP as well, I'm sure. But, if you want my opinion, the brass will sit on this as long as possible to prevent any sort of panic in the populace to erupt. Nobody wants to know that individuals with vast powers are walking amongst us." She paused to chuckle softly, shaking her head as a vision of the assault on the OR at Foothills danced for a moment in front of her mind's eye.
"Hell, I don't want to know what I know!"
"I see," Mordecai replied thoughtfully. 'The Brotherhood has done me no favors by so blatantly breaching the Shield and putting everything at risk. But what should I have expected from that lot of burnouts?' he silently mused.
"Perhaps the damage isn't as bad as I originally thought." He nodded. "Very well. We need to move on this thing as quickly as possible, if the Brotherhood indeed is to be stopped." He stood up as much as the low roof of the van would allow and, with a final look and a nod to Dee, he stepped to the back of the van and hopped out. Dee stood and followed him out, almost giddy with elation that Duffy's plan had actually worked. Then she was serious once more as she considered what needed to be done next.
"Right. First, we have to make you disappear."