Vs Reality (9 page)

Cole jumps into the glowing light and disappears.

Dia screams his name but it’s too late.

Paige looks up at her sister, eyes half closed. “I’m all right,” she whispers painfully; it’s all she can manage. “Just go.”

Dia quickly nods, and without a word she dashes towards the flickering light, pulling a knife from her belt as she runs. With the flick of her wrist the blade saws through her leather wraps, slicing her tender skin beneath. She dives in to the portal head-first. The light dies with the pop of a flash bulb, and then sizzles out of existence. All that remains are charred lengths of metal and a large black circle where the portal closed, scorching the pavement and turning the surrounding area to charcoal.

Multicolored streaks bend and sway, curling into the mouth of a pulsing funnel. Dia and Cole find themselves tumbling downward – or upward, it’s impossible to tell – spinning out of control like helpless children caught in a powerful undertow. Nearly a minute passes and they emerge from an opening in the sky, landing face-first into warm, white sand. It feels like they’ve fallen for several miles, but their landing was soft, almost controlled.

They slowly regain their footing and dust off their clothes. They find themselves standing in a vast desert, perfectly flat and never-ending, stretching forever in every direction. Everything is hazy and surreal; sharp fragments of a memory half-forgotten from a bad dream the night before. A few random trees, cracked and lifeless, dot the surrounding landscape, and tumbleweeds bounce gently along the sand. A crisp light pours from all directions, bathing the landscape in a perpetual brightness that eliminates every shadow. This entire world is bright and overexposed, like a yellowed photograph left to bake in the sun.

“Why did you follow me down here?” Cole asks, continuing to dust the sand off the front of his shirt with both hands.

“I don’t know,” Dia moans. “I was just asking myself that same question.” She brushes the platinum locks from her face. The bright yellow light is nearly washing her out, giving her blond hair and pale skin a ghost-like quality, but her sparkling blue eyes seem to radiate with even more electricity against the harsh glow. “Do you have
any
idea how dangerous that was?” she shouts. “What if I’d never made it through the portal? How were you planning to get out of here?” She glances around, squinting into the never-ending horizon. “Wherever the hell ‘here’ is?”

“I guess I didn’t plan that far ahead,” he replies through labored breaths. He’s enjoying the new physique, but this much muscle mass is difficult to move around. It’s exhausting, like wearing a suit of armor.

“So where is Goto?” Dia asks, crinkling her nose.

“I’m quite sorry,” a voice calls out. It’s an affected British accent, but it doesn’t belong to Goto.

They spin to find a towering man just a few arm’s lengths away. They’d just looked in that direction, Cole thinks; he was
just
gazing out in that direction and saw nothing. Just sand, flat and sprawling, no end in sight. And now he’s here.

The imposing figure offers a charming smile and spreads his arms wide; calm, inviting, and more than a little unnerving. “I’m sorry, Miss Davenport, but for you and your associate here, this is the end of the line. Access to The Basement is limited strictly to my employees.” His smile widens and he motions around him. “But welcome to my Backyard.”

The Backyard

The ominous figure stands perfectly still with his hands casually resting in his pockets. Apparently unfazed by the heat, not a single bead of sweat has formed on his brow despite the rising temperature.

“Who is this guy?” Cole asks in a hushed tone as he leans towards Dia, not really sure why he’s whispering.

“I was just wondering that myself,” Dia replies, equally quiet. “But if he’s the guy that I
think
he might be, I have a feeling that we should be running away…kind of now-ish.”

The man is dark-skinned, broad, and has very pronounced features; a long pointed nose, intense almond-shaped eyes and razor-sharp cheek bones, but the most striking feature is his head: he’s shaved bald with a swirling tribal tattoo inked on the back of his scalp, a thicket of wavy spikes wrapping around his ears and extending down his neck. He’s attired like a wealthy business man; his black suit and flaming red tie are perfectly tailored to match his imposing frame. His outfit is completed by heavy hoop earrings, thick gold rings, and an oversized gold watch – a very distinctive design, not unlike Goto’s.

Cold and calculated, the man waits for his unannounced visitors to respond.

“So…” Cole says, “this is weird.”

“So, Mister…Cole, is it? We haven’t been formally introduced, you and I, although I know you’re familiar with some of my Collectors.” The man removes his right hand from his pocket and extends it towards Cole and Dia, taking a few measured steps in their direction. “My name is Govinda, and I’m the Director of Operations here at the Global Liberty Initiative.” His voice is unnaturally deep and resonates like a thunderclap, echoing as if it’s coming from every direction at once.

Cole stands his ground. He slowly crosses his arms in a clear display of defiance. He’s not sure how Govinda knows his name, but that’s the least of his concerns at the moment.

With his gesture of goodwill being rebuffed, Govinda returns to a stationary position and returns his hand to his pocket.

Cole cocks an eyebrow, trailing his gaze up Govinda’s suit and back to his shoes. “Nice suit…Armani?”

Govinda touches the hem of his suit jacket, rubbing the fabric in between his thumb and index finger. “Ah, not quite. It’s custom made, actually. I was recently in Westminster so I stopped by Savile Row. Apparently that’s where Clinton gets his tailoring done, so I had to see for myself if their lofty reputation was warranted.”

Cole remains rigid, expressionless. “Sweet. If I ever get a job that requires a suit I’ll definitely check them out.”

An awkward moment floats by as the tension continues to hang in the air. Donovan can still feel the Muse pumping through his body; elevating his heart rate and causing a repeated muscle twitch in his chest and biceps. His hands ball into tight fists, knuckles cracking. His teeth grind like a tightening vise.

“Well,” Govinda replies, spreading his hands wide, “Mister Cole, I’m assuming you didn’t risk life and limb by throwing yourself through a pan-dimensional gateway just to talk about men’s fashion.”

“No. I came to do this.” Without warning Cole lunges forward and throws a jumping right cross, aimed squarely at Govinda’s sizable jaw line.

His target remains planted in place. Govinda doesn’t even flinch. He stands perfectly still, ridiculously calm and unconcerned.

Cole’s fist collides with a wall of electricity just inches from Govinda’s face. He bounces backwards, landing awkwardly on his side. It was as if he slammed into a transparent barrier made of concrete.

“I’m sorry Mister Cole,” Govinda says, with a tone so apologetic it nearly passed for sincere. “I should have explained something before we got off on the wrong foot. The Backyard is a custom-designed space that bridges your dimension with our facility. It works as a safeguard to stop any would-be intruders from following my employees through, and gaining unauthorized access to The Basement.”

Govinda gestures to the landscape, as if he’s actually admiring the eerie expanse. “At the moment, you can think of this as a sanctuary: a safe place where two parties can come together for friendly negotiations. No violence, no aggression, and no foul language.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cole responds angrily, rubbing the arch of his back as he lumbers to his feet.

“Well,” Govinda shrugs, “the language thing is more of a guideline, but we strongly discourage it.”

“You’re going to have to do something about this violence policy because I’m suddenly in the mood to kill you.” Cole tightens his fists once again and lowers his chin.

Dia slowly places her hand on Cole’s arm, wrapping one finger at a time around his shoulder. She squeezes gently and pulls, just a bit, indicating that they should relent, but he doesn’t move a muscle. She can almost feel the fury permeating from his pores, emanating like a heat wave.

“Ah, I see.” Govinda reaches down and casually adjusts his watch, twisting a gold dial until it locks in place and gives off a series of short beeps. “If you’re in the mood for a violent outburst you’ll have to wait three minutes, starting…now. I’m having the shields lowered and the process takes some time, but I’m sure we can think of something to talk about while we wait.”

Dia’s feelings of apprehension suddenly elevate to a chest-tightening panic.

“So I’m curious,” Govinda asks, bringing one hand to his chin, “why on Earth would you ever want to kill me?”

“You mean aside from the kidnapping and torture and generally being an evil sonofabitch?”

“Is that what your new friends have been telling you?” he says, once again feigning a look of concern. “I think you’ve got the wrong impression of the work we’re doing here, Mister Cole.”

“Tell me about it.” Donovan’s anger swells as the gold watch blips steadily in the silence of the desert, methodically counting down with each passing second.

2:31,

2:30,

2:29…

“People around the world are manifesting at random,” he explains. “They’re scared, confused, and
completely
out of control. We’re simply taking the necessary steps in order to offer them the assistance they so badly require. What are your new friends doing to help others like them, Mister Cole? And why are you so quick to trust them?”

Dia’s eyes dart nervously between Govinda and Cole, now squeezing his shoulder with an increased sense of urgency. A cold bead of sweat rolls down her neck, streaking her back.

2:11,

2:10,

2:09…

Cole shrugs. “So you’re an evil super villain
and
a philanthropist. I have to hand it to you, Govinda, I didn’t see this one coming. I was going to beat you to a bloody pulp, but as it turns out you’re just running a harmless charity.”

“
Please
,” Govinda says sharply, his voice dripping in condescension. “Don’t be naïve, Mister Cole: this is The United States of America. There’s no such thing as a non-profit organization.”

Dia folds her arms, trying to convey a calm demeanor, but her mind races. She knows that she’s seen this man before,
somewhere
, but she can’t piece it together. Buried in the deepest corner of her subconscious she can almost hear the faint echo of Govinda’s distinctive voice. She can vaguely recall the dark piercing eyes that bore a hole through you if you catch their gaze. The fragments are there, scattered and tossed into a messy pile…she just can’t assemble them.

Govinda absently adjusts his cufflinks while he continues in a more agreeable tone. “The work we’re doing is anything
but
charitable, though you can rest assured it’s an absolute necessity. Most of the targets have been fairly easy to acquire, but by the time we reach them they’ve already done a significant amount of damage.”

“So you what, just wait around for someone to trigger and then you send in your Collectors to grab them?” Cole asks.

1:20,

1:19,

1:18…

“More or less,” Govinda replies. “When one of you manifests, it’s really not that difficult to track you down. Not with our technology. We simply lock onto your heat signature and move in for an extraction. It’s become such a routine process that it borders on tedium. And of course we have eyes
everywhere
…it’s amazing how easily loyalties can be purchased, especially in this country. But the two of you have shown resilience and an ability to adapt that is
truly
inspiring. Miss Davenport, you’ve been of particular interest to our organization for quite some time.”

“Mmm.” Dia makes a barely audible noise, nodding, feigning interest. She flicks her eyes momentarily to his watch, trying to calculate how many seconds have passed. She’s lost track in her head.

“We missed you by a couple weeks in Fiji,” he continues, “and you briefly crossed paths with a few of our Collectors in downtown Sydney last spring. The closest we came to acquiring you was in Rome, but again, your unique ability allowed you to escape and disappear without a trace.” Govinda shifts his weight and clasps his hands together, taking a looser, more casual posture. “But now that I’ve got you here I just
have
to ask you something.” His tone becomes less formal, almost inquisitive. “I find it interesting that in every instance you chose to run instead of standing your ground. There was a time when you would have destroyed anyone in your path, reducing your enemies to dust. But maybe the rumors are true. Your powers
must
have been compromised far more than even I had anticipated…or so it would appear. Are you simply diminished, or have you softened after all these years?”

Dia does her best to mask her confusion, praying that the uncertainty floating like a haze behind her eyes doesn’t betray her. She nervously shuffles from one foot to the other, knowing that if she can’t control her emotions they’ll come flooding out from behind her wall of false confidence. “Don’t push me or you’ll find out.” Her glowing blue eyes radiate with electricity.

0:32,

0:31,

0:30…

The skin at the edge of Govinda’s mouth twitches with the onset of a condescending smirk, but he relents, and turns his attention back towards Cole. “And you, young Donovan Cole: your strength and resolve have been
extremely
impressive. Escaping the clutches of my two most experienced Collectors, not once but twice? The way you handled Mister Heinreich was truly something to behold. I almost hate to admit it, but even with our vast resources and detailed archives, you’re still somewhat of a mystery to us.”

“I’m not that difficult to figure out,” he says. Cole presses his fist into his palm, slowly cracking each knuckle. “I like to keep things simple.”

0:07,

0:06,

0:05…

Dia step back, very slowly, and prepares to make her move. She studies Govinda closely and waits for just the right moment.

0:02,

0:01…

He lifts his wrist and peers down at his watch.

It beeps loudly.

Now
.

She crouches and plunges her hands deep into the sand beneath Cole’s legs. With a snap of her wrists she tears a hole, ripping a swath of energy open as if she’s pulling a rug out from beneath his feet.

Before Cole can react he begins to fall through the opening, drowning in a waterfall of cascading sand that stings his eyes and fills his nostrils. He claws at the grains as he tumbles, trying desperately to climb out of the collapsing fissure that Dia has created. It’s useless.

She jumps in after him, grabs his ankles, and drags him down with her.

They plummet into a void of swirling light that quickly fades to a vast, gaping darkness.