A science fiction short story of revenge for the loss of a loved one. Then the tragic aftermath.

Work

Darkness swirled all around, like a thick fog. His heart raced, feet pounding the ground in a rage. Anger from the fiery depths of hell propelling him forward.
A loud yell could be heard down the hall, William Malcolm was sitting up in his bed. Back rigid, sweat soaked, eyes wide.
Had the dream again. Why can I not remember any details? it’s just running, and… Senseless anger.
Will shook his head. 
I’m getting to old.
Two feet landed on the floor as he swung his legs around outta bed. He stood.

“Good morning Mr. Malcom”

“Morning Aspen.”, Will yawned.

“Did you sleep well sir?”

Will walked to a place in his room, pressed his hand next to the panel, it slid up.

“Im afraid not Aspen.”, Will proceeded to relieve himself.

“Why not sir?”

Will finished his business, then went through the rest of his bathroom morning routine.
“Sir?”, Aspen asked again.

I’ve really got to get that AI to only repeat the question every ten minutes.

Now dressed and ready for work, Will started walking down the hall.

“Sir?”

Will stopped and sighed. He looked to his left, a showcase within the walls; suit of armor. Colored in gold and grey it hung, a few scratch marks here and there, a few dents. Fighting knives displayed to the left, an assault rifle on the right, a few clips ready for action along with it. 

“Sir is everything-“

“Everything is fine Aspen. I’ve just been having dreams, that’s all.”

“Would you like me to schedule an appointment with a psychologist?” 

Will shook his head, ignoring the question and giving one last glance to his showcase.

“Is the Firebird ready to go?”

“Yes Mr. Malcom”

A smile played across his lips.

From outside the garage, the old downtown district was in full view. Rumbling could be heard. Not a soul was in sight. The place was abandoned. A plastic bag tumbled across the drive in front of the warehouse garage door, like a tumble weed from the days of the wild west. The door slowly opened, it was barely open when a piece of red American muscle flew out the door, drifting the corner.

Will checked his mental checklist. Work, then date with the fiancé. She’s gonna love this car. Ahhh, tonight outta be good.

The sun rose to its peak in the sky, a bright ball of flame. Seemingly unchanged unlike earth. Earths so much easier to tell if something is changed. Landslides, earthquakes, urban expansion, earth changes, as does man.

“Mr. Malcom?”

Will looked up from his work. Slightly irritated, eyebrow quirked. “Yes, how may I help you?”

The two gentleman pulled out badges, “We’re from the Agency of Genetic Research.”

The genetics lab is upstairs. Will frowned.

“We’re here to ask you some questions pertaining to your father, including your childhood.”

Will’s temper somewhat flared. There had been enough investigation in his childhood, speculation he’d been experimented on.

“Gentleman.”, Will rose, “This issue has already been dealt with.”

“We’re aware of this. But, new technology has become available. We do have reason to believe you’ve been experimented on.”

“What’s your point gentleman? My father’s dead, are you going to put him in jail if he did?”

“We have reason to believe you have been.”

“Why’d you come here? I’m sure you didn’t just come to bring up the fact you have new evidence.”

“Let’s just say Mr. Malcom that you need to stay in town. You could prove to be quite valuable.”
“Get out.” Will was furious, but kept his voice calm.

“Have a good day Mr. Malcom.” The pair left, shutting the door as they left.

Will stood, both hands on desk, head down, an empty, plain coffee cup on his desk. Two seconds later, it was lying in pieces on the floor. One second earlier Will threw it, outraged at the door. Will sat down, head in hands, a slight groan escaping his lips. His chair squeaked somewhat as he leaned backwards.

Now that I think about it, I’m somewhat different than everyone else. I was the best in my outfit, those days of glorious fighting. Never surprised, never beaten, always the best. One round per dead enemy. Strength unmatched to. I don’t know if its old age or lack of exercise. I’m probably getting old, I exercise enough.
Will stared at the monitor. The aircraft on screen exploded in his head. How every part would work, how each motor turned, how each piston fired. If anything could cause wear on parts, Will was looking for it.
A noise drew his attention away from his mental analysis. Ms. Potts was at the door. Will frowned, she never physically came into his office without either introduction from herself or request from Will via telephone. A look of concern was on her face.

“Mr. Malcom?”

“Yes Ms. Potts?”

“Your fiancé’s been in an accident, she’s at the hospital.”

Will’s heart started racing. “What happened?”

“I was told it was a car wreck sir.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s at the Oak Hill Hospital.”

The keys jingled a bit as Will ran out the door. Ms. Pott’s was yelling something, but Will couldn’t hear her, his adrenaline was pumping.
Dear lord, I hope she’s alright. Please let her be ok. 
Will waited for the elevator to reach the basement level, the parking garage.
Hmmm, this morning, the agents, they were a bit suspicious. Oak Hill hospital is in the gang side of town. There’s gotta be a bit of a connection. Especially since Sara’s in a wreck.

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