Nathan froze in terror, his hands clenching down hard onto her shirt and his eyes closing so tightly he was worried they would never open again. As for his protector, her eyes popped open immediately and she quickly turned her head back towards the car behind them. It was an old beat up sedan from the United States. It was built before the unification of North America, when cars still used gasoline. The sun was on her back, which unfortunately meant it now glared into her eyes as she looked upon the man who got out of the car.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She jumped to her feat and pushed Nathan onto his, shouting as she did, “Run, run!”
He took off without thought and ran as quickly as he could, though soon he stopped and looked back, realizing Ophelia, his beloved protector, was refusing to move. She had stood up, of course, but she stayed there and gave a horrible stare towards the man. He was just like them, she decided. The man had a white shirt and black tie, not to mention the horrendous amount of stains, all of scarlet, running down it.
“My name is Atlas,” he said, shutting the door and walking closer. As soon as he got within a few feet of her, he knelt down to her level and continued, “Is everything alright? I don’t think it’s often that two children sleep in the middle of the road…”
“We’re poor!” she shouted, interrupting him.
He let out an innocent laugh and replied quickly, “Still, even the poor sleep in some sort of shelter, lest they don’t care about being struck by a passing car. I take it you’re here hoping to find help.”
She tried her best to seem taller, as though it actually mattered. Sucking up all her pride and letting loose, she said in a vindictive voice, “There isn’t anything wrong, go away.”
“You’re covered in mud and you smell like a pig’s ass,” he shot back to her, snickering all the while.
Atlas was no farther than two feet away from the girl, but he never expected the suddenly swipe. For a second he blinked his eyes erratically and shook his head, unsure of what had happened. As he regained his composure, he realized the girl had a moderately sized rock in her right hand. With a swift hit, he fell back and gave her enough time to shoot forward and off into the hills, avoiding the road entirely.
As he watched her disappear into the distance, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. he didn’t want to answer, knowing entirely what to expect from the other end. If it was Haden, which he knew it wouldn’t be, then the conversation would be little more than a message.
Ignoring his disposition, he reached into his pocket and, without looking at the picture of the caller, answered with a spitefully apathetic tone, “Yes?”
“Atlas, are you able to talk?”
Just as he had expected, it was Helios. Begrudgingly, Atlas replied, “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”
Without any delay, as though he were reading off of a script, he said, “We sent two men over to a small vagabond city on the outskirts. They were to question some residence as to whether or not Elizabeth MacArthur had recently visited. Unfortunately, while they did so, they ran into her.”
Atlas felt his stomach sink. He already knew the end to it, especially if Pallas was involved. With exception to Virgil, he knew of no one else other than Pallas who was in the region.
“Are you still there?” Helios asked as the silence grew a bit overwhelming.
“Yes, sir, I’m listening.”
After a second to gather himself, Helios replied, “Unfortunately, she attacked them and in the scuffle she was shot twice. Pallas tried to question her as she died, but apparently she was unable to answer anything. If it validates her death at all, she had shot her brother-in-law and his son, not to mention her own sister. Apparently they did it so that you wouldn’t find them.”
“Thom agreed to help,” Atlas said, nearly interrupting his commander. “He gave me their address. Apparently they’re all Advent sympathizers. So, what do I do now, sir?”
“After you’ve finishing talking with Pallas we’ll see where we can go from there.”
One by one the bodies were scanned. Tiny beams of green light shot out from fixed position on the long plastic ceiling of the coffin-like chamber. Instead of digging through the insides of the body, it scanned every inch and every fiber. The machines were so excellent at doing their job that it was theorized they could identify the shape of each Atom now laying dormant in the body by using only half of the magnification the sensors actually used.
As for the person being scanned, she was barely into her fifties and her face spoke of a difficult life. Her skin was bruised in many spots and imperfections sat scattered all across her back and her knees. Her black hair was combed back and now hung off of a small platform, the one she laid upon. Not five feet away was her husband. Between both of them was Samuel.
Pallas grew impatient and sighed heavily, groaning at the idea of having to wait around. His head bobbed back and forth, all the while whistling a roaming song without a hint of even a tempo. Men and women of the Inspection Ops team from Black Sun scoured the house, searching every inch for that one piece of evidence that they needed.
Unlike Thom, whose eyes sat nearly blinded and infected by sloppy work, those in I.O. had the finest implants. Like most people, they replaced a natural body part with one of more value. The same was said for most snipers, whose sight and ability to hold their rifle still often failed them as they grew older. In regards to Pallas, however, he had far too much replaced to actually count. The only exception was his eyes, which he openly claimed were perfect.
“Why did you execute Elizabeth?” a man asked as he came in from the front door.
Pallas jumped to his feet like a spring and peered around the corner, watching as Atlas gave him a cold stare. With a wicked smile, he let out a barking laugh and walked over to him. The two men were quite different in both size an height, Atlas winning both.
“Calm down, Atlas,” he said, patting the man on the shoulders. “She was carrying a pistol on her and when I caught up, she pulled it on me. Thankfully I was able to react quick enough and BOOM!” he shouted, his hands coming together and imitating an explosion. “No more Adventist to worry about, eh?”
A feeling of hatred filled him, but Atlas ignored it. The years on the Southern Front had forced into his psyche the ability to willingly chose his emotion, though it rarely worked as he tried to perfect it. At times the anger would return, finding itself being expressed needlessly in a situation which had no use of anger. Nevertheless, at that moment, as he stared down into Pallas’ eyes, he tried his best to hide it.
“She could have had intelligence on the whereabouts of Evelyn,” Atlas finally replied.
With a snicker, Pallas said, “And I’ve got this fantastic bridge down near Iguala that I really want to sell you – only forty Amero’s. You’ll even get a couple of free Yid’s.”
