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The AdvAnTAGE Project

By

Mantrid Brizon

Episode 40: Heirlooms

With her hands clutching nervously to the wheel, she watches the lines whizzing by. The headlights illuminate only so much, but her superior night vision looks beyond the veil. Still, her nerves are as rattled as they've ever been, and with a hoof on the accelerator, she nibbles on her bottom lip.

“Donnie... Hey, Donnie." She glances at her lover.

“Huh? What is it?" He sleepily asks.

“Am I doing this right? I feel like I'm not doing this right." She softly asks, maintaining her focus on the road.

“You're doing fine, cowgirl. You were doing fine the last time you asked." He grumbles, shifting in the passenger's seat as he tries to go back to sleep. “Just keep doing what you're doing."

“Okay... I just don't want to mess this up."

Opening his eyes, Donnie blinks to fight the sleep before focusing on the face of his lover. The mare AdvAnimal glances over to him, her expression that of shame and worry.

“I know I'm a klutz... I don't mean to be! I just don't want to wreck your car, and I know we need to find our friends and I-!"

“Shh..." He reaches out a hand and rests it over her lips. “You need to have faith in yourself. Just focus on the road, give it your best shot, and when you get too tired or too worried, pull over and let me take over."

“Okay..." She whimpers like a little girl.

“You'll be fine, cowgirl." He flashes a little smile. “Now, let me get a little more sleep before you go bugging me again."

She cannot help but smile as her human lover closes his eyes. Her mate shows such trust in her, such confidence. Reflecting on her time as a test subject at Gold Base, where she was little more than a control group, kept imprisoned with no hope of a future, she knows how lucky she is. Having surrendered her precious virginity to the sleeping Donnie, the man who now steers her future, she can only hope that it'll be a pleasant one. As she glances at the GPS, set to take only the back roads and keep them out of sight, she knows that these moments might be their last.

“I love you, Donnie. I really, really love you." She murmurs.

“I love you too, Vicky. You're my one and only." He softly replies.

“Aww!"

Glancing over to her mate, she briefly drinks in his form before returning her eyes to the road. Every moment together lifts her spirits. Even if they are to die doing whatever they can to save their friends, at least she'll die beside her mate. She wouldn't have it any other way. Meanwhile, the night has since fallen on the Black Tower, and The Old Man, eager to see those who've caused him so much trouble, had his prisoners, Dr. Jose Chavez, Amanda Anderson, The Four Horsemen and all of their AdvAnimals, brought into his office.

Agent Sharpe and Krystal stood by and watched as the aging tyrant berated them, reminding Amanda and The Four Horsemen of their failures before expressing a level of respect for Dr. Chavez's escape. The fact that he'd since impregnated his companion, Audrey, a gift The Old Man had bequeathed to him in order to preserve his sanity whilst imprisoned, only further served his purpose. Rather than continue to punish Jose, he offered him a position at Telivima's research labs, and a life alongside the many other Welcomers they'd since collected.

Realizing that he had little choice, Jose and Audrey accepted. He would do anything to preserve the life of his mate and unborn child, and who could blame him? The Old Man then insisted that the other AdvAnimals, Samara, Mackenzie, and even Adrian, remain with their partners. There was little choice, as they'd all mated, and having completed the treatment, Adrian has fallen deeply in love with Amanda. His generosity ended there, however, as his icy cold and weary eyes turned toward the Type Z's.

Alessandra is so obviously pregnant, and Camilla is not only recently pregnant but has already given birth to a baby girl, a second gen. They've done what none of their kind were supposed to do. With Martin and Jack mated to them, and also genuinely in love with the AdvAnimal women, The Old Man turned to Agent Sharpe and gave him a peculiar look. Did he want them executed right now, in front of their friends?! With his heart racing and hand subtly tremoring, Agent Sharpe reaches into his suit jacket and grips firmly to his Jericho 941 pistol.

“No!" The Old Man realizes his minion's intentions. “Just get them out of my sight, and keep them and that little abomination separate." He points between Alessandra and Camilla, the latter of whom cradles her baby, Shayla.

“Yes, sir." Agent Sharpe breathes a silent sigh of relief, taking his hand from his pistol.

“We'll deal with them later, but first I'd like us to discuss something of great importance."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, The Old Man shoos the prisoners away. Agent Sharpe turns to Agent Stevenson and instructs them to be taken to holding cells a few floors below. The two Agent's share a brief gaze before Agent Stevenson subtly nods. With Persephone ever by his side, he commands the soldiers to carry out Agent Sharpe's orders, then grabs Dr. Chavez and leads him away. Persephone clutches onto the back of Audrey's neck, pushing her forward with a sinister delight. The females truly enjoy serving their mates, no matter the order.

Slowly rising from his massive chair, The Old Man collects his ornate cane, using it sparingly as he makes his way toward the hidden door that guards the elevator to his penthouse. Seeing the decrepit man, who walks with a progressively worsening hunch, the stone-faced guard in Agent's attire and armed with a KRISS Vector, presses his palm against the black panel. The secret door opens just as The Old Man reaches it. The guard extends a hand, a surprising warmth in his actions. The Old Man, however, rejects his help.

Following behind, Agent Sharpe, Krystal and their baby, Jade, ever cradled in her mother's arms, join The Old Man in the elevator. It's a tense and quiet ride to his penthouse, and the only sound they hear, aside from the elevator's soft whooshing, is The Old Man's raspy and labored breathing. Upon reaching the penthouse, The Old Man leads them very slowly but confidently toward a second staircase. Here, The Old Man is forced to have help climbing the final level, where they find themselves in a large room, a combination of bedroom, living room and office.

Taking a seat on a couch, The Old Man sighs with relief as he places his cane to the side. With the pointing of a bony finger, he directs the guard who'd helped him climb the stairs to retrieve a silver platter on a nearby table. A bottle of wine and several glasses sit atop the platter. Collecting the bottle, the guard slides his submachine gun around to his back, keeping it out of the way as he serves The Old Man.

“What would you like to discuss, Emery?" Agent Sharpe finally asks.

“The transition, Daniel. The transition of power, from me to you..."

Taking a sip of wine, The Old Man briefly pauses. He stops to admire the bottle, Chateau Lafite Rothschild, only to turn his attention toward the glass. He stares for some time at the aged Merlot, the faded crimson liquid so gently swaying from side to side. It's not the motion of a man admiring the wine, but that of an elderly man who can no longer keep a steady grip. There's a strange look in his cold eyes, a melancholy the likes of which Agent Sharpe, Krystal, nor any of The Old Man's guards have ever seen.

“I had a brother once..." He suddenly begins.

“Had?" Krystal softly asks.

“Yes... A long time ago. He was quite fond of wine. Manischewitz... I never understood why he enjoyed it so much... It's so... Cheap... He was a good man, though... He was a lot like you." The Old Man glances to Agent Sharpe. “You even share a first name... When I met you at the NSA, it was almost as if he never died."

“How did-? ..." Krystal begins but stops herself.

“How did he die?" The Old Man turns his cold eyes toward her.

The solid white Husky AdvAnimal slowly nods her head. Turning toward a guard, The Old Man motions with a bony hand. Leaning in close, he whispers into the young man's ear, only for the guard to swiftly depart. Though Agent Sharpe could not discern the words, Krystal wonders what's in store for them. What does he want to retrieve from “the box"? Looking toward the AdvAnimal, it's clear from their expression that The Old Man had forgotten her superior senses, just as she'd forgotten to hide her intrigue.

“Just a few mementos... Heirlooms..." He remarks, before taking a sip of his fine wine. “A long time ago, none of this existed. All that you see; it's my vision. I worked tirelessly in the service of my country, as did my brother, but that didn't matter..."

A sharp cough causes The Old Man to set his glass of wine aside and briefly return his oxygen mask to his face. After a few deep breaths, he removes the mask, only to lean back in his seat. He appears to be so feeble, so weak! This is the man who controls much of the free world?! Once he's collected himself, The Old Man closes his eyes. A single tear runs down his cheek.

“We performed a job... A very dangerous and important job... Once it was done, they failed to keep their promises. Instead, they tried to silence us, tying the loose ends, as it were... But they underestimated me..." The Old Man continues, slowly opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. “They killed Daniel in the worst possible way, and that was my first clue that I was on my own. This world doesn't care for the weak or the pure; only the strong and the vile have the strength to climb to the top... To change things..."

“Are you alright, Emery?" Agent Sharpe asks, scooting toward the edge of his seat, a concerned look on his face.

“It all began as a vendetta, first to dominate and punish those who'd wronged me, but as it turned out, I was very good at blackmail. I piled up the dirty secrets until everyone was in my back pocket, and through thoughtful deals and a bit of luck, I built a fortune and then an empire. Secrets and tact, that's what's kept me going... And as I began to manipulate the world around me, I saw how those in power were little more than petulant children; armies are their toy soldiers, nations are their playhouses... The only difference between first-world governments and those of third-world dictators is honesty...

I couldn't believe that this was the way the world worked... How could it be so... Asinine?! And seeing for the first time that our intellect walked hand-in-hand with our brutality, I knew that it would only be a matter of time... Throughout the 70s and 80s I barely prevented several nuclear wars by the skin of my teeth, but as bioweapons became more prominent and our impact on this world began to manifest so glaringly, I decided that what we needed to do was evolve, before it was too late... Evolve to survive, evolve to adapt. Something..."

Pausing his speech, The Old Man glances toward the stairwell. From the steps of the lower level, his minion returns. In his hands he holds an ebony box, covered in ornate gold leaf. Presenting it to his master on bended knee, The Old Man thanks his minion before dismissing him with a wave. Opening the box, The Old Man produces a vintage Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver. The thirty-eight-caliber weapon is pristine, it's custom rosewood grips as beautiful as the day they were carved so many decades ago.

Agent Sharpe notices that the cylinder is empty, as no cartridges peek out from the gap at the rear. Placing the unloaded weapon on his lap, The Old Man then removes a single photograph. Setting the box aside, his wrinkled lips curl into a little smile. It's not the sinister grin of a twisted and evil man, but a truly warm and compassionate expression. Yet another tear runs down his cheek.

“I tried so hard to save us... I truly did... But the harder I tried, the more the world seemed to fight me. It's as if we're destined for destruction, as if the earth itself wants to be rid of us... And as I aged, as Harriet was developed and then 'birthed', I saw another way... Them..." The Old Man turns his eyes toward Krystal and her infant daughter.

“The AdvAnimals?"

“Yes. The AdvAnimals... The ultimate bioweapon... This is better, Daniel. This is less painful. We're on a course that cannot be changed, walking into a fire that we cannot extinguish... This way, humanity's final breath will be met with affection, compassion and in many cases, love. You inherit a world in chaos, Daniel, chaos that I failed to reign in, but with your inheritance you'll have wealth, security and family... I cannot say the same for your grandchildren or great grandchildren. They may know the world as I did, a world of cold and loneliness, but take solace in what you share with Krystal, Jade and all of your future children."

As he speaks, Agent Sharpe can feel a warmth in his voice. For a moment, he finds himself agreeing with The Old Man's warped view. He forces himself to remember all of the awful things he's done in Emeryth's name, all of the things that he thought would bring a grand and prosperous future.

“Thank you, Emery..." Agent Sharpe begins. “I've always felt, deep down, that we were never deserving of this world... So many awful things I've seen and done, and the pain just... It piles up, like cordwood... Like the bodies of the victims of tyrants..."

“Indeed... It never ceases." The Old Man murmurs.

“If the world can't be saved, I suppose it could be far worse. Dying with a smile on your face and a beautiful woman in your arms is certainly the method I'd choose." Agent Sharpe flashes a little grin as she slips an arm around Krystal's waist.

It hurts Agent Sharpe to admit, albeit to himself, that everything he said has a kernel of truth. However, until the world is ablaze, they must do all that they can to protect and preserve it; The Old Man's way may be gentler and even downright pleasant - breeding your own species out of existence is certainly not the worst way to go - but it's not the answer.

“I chose my successor wisely..." The Old Man softly chuckles. “Rest assured, according to projections, it will take as long as one-hundred years or more before the AdvAnimals reproduce with humans to the point that our population density will collapse. I suppose those left behind would have the most fun of all, being the prized breeders of the AdvAnimals who rule the world that once belonged to us. That, thankfully, is a world that you, Krystal, and quite possibly Jade and all of your future children will never witness."

Taking a final drink of his wine, The Old Man sits back on his luxurious couch and relaxes. He turns toward his few remaining guards and waves them away, seemingly eager for time alone with his heir. Agent Sharpe nuzzles Krystal, whom he clutches in his arms. He kisses her cheek so softly, bringing a smile to her face. The Old Man watches, smiling with them. After a few more kisses, Agent Sharpe nuzzles the base of one of her large, canine ears. He then turns his attention toward Jade, who babbles as she lay in her mother's arms.

“Sometimes..." The Old Man suddenly sighs. “I wish I'd taken the time to have a family."

“You never thought to?" Krystal asks.

“I did."

“Why didn't you?"

“I wasn't always so powerful, and men in my position cannot afford to have liabilities... When you're climbing your way to the top, families are more like baggage, pulling you away from the ladder. I didn't want to fall... In many ways, you two are incredibly lucky. You don't have to worry the way I did."

“I'm sorry." Krystal speaks in a melancholy tone.

“Don't be... For what time I have left, allow me to live vicariously, through you." The Old Man softly chuckles.

Sharing a quiet moment, The Old Man watches the family who sit across from him. After a time, he collects his glass and leans forward, toward the bottle of fine wine that sits atop the ornate and expensive ebony coffee table. Hearing his soft but pained groans, Agent Sharpe moves away from Krystal and his daughter to fill The Old Man's glass. He sets the bottle aside and then eases The Old Man back onto the couch.

“Take it easy." He urges the elderly man.

“Thank you, Daniel."

Looking toward the revolver, The Old Man collects the firearm. He turns it in his hand as he holds the glass, his focus so strong that he seems to forget all about his thirst.

“This one was Daniel's... I found it in his home after they burned him, before I secured my safety and power... He said to me once that families need heirlooms..."

Looking toward Agent Sharpe, The Old Man extends his shaky hand.

“Here... I won't be needing it anymore."

“No, Emery, I couldn't take that from you."

“Go on. Take it. I don't need it... Besides, it's rather fitting that it go to another Daniel." The Old Man flashes a warm smile.

The stunned Agent Sharpe slowly reaches for the firearm, only to hesitate when he sees the tears in The Old Man's eyes. What a horrible life he must've lived, to harbor such pain and resentment for humanity. Taking the firearm, Agent Sharpe cradles it like a precious gem. With a loud sniffle and sigh, The Old Man regains his strength. With a modest smile, he sets his glass atop the coffee table and reaches for his cane. Agent Sharpe impulsively offers to help him up, only for The Old Man to swat at his hands.

“That's enough of that! We have more pressing matters to discuss. I just want to return Daniel's picture to my nightstand, where it belongs."

“I can do that for you."

“I'm not so old that I cannot return a picture to a drawer." The Old Man confidently retorts.

With his back hunched and cane subtly shaking, The Old Man slowly makes his way around the couch and toward his bed, in the far corner of the room. Looking back at Krystal, Agent Sharpe struggles with the dichotomy in his heart. His mate gives him strength. With a stern look on her face, she nods her head once. She then turns her head and focuses on the staircase, keeping a lookout for The Old Man's goons, who wait downstairs.

“When we have the opportunity, keep watch, and if you see me struggling to do what needs to be done, keep me on course." Agent Sharpe whispered into his wife's ear, back when he was nuzzling it.

He's thankful that he'd done that, as without her strength, he may very well have failed. Taking out his cloned phone, he hastily pops the battery, opens the secret compartment with the point of a small paperclip, removes the green gel capsule, drops it into The Old Man's glass of wine and then puts his phone back together. He'd practiced this at home while inside their walk-in closet, when he was supposed to be getting dressed. It takes all of ten seconds. The Old Man hadn't even reached his nightstand by the time he'd poisoned his wine.

Slowly returning to the couch, The Old Man appears to have no idea. He sits and chats with Agent Sharpe and Krystal, who divide their attention between speaking to Emeryth about the transition of power and placating their increasingly rambunctious newborn. Every few minutes, The Old Man sips his wine, waiting longer between each sip. As he reaches the end of the glass, his eyes grow heavy and he yawns more than a few times.

“I'm sorry. My age seems to be catching up to me..." The Old Man apologizes, slowly shaking his head.

“It's alright." Agent Sharpe murmurs.

“Maybe you should rest?" Krystal suggests, motioning with her head toward his bed.

“No. That would be rude."

“You aren't offending us." She flashes a little smile.

“... Alright. I suppose I could use a nap." He grumbles as he begins to rise.

“I'll help you." Agent Sharpe rises from the couch with him.

“Nonsense. I'll be fi-INE!" The Old Man exclaims, his legs giving out and plopping him back onto the couch.

“I see you've got it handled." Krystal chirps.

“Clearly." The Old Man facetiously replies.

“Come on, Emery. Grab onto me."

Wrapping his arms around The Old Man, Agent Sharpe gingerly lifts the elderly and frail man from the couch. He moves so slowly, so feebly.

“I'm sorry, Daniel." The Old Man whimpers. “I should've put you in power before you had to all but carry me to bed. This isn't exactly the final memory I wanted you to have."

“It's alright, Emery. Everything's going to be fine..." Agent Sharpe gulps, struggling to hold back his emotions.

Why does it hurt so much? The Old Man made him do such awful things. He might as well be the embodiment of pure, concentrated evil, and yet all he sees in a weak, pitiful old man who can hardly walk on his own two feet. Sitting him down on the edge of his bed, Agent Sharpe goes so far as to tuck The Old Man in. Looking back at Krystal, she glares and shakes her head. It keeps him strong. As Emeryth closes his eyes for the last time, Agent Sharpe sits at the edge of the bed, staring at his feet.

“Jeb Hapcock. Lance Harper. Jennifer Harper. Amy Chen..."

Like a mantra of pain, Daniel repeats the names of the people he was forced to murder, those whom he killed with his own two hands. Dozens. His hands tremble as he balls them into fists. Saying their names for a third time, he brings his hands to the sides of his head, struggling to hold back the tears. Rising from her seat, her baby in her arms, Krystal's special shoes click so softly. After making her way toward her mate, she comforts him, a clawed hand resting on his shoulder before rubbing his upper back. He responds by turning toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist and crying, his face against her toned belly.

“I'm so sorry." He sobs.

“Shh..." She lovingly pets his head, her icy eyes focused on The Old Man's peaceful looking corpse. “It's alright, master. It's all over now..."