James Moore - Subject Seven

“So, go find out. Either it’s Subject Seven or one of the Doppelganger teams we sold to the military is hunting us down. If it’s the latter, we can work it out easily. If it’s Subject Seven, we might have an issue on our hands.”

“And if it’s Seven?”

“If it’s Subject Seven and you can take him down, do so.” She looked at Rafael and took his measure. Against almost anyone, he was more than a match. He’d been tested extensively in combat situations and on obstacle courses. He could easily bench-press five hundred pounds and had a reaction time that was documented at one one-hundredth of a second, ten times faster than the reaction time of a trained athlete. Still, she wasn’t completely sure if he could take Subject Seven without getting himself killed in the process. He was close to the levels they’d reached with the original test subjects, but none of the original subjects had matured to Rafael’s level. Even with the procedures they’d used to chemically age the Doppelgangers, they were still physically not as matured as Seven. They weren’t likely to be as physically powerful. “If it looks like he has the upper hand, retreat and we’ll consider our options.”

Rafael tried to hide it, but she could see the arrogance in his face. He didn’t think he could take Seven, he knew he could take Seven. “Rafael, I chose you for this because you are one of the very best soldiers at my disposal. You are an amazing fighting machine.” She could see him resist the desire to preen. Evelyn did not give out compliments lightly and he knew it. “But when he was ten years old, Subject Seven was already stronger and faster than you.”

Rafael blinked, surprised.

“Listen carefully to me. If he did escape from us, if he wasn’t abducted, then he killed over ten people the night he escaped. He injured or crippled twenty more. Do not assume that he’s weaker than you or slower than you. And just because he hasn’t been trained by us doesn’t mean he hasn’t been trained. Do not underestimate him. Do I make myself clear?”

Rafael snapped to attention, duly chastised. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Come watch this tape with me. Look for any weaknesses and help me decide what’s going on with the rest of the people with him.”

“Do you think they’re like him?”

“Not quite. Either they’re some of ours, or they shouldn’t exist.”

Intrigued, Rafael sat in one of the chairs George offered and started watching the tape.

Theyentered the Stevenson Hotel through the front doors, and while a person or two might have questioned why they had wet pants and shoes, no one gave them grief.

The wound in Joe’s arm was almost completely mended. His dress shirt was gone, left in the sewer because, as Joe had learned over the years, people might not question dirty pants, but they always asked about bloodstains. The hotel room door opened just like it was supposed to. Joe Bronx walked over to the dressers and promptly began pulling out clothes as the Others stood around looking at him.

“What are you doing?” Not-Gene looked at the dress slacks, the sets of shoes and the accessories, for men and women alike, and scowled, not with anger but curiosity. His face was an open book, and that was fine with Joe. His mind was already an open book. He couldn’t exactly read all of the guy’s thoughts, but he could come close. It was one of several things that separated him from the rest of the Others. Not-Gene was curious. He was waking up more every minute, becoming a real personality instead of a puppet. Joe wasn’t sure if he liked that part.

“What are we doing,” he corrected. “We’re going out. We’re going to have a nice dinner and we’re going to party.”

“Cool.” Not-Tina smiled. Her face lit up when she smiled. The rest of the time she just looked like a girl ready to go on a killing spree. Her mind was not as much of an open book. She was like looking in on a gathering storm, her mind adrift with violent flashes of rage and overwhelming sensory winds. Somewhere in that hurricane were thoughts and emotions that were easier to read, but like the rain-drops in a storm, they seemed almost inconsequential.

“Why?” Not-Gene again. He was a downer.

“Because we can.” Joe shrugged and tossed a pair of charcoal slacks at Not-Gene, who caught them easily. “Those should fit. I had to guess, guys. We’ve never really met before.”

Not-Gene was not modest. He stripped out of the too tight clothes and quickly began to dress.

“We’re going to have a proper talk, boys and girls. You see, our counterparts, they’ve got certain impressions about us. I helped them have those impressions. I intend to make sure they keep those impressions for as long as possible.” He threw more articles of clothing and watched as the others got changed. Not-Kyrie was surprisingly shy. Not-Tina stripped down without hesitation.

He enjoyed both views.

“What do you mean?” Not-Kyrie asked the question as she slipped into a pair of shoes that looked slightly too small.

“I told our other selves that we were looking for a way to coexist.” Joe looked from one to the other, doing his best to read their faces. “That’s not quite true.” He waited until he had their attention, all of them. “I intend to find a way for us to keep living while they go away. Permanently.”

They listened, but none of them said anything. They still had so much information to absorb.

When everyone had finished changing, he went into the bathroom and lifted the top off the back of the toilet. There, taped carefully in place, he found the stack of twenties he’d hidden away.

When he moved back into the room, Not-Kyrie was putting on a light layer of makeup from the small collection he’d purchased earlier. What the hell did he know about cosmetics? Only enough to know that some girls wouldn’t willingly leave a room without having put the stuff all over their faces.

“So, here’s the deal. None of you have ID yet. We’re going underground after dinner.”

“Underground?” Not-Cody’s turn to frown in confusion.

Not-Tina answered first. “We’re going to clubs that are illegal. No carding, no getting kicked out for being underage.” Joe nodded. Like the others, she was getting more of a personality, more of a defined sense of self. She had been awake longer than most of them, well, more often, at least. Both Not-Tina and Not-Kyrie had served very important purposes since he’d awakened them.

Joe nodded. “We go in, we talk, and maybe we get lucky and score a few new friends for the night.” He made sure not to look at either of the women. He didn’t want them getting the wrong ideas. He wasn’t looking to settle down and sure as hell not with one of the women he’d be spending the next few weeks or months dealing with regularly.

Not-Cody looked grim. “What if they come back?”

Joe shrugged. “Then they come back. It’s going to happen. We can’t stop it. Not yet, anyway. I mean, I can help you wake up, I can keep you awake, I think, but sooner or later, Hunter will come back and he certainly can’t help you. Wouldn’t even if he could.”

“Why not?” Not-Cody. He was as curious as a baby, which worked well enough, considering.

“Because he thinks we’re the bad guys. We’re the monsters.”

Not-Cody seethed, his face twisting into a dark storm of rage. “They’re the ones keeping us locked up! Not the other way around!”

Joe smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, chief. You’re preaching to the choir.” He shook his head. “We’re going to discuss that very thing. We’re going to figure out how to get rid of them. All of them. Forever.”