Prologue

Time: Present Day, 1037 hrs

Location: Baltimore, MD

MAN:                         Are you certain that you can bring me in safely?  I know they are watching.  Even now, they could be monitoring this call.  Is this line even secure?

UNKNOWN:             As I told you at the beginning of the conversation, the line is secure.  And I promise you will have total protection and complete amnesty of any criminal activity you were involved with in regard to the organization.  Just get me all of the information I have asked for.

MAN:                         I promise to tell you all I know.  I just want you to guarantee my safety.

UNKNOWN:             I promise that no harm will come to you, Mr. Anderson.  Now, tell me everything…

Chapter 1

Time: 1841 hrs

Location: Classified

General Robert Michaelis looked down at the glass of brandy held in his right hand, observing its golden-brown color, which fluoresced the light from the wood burning in the rustic marble fireplace.  It was the only light in the oak-paneled room. As the brilliant glow covered his face, his gaze then moved back to his best friend and ally, General Mitchell Schultz, who sat in a chair next to the fireplace.  Both were the same rank—four-star generals—and commanders of the most highly trained elite and top-secret paramilitary unit in the United States.

Michaelis and Schultz were both graduates of the highly esteemed military academy, West Point, one of the most respected and celebrated academies in the nation.  Upon leaving, they thought their paths would never cross again in their military careers.  However, the military, like many other things, was just another small world.  Special Forces Command had unintentionally reunited them once again.

Within the sector of Special Forces, Schultz had pursued a career in counterterrorism, constantly deploying to various third-world countries as a ‘last respondent.’  His sector nickname—Santa Claus—was a twisted reference to his jolly nature of “dropping off gifts to all the good little boys and girls” to cleanse parts of the globe of government corruption and terrorism.

According to Michaelis, it took a very special person, like Schultz, to do the dirty work of the sector.  Although he, too, joined Special Forces, Michaelis was interested in the training and assessment management of Special Warfare Development.  In this sub-sector, he, along with psychologists and experts in unconventional warfare from around the world, supervised the design and implementation of recruitment battery tests to select candidates for Special Forces.  He even had the distinct honor to meet some of the personnel responsible for creating a program more effective, more lethal, than the widely recognized moniker, SEAL Team 6, which they later called Project Red Eye.

It was a program, however, Michaelis regretted to ever have been associated with.  Yet now, present day, the memories of the program’s insidious design were resurfacing.  As Schultz was trying to convince him of a newly discovered potential asset for the Special Warfare Development to benefit the United States’ national security, the harsh combination of fear and regret settled over him.  He had already seen the program once…he could not allow it to be used again.

“Mitchell, you are chasing ghosts,” he said confidently.  “You may think you have the solution to our nation’s security, but you do not know what you are getting yourself into.  This is nothing but a hoax.  “You would never—”

“What?  Find them, Robert?” Schultz interrupted.  “Like these guys are that fucking secretive?!  I have dealt with much worse, even mutants for Christ-sake!  I am used to managing individuals like this, my friend.”

“Well you can’t,” he exclaimed in a rigid tone.

Schultz was skeptical now.  “And why is that?  Because this is a just a so-called hoax, or is there something you wish to tell me?  You want to explain yourself?”

Michaelis sighed, realizing there was no way around the subject.  “These men that you’re so interested in finding were part of an elite group within Special Forces.  They were the finest soldiers ever to be used in this sector.  But even if you found them, wherever they may be, you do not know what they are capable of.”

“Finally, the truth comes out,” Schultz said, glaring deep into the Michaelis’ eyes and smiling.  “Sounds like you really knew these men and their backgrounds.”  The answer was clear on Michaelis’ face.  Yet it was apparent that he was ashamed of the fact.  “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you do know?” he suggested.

Michaelis cleared his throat and took another sip of brandy.  “You see the news.  You see the countless reports of the wars oversees and our nation’s promoted self-righteous motivation to continue to intervene in the plethora of global issues.  It all stems from money, weapons, and our government’s ridiculous and ill-qualified ways of conducting diplomacy.  A while back, one of our researchers put the U.S. war count at 74, with many being unannounced or undeclared war against enemies that sought no political or strategical gain.  But how does one treat such a poison?

“You treat poison with a different kind of poison,” he continued.  “The U.S. government claims that it does not conduct political assassinations.  Back in 1976, then President Gerald Ford signed an executive order stating: “No employee of the United States government shall engage in, or conspire in, political assassination.”  We both are aware of the outlandish nature of this claim, given by the extensive list of U.S. involvement in coups and assassinations worldwide.  But what you did not know is that the assassinations were conducted by my predecessors from Special Warfare Development.  And that is from where these three men spawned.

“These were the perfect assassins.  But unlike their counterparts, who understood that the assigned missions were just ‘jobs’, they obsessed over the brutality offered by their environment.  So much to the point of being insane and unethical.”

“Well, isn’t brutality part of the job for our soldiers specializing in unconventional operations?” Schultz interrupted.  He was beginning to get confused as to what his friend was trying to explain to him.

Michaelis’ head was shaking.  “No, you don’t understand,” he said.  There was a distinct shiver in his voice.  “They would not only assassinate the target, but—without orders from their command—also murder civilians.  Innocent men, women and children.”

Schultz was looking at Michaelis intently.  “Our sector would never authorize such an action.  Although that certainly exemplifies efficient containment.”

“Not exactly,” Michaelis said, hesitating to speak his next words.  “The bodies would always be found stripped naked, completely disemboweled and flayed, with only the skins left behind.”

“Flay?” he said in disbelief.  The blood drained from his face.  “So, you found only the skins and not—”

“Yes,” he said, while placing his left hand over his face to hide the wave of nausea.  Michaelis did not feel it necessary for Schultz to go into further detail about the gruesome findings.  “Understand, these were men without a conscience, without any boundaries, prone to disobey orders without the fear of being caught.  We speculated their reason for flaying their victims was to debase the bodies of their tainted outer structure, similar to some controversial religious beliefs.  They tried hard to hide the evidence of their actions.  But eventually, the other soldiers found out about their unusual activities and reported it to their command group.  Considering that the men’s instability could be a liability to the sector, command’s orders were that the three had to be eliminated.  Termination was planned to take place in the Sahara.  Unfortunately, command lost communication with the Special Forces group, so it was assumed that the allies within the group were killed.”

“Killed by just three men?” General Schultz asked, still amazed at the potential.

“Yes, Leon, Simón, and Dean Vegas.”  A hellish chill crawled down Michaelis’ back as he said the names, which were more unique than any he had ever heard.  Just stating the names felt like someone was sliding a knife down his spine, prickling down his skin, causing the small hairs to stand tall.  “They were brothers.  Triplets.”

“Brothers in arms.  Literally.”  Schultz smirked.  “Very interesting.  So then what happened to them?”

“Well, we seriously questioned the possibility of their survival.  If our assets did not kill them, they would have died in the Sahara, being an environment as desolate as its temperatures lethal.  We assumed they died.  But then a few years ago, one of our observation satellites picked up something.  It was an abandoned campsite.”

“An abandoned camp site?  In the Sahara?”

“We scanned the area.  Digital photos were then sent to a research team to analyze the data and investigate the matter further.  They later discovered that there was some kind of underground facility beneath the camp.  And then that is when we found evidence of the soldiers’ survival.”

“What evidence?” Schultz asked with great confusion.

Michaelis answered, “We received communication from someone that used to work with an organization that he was reluctant to speak of.  But he did, however, mention the name of someone who previously worked in our sector of Special Warfare Development.  Apparently, a pioneer in our military research.  His name was Salvador Dorado.  Apparently, he was the organization’s lead research scientist for a highly specialized program they called Project Red Eye.”

Schultz was frustrated now.  “I have never even heard about this program.  We have the same top secret security clearance, along with other things.  Why wasn’t I, too, informed of this?”

“Mitchell, this program was so dangerous that it had to be hidden from the world," Michaelis cautioned.  It was led by Dorado himself, and nobody but him worked on this assignment.  I never met him, and I have very limited knowledge of the program.  But I know that the program was exceptionally selective, even being deadly during its admission.  In Dorado’s mind, he wanted these men to be so mentally broken down, so disciplined, they would be absent of any human emotions.  In the end, they would not question any order, nor fail any mission given by a controller.  They would be the perfect soldiers.”

“A perfect soldier?” Schultz questioned the possibility.  As if there was such thing.  “Even our Special Forces soldiers have imperfections, although quite minimal.  But they are still human, which is a weakness in itself.  And that is something that cannot be removed.”

Michaelis anticipated the comment.  “Actually it can.”  He paused, getting up from his chair and moved to his desk.  “That is exactly why, Mitchell, the program’s extreme level of secrecy existed.”  He reached into the top draw of his desk and pulled out a large, string-tied, manila folder, throwing it to Schultz.  It appeared old, etched with scratches and dents from overuse, and had a large red label stamped to the top.

TOP SECRET

“Read this, Mitchell.  Only then will you understand,” Michaelis said.

Schultz opened the folder, revealing Dorado’s personal scientific journal.  His eyes were locked on the priceless artifact.  It was like holding the Devil’s bible.  He opened the book to preview the pages.  There was one part that included the admissions procedure of the program, Project Red Eye.

//…START CONFIDENTIAL REPORT…//

18June1993

2. Methods

2.1. Subjects and Procedure

Subjects were recruited for a randomized study of a recorded intervention aiming to improve the military’s knowledge and understanding in the control of combat stress reactions in a high-intensity training environment.  In addition, the study aimed to investigate the factors desirable for the “perfect soldier.”

All subjects planned for information about a clinical trial in phase 2.  They were included in the intervention study by a study psychologist in connection with the program about the clinical trial.  No other inclusion or exclusion criteria besides applicants to the clinical trial were used in the study.  All subjects were service members, at least 21 years of age, possessed the Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) rank of at least ‘Sergeant’ (or equal rank), demonstrated exceptional skills in combat/ leadership/ problem-solving (based on evaluation reports from respective units), and considered exceptionally fit (based on scores from physical fitness tests from respective units).  Clinical data were collected from subjects’ medical files (from respective units).

2.2. Phases and Instrumentation

Phase I:  All subjects underwent intense physical training.  Training included ruck marches (30K-50K), advanced land navigation, several obstacle courses, and combatives training.  In combatives training, the subjects completed at least 1,200 hours of hand-to-combat, and 800 hours of knife training.  In addition, all subjects were included in the Repair Program for further testing.

*Special Note 1:  Combatives Training instructed the fundamentals of punching and kicking, ground fighting techniques, chokes, arm/leg bone-breaks, and body manipulations.

*Special Note 2:  Knife Training focused emphasis on the following items: SOG Seal Knife, Karambit, and Push Dagger.

*Special Note 3:  The Repair Program was aimed to torture the subjects in order to mentally/physically “repair” their weaknesses.  Subjects were placed in the Repair Chamber, while strapped to a mechanical chair.  Once secured, a guard explained the procedure and began the session.  Torture methods included punching to any bodily extremity, water boarding, whipping, and flogging.  Throughout the procedure, both a physician and psychologist were in the room at all times to monitor the pain threshold and overall health of the subject.

Phase II:  Upon completion of Phase I, subjects underwent a clinical trial, experiencing acute behavioral disorganization and mental fatigue.  Many subjects exhibited symptoms of mental illness (such as panic, depression, and hallucinations); however, they were still fully operational at the conclusion of Phase II (based on clinical data).  Subjects remained under close supervision by psychologists during phase 2.  Also, all subjects were admitted to ‘The Nightmare’.

*Special Note:  ‘The Nightmare’ program simulated the death of people, particularly a subject’s loved ones.  Prior to the program’s commission, it was highly debated whether the deaths should be simulated or real.  Since the aim of Project Red Eye was to protect the United States, harming civilians during training would violate that goal.  All subjects were placed in a locked room, in front of a glass chamber.  A guard would speak to the subject while using an intercom, and explain the procedure; however, unknown to the subject, the event would not be real.  Once the procedure had started, the subject would be forced to witness their family slowly die in the glass chamber.  The purpose of this was to force the subject to experience a terrible loss, especially one involving their loved ones.  Theoretically, if the subject thought they had no family, then there would be no emotional motivation to deviate from a directive.  Thus, the subject would be fully detached from all human emotions, and much more committed to following an order.

2.3. Statistical Methods

The two randomized groups in the study were humans and mutants, both well balanced in respect to their demographic variables, which were included using multivariate logistic and linear regressions (see Figures 1 and 2, and Tables 3 and 4).

3. Results

3.1. Subject Characteristics

A total of 200 subjects participated in the recorded study, 197 (99%) died during the experiment, leaving 3 (2%) subjects that finished the study.  It was found death was a direct result from psychological trauma to the frontal lobe.  High stress reactions damaged subjects’ motor functions attributed to logic, speech and judgement, thus causing lethal paralysis to the brain.  Those subjects were included in the clinical trial, and as presented elsewhere in this report, the subjects showed highly favorable stress reaction levels for all phases of testing.  The subjects’ demographic and clinical data are presented in Table 1.

3.2. Associations between mutants and humans and demographic factors affecting psychopathy and mortality

Figure 1 presents the results of the univariate and multivariate analyses of associations between the mutants and humans and demographic factors affecting scores of psychopathy, linked to mortality.  Lower mortality rates were associated with humans in both the univariate and multivariate analyses.  In addition, a similar result was found for “obeying orders”, where disinclination to follow orders was predictive of humans.

4. Conclusion

In summary, rates of higher mortality and obeying orders were related with mutant clinical trials.  Unfortunately, there was no association between any demographic factors found, including the ability of the mutant.  Yet the 3 subjects that survived the experiment were human.  Pathology reports confirm the latter, as mutations would have been seen in the blood samples.  Is this a new hope for the advancement of humanity?  Regardless, results indicate that further experimentation at increasing military knowledge and understanding of controlling combat stress reactions may improve rates of mortality in high-intensity training environments.

Salvador Dorado, Ph.D.

Chairman, Project Red Eye

//…END CONFIDENTIAL REPORT…//

Schultz finished the journal entry, sipping the remainder of the rich, golden brandy in his glass.  His face looked speechless.  He then looked at Michaelis, while still holding the journal.

“Is this the only copy of this journal?” he asked, holding up the folder.  His eyes now pierced those of Michaelis, hoping to chisel out the truth.  But he afforded him no time to respond.  “Robert, does anyone else have any knowledge of this?” he asked.  “And what about the drawing at the bottom?” Schultz’s eyes fixed on the page.

At the bottom of Dorado’s signature was an ornate symbol, closely resembling Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.  But the body was split into two different sides.  One side had the same angelic face and humanoid representation, while the other side was overly-muscular.  God-like.

“Does this drawing mean anything to you?” Schultz asked Michaelis, even more confused.

As Michaelis stepped away from his desk, the light from the fireplace only added more contrast to the micro-wrinkles in his face, which only enhanced the visual display of his mental and emotional discomfort.  Why suddenly all of the questions? he wondered to himself.

“I have people still working on that, Mitchell.  It is probably a seal of some sort, like a family crest.  I doubt there is any significance,” Michaelis said, hoping his words would ease the mind of his old comrade and friend.  “And yes, this is the only copy.  The original.  The only people that know about this matter are you and I,” Michaelis assured Schultz.  “And we will keep it that way.  Anyone else that gets involved, we will ensure that they are silenced…permanently.”

Schultz’s eyes began to become narrower now as he exchanged his next words with Michaelis.  “By the way, what do you think the men did with the bodies after they flayed them?”

Schultz’s question was rather unexpected, throwing off Michaelis’ focus.  He continued to pace around the room.  “Well, I never thought of that before.  Maybe they hid them somewhere.  Again, trying to hide all evidence.”

“That’s my point though.  Why would you leave the skins of your victims behind if you are trying to hide the evidence?”

Michaelis stopped moving suddenly, and turned around to Schultz, perplexed.  “I honestly do not know.  Perhaps severe undiagnosed psychopathy?  Like you said, humans are not perfect.  Neither is the human logic.”

Schultz’s face went from a stern look to, quite surprisingly, forming a smile.  You really have no idea, he thought.  “So, you never told me the name of the person that reached out to you.”

Michaelis did not expect the inquiry, but nonetheless answered truthfully.  “Gary Anderson.  He is an architect from Baltimore.  I’ve never heard of him.”

“Me neither,” Schultz said, while leaning up from the creaking high-backed leather swivel chair.  He placed his empty glass on the side table nearby and began to stand up.  As he walked toward the door to depart from the meeting, he stopped suddenly, turning to Michaelis to set the stage for a final question.  “I do have to ask though, how we would even find Dorado, or even these men.”

General Michaelis exhaled.  “No need.  There is nothing that we can do at this point.  As I told you, you would be chasing ghosts.”

Schultz grinned, leaving the room without another word.

Five minutes later, Schultz had already cleared the security checkpoint, crossed the tarmac, and was walking up the ladder to his private jet.  The aircraft’s doors closed behind him, and the engines roared to life.  He buckled himself into his seat, and then took out an encrypted cellphone from the inside of his jacket pocket.

The cabin itself was similar to a luxury airliner, featuring the same amenities: a full-size bathroom, dedicated bedroom, furnished lounge, kitchen, and meeting room.  However, the high-tech windows exploited one of many of the aircraft’s deceptive capabilities, as the engineering was modeled after the F-16 Fighting Falcon.  Each window’s innermost layer was 0.5-inch-thick polycarbonate and molded to fit the frame space, while the center was 0.05-inch polyurethane bonding to the outer layer, a 0.125-inch layer of poly (methyl methacrylate), or acrylic glass.  The design was critical, as the jet was capable of speeds of Mach twenty.

Schultz gave the pilot, who was seated at the front of the aircraft and revving the engines, an elated nod in the anticipation of his next destination.  The jet would be there in under ten minutes.  As the aircraft continued to prepare for takeoff, he glanced out the window to see the view one last time.  Suddenly, the engines roared underneath.  Within 45 seconds, it had already climbed a height of 15,000 feet – just above cloud level.  Now hovering miles above, Schultz relished the sight of the tiny cluster of buildings.  The endless space felt so empowering.  He then returned his attention to the keypad of the phone and began dialing.  He is right, he thought to himself.  There is no need.

Within a few seconds, a voice answered on the other side.

Chapter 2

Time: 1041

Location: Washington, D.C.

The car gradually came to a halt as it pulled up to a brick house.  Despite the stunning foreground of the silver Aston Martin, the view of the house property was much more impeccable.  The bricks were handpicked from Italy, and vines grew over the sides of the house and towards the entryway, bearing pink and white flowers.  The walkway, of course, was a sight itself.  It consisted of an endless array of horticulture, including jasmine, lavender, tulips and roses.  Seeing the house of his ex-wife was part of a daily ritual for Victor Prescaro, every morning and every night to and from work.

Being a graduate of Harvard Law School and earning several diplomatic awards, his skills were undoubtedly fit for today’s society, where mutants and humans coexisted.  In the year of 2012, the Bill of Rights, like the Constitution of the United States, had undergone many legal and diplomatic modifications.  One of the modifications was equal rights for humans and mutants.  Not many changes were made to the laws that governed humans’ way of life; however, certain rules were set in place for mutants since their powers had potential for problems concerning social acceptance.  In order to maintain the enforcement and admission of these rules, the United States government commissioned an agency, the International Mutant Patrol Organization (IMPO), dedicated to one purpose: monitoring and securing the social, interactive environment of both mutants and humans.  As a Special Agent for Human-Mutant Life, Victor was one of very few people—an elite group—charged with the protection of both mutants and humans.

Victor felt a vibration and then a sudden ringtone.  He quickly grabbed the cellphone out of his pocket and placed the speaker to his ear.

“There has been a situation.  Report to headquarters immediately,” said a distorted voice, since this was a secure line.

The call immediately ended, and the phone was tossed onto the passenger seat.  He quickly accelerated away from the house.  While Victor’s left hand remained on the steering wheel, his right motioned to a back-lit remote-control box mounted to the center console of the car, activating a 120-decibel dual tone siren to alert others of his right of way on the road.  His past life lay behind in the far distance.

The Cadillac approached 60-mph, screeching through the neighborhood as school buses were finishing their morning pickups, and civilians left their homes to go to their jobs.  People are so ignorant, blinded to the real world, Victor thought to himself.  He could only think of the countless lives he had saved on multiple occasions, being a crucial asset to the security of mutants and humans alike.  It was interesting how his agency’s diplomacy influenced many aspects of daily life: education, politics, economics, employment, and above all else, the law.

The law was under direct control by the IMPO, establishing a strict judicial balance between mutants and humans; if that was ever hindered, there would be serious consequences.

That was not an option for Victor.

Chapter 3

Nearly fifteen minutes later, after speeding on the highway at 120-mph, Victor approached the IMPO headquarters, which was marked by a decoy parking garage building.  Being an underground facility, the agency was celebrated as the most secretive in world history, yet one of the largest buildings in the world and infamous for employing one of the most elite security systems known to man.  The building was about 6,500,000 sq. ft., of which 2,500,000 sq. ft. were used as offices and 1,500,000 was used as an ultra-maximum security prison; the remainder of the building’s infrastructure was classified, and not even Victor knew some of its purposes.  However, Victor did know that there were approximately 20,000 military and civilian employees—including both mutants and humans—and about 1,500 non-defense support personnel working in the building, which were strictly human employees.  The exterior of the IMPO had three sides, ten floors above ground, six basement levels, and hundreds of corridors per floor, amounting to a distance of approximately 35.5 miles.

As Victor approached the entrance of the false garage, he had his identification badge ready for inspection and prepared for his voice, facial, and retinal recognition scan.  Over the past twelve years working for the IMPO, all of the overwhelming security systems the building had to offer had become second-nature for Victor.  Although being a full-time employee and seeing the building on a regular basis, not a day went by that Victor was not impressed by its seemingly impenetrable security.

The car pulled up to the scanner, which was fixed to a large concrete post.  As Victor rolled down his window, two automatic gattling guns with depleted uranium rounds were raised from the ground on both sides of the vehicle.  Two lasers pointed at the frontal lobe of Victor’s head, designed to help the fixed gun emplacement follow but also anticipate any movement of an intruder.  Not even slightly intimidated, he continued with the scan.

[BEEP BEEP]…“Identification please…,” the scanner asked.

Victor calmly responded, “Victor Prescaro…alpha, zero, nine, nine, six, four, three...” 

As he stated his name and personal security clearance code, the scanner completed all other biometric recognition protocols—facial, vocal, and hand scans—and automobile inspections for weapons and other hazardous materials.

[BEEP BEEP]…“Access granted…Welcome Special Agent Prescaro…,” the scanner finished responding, and two 30-ton blast-proof doors in front of Victor opened with two red lights blinking at the top center frame. 

Victor continued to drive the car past four other fixed gun emplacements, and entered the parking garage.  Once out of the car, he approached an elevator, where yet another security scan was about to be initiated; however, this scan was not one that could be easily bypassed or manipulated.  Unlike any elevator designed in the world, the elevators at the IMPO required a personal key code and a fresh DNA sample for access.  It did not matter if there was one person, or multiple personnel.  The elevator’s scanner would override to a lockdown mode until all DNA samples were collected from all occupants.  Beeping sounds from Victor’s fingers typing on the keyboard panel echoed inside of the elevator.  Suddenly, a subtle hiss followed with another panel opening underneath the keyboard, with a well big enough to occupy a finger. My least favorite part, he thought.  Victor squeezed his lips together in discomfort from the micro-needle sampling his blood for a DNA scan.  No matter how many times he had done this, it always was an unwelcoming feeling at work.  Victor then pushed a button and the elevator started to move downward.

As the elevator moved, Victor glanced around the elevator, admiring the interior design.  Although the elevator was elegantly crafted with imported zebra wood and granite tiles, the elevators were fixed with hidden sensors that measured any [and all] biofeedback from occupants.  These sensors were so accurate, they could identify—in less than one second—if a person was under duress based on stress levels in voice patterns, or if there was simply normal activity.  In any hostile situation, the elevator was programmed to automatically go into a panic mode, in which it would deploy a nerve gas to temporarily paralyze any occupants, and then shut down the elevator’s control system until security personnel arrived.  In most situations, the security staff was the IMPO’s Level-1 Security Personnel, which majority of the special agents termed as Skins, based on their appearance and design.

The elevator stopped at its destination, and a subtle hiss once again followed the operating elevator machinery.  Immediately as the doors opened, a Skin greeted Victor, one of two that were stationed outside the elevator entrance.  Despite seeing the machines on a daily basis, he still marveled at their design, although it was a bit creepy.  These machines were built of titanium, covered in a tan-colored synthetic polymer, similar to that of latex, resembling skin tissue to make them look more human.  As a result, their bodies mimicked that of a manikin’s, except red lights and cameras replaced the eyes.  Interestingly, the cyborgs were immune to almost any weapon other than electromagnetic pulse (EMP) attacks, which proved to be quite effective in disrupting their computer programing.  But at the same time, the most dangerous thing about the machines was their functional ability as a group.

During any altercation, the cyborg’s computer system would record information about the hostile target and environment, then quickly calculate—with a speed of approximately 1,000 trillion calculations per second—the likelihood of neutralizing the situation.  If the situation were determined to be unfavorable, the system would automatically alert a team of fifty cyborgs to come assist the cyborg in distress within minutes, thus making them a more exhaustive force.

This was one of the most important hallways in the entire building, hence why it was so heavily guarded.  At the end was the office door of Victor’s boss, Monica Lewis, the IMPO’s Chief of Investigative Operations (CIO) and responsible for all investigative decisions and policies regarding human and mutant laws.  More importantly, she was also the only person for which Victor would have deliberately broken road laws, going thirty miles over the speed limit, to meet.  It was very rare to get a phone call from her extension—commonly characterized by the distorted voice heard twenty minutes earlier—as Victor was only required to talk with her during monthly meetings, usually over a secure line and pertaining to detailed briefings and updates on the IMPO training protocols.  Due to matters of personal security, their means of physical contact was always limited.

Victor opened the door.  The room was colored a pail turquoise and decorated with stainless steel walls, white marble flooring, ceramic light fixtures and teal blue leather couches.  As he continued to walk, Victor’s eyes eventually fixed upon Monica, who sat behind her stainless steel-glass executive-style desk.

To refer to the CIO as a powerful woman was a gross understatement.  The CIO, Special Agent Monica Lewis, was strong and tall, with soft pale skin, an unforgettable face, silver-dyed hair, and light blue eyes, which—despite having to deal with the agency’s dark secrets on a daily basis—never ceased to lose their glowing, sapphire-like appearance.  Being a natural-born leader, she was motivated by those who worked under her, while envied by those above her.  A brilliant strategist and the model of efficient investigative discovery, Monica ran her division of the IMPO with an unrivaled clarity.

Victor stopped and stood in front of Monica’s desk, surprised by the sight of her.  Her hands covered her face, resting her elbows on the desk.  Monica Lewis resembled nothing to a woman who wielded the power to control the investigative affairs of human and mutants.  She uncovered her face but did not look at Victor when addressing him.

“Special Agent Prescaro, please have a seat.”  Her voice, although subdued, had a notable rawness to it.

This was most definitely an unexpected emergency, Victor thought to himself.

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