Decision Hero

By Kendal Rush

Imagine world peace, a dream for most, while a reality for a very special few. The Peacekeepers-at least, that's what they called themselves, travelers from places unknown. Some say from another dimension, time, or even God. Either way, they seamlessly integrated into society's most powerful governments and delivered all they promised for their cooperation, the end of war, famine, and pestilence, and all for the price of global peace. And though death still loomed and the nature of man remained unchanged, the gifts received from our benefactors never failed to reflect those unmet challenges. Yet the capacity for our own desires has and will always be confronted by a counterbalance that can far outweigh the evils plaguing mankind.

Enter Jim Edwards, a man like any other with dreams, hopes, and a driving ambition to succeed at what he knows best, discovering the truth about our visitors and the limits of man's capabilities to achieve the heights of his aspirations. A developmental research contractor for back-engineering alien technologies, Jim will struggle in his commission to use his findings to construct lethal armaments for the US military. General Lankmire, Jim's liaison for the black ops department of Covert Applications Research for Extraterrestrial Technologies (CARET), is a bullheaded commander with special plans of his own for Jim's new toys. With Jim's conscience on the line over Lankmire's questionable objectives, the dilemma worsens as he is cornered into a decision over a lifetime in the making. For most of us, in dire situations, we might be told not to play the hero; but at some point in our lives, it's a choice we all have to make.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648018954

Book preview

Chapter 1

Progress

Jim Edwards had a brilliant future in the black ops military research department of the Covert Applications Research for Extraterrestrial Technology (CARET) for back-engineering alien and extradimensional technologies used to further the advancement of weaponry in the defense sector of several highly classified military organizations. His laboratory, though not governmentally funded, was used as a highly sophisticated storage hub for the most recently acquired unidentified objects acquired by the government. He redesigned and maintained this facility deep in the heart of a Southern California forest in a secret military installation built underneath a condemned prison long since abandoned for demolition. His autonomy allowed him almost limitless resources due to a certain number of invaluable patents heavily regarded by top federal and military branches. This financed the reconstruction of the prison’s abandoned shell, transforming it into a highly advanced research and developmental complex with nearly a thousand other scientists. Yet his most recent project was about to steer his life off its natural course forever.

Tactical Arsenal Neural Kinetics (TANK) was a study of the use of psychokinetic energy to manipulate armored body weaponry, antigravity, invisibility, and force field generation. But to give this capability to an ordinary human mind, the mental capacity needed to be increased by at least threefold. Bioengineering wasn’t Jim’s department, so for the past few months, Charles Dodson became quite a handy and highly recommended military consultant for the project at hand.

I don’t like this, Jim, Dodson said leaning back in the black leather office chair, touching each of his fingertips together as if to make a contemplative diamondlike shape with his hands. He faced Jim who sat behind the sleek one-piece mahogany desk that was perfectly composited with the rest of the décor in the room. The molecular reaction from the chamber is too unstable.

The two men sat in a comfortably lit medium-sized office decorated in a standard modern style with high shelving full of books and a conference table in the corner. With a laptop, desktop, phone, and even a square vase clustered with small sunflowers, it had all the accouterments of a working environment. Yet its lack of any real personal items provided a look of sterility as if it were something you’d find in a card catalog picture.

So what do you suggest we do? With a wrinkling noise of new leather from his seat, Jim leaned forward in mock expectancy, resting his elbows on his shiny desk tabletop. He knew there wouldn’t be an immediate response.

Charles was a contemplative man with a spindly frame to match his close-set eyes and full, thick, greased black hair. In his lab coat, a set of thick black rimmed glasses would have made the look of your run-of-the-mill college professor complete. Yet with his dark sunken eyes and slightly aged skin, his obsession with his work was evidenced by the apparent sleep-deprived state he seemed to constantly be in.

I think we need to bring someone else in on this, he mulled. I’ve got a colleague in mind.

Oh really, who? Jim acted surprised. This took Jim back slightly, though the good doctor was looking a little more peaked than usual. At times such as this, Dodson would stare penetratingly deep in thought at Jim with a much slower reaction time, leaving conversations almost agonizingly protracted. The doctor needed help.

Ryan, he murmured, a bright young student of mine. I think he can solve this issue of ours. His voice grew. He specializes in cell cohesion on the subatomic level. Some of his theories have turned quite a few heads.

I believe he’s been doing research for the National Oceanic Aquatics Foundation, he went on. He owes me a favor since his background was just a little too unsavory to apply for the university. I’m sure I could have him here in a couple of days.

We’ll have to get him cleared, Jim said sternly. He then looked concerned. He turned his chin slightly sideways and shook his head. You know, I really don’t need loose cannon on my team, he said.

No need to concern yourself, Jim. The doctor reassured with a bit of a smile. I can vouch for his character to the fullest. After all, I am his uncle. He spoke uncharacteristically quickly.

Hmm. We’ll see. Set something up, Jim replied hesitantly. And, Dodson?

Yes? he answered nonchalantly.

Jim warningly narrowed his eyes shook his head. Don’t make me regret this.

A few days later, as Dodson promised, Ryan sat before them as they met for the first time over dinner. The booth they sat in was secluded and dark in the dimly lit pseudo-Italian-style restaurant. As conspicuous as the place might seem, Jim chose it not for the mediocre quizzing, but for the seemingly mundane hole in the wall atmosphere it exuded. He’d only been there once before.

I think we can really make this work, Ryan was saying enthusiastically. If we can get the proteins to stabilize, then the erratic nature of the gene sequence you plan to fuse with your subject should get you the results you’re looking for.

Ryan was an optimistic man who seemed to smile easily in an undaunted fun-loving sort of way. His well below-average height and stout features appeared to allow him plenty of energy to spare from the lack of mass he had to move around. He rattled on with reserved excitement. I’ve unlocked the ability of some of the marine life I’ve dredged up to withstand and thrive in immensely pressurized conditions from living at the bottom of the ocean. If we can mimic this environment in the embryonic fluid of Dodson’s design, we shouldn’t get any of the side effects that have ruined the bond so far.

Wait! Jim interrupted. This is all well and good, but do you know what we are going to use for our subject? I mean to say that all of our tests have been, well, unsuccessful. We need something to show for all our work, and we’re running out of time. You see, we need this to work on a man.

Both Dodson and Ryan looked on in surprise. Dodson in his slow manner almost choked out, You can’t be serious. How much time?

Three weeks. Jim’s deadpan look and sharp eyes scanned them in utter seriousness.

So who’s the lucky guy? Ryan asked in jest.

Me.

Chapter 2

Behind the Eightball

It was a refreshing night with a brisk wind meandering inland from the northwest. The ocean breeze moistened the warm, dry air with the familiar scent of salty sea life and open-flamed feasts provided to the masses who strolled lazily throughout the beachside carnival. The neon signs and thousands of light bulbs from each booth, ride, and streetlight chased away the night’s darkness, which took refuge in the alleyways and dark corners inset from the sidewalks and roads that were lit for more civilized affairs.

A young couple entered the Third Street alleyway where the penetration of shadows seemed to fade. The youthful pair carried on as if the wellspring of life consumed them with each bout of giddy laughter. They strolled carelessly along the edge of the blackened cement through the deepening lightless backstreet to what seemed to be a short and safe route to the festivities at hand.

As they reached the depths of the darkened lane, Franco slowed to a stop and slipped his left arm around Shelley’s waist. He pulled her in tight for a languishing kiss. She gave into him easily even though they had just met only hours ago. The attraction was unmistakable.

As they kissed, Franco reached behind himself into his pants’ waistband to feel the hard steel handle and trigger of the switchblade that had been hot as an iron at his back all night. His motions were slow and steady as he flicked the blade loose from the release of the trigger. He ruthlessly swung the blade around to his right when his motion was stopped hard by some unseen opposing force. It felt like a warm steel vice clinched around his forearm. He was swung around and wrenched from his embracing kiss with Shelley. Too surprised to react, he looked to see nothing at first, but when he looked down, there stood a stout man clad entirely in black except for his mouth and eyes with a giant white eight covering his entire torso.

Unh, unh, unh. The man smiled while wagging his index finger of his free hand at the stunned would-be slayer. Mustn’t kill the nice lady.

The fight was merciless. As Shelley quickly dragged herself backward to the side of the dark roadway, she looked on in shocked wonder as her stocky savior made short work of Franco. Then as soon as it started, it was over with Franco lying face down passed out on the ground and the man that had rescued her long since vanished, seemingly absorbed into the night.

Suddenly she could hear a noise approaching over the uneven pavement as if something small was rolling toward her. Her gaze shifted and she saw it. She reached out and picked up the smooth black round object. It felt familiar as she spun it around slowly in her fingers to reveal the small white circle with a black eight imprinted in the center.

* * * * *

It was quite clean and clear-cut to Ryan. The suit he possessed was beyond anything he ever dared to imagine. Every time he used it, a feeling of righteous vengeance coursed through every muscle in his entire body centering upon his very heart. He never dreamed of the happenings that had encircled his life up until now. It was almost maddening to think of that immense figure draped in a black flowing garb towering over him and the eight others telling them with arms outstretched and those foreboding words, And you shall be gifted for my amusement.

It wasn’t a dream, he mused. We fought that day, and I won. I was granted a wish and freedom. All I wanted was the suit, he thought to himself. He retraced the memory a million times over with what Elionon said, The smallest wish can be the greatest gift, but a gift to no other than one’s self will surely fail. Choose. It almost didn’t make any sense. Ryan knew he helped people all the time with the suit, and the feeling was almost like a drug. But he thought maybe there was more that he could do to help. He realized that there were some big players out there who did much more damage than any street punk or serial killer. He cringed at the thought of endangering himself by going up against someone who could possibly kill him. What would happen to Wendy and Nathan? he pondered frighteningly.

He cut himself short with that line of thinking and was perked up by the memory of how much more serious the issues of life used to be. His family used to be continuously exposed to his drug addiction. The poverty of his chosen profession of small-time dealing left them in desperate need up until about four years ago when he decided to go to UCLA. It had been rough for the first few years, but when Ryan’s aptitude for biomarine sciences advanced him into his career, his life really took off. However, his personal problems intensified when the real money started to roll in from his newfound livelihood.

With the extra means, he relapsed into his addiction until it began to jeopardize his job and his relationship with his wife and child, and eventually, everyone he loved or cared for until he finally donned the suit. Still, inevitably he believed it was just a new experience to obsess over. He couldn’t get enough of the thrill and exhilaration that reverberated through his life. It made the only real challenge of separating his homelife, business, and alter ego a mere trivial matter. With the suit at his disposal, it seemed anything was possible. At least, if anything, it took the place of the drugs in his life. He tried to reassure himself with this fact, but the fear of what awaited left him with a mild trepidation he could only ignore for now.

He was quick and low scurrying through the alleyways and side streets. The suit was magnificent. When he was exposed, all he had to do was concentrate, and it would change to camouflage itself. It could become any type of clothing he wished or even blend into the background, but when the action happened, he was purely Eightball. That sense of power was enthralling. This was a minor power the suit had compared to the luck it gave him. He was practically untouchable when confronted due to the most outrageous quirks that always went his way. He guessed that’s what it meant to be behind the Eightball, he thought, chuckling to himself.

He had been following Franco for some time now, in and out of bars, since Kendra clued him into the source of the three murders that had been happening since last week. She was his mainstay since he had met her in that little rinky-dink shack of a palmistry shop as a fortune-teller. He never suspected her of being the real thing since his wife told him all about her. Wendy was thoroughly taken by Kendra since the birth of Nathan was foretold almost to the exact minute.

As soon as Kendra met Ryan, she knew that she was destined to help him. They’d been friends for over two years now, and since the beginning, she would go on and on about Jim and the importance of their clandestine meeting. As vague as any fortune-teller could be at times, she would endlessly tell Ryan of the salvation and safekeeping of the entire world due to his soon-to-be comrade in arms. Doubts never crossed Ryan’s mind in any event, just the fear of the importance and magnitude of it all.

Soon, your heart will burst forth with courage, the likes of which you’ve never known, Kendra advised. This memory always brought a strange but comforting feeling that left him in anticipation of things to come.

He rounded the corner and walked straight through the front doors of the sheriff’s department. Sally, the night clerk, looked up at him through her brand-new thick black frames with a slight smirk and a click of her tongue. You again, huh? Don’t you have a life?

Uh, yeah, it’s called being a Good Samaritan, Ryan retorted. I think I’ve found your Backstreet Killer everybody’s been going nuts about in the news. He’s lying unconscious on the Third Street alleyway. I called you guys earlier to come to pick him up, but since I was in the neighborhood, I figured you could use a good eyewitness too.

Let me guess. It was you and the black and white wonder midget at it again, right? She grinned devilishly. And you want to make a citizen’s report, right?

You’re cruisin’ for it, aren’t yah? His eyes smiled. Look, I’ve got to get home, so just pass the info to detective Rinehart, and I’ll be on my way. I mean it’s not like you don’t know where to find me. I’m sure once you get this guy’s prints, DNA, and the victim’s testimony, the case should pretty much solve itself.

She called out to him as he was walking out the door. Hey, when are you going to get your little mighty mite friend to come work for us anyway?

He glanced back and said, Not his thing. Sorry. I’ll be by in the morning to give a statement if need be. And with that, he went home.

When he finally reached home, he saw all the lights were off in the house. It was a little after ten, so he figured everybody must have been in bed. He crept upstairs and into his pajamas for some much-needed sleep. Wendy woke when he slipped under the covers to crawl into bed.

Out saving the world again, she whispered blurrily.

One bad guy at a time, he dryly replied. We got Franco tonight, and now I can get some decent sleep for a change.

The suit finally let up on you, huh. She was waking up, and he didn’t want that. Yet another round on the same subject he was dreading to revisit. He tried to make this quick and to the point. But she kept on. What if that suit doesn’t save your butt someday? What are me and Nathan going to do? I don’t think your job insures superheroes.

I know. I know, Ryan interrupted before Wendy got going. We’ve been over this, haven’t we? I promise you, I’m just small potatoes compared to some of those maniacs out there.

And what about Jim? She seemed undaunted though he knew better. According to Kendra, ‘small potatoes’ isn’t going to last.

I understand, but I’ve got a really good feeling about this, and so does Kendra, he reassured her.

A long silence passed until she finally broke out in a whisper. Honestly, I believe you, and I believe in you. I just don’t like it.

It’ll be all right, I promise. And no more was said as the night slipped away peacefully into the retreat of their many quickly forgotten and listless dreams.

Chapter 3

Breakthrough

The next morning as Ryan was about to leave, Jim called sounding impatient. I think we’re on the brink of something here. When can you be here?

I’ll be there about eight thirty. I’m on my way, Ryan replied. He hung up the phone and rushed out the door.

As soon as Ryan arrived at the lab, he was directed wordlessly to follow Dodson to the observation room to view the test subjects. They entered a small dark room with rows of chairs arranged in a movie-theater-style seating that faced a brightly lit meter and half rectangular one-way mirror. It peered out into a naturally illuminated stone-walled room with a series of assorted thick ropes strewn from one side to the next. Roped netting was laced across the corners of the room to the very top of the vaulted ceiling where it was supported by logs constructed intricately mimicking a series of tree-type structures topped by several small platforms. Jim’s silhouette contrasted darkly from the light glowing through the window as he stood almost dead center staring through the glass. His trancelike state was unerringly focused on the subject placed squarely in the middle of the room.

As Ryan approached, he could see the cage was large enough to hold a person and the creature within. He could tell it was a chimpanzee, but much larger. It was as if the primate’s growth hormones were somehow overaccelerated to make it look like it was suffering from gigantism. It was more than two meters in height, and its musculature had increased considerably as well. The animal was a mass of bulging muscles as if it had bulked up on steroids. The eeriest feature of the monstrous ape was its eyes. They followed him as he walked toward the window and seemed to stare at them both as they stood side by side.

Can you feel that? Jim asked. It’s like a static charge in the air.

As soon as Jim spoke, the toys that were scattered on the floor started to vibrate slowly while the slack drooping of the ropes in the room began to sway back and forth. Ryan hadn’t noticed the toys before, but they were quite evident now.

How long has this been going on? Ryan inquired dumbfounded. For Ryan, it was one thing to theorize and see it on paper with the collaboration of his colleagues, but to see all of their ideas come together was quite another. His confidence was whisked away momentarily, taking with it his wits.

We did it early this morning. Jim turned to him with a haggard leer. But wait, you haven’t seen the best part. Watch his mouth and listen.

As if almost on cue, Ryan saw the animal’s mouth open, and it appeared as if it were talking. Waaach hi mou an liten. It gurgled from its throat in several low guttural grunts.

Ryan fought the urge to step back and then regained his equanimity. Can he see through here? he asked in a small voice.

Not at all, nor can he hear us, Jim replied.

You mean telepathy? Ryan’s astonishment was evident in his eyes though he struggled to regain his composure.

It seems that he can receive thoughts of a kind but can’t send them. He really doesn’t understand what’s being said, at least not yet anyway. He was never even trained to sign, so he’s unable to really communicate except on an instinctual level. But now he’s mimicking us with an apparent need for humanlike communication. This is the kind of advancement they’ve been waiting for.

They both turned to stare at the monstrous creature. Sure enough, the former chimp continued in its broken throaty groans trying to repeat everything they were saying.

Come on. I need to show you something. Jim motioned with his head and led the way out of the dark room down the hall through a corridor into an elevator. After both of them passed biometric security, Jim turned and said, We have an inspection tomorrow morning of our progress and status of the project. General Lankmire, who oversees my division, is coming personally to review the results. You see, this project’s a closed-circuit operation from CARET on a top-secret order from this general who heads an elite group within the organization. There are only a few people who know of this operation. In fact, this project’s dubbed under another goal to decipher a weather anomaly happening over the Pacific, but he has another group working on that altogether, leaving us free for this.

Why are you telling me all of this? Ryan seemed intrigued.

I want you as a part of my team since I need someone I can trust. Jim paused. I want to surprise the general with the end results. I want TANK to become a reality. You see, you’ve only worked on a fraction of the project.

Just then the elevator doors opened, and Jim led him down a short hallway with a heavily built door at the end. As Jim accessed its security, Ryan asked, Exactly how small of a fraction?

The third-of-a-meter-thick steel alloy door cracked its airtight seal with a hissing noise of escaping air and opened slowly to allow them to enter into the glass-paneled hallway beyond. As Ryan entered, he saw rooms on both sides full of unrecognizable equipment and weapons each in a state of disassembly wired to monitoring apparatuses and a multitude of sensor arrays. Jim led him to the end of the passageway to an open room. It was behind a glass enclosure with a solid steel rack that housed a full-body suit of blue-tinted metallic armor. The alloy looked like nothing Ryan had ever seen before.

What’s it made of? Ryan was lost in wonder.

Do you remember the Roswell cover-up? Jim asked rhetorically. "The material that was found in that accident was virtually impenetrable. It was malleable and never lost its original shape when it was warped or bent. I was given this material a long time ago, and I’ve finally been able to cultivate its replication. I discovered that its makeup comprised a multitude of microscopic alloy-based organisms interlocked and working in conjuncture with one another as an overall entity. You’ve heard of nanotechnology. Well, this is a type of molecular nanotechnology, except for all intents and purposes its signature is as close to a noncarbon-based life-form as can be without actually being alive. You could call it a smart metal. It’s nearly impervious and self-restorative.

There are many other projects, as you can see, he droned on as if reading a script that he’d read a thousand times over. The crash at Roswell also provided me with the means of an anti-gravitational field. Would you believe it’s all done through volumetric wave resonations enhanced through certain psychokinetic factors? It might even be possible to bend light around an object using the same principles.

You mean invisibility? Ryan’s enthusiasm for such advances in knowledge was very sobering at times. He was quick to conclude that this secret, as well as all the others, spelled danger in the worst way. Some fanatic would do more than kill to get his hands on any of this.

Jim nodded to his answer. And a force field as well. The idea originally was to use just superconducting magnets, but combined with the array of abilities of the suit and the wearer, the field was inevitable.

Ryan gazed at the armor in dumbfounded awe. What about the weapons?

Huh, oh, where to begin? Jim let out a wistful laugh, and then reached up to scratch his head as if deep in thought. There was a rush of details that flooded his mind, but he chose to ignore them. Listen, Ryan, I need you to help me. Ryan turned and cocked his head to look at Jim blankly due to the weight of his speech. I showed you all of this to help you understand the importance of what is about to happen. As you know, I have chosen myself for the focal point of this experiment. The reason being is that come tomorrow, Lankmire is going to assign one of his mindless grunts to clad himself in my creation—Scratch that, our creation. This can’t happen. He’s planning on taking TANK into North Korea and to use it for a testing ground under the guise of a covert mercenary assignment and Lord knows what else he plans to do with it. We can’t let him be in absolute control over this. He paused a moment and turned toward the armor behind the glass. We need to do the experiment tonight.

Ryan snapped back from taking it all in and finally said, Then it’s time for me to be completely honest with you as well.

After Ryan revealed his story and the complete inner workings of his operation with the Eightball suit, Kendra’s psychic abilities, and the prediction of their crossing paths, it was Jim’s turn to be surprised.

Kendra never went beyond our meeting to tell me what would happen, just that we would protect the world someday, Ryan finished saying.

Then that clinches it, Jim exclaimed. We can go forward with the experiment.

What? You still want to do this after what I’ve told you? Ryan puzzled. Did you see that thing upstairs? It was a monster. You want to subject yourself to end up like that?

Look, Ryan, I understand your reservations, but I have to do this. It’s the biggest part of my life’s work. Besides if what you’ve told me is true from your psychic friend, then everything should work out the way it’s supposed to, whether I do this or not.

That’s my point, Ryan replied quickly. It shouldn’t matter if you don’t do this either. I just don’t know what’ll be waiting for you down the road if you decide to go through with it. He paused and looked at Jim hard, and then finally with some resignation, he said, You really think this is a good idea?

I really don’t have a choice. I don’t want to end up like Oppenheimer, helpless to stop the powers that be from using his work to obliterate hundreds of thousands of people. I’m sure if he could have an inkling of control over the use of his discoveries, history would be a lot less gruesome. Jim’s somber look spoke volumes.

Ryan took a long deep breath and sighed heavily, tracing it all over in his head while trying to avoid Jim’s disparaging looks. He finally met his eyes tenuously for what seemed to be quite some time for Jim, until finally he gave in to his friend’s anticipation, and with a sigh, he asked, All right, what’ll we do? He almost expressed depressively.

I appreciate it, Jim said warmly trying to reassure his colleague’s difficult decision. I know what this might mean for the both of us, but as my granddad used to say, ‘There are always two choices you can make, the hard one or the easy one.’ I think it’s about time I chose the right one.

Later that afternoon, Dodson sat in a command room behind several monitors and control panels. Both Ryan and Jim were in an adjoining room decked out to be a makeshift medical lab. Jim sat in a white smock that laced up the back and was receiving a final hypodermic injection from Ryan.

Ryan in his white lab coat spoke through his mask. This one will alleviate any pain from the metamorphosis that your body will experience. I don’t know how much it’ll help.

It didn’t do much for Bingo. Jim grimaced.

Bingo? Is that what you named the chimp? Ryan pulled down his mask and smiled, trying to break the tension.

Yeah. Jim almost smiled back. I had a good feeling about him.

After a long pause, Ryan asked in all seriousness, Are you ready for this?

I don’t think I could be any more ready. With that, Jim stood up a little shakily. He stumbled a little before Ryan caught him and said, It’s the drugs. I’ll be all right.

As they exited the room, they entered a giant facility three times the size of the room they were just in. To their right, they could see Dodson behind the protective glass adjusting a few controls with some final corrections. Before them lay a two-meter-by-three-meter-high upright glass tube supported by a rack of steel mounts across the bottom with a pressure hatch capping the top. The compression chamber was filled with a clear thick foggy soup kept at exact body temperature. Next to the tube were a set of steel metal grate steps that led to a platform surrounding the top of the tube.

Making their way up the steps, they could see several tubes connected to the rear of the chamber maintaining the mixture, temperature, and pressure. They walked across the platform for Ryan to unlatch and lift the pressure cap with the help of two hydraulic arms for its support. Hanging from the underbelly of the cap inside the tube was a round glass helmet with an expandable rubber clasp seal that fit around the wearer’s shoulders and a tube leading from the top of the helmet back down through the chamber that disappeared into the goop.

Jim stripped down to his underwear and ducked beneath helmet as Ryan held it in place for him to slip over his head. Ryan fastened the helmet’s watertight seal around the top of Jim’s shoulders while looping the lead straps under his arms.

Ryan walked around behind Jim to flip the switch in the back of the helmet and hesitated. He stepped in front of Jim and said a little loudly, You know, the fluid that we’re filling this with will be a little tough to breathe at first, but all you need to do is relax. He paused again and looked Jim straight in the eyes. We can still stop this. It’s not too late.

Jim just shook his head, then gave a quick gesture to proceed, and closed his eyes. Ryan stepped back around behind Jim again and then flipped the switch. The oxygenated liquid began to fill the glass bowl around Jim’s head. It was lukewarm and odorless as it reached his mouth. Jim was still holding his breath until his head was finally submerged. He knew that he had to breathe, so he opened his mouth and took a deep gasp, fighting the natural instinct to stop. He choked and then choked again. He could hear the muffled sound of Ryan telling him to relax, yet he kept his eyes shut and stopped trying to take in the liquid for just a moment. Then this time, he sucked in as if to breathe and eased his constricting throat and diaphragm to accept the fluid as best he could.

He heard Ryan in a loud relieved voice. It’s working. It’s working. Are you okay?

Jim opened his eyes and gave a slow nod and a single thumbs-up. Weird, isn’t it? Jim followed up with another slow nod and a somewhat strained smile.

Ryan led Jim down a retractable plastic ladder into the tube’s solution. After Jim let go of the ladder, he sank gradually to the bottom. Ryan retrieved the ladder, sealed the hatch, and made his way down the steps and into the control room.

Dodson turned and asked, Everything’s ready here. How does it look with him?

No complaints so far, Ryan replied.

Jim was fighting the sense of nervousness welling up in his stomach. He focused on the watery weightless feeling easing himself into a meditative state, succumbing to the sense that gravity ceased to exist. Aside from the white glow that surrounded him through the glass helmet, it was almost the same sensation. Then suddenly, he could feel the pressure building around his body, followed by a deep thrum of energy pulsating through his very spine until it released a shock of energy that coursed throughout his entire body. The pain came suddenly as the crackling of joints and sinews warped and expanded inside his two-meter, eighty-kilo frame. He had an image of a bad 1980s werewolf movie when everything went dark followed by nothingness.

Chapter 4

Reborn

Jim woke up and tried to open his eyes, but they were sluggish and heavy. He moved to rub them and nearly clocked himself with an unrecognizable giant mallet of a hand. He massaged his eyelids, and eventually, the blurriness faded. He looked down at his hands and forearms and saw what he had hoped. They were his hands but nearly twice the size they were before and completely hairless. He was regaining full composure and felt a strength he had never possessed before. It energized his body.

He looked around to see that he was in a bed in the dimly lit medical lab. He called out and heard a voice about an octave deeper than his own. I guess we’re going to have to change the voice recognition, he thought aloud to himself snidely. He got up and almost stumbled over himself. He regained his footing and looked down at his oversized feet. He needed a mirror to view the full results of the experiment. He clambered to the door, pulling the sheet from the bed around himself. The door was almost yanked off its hinges when he opened it. He cautiously swung it wide and had to duck through the head of the frame. He saw Dodson and Ryan in the hallway spin around from their conversation looking almost frightened by his appearance.

Is it that bad? He grinned.

They both shook their heads dumbly. Ryan broke the silence and bewilderedly said, No, it’s just…different.

You both were just talking about the possible side effects. I could sense it, Jim explained.

That’s correct, Dodson replied.

They all looked at one another, and Jim felt them all realize that it had worked.

The next morning, Jim woke up from a hard sleep. Ordinarily, he had an uncanny knack for remembering his dreams, but this time, there was nothing. He slunk over to the mirror again to take stalk of the changes his body had undergone. Even with his foreknowledge of every aspect of everything that could happen to him from the countless experiences repeated in his simulations, he was completely amazed to the point of euphoria over his new body. Instead of his long narrow face, his head and body were massive and chiseled like a bodybuilder. He could feel the strength he contained welling up within him. He abruptly snapped to, cutting himself short from his self-examination as he remembered the general’s arrival. He might already be here. Jim wrapped himself in a towel from the bathroom and made his way out of the room. In the hallway, he spotted Ryan walking hurriedly toward him.

Where’s Dodson? Jim asked in a loud voice.

He’s occupying the general. I’ve come to get you. Ryan responded now within almost arm’s reach of each other.

First things first, follow me. With that, Jim turned and led him back to the armory chamber he had shown Ryan the day before.

A half hour later, Dodson was leading General Lankmire, Ryan, and two armed guards to the viewing test bunker situated in an open dirt field littered with a morass of army surplus jeeps, tanks, half-tracks, hummers, and transport vehicles about a kilometer behind the facility. Some of the vehicles were obliterated, while others were scorched or even looked as if they were almost completely melted.

Welcome to the test range, gentlemen, Dodson informally addressed them as they followed him into the viewing bunker facing the mock battlefield. As soon as they entered the bunker, Dodson switched on the fluorescent lights and sat in the black office chair facing six monitors stacked by pairs on top of one another angled individually to face the viewer above a control board. The series of monitors burst to life, each sounding off with a static electrical charge while they flickered on. Meanwhile, a group of computers beneath the control board started up in a chorus that reverberated like a soft whine of several small jet engines.

Gen. Wallace Lankmire looked stolidly around the room with a grim face he managed to pull off with an unerring intensity that seemed to serve him well throughout his career. He was a graying, leathery-skinned, middle-aged man who looked much older than he was. With each soured look he would deliver, his face seemed to permanently be fixated in the somewhat scowling grimaced mode he maintained most of the time. With his balding, age-spotted head that glared in the light, he furrowed his brow even farther than usual, mashing his bushy eyebrows together. So where’s Jim? We were supposed to get this demonstration started over an hour ago. He impatiently growled while towering behind Dodson’s shoulder in his olive-green military uniform. In their black suits, both of his armed guards shadowed the general within a couple of meters, crowding Dodson even further.

We are coming online right now. I do appreciate your patience, General. Dodson didn’t look back for fear of accidentally hitting the general with his face. Ryan stood inconspicuously in the background.

Light shined through the four-by-three-meter-high glass that spanned the entire front of the six-meter-square room at eye level. Through it, they could see the entire expanse of the range. The six monitors gave several angled views of the weaponry and vehicles used for targeting and testing.

Dodson spoke into the thin black microphone centered in front of the control panel. Are you ready, Jim?

Lock onto my signal. Jim’s voice was audible not only through the hidden speakers in the walls but also in all their minds.

An uncharacteristically puzzled look came across the general’s face. Was that Jim?

Ryan couldn’t resist. Yeah, and trust me, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. He chortled behind them.

Dodson tentatively leaned back into the microphone, looked at it oddly, and stuttered, Tr…tracking sequence engaged.

The center monitor, largest in size, zoomed in on an object descending from the sky. They could see the armored figure of a giant blond man silently landing in front of the bunker, feet first. As he touched down, they could make out the details of Jim’s armor and transformation. At a glance, he looked like an armored, modern-day medieval knight with his arms and head exposed.

He turned and faced them with a slight nod. They felt him say, Now, are you ready?

In an instant, he raised his right forearm vertically, which was covered in a steel-blue bracer connected to a metallic hose that snaked loosely around to his back. There were weapons mounted behind him as well. A pulsar cannon that looked like a modified rocket launcher mechanically rose from his back and attached itself to his covered forearm. He brought his arm back down and leveled it in front of him to point it straight ahead. He looked down the sight on the cannon and aimed at the nearest jeep. It fired a glowing white ball of light that incinerated the vehicle, melting it to its frame. After that, a square box with four holes