*There is a prologue to this!!!*
To: Julian_Dair@whitehouse.gov
From: OriginalPreserve@OPI.com
President Dair,
For the past three decades the Original preservation inhibitor (OPI) has kept us one step ahead of the Clones. As you probably already know, the OPI piggybacks a Clone's brain and releases amnesic chemicals onto the brain synapses when a thought of intense passion, anger, hate, or rebellion crosses their minds, sending a belligerent Clone into a state of stupor. The OPI is implanted in every clone at the age of four, by law, and stays with them for the remainder of their lives. As a result the world has had complacent, peaceful Clones for thirty years.
But, addressing the recent Clone violence problem that has been called to your attention, the OPI can be damaged. This happens when a Clone's head is hit directly above the spot under which lies the OPI. Usually, such a blow is so violent that it leaves a Clone hospitalized where his skull can be x-rayed and, if the Clone is young enough, can be re-implanted with the OPI. If the Clone is too old, then he is sent to the Babilon Containment Center indefinitely.
Unfortunately, though, every once in a while a damaged OPI passes through our system undetected. Every once in a while a Clone gets out of the hospital with a damaged inhibitor. No longer can the actions of such a Clone be predicted. He is considered and almost always is, a hazard. Such a Clone will undoubtedly find the state of his race unfair and take violent action.
So President Dair, the OPI's are still fully operational and the recent Clone violence has been random and entirely by chance. It will not spread. Until we can genetically eliminate aggression, Mr. President, the odds are that we will have a little shooting and a little bombing from an extremist Pastless public. But theirs is the voice of a mosquito humming in the ears of a man with an iron hand.
CHAPTER I
Jordan Chioux tapped in the entry password and pressed “send”; hands trembling, heart pounding. The computer stalled for a few moments, blue screen pulsing, before the DCA's security system desktop unfolded itself on the screen and his security number appeared in the top right hand corner. Jordan inhaled shakily and his fingers wavered over the keyboard. Inadvertently, he glanced over at the tinted widows and double doors. He shouldn't have been so nervous. It wasn't like he was doing anything illegal. For the moment anyway. He was just a security guard logging into the system. The police weren't going to blast their way through the door and arrest him for doing his job. And besides, the Hyte had said the plan was foolproof. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing. Just enter a few passwords and toggle a few security cams.
Jordan closed his eyes and pictured the money they were wiring to his bank account at that very moment. It was strangely calming. “Nothing can go wrong,” he whispered to himself , switched on the Verbal Command speakers, and stole a final glance at the doors.
“Security Cams,” he muttered. The computer hummed and twenty-six video frames appeared on the screen. He nodded approvingly to himself as he looked over the vid feed. The building was nearly empty. Only a few high powered, caffeine loaded executives paced in their offices and every five minutes or so a secretary would saunter past a camera. The Hyte had picked the right time. No extra witnesses, no extra bodies. Jordan shivered nervously and swiveled around to another computer where he ejected it's memory chip. He knew so little about the “operation” the Hyte would be staging in less than ten minutes. Only that someone was going to die and that he could live comfortably for the next ten years with the money they were shutting him up with. He grinned. As long as he wasn't arrested he could care less if someone was killed. Loyalty nowadays was sold to the highest bidder.
Jordan plugged the MemChip into the dock and called up it's video file. He had recorded the camera footage of all the hallways in the DCA last night after closing time. All he had to do now was graft the video into each respective camera and set it to loop so that his clients could pass through the halls undetected. Unfortunately, that wasn't it. It was impossible for the office cameras to be looped, which was a temporary road block for Jordan. Office #16 had to be grafted. It was all well and good that his clients could haunt the halls like ghosts, but the man in office #16 was the target. And no evidence was to be left behind. It was just in and out. It had to be clean.
With a sigh, Jordan grafted the hall image loops into the cameras and opened the “O16” file. The man inside was sitting wearily at his desk, totally motionless. Jordan smiled. That would make his job all the easier.
“Record,” he whispered to the computer. All he needed was a ten second vid of the victim sitting at his desk. ...8...9...10...
“Stop recording.” The image froze, Chioux saved the file and then grafted the image into the camera. Jordan paused for a moment and then fell back into his chair, limp and exhausted. He felt like every nerve in his body was frayed and ragged. Like he was dropped off of a high like a rock. Assisting in murder was heady stuff. Especially when it involved the Hyte.
Trembling, sweating, he switched his throat mike on, “Okay. The place is sterile. You are now the invisible extremists.”
“I'd leave now,” came the simple answer and then his ear piece went dead.
“Don't worry,” Jordan muttered to himself, turning the computer off and gathering up his overcoat, “I wasn't going to stick around.”
*****
Benjamin Kanter passed through the doors of the Department of Clone Affairs, followed by two hulking accomplices, and strode purposefully towards the elevator. His face was stony and his jaw was set. Nothing could stop him now. No security guard or inquisitive secretary or locked door could keep him from completing his mission. When the Hyte asked you to do something, you didn't treat it lightly. You lived the assignment. You studied the assignment. You were the assignment. And besides it wasn't often that the Hyte dons handed you a gun and said, “Go make the world a better place.” It was an honor.
The gun tucked beneath Kanter's coat seemed to smolder slightly. How sweet it would feel to grind the barrel against Phillip Aston's skull. How sweet it would feel to pull the trigger... He smiled and punched the down button on the elevator panel. Trained hitmen were rarely passionate about there missions. For other assassins a mission was just a job. For others, the victim was just a paycheck. He supposed he was an exception to the unspoken rule. Then again, the Hyte only hired people that were vigilantes to their cause. And Kanter was their man. For years he had associated and collaborated with the Hyte and other Anti – Clone groups because of his hate of the Pastless. He would put a bullet through a Clone's skull if one got within ten feet of him. For Benjamin, killing a Clone was like breathing. Besides, it wasn't as if they mattered.
“Sixteenth floor,” Kanter said coolly to the computer as he and his men stepped into the elevator. The frame lurched and then rocketed up the elevator well, shoving a hundred pounds of pressure onto their shoulders. Kanter toyed with the silenced gun in his pocket and tried to imagine Secretary Aston's face as he flicked the safety catch off and pulled the trigger. For the past month Benjamin had immersed himself in Phillip Aston's history. He had studied his life, his books, his speeches, his family. Everything. On the more important jobs, the Hyte wanted their assassins to know precisely who they were killing and for what reason. Secretary Phillip Aston was, at 42, the loudest, most effective, most persuasive Clone sympathizer alive. In the past, Aston had rallied for Clone equality, for Clone marriage rights, for the halting of organ transplants, for peace, for unity. It was sickening. Here was one of the most influential men in the world fighting for the rights of a species that shouldn't exist in the first place. Fighting for the equality of a bunch of petri dish experiments and the products of geneticists playing God. Phillip Aston was an extremely disillusioned man. But he was convincing and persuasive and made many small but uncomfortable changes in the United States government. Currently, Aston was trying to pass a bill that began the halt of OPI implantations in Clones. It was outrageous. And he had to be stopped. If the bill was passed, unlikely as it was, life as Originals knew it would be shattered. The only way to stop the lunatic was death. Kanter was happy to oblige.
The elevator door slid open and Kanter stepped onto the sixteenth floor. A secretary in a kiosk at the far end of the hall glanced up. She pushed her glasses back onto her nose, “Can I help you, gentlemen? Are you here to see Mr. Ast...” She never got a chance to finish. Kanter's gun was already out of his pocket and shooting. A single bullet hole appeared between her eyes and trickle of blood ran down her face as she gasped for the last time and slumped over her desk. Kanter smiled grimly. One down...
“Okay. Jacques, Loch. No one is to come within fifty feet of Aston's office. Kill if you must, but I would prefer one other death tonight. Dispose of the woman's body. I don't care how. Thanks to Mr. Chioux we are invisible,” He nodded at the bulky giants in suits looming behind him. “I'll be out in five minutes.” Benjamin Kanter whirled around and trudged towards office #16. If there ever was a time to kill, now would be it.
*****
Phillip Aston typed wearily at his computer, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. He was exhausted. Just like he was every night. Exhausted so that his eyelids felt like bricks, his voice was hoarse, and no amount of coffee could stimulate his aching brain to function once again. Aston sighed and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee on his desk anyway. Somehow, he kept going. Like an insomniac with a death wish, Phillip Aston somehow managed to be the same charismatic, fiery, inspiring man the nation saw him as everyday. He could write speeches, harangue multitudes, create bills, and find time to eat dinner with his family. But only by the skin of his teeth. No matter how high powered or ambitious you were, you couldn't function on only four hours of sleep everyday. It just wasn't possible.
But Aston had a purpose and a mission. The welfare of the Clones of America. It didn't matter how tired he was, there was always another Clone being done an injustice, somewhere, somehow. And he had to fix that. For Phillip, it wasn't ever a matter of if he would fix something, but how he would fix it. Aston was a man of the people. The Pastless people. He would never abandon them just to catch another few hours of sleep. It wouldn't be right.
Aston finished the last few words of the department summary for the month and pressed “save”. Reverently, gently, Aston shut the computer off and collapsed it onto his desk. That was it. The last of the rabble rousing and mediating and typing for the day. It almost didn't seem real. He could go home now.
He sighed and glanced at the picture frame on his desk with his family's bright faces grinning up at him. He smiled. What he wouldn't give to throw his life of politics away and retire to his family. Forget the president, forget disasters, forget speeches and bills. Aston smirked and sipped the last of his coffee. Workaholics died at the plow. And if he retired now, it might be possible to die in a bed hooked up to a respirator instead...
There was a sharp rap at the door and Phillip looked up, startled. Who in the world would come to him at this hour? Maybe it was Janice, his secretary. Hastily, Aston tightened his tie and set down his mug. “Come in,” he said evenly.
The door knob turned and a man in a black leather overcoat and receding red hair stepped in. His eyes were like chips of ice; cold and hard. The man stopped in the doorway and stared, right hand embedded in his pocket. Aston frowned. Something wasn't right: Janice hadn't paged him. “Yes, What can I do for you? I don't think I have you in my appoint...”
The man smirked and put a finger to his lips, “The Hyte sends their greetings.” Phillip didn't even see the handgun emerge from the pocket and fire two bullets into his head, shattering his skull like porcelain. His body jerked back, an obscene life sized rag doll and he toppled over the side of his chair, his mouth open in a silent scream. Secretary of Clone Affairs, Phillip Aston was dead before he hit the ground.
*****
Benjamin Kanter allowed himself a small smile and then casually deposited the two bullet casings into his pocket. It had been too easy. But then again, Kanter hadn't been expecting much from a 40 year old politician. He cast a final glance around the room before he shut the door and strode towards the elevator as if nothing had happened. Within the minute, the two bullets lodged in Aston's skull would be dissolved by a capsule of acid hidden in each one, leaving nothing but a pair of smoldering holes in the politicians brain.
His smile broadened. He couldn't be caught now. Forensic science was a thing of the past. Phillip Aston's murder would remain unsolved for decades. That thought gave Kanter a sense of accomplishment as he stepped into the elevator with Jacques and Loch by his side. It meant, every time he completed an assignment that he was a professional. That was the most impressive credential he could possibly hope to have. And he belonged to the Hyte. God could only help the next unsuspecting Clone or politician that Benjamin Kanter was sent to eliminate. For there would be nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
The above was just the main thing I noticed on first readthrough
Once again, another well-written peice. I like your style of writing, it's to the point without being blunt, very impressive. And even better, you seem to know what you're talking about. There's nothing worse than a writer who doesn't know a single thing about the topic of their story. So thank you.
You could either lengthen the time the reader spends with each one, and thus increase their knowledge, or you can leave this chapter as is, and in chapters to come have more space inbetween.
I am so happy I took the time to read it! Kylan, That was really good. Like 'Jules the jester' said...Who are the Hyte? The rest I got. Cloning is so fun to read about! If there is more later, I will SO read it. If not, It still rocked. Keep it up.
I'm typically a pretty harsh critter. That said, there is a nice plot setup here that I look forward to you developing. I'll try to get to chapter two in the near future, but I do have finals, so it might be a while.
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