Vs Reality (14 page)

New York City
August 26, 2011
7:58 am, Eastern Daylight Time

“Local law enforcement hasn’t been alerted yet,” Paige says without looking up from her laptop. “And a SWAT team response will take ten, maybe fifteen minutes given our location. So I think we have some time.” She’d flipped a switch: emotionally devastated to chillingly composed. Once she’d made up her mind about Plan B it’s as if she’d switched to auto-pilot, and just expected everyone else to come along for the ride.

“SWAT?” Jens’ asks, his voice cracking like a pre-pubescent teen.

“
Yes
, as in Special Weapons and Tactics,” Paige says dryly, clacking away.

“I know what it means,” Jens says, “but why would they be called in?”

Paige ceases typing, sighs, and glances over the top of her thick-framed glasses. “The Collectors have the government in their pocket. I’m
sure
of it; there’s no other way they can be operating out in the open without getting caught.” Based on Paige’s informants, a small army exists with the sole purpose of apprehending people who have manifested. They’re not soldiers, and they’re a SWAT team in name only. In practice, they’re nothing more than mercenaries – modern-day pirates. “If the Collectors want to bag us they’re not going to send in two chubby peacekeepers armed with pepper spray and a megaphone. They’ll call in the big guns.”

Guns,
Cole thinks, his mind reeling. He sags against the wall, arms dangling loosely by his sides. Dia was right…this is going to get very
real, very fast.

“So is everyone five-by-five when it comes to Plan B?” Brodie asks. “Everyone clear on where they need to be?”

“Look,” Dia says, “it’s not too late: I can pop some Muse, tear open a gateway, and we can all be sipping margaritas in Fiji before the Collectors even know we’ve left.”

Paige glances at her, refuses to dignify her with a response, and then refocuses on her screen. Dia huffs and turns her back, raking her fingernails through her hair.

This is all too much.
Cole can hear the blood pumping in his ear like a tribal drum. He feels his shoulders tighten and his diaphragm contract, barbs of agony twisting beneath his ribcage. He bolts for the door.

“Where are you going?” Paige calls out.

“I just need some air,” he says without breaking his stride, hand nearly on the knob.

“Don’t be long! We don’t have much time before—”

The door slams behind him with a loud thud.

Cole steps out of the lobby and into the street, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sunlight with a hand cupping his brow. The city that never sleeps bustles with activity: men and women in business attire sip lattes as they hail cabs; a dog walker drags a pair of uncooperative poodles by neon green leashes; a street performer sits cross-legged with an acoustic guitar on her lap, listlessly strumming a tune that Cole can’t quite place. These people, Cole thinks, they have no fucking clue.
They’re going about their business, completely oblivious to the fact that today could be their last. A SWAT team, Collectors, and god knows who else could arrive at any moment, tearing this block to pieces.

There aren’t many options when dealing with an enemy that can reach you anywhere. Run and they’ll follow. According to Paige, they always will. Looking over his shoulder and sleeping with one eye open for the rest of his life doesn’t sound like much of a life at all.

Stay and fight, and this – everything around him – could become a blood-soaked nightmare. He glances back at the teenage girl with matted dreadlocks, tuning her guitar. They don’t deserve to die…but how many more will end up rotting in the Basement if the Collectors aren’t stopped?

Cole turns, catching a glimpse of his reflection in a brushed silver address plaque fixed to the building behind him. He studies the contours of his face like it’s the surface of an alien planet. He used to look in the mirror and see a confident, powerful man staring back at him, brimming with untapped potential. That man didn’t disappear, necessarily, but over time, something had happened to him…he’d gradually eroded.
So
gradually, in fact, that Cole didn’t even realize it was happening.

Success came easily for him, as it always had, and then suddenly it didn’t, and it wasn’t long before procrastination became Cole’s main priority. Disappointment led to setbacks, which gave way to depression. The person he’d always wanted to be drifted into a future he’d never experience, and just the thought of that exhausted him.

Then a pill changed everything. It wasn’t a change brought on by effort or determination or any tangible action he’d taken – it was a desire. A simple wish. A cosmic lottery win that led to this unimaginable power that he didn’t even ask for. He’d
dreamed
about it, sure, but what guy hasn’t? Being more ripped and muscular than they could ever imagine without lifting a single dumbbell? Superhuman strength, speed and agility? It’s all at his fingertips, though now that he has it, he doesn’t know if he can handle it. Doesn’t know if he
deserves
it.

Cole steps forward until his eyes are all that are visible in the scarred metal plaque. He wants to do something good with this newly acquired gift; to be the kind of man who would help Dia and Paige and all those tortured kids locked in The Basement, running into the fire without hesitation. Hell, with this much power it’s practically his duty. But the person he became back at Platinum isn’t the man he wants to be, either. That person didn’t just want to save Jens from the Collectors: he wanted to prove a point. He thirsted for revenge until he could taste it, burning like acid in his mouth. And when bodies stared piling up, there was a part of him – a voice of reason buried deep inside some dark corner of his soul – that was horrified. It called out, begging for him to relent, but Cole didn’t listen. That voice was numbed by the effects of Muse until it rang hollow; an ambient hum drowned out by the pounding base of his anger.

He’s snaps out of his daze when a passer-by bumps him from behind, not uncommon in the bustling downtown area, but still monumentally irritating. “Watch it, asshole,” he grumbles without turning around.

“My apologies,” someone says offhandedly. The voice is unmistakable; low and menacing like a thunderclap. It sears an indelible mark into your memory the moment you hear it.

He spins, back pressed to the wall. “How did you find me?”

“I traced you to this location when your friends took my Collector. What I want from you is a completely separate issue.” Govinda adjusts the dial on his chunky gold watch and pulls his sleeve overtop, fidgeting with his cufflink.

Cole frantically scans the streets, which look more vacant that they did just moments before. Without Muse – without a way of manifesting – he’s completely outmatched. This dark, towering killer in his tailored suit can pummel him to death in broad daylight and no one will dare to stop him. How could they?

“Who are you looking for, a police officer?” Govinda grins, casually dropping his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for favors from the NYPD after what you did last night.”

Cole balls his fists, wiry muscles tensing. He knows that it only takes one shot to drop a larger opponent; he’d done it before a few years back, catching a brawler two weight classes above him with a stiff left cross. It was enough to separate him from his consciousness. It would be a Hail Mary, but what else does he have to lose? Even if he doesn’t land the knockout punch he wants, it might give him a moment to scramble back inside, making it to the safety of the elevator.

“I’m sorry,” Govinda says with a well-rehearsed apology that nearly comes off as sincere. “I must have caught you at a bad time. You’re looking a little stressed out at the moment, and quite a bit…thinner since the last time we spoke.”

Cole sidesteps along the wall as if he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff.

The towering man reaches out and clutches Cole’s narrow shoulder. “If I’d wanted you dead,” Govinda says archly, “I would have killed you already. I’m here to talk.”

Not sure that he has many alternatives at the moment, Cole chooses to believe him. “All right…so talk.”

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot. I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of our organization, so I thought I’d take a moment to explain our work. Starting with our vaccine.”

“Vaccine?”

“We’ve created a solution that allows people who have manifested to return to perfect health. We’re simply collecting them so we can administer this vaccine, preventing them from causing any more damage to others – as well as themselves. But we’re still in the early stages at this point, and we can only do so much on a one-on-one basis. Eventually we’ll have global distribution, and everyone in the world will have access to our cure.”

Cole cocks an eyebrow. “So
that’s
your evil master plan: to have your new wonder-drug in every pharmacy in the world? And you think the New World Council is just going to approve all this?”

“Of course,” Govinda replies with a gentle nod, clasping his hands together. “Who do you think is funding this operation? The Council is at a crucial time in history, and making peace is a delicate process. All it takes is the wrong dam to break or building to fall, and years of negotiations evaporate in an instant. This isn’t just a matter of taking precautions – this is an absolute necessity.”

“All right, so why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you’re powerful,” Govinda states as a matter of fact, and with a hint of flattery. “More powerful than anyone I’ve encountered in the field, outside of Miss Davenport. I see a
lot
of potential in you. And truth be told, I can’t achieve my goals with your constant interruptions, so this little game we’re playing need to come to an end. Right here, right now.” He takes great care in unbuttoning his tailored jacket and pulls it open, reaching deep beneath his armpit.

He knows what’s coming next. Cole turns his head, eyes forced shut, prepared for disaster.

Govinda pauses for just a moment before pulling out a neatly folded sheet of paper. He opens the crisp white letterhead, emblazoned at the bottom with a shimmering gold stamp. He produces a pen with the other hand and extends them in front of Cole, close enough for him to read the fine print.

He stares at the paper ash-faced. A dozen cars pass on the street before Cole breaks his stunned silence. “Is this...a contract?”

“Very astute of you, Mister Cole. It
is,
indeed, a contract of employment. With Mister Heinreich nearing retirement and Goto on the verge of being…terminated, I suddenly have a few openings available for Senior Collectors. And I can’t think of anyone more qualified to fill this position.”

Cole’s eyes tick upwards to meet Govinda’s dark gaze. “This is fucking insane,” he says flatly. It’s the same four words that have been rolling through his mind every ten seconds since he’d first met Dia, but this is the first time he’d actually said them out loud. It actually felt therapeutic.

Govinda brings a hand to his pointed chin, fingers scratching his jaw line. “I haven’t interviewed a candidate in quite some time Mister Cole, but I don’t remember it being customary to curse at your future employer.”

“So let me get this straight,” Cole says, the contract in one hand and the pen in the other. “You’re offering me the chance to join your little operation – to become a Collector. So then what do you expect me to do? Go from city to city kidnapping people and taking them to your secret underground lair?”

“That could certainly be part of the job description going forward, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” He places a hand on Cole shoulder once again, pulling him close. The power in Govinda’s  grip pulls him off-balance. “At first, I require just one simple task: bring me the people responsible for the creation of
this
drug.” With his free hand he reaches into  his pant pocket and extracts a familiar blue capsule. “The street name for this drug is ‘Muse’, I believe? A few weeks ago we were collecting a target right here in New York City, and she happened to be carrying an entire bag full of these fascinating little capsules. She’d set up a drug deal in a dark alley, if you can believe it, and it turns out her potential buyer was…problematic. He was taken care of. At any rate, I sent these Muse pills to our lab and we ran extensive tests. I’ve never seen anything like it. Interesting thing, this drug: they cause a user to manifest their powers instantly. You see if these are being sold on the black market…”

Cole’s eyes widen. “…then the vaccine that the New World Council wants to drug us with becomes more useless than a children’s vitamin.” He stares down at the small translucent capsule, shot through with a glimmer of bright morning sunlight, and a dark realization sets in. “You’re not planning on selling this drug. The government is going to administer this to the public against our will…without us knowing.”

“Well done, Mister Cole. I’d heard your academic records were quite impressive before you changed career paths. Never judge a book, as they say.”

“What about the side effects?” Cole shouts, backing away and out of arm’s reach. “Have you and your research team even thought about that? And what about our goddamned human rights?”