Our sir's breath
quickened at Jackson's words as his gaze shifted down slowly to the
manila folder past to him moments ago. His hand moved away from the
cover of the folder revealing a word that was long since seen but was
so committed to memory that it might as well had been burned into his
brain. 'Rakshasa,' that very word had once held so much
mystery for our sir. But now, it was nothing more than a catalyst for
an avalanche of psychosomatic responses that threatened to transform
him into a wild animal once more, only this time, there might be
blood between himself and freedom.
Jackson paused and looked
over our sir's troubled expression and changed his tone. Now was not
the time to play the stone faced government agent, he thought. No,
what was needed here was an understanding and sympathetic approach.
He had to correct himself and play this right. After all, there was
no other option. Jackson waited until his eyes met with our sir once
more and continued. “I understand that this must be a lot to take
in. I'll admit that even though I was briefed on your history, I by
no means will ever be able to fully understand you. But what I do
understand is that if your former comrades are allowed to do as they
please, than a lot of innocent people could be hurt, or worse. Would
it be alright if I continued? Do you need a moment?”
Jackson's approach was
something that our sir was not use to, not one bit. His tone and
words were well chosen and though they did bring him some sense of
comfort, our sir could not fully lower his guard. But, there was a
nagging need to hear him, a desire to know more about what was
happening. Perhaps the bonds he shared with his team was stronger
than he realized, that, or their connection was out of his control, a
product of the innumerable experiments that they had all been
subjected to in order to forge them into a team. Either way, after
locking eyes with Jackson once more, he nodded hesitantly.
“Thank you... The
vessel they stole from the Soviets has been described to us as some
kind of mobile laboratory and communications relay. They refuse to
give any information beyond that, aside from the fact they they were
abandoning the project. They claim they have no idea why anyone would
want it. That said, it is possible the Soviets aren't telling us
everything. Your old team has made a make shift base inside the
damaged reactor and have stored the vessel inside. The protective
shield around the reactor does contain the radiation leak, but it
also shields the outside world from seeing what they are up too. That
degree of shielding paired with the threat of the radiation have
made it a perfect place for them to hide from prying eyes. Anyone
else would die from exposure, but what was done to you and your team
has made you immune to radiation, at least that is what I
understand.”
Jackson was not wrong,
many things were done to them, things that would make anyone question
the humanity of those responsible. It was true that they were all
immune to radiation, but as our sir tried to remember why that was,
he couldn't find the answer. There were so many conversations he had
overheard between scientists, doctors, and military officials that it
was all a blur. But there was always one voice that he knew would not
fail him. It was a woman's voice, the lead scientist, the one who
started the entire project. Our sir had always referred to her simply
as the good doctor or Doctor
for short. He never called her by name, but he did remember it.
Roshani, Doctor Roshani. Memories of the good doctor came back to him
in a flood, and with them was a sense of peace. She was kind to them,
all of them. Despite the fact that all the experiments and surgeries
they had gone through was her doing, she always reminded them that
they were still people and that what they were going through was for
the benefit of the world. It was during this reflection that our sir
remembered that it was from the good doctor that he first heard the
term Rakshsasa, and that he knew it was her term for each of
the members of the team. They all had their own names, but Rakshasa,
that was what they all were, what they still are.
With the image of the
good doctor fresh in his mind, our sir found the strength he needed
to open the cover of the folder resting on the table before him. But
whatever strength he found to open and reveal its contents,
immediately failed him when he gazed down at the photo that was
placed on the first page. It was an old photo, black and white,
tarnished on the edges, but still very much clear. There were seven
figures positioned together, all wearing matching combat uniforms and
a loose scarf wrapped around their necks. The only difference between
them were their faces, each one shielded from the world behind steel
helmets that were molded to resemble the skulls of various animals.
The reasoning for such a thing was lost to our sir, but he did
remember that it was partially about fear, and to instill it in those
they fought. The photo was taken by a cliff's edge, the vast hills
and mountains covered in verdant jungle. Our sir could feel the heat
and the humidity, his breath quickened, his eyes dilated, and his
muscles roared into action as he slammed the folder shut with such
force as to lock away the memories that he nearly pressed the folder
clean through the table as he defiantly screamed, “NO!”
Many a moment had passed
in silence, only the sound of our sir breathing heavily could be
heard as he tried desperately to regain his composure. Jackson knew
the situation was getting worse. He was going to lose him if this
kept up. But there was no going back, he had to press on, he had to
secure our sir's involvement, the alternative was a failure waiting
to happen despite what his superior's believed. No, he knew he would
have to press on and drive him to the edge. He would have to take the
risk. Jackson leaned in once more and continued, “We don't need you
to engage them, just observe. Your skills were infiltration and
espionage during your service. Your abilities make you the best in
the world at what you can do. On the plus side, we are very certain
they think you are dead.” Our sir raised his brows at this. Was
that true? How would anyone know that.
“You think, or you
know?” asked our sir meekly. “I think the fact that you were not
with them is definitely a good sign. We do not know exactly which of
them is calling the shots, but at most we know that four of them are
involved, which means that at most there are five. I read that one of
you was killed in battle during your service. I'm sorry for that. But
without you present, that means that only five of them remain. We
also have collected numerous reports of their activities over the
years. But up until now they were always alone, isolated, like you.
Someone is getting the band back together and they decided to leave
you out of it. A positive for us don't you think?”
It was true, they all
went their separate ways after what happened between them. But to
think that he was dead? It was possible. It wasn't like the people
who made them didn't have a means by which to control them just in
case they all went rogue. But he never knew what that thing was. In
fact, our sir had expected to die years ago, but just, kept on
living. He knew that something was not right but couldn't help but
think that maybe it was all a trick to keep them in check. No, it had
to be true. The others must have found some way to keep on living. He
was the strange one after all, why else did the good doctor label him
with the letter “X” and not a number like the others? “X” is
something you use to cross out a mistake or a failure. Our sir was
beginning to understand that if something could bring the others back
together, it was worth overlooking their relationship with one
another to accomplish that goal. He knew who was behind it then, the
only one who had the means and the words to get them to follow him
again. Our sir looked to Jackson and asked, “Do you think I can't
kill them? It would better for everyone wouldn't it?”
It was a moment of
weakness, Jackson knew that much, now was the time to make the push.
He would have to accept what happened next. Jackson smiled and
replied, “We don't want you kill anybody, not even them. The
government still considers all of you property and would rather see
them captured if possible. But I think we both know that will never
happen. All we need is for you to observe and report, that's it.
Besides, you are correct. I don't think you could kill them.”
Jackson's words hit their mark as our sir's face contorted into a
snarl. “Oh? And why is that?” our sir growled. “Because of
this...” replied Jackson as he procured a piece of paper from his
jacket's inside pocket. “Know what this is?” Jackson asked. “Your
laundry bill?” Our sir quipped. “Ha, funny guy. No, it's a
hospital bill. You know, for the twenty men you put there instead of
in body bags when they tried to apprehend you. You, sir, have a
heart. You, can be a hero.”
Hero? Him? No, the
thought was maddening. The things he had done, despite the greater
good they claimed it was for, was not the mark of a hero. He was a
soldier, nothing more. The very idea of that word being used for
someone like him threw him into a terrible rage. “SHUT UP!” our
sir bellowed as he stood throwing his hand apart and snapping the
cable linked between his restraints. Jackson's assistant, O'Neil,
scurried for a radio attached to her waist in the commotion. “Sir?
Should I-” her words cut off by Jackson who raised a single hand to
her and replied, “Wait...”
Our sir's muscles slowly
began to expand, a loud whirring noise emanated from his body as what
appeared to be steam trailed from his exposed skin. “Don't you ever
put that fucking word on me! If you really think war makes heroes
than we're done! I'm leaving. So I'll remind you why you should leave
them and me the hell alone!” Our sir proclaimed. Before Jackson
could even think of what to say, our sir vanished from his sight
instantly. He was shocked, scared even. The moment he vanished there
was a low thundering sound that echoed in the room to the point that
his ears popped and pained him. If not for the sounds of struggle
behind him, he would have gazed ahead of him forever, desperately
trying to comprehend what had just happened.
“What the-!?” Jackson
stood and turned around to find our sir standing behind O'Neil,
grasping her in a choke hold, her eyes rolling into the back of her
head as her breathing slowed and became ragged, arms desperately
trying to free herself in vain as they limply fell to her side. It
was madness to think it, but there was no other explanation. Our sir
had moved from one end of the room to the other so fast that
Jackson's eyes could not even follow it. He didn't want to believe
it, but the evidence was there, it was still ringing in his ears. The
sound from before, that loud thunder that echoed in the room, it was
the pressure. Our sir had moved so fast that the sudden change in the
pressure of the room's air created thunder, unbelievable.
Our sir had become a wild
animal, his gaze burning into Jackson. “Let me go. Or I'll kill
her...” Our sir proclaimed. Whatever it was deep down that lead our
sir to this moment was then suddenly diffused with ease at Jackson's
response. “... But you're killing her now.”
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