Page 9

Chapter Nine

Case

Ever since she has arrived, it has opened old wounds. Her mentioning McDonald’s has us all on edge, although she wouldn’t have any idea that is where Zircon died.

Zircon always received special treatment and once a month she was allowed out with a handler to get McDonald’s. Everyone loved her—it was hard not to. Our team had it embedded in our DNA. That’s what they do at Olympia, they genetically engineer children and train us into weapons. We were the first group they successfully engineered together.

We loved her from the second we were conceived. Each of us was an experiment, and while they never technically tortured us, we have always been closely monitored. And now they think they can just throw a random girl into the mix that somewhat resembles our girl?

It has to be a test; we just need to figure out what kind. Our time in the real world is almost up. The strongest teams are selected to train at Olympia University and given more serious missions. The weakest teams are cut and sent on their way, memories wiped. It would suck to wake up and just not know who you are.

Brennan called a meeting after our reaction to Jolie this morning. She hasn’t come out of her room, which is probably the safest course of action.

I am the first to arrive after we all went and cooled off. Each of us has our own way of letting off steam. Getting stoned works well for me, while Boston and Davis would have hit the gym, and Laughn would have gone to play with one of his pets. Marlow probably took a nap; stress exhausts him.

One by one, everyone slowly trickles into the room, Brennan being last, which is unlike him. We all take our seats and wait to hear what lecture he will hand down next.

“I just finished a Zoom meeting with Mr Z, and you all need to pull yourselves together. Jolie is passing with flying colours—you are failing miserably. Honestly, you are acting like a bunch of hormonal teenagers.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Boston bursts out. “That fucker genetically linked our DNA to Zircon. How do we just stop that? We physically can no longer have a Sixth. What the fuck are you hiding, brother? I know it’s more than you’re letting on!”

“You don’t have the seniority to ask such things,” Brennan snaps, deflecting like he always seems to be lately.

“Fuck your seniority. How about you go back to Mr Z and tell him we, as a group, said fuck you! One thing I have realised is we are his super group; he has invested everything in us. So, whatever his grand plan is, he better let us in, or we will walk.”

Boston has a good point. They need us; we don’t need them. None of us speak. We elected Boston as head of our team—the decision maker—when we were younger, and we will all have his back in public, even if we don’t agree.

“Do you really think threatening Mr Z will work?” Brennan questions.

We all shrug. What else can we do? I know Boston wants to make Jolie disappear. We will all go along with him if that is what he wants, but I’m questioning everything. Mr Z doesn’t do anything without a reason.

A massive screen lowers from the roof and Mr Z’s face appears; I’m not surprised he was listening in.

“Boys, it is good to see you all again. I’m happy to see my super team has grown some balls. I was worried you were all going soft. Though I must say, taking me on wouldn’t be very smart, especially with the information I have as of 0900 hours. Brennan was informed this morning and wanted to tell you in person, but since you all have a bee up your asses, maybe now isn’t a good time. What do you think, Brennan? Can they handle it?”

“I think now is as good a time as any, boss. It gives them a few months to get their heads out of their asses and prepare for stage five.”

Damn stages are how they class our progress. Even though most teams enter at stage two, we are the exception since we are the test dummies. I’m sure there is more to it, but even if there was, we wouldn’t be told.

Stage one is embryo to birth.

Stage two is birth to five.

Stage three is six to eleven.

Stage four is twelve to seventeen.

Stage five is eighteen to twenty-one.

Stage six is trained operative.

Not everyone makes it through all the stages, and each stage contains specific trials.

“We have captured Agent Trace.” Mr Z pauses, waiting for a reaction, and like good little robots we sit straight faced, just like he trained us to do.

“When?” Boston asks. “When did you capture him?”

“A little over a month ago.”

“Is he dead?” Laughn asks. Cracking his split knuckles, he waits for the news that Trace was executed. My earlier thoughts of him being with his pet were wrong; he has been in a fight.

“No, we are still getting the information we need from him,” Brennan intervenes.

“He fucking killed her. He should have been shot on sight. Who gives a fuck what he knows!” Davis yells. His temper can get the better of him when it comes to Zircon.

“That’s the part of the story you might want to be quiet for,” Brennan says. “We have reason to believe that Zircon is still alive.”

“Jolie,” I whisper, and Brennan nods.

A few choice words are slung around the room, but no one reacts too strongly in front of Mr Z.

“How long have you suspected that Jolie is Zircon?” Marlow asks Brennan.

“About a year. That is why I became her social worker, so we could watch her and find out if she is working for anyone. However, we have suspected she didn’t die since it happened.”

“And what did you find out?” I ask through clenched teeth, trying to rein in my anger.

“Not a lot. She and Trace have had no contact in that year. She also didn’t have contact with anyone else deemed suspect,” Brennan says, pulling down a white board.

“Does she know who she is? You have to know something,” Boston demands.

“She either knows everything and has excellent training, or she literally knows nothing. You are all expected to remain professional until we know for sure. Brennan will take her to see one of our doctors for testing. For now, I have to go, but Brennan can answer any further questions.” With that, he ends the call.

We all look to Brennan; we had a feeling he was being a shifty fuck—but a whole year? He should have said something.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with this information?” I ask.

Boston stands and paces the room, running his fingers through his hair. “How could you leave us in the dark for so long?”

“If I told you, all of you would have tried to save her. We needed to go slow and monitor her movements to try to flush out Trace.”

Brennan has a point; we would have barged in and fucked everything up.

“You kept Trace alive in case you needed to use him against her. What else don’t we know?” Boston stares his brother down.

“I can’t be sure, but she claims he’s her best friend. If he feels the same way, we can use her reaction to him being in harm’s way. It will give us a good indication if everything is a cover—she will have been trained to have no reaction.”

I tune out everything in the room, lighting a blunt. A year they have known where she was. For four years, they’ve kept us in the dark about their suspicions. They told us she died. There is more going on and they won’t tell us. There is a need to know, and they have only told us now because they have an agenda. We will have our own meeting without Brennan at some point—not in the house—to air our thoughts.

I need to see her, to look her in the eyes. Zircon’s crystal blonde hair is gone, hair previously so blonde it was almost translucent. Her front teeth were slightly crooked as well. Jolie’s eyes are the only similarity, and even those are not exactly the same.

I stand from my chair and exit the room; I hear the others calling after me, but I don’t care. The day she died, my heart was torn from my body, and for twelve months, I felt like I was physically dying from the pain in my chest. It still hurt after that, but when they sent us here, I could dull the pain with Marlow’s super drug and girls.

If I can hold her—just for a second—maybe I will know it’s really her.