Depraved by Trent Evans
Chapter 40
Anson propped a booted foot upon one of the benches lining the outside wall of the training area. It was combat training, specifically, that was the focus of the chamber, and he, Tom, and Norton watched—in awe—as Jon methodically faced down, and successfully defended himself against not one, but seven Rebel soldiers.
At the same time.
Two of the soldiers had already been flipped into the air like rag dolls, groaning on the mats where they’d come back down to earth. The others were clearly weary of being put down next by the fearsome hand-to-hand skills of a Ravager, but continued to press the attack, nonetheless.
“You ever see anything like that?” Norton marveled, shaking his head.
“Only in a movie,” Anson said.
“When I saw him make that leap up to the stairs in the vehicle bay… I knew he wasn’t human,” Tom drawled.
“Oh, he’s quite human though,” Norton said. “After I talked with Jon, I had the base physician run him through a battery of tests. To make sure he wasn’t suffering any… deficiencies.”
“Judging by the ass kicking in progress over there, I’d say our Jon isn’t suffering from any… deficiencies.”
“The doctor sent me the report. Some very interesting findings,” Norton said, wincing as another soldier was sent flying into one of the benches by another blow from Rexall.
“Let’s hear it,” Anson said.
“I never actually had access to HKU performance data, so this was all new for me, too. I don’t remember all of it, but I’ll tell you the ones that jumped out at me.”
Norton glanced up, rubbing his chin as he thought. “He’s got… he’s genetically enhanced in a way I’ve never seen before. Superior hearing and vision, even tactile sense appears acute. Kinesthetic sense is on par with a world-class gymnast or diver. Twenty percent higher lung capacity than even the fittest man. Significantly more red blood cells. Higher blood volume. More clotting factors, including platelets, and faster clotting time. His wounds heal significantly faster. He’s got many more fast-twitch muscle fibers—that jumping you mentioned is an example of that—but he’s also got tremendous endurance. His bones, muscles, and connective tissue—they’re all denser. You wouldn’t know it to look at him—he’s in top physical shape—but he weighs more than two hundred and eighty pounds.”
One of the opposing soldiers cried out as Jon swept his legs out from under him, dropping him to the mat with a bone-crunching thud.
“Doctor said they took him out just inside the perimeter and clocked his sprints, and sustained speeds.” Norton shook his head slowly. “I… didn’t believe it when I read it. He’s got a top sprint of just under forty-eight kilometers an hour, but his dash speed, say in a hand-to-hand fight, is significantly faster than that.”
“My Gods,” Tom muttered.
“It gets even better. They clocked him over about a two-kilometer distance at an average speed of over thirty-two kilometers an hour.”
“No man can run that distance in anything near that speed,” Anson said, marveling. “That’s incredible.”
“They measured his strength, too. They weren’t sure how much his press and deadlift limits are; they ran out of weights to put on the bars. But… it’s inhuman. He’s able to exert a straight-line tensile force—moving his hands away from one another—of over five thousand Newtons. Shear force is even more than that.”
“You’re serious?” Anson asked it, not believing his ears.
“Yes,” Norton said, smiling. “Impressive, yes?”
“What does that even mean?” Tom frowned. “Newtons isn’t telling me a fucking thing.”
Anson pointed at Jon. “It means, that guy only stayed in those cuffs we had him in because he decided to.”
Tom whistled, then grinned. “Sonofabitch was playin’ possum with us!”
“Yes, yes he was,” Norton said, with a nervous laugh. “And that’s what I needed to talk with Jon about. I… I learned something very important. Maybe it’s the most important thing of all. When I reprogrammed the Protocol, when it was transmitted to Jon… it changed him. I don’t know how it happened, but it did. It, for lack of a better term, awakened parts of him that the old Protocol suppressed. Things that maybe the original programmers thought would be a… detriment to the mission of HKUs.”
“Suppressed?” Tom glanced over at the fight. “Like what?”
“Like… compassion, empathy. Mercy. Maybe even… honor.” Norton nodded toward the sparring match still in progress. “Something’s happened to Rexall. And it’s still happening. He’s discovering what it means to be, well, human.”
As Anson watched the fight—or what passed for one—come to an end, the last two soldiers holding up their hands, deciding they’d had enough, he realized something.
Jon Rexall could easily have killed all three of them when they’d confronted him in that bedroom. He was sure of that now.
He let them capture him.
And now, Anson thought maybe he knew why.
“Which reminds me,” Norton said. “I wanted to go over the plans for the insert—the software. I made a couple of changes that I think will help us even more.”
Anson’s gaze narrowed. “Make sure you’re not fixing what ain’t broke, Mr. Engineer.”
He knew well the tendency of engineers to tinker, to always want to “build a better mousetrap” and that on occasion, “better” turned out to be… nothing of the sort.
“No, sir,” Norton said. “This is actually something that’s already part of the Protocol. An emergency feature, but one that we’re going to take advantage of. With your permission, of course, sir.”
“If it’s going to help him”—Anson crooked a thumb toward Jon, now helping the vanquished get back up on their feet—“then you’ve got my attention.”
“There’s a function in the Protocol called Recall—it’s sort of an emergency, ‘oh shit’ feature. It instructs all the HKUs to return to their base. Wherever that might happen to be.”
“Which means, what? They just…turn around?”
“Basically, yes,” Norton said.
Anson stroked his chin. “Oh, this is good.”
“Pure chaos is what it’ll be,” Tom said, shaking his fist. “Gods, I wish I could be there to see the shit storm this is gonna cause in their formations. Fucking TSS pukes.”
“Combine this with the orders to kill officers, political figures, and other command personnel in general, and it’s… a recipe for disaster.” Anson grinned. “For the TSS.”
“But will it be enough?” Tom grimaced. “I hate the idea of this just being a temporary set-back. Just… not enough to really change the game.”
“It might not have to be,” Anson said, watching as Jon exited the room, likely heading for his quarters.
He would need to begin prepping for the mission soon.
Anson fixed Tom and Norton with a sober gaze. “If enough officers go tits up… we might get entire units deciding they aren’t getting paid enough to be Ravager punching bags. Who knows what might happen when their entire officer corps—and maybe even their internal security apparatus—is wiped the fuck out?”
But inside, Anson knew they still might not have enough to pull this off.
No matter how solid their plan was… they were going to need a little bit of luck, too.