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The AdvAnTAGE Project

By

Mantrid Brizon

Episode 18: Dichotomy

Sitting in the comfortable chair, the middle-aged man sighs as he tilts his head back. How much longer must he wait? It's been at least an hour, already. Feeling the flask tucked within a hidden, inner pocket of his lab coat, Dr. Jose Chavez feels the urge to drown his sorrows, but at the moment, that's the last thing he should do. The fact that they didn't confiscate it upon entering the complex is astounding. Hearing the double doors opening, he lifts his head and looks toward the Agent who emerges from inside.

Without uttering a single word, the Agent lifts a hand and motions with his fingers. Dr. Chavez climbs out of the chair and makes his way toward the doors. The Agent walks behind him, instructing him in his eerie monotone.

“They have granted your request but only because of your status. Be brief and to the point. Waste their time, and they will not be pleased. Is that understood?"

“Yes." The doctor murmurs.

Passing a squad of statuesque Agents who stand at attention and pushing open a second set of doors, Dr. Chavez finds himself standing before a large table. Six elderly men look to him, with a truly decrepit old man sitting at the head of the table, shrouded in darkness. Mist fills the room, the smoke from one man's smoldering cigar.

“And what, may we ask, is the purpose of your visit?" The shadowy old man asks.

“I..."

Dr. Chavez freezes, unable to believe that he's finally looking upon the members of Sovereign Six. Nearly two decades of slaving in various laboratories for these people, and this is the first time he's ever seen them in the flesh.

“Well?!" A man in a General's uniform grumbles.

“I-I'm sorry. I was briefly left in awe." Dr. Chavez begins.

“Heh... Flattery is a good start. What seems to be troubling you, Doctor?" The Old Man asks.

“I'm sorry, sirs, but I desperately need a transfer." Dr. Chavez bows his head.

“... That's it?! That's why you've asked to meet with us?" A man growls in a thick, Russian accent.

“Hold on, Mr. Nazarov. Allow him to explain himself."

“I'm sorry, but my previous requests for transfer were denied."

“And for good reason..." Director Bloodworth murmurs.

“You're exceptional at what you do, Doctor, and your fertility research has accelerated this project in ways you aren't authorized to understand. Without you, this project would still be struggling to stand, let alone sprint the way it has." The Old Man smirks.

“Thank you, sirs, but I just... I can't work at Red Base anymore!"

“And why is that?" The Old Man asks.

“The things we do there... They're" Dr. Chavez murmurs.

“They're necessary for the project." Director Busch remarks.

“We need second gens to further Dr. Gunderson's research." Mr. Nazarov adds.

“Among other things..." The Old Man flashes a sinister grin.

“I understand that, but... Well, we've already made nearly five hundred, and there's eighty more women only a month away from their due date. Five months after that, Group B will be ready, Group C will follow three months later, and Group D are being seeded right now... I just... I'd rather not have to see those reports anymore." Dr. Chavez pleads.

“You disapprove of the methods?" Mr. Spender asks, raising a brow.

“... Yes, I do. Begging your pardon, sirs, but you aren't the ones who have to watch the process. You don't see the women wriggling or hear them pleading as we bring the males into their rooms. You don't see them crying in their padded cells, where they're watched twenty-four hours a day because we need their babies... You sit here, making me do it for you, and reading my heavily filtered reports, after the fact. At least the AdvAnimal women are willing, but the humans?! I can't go through with this anymore..."

“If you and Agent Sharpe weren't like oil and water, you could've stayed at White Base as the Director. You didn't need to transfer out, either. We could've sent him elsewhere, instead." The Old Man retorts.

“I had my reasons..." Dr. Chavez murmurs, bowing his head and looking down at his shoes. “I'm sorry, but I wouldn't be here if I didn't think this was urgent."

“If you weren't certain that you'd end your life if we said 'no'?"

Dr. Chavez's eyes grow as wide as saucers. He lifts his head and stares at the group, who are unphased by his reaction.

“You knew about that?!" He gasps.

“Didn't you stop to wonder how your revolver suddenly went missing? Did you really think you misplaced it?" The Old Man chuckles.

“No, I suppose I didn't..."

“We've been watching you, Doctor. We're always watching you." Mr. Spender flashes a smug grin.

“You're vital to our research, Dr. Chavez. Your work on the original team is partially responsible for how far we've come. Don't think we didn't notice; it was your suggestion to adjust the nutritional levels in Harriet's incubation chamber that preserved her life in those early stages."

“Don't remind me..." Dr. Chavez whispers under his breath.

“I know how hard this has been for you..." The Old Man suddenly rises from his chair and approaches the doctor, shocking his associates. “This hasn't been the easiest work in the world, and not just because it's so groundbreaking. We've asked our people to do many questionable things, not just you, but we wouldn't do it if it wasn't for the betterment of our planet. All of this... It's for a greater good, son."

The Old Man stands before the Brazilian-American doctor, as tall and healthy looking as the man who appears to be more than half his age. The Old Man takes hold of Dr. Chavez's bicep and gives him a squeeze, then rests his other hand on his opposite shoulder. He's surprisingly strong for a man so old.

“What you're doing will cement you in the annals of history, doctor... It will resolve countless social and economic issues, and our world will eventually be better off for it! ... I wish I could share with you all of the things we've planned! The world you're helping to create is truly a glorious one, but I know you struggle... Did you open that flask in your coat while you were here or were you strong enough to wait?"

Dr. Chavez is again left speechless. He gulps and slowly shakes his head.

“I-I didn't use it... Sir..."

“See? That shows strength. I see things in people, and I believe you have more strength than even you are willing to accept. Perhaps you don't realize just how good you are? Why did you think we left you at Red Base for so long? Because no one else was smart enough, moral enough or strong enough to do it... Only you were..." The Old Man gently shakes the doctor, emphasizing his words. “But I also believe that you're strong enough to carry out your threat... So, if it pleases you, I'd like to promote you."

“Sir?!" Dr. Chavez's eyes grow wide.

“I want to give you a directorship. Someone with your strength of character, intelligence and level of conviction, would be a vital asset as, say, the Director of Purple Base. I suppose that would also make you the village's Mayor!"

The room falls silent. Even the cigar smoke appears to stand still. A chair creaks as Mr. Nazarov leans forward, visibly shocked by The Old Man's words. The doctor, however, is touched by the gesture. No one has shown such admiration, such gratitude for his work or the willpower needed to do it for so many years.

“Okay... That sounds good." Dr. Chavez says, subtly nodding his head and flashing a little smile.

“Wonderful! I knew in my heart that you wouldn't let us down. I have faith in you, Doctor. You will continue to make us proud... Give us one week to prepare your transfer. I promise you, in seven days' time, you will no longer be at Red Base anymore."

The Old Man smiles with an eerie warmth. It gives the doctor pause, but reflecting on his words and the way he comforts him with a touch, he cannot help but believe him. Nodding his head, the doctor thanks The Old Man and the other members of Sovereign Six for their time, before turning back and being led away by the Agent. The Old Man returns to his chair and takes a seat, sighing quite happily as he leans back and relaxes, placing his hands atop his chest and interlocking his fingers.

“So... When do we eliminate him? Shall we make it look like an accident or suicide?" Director Bloodworth asks, reaching for the phone at the center of the table.

“Neither. We aren't eliminating him."

“... Sir?"

“I genuinely intend to transfer him! I just need to figure out who we need to remove to make room for him." The Old Man replies. “Has Dr. Blackmore been given the job yet?"

“No, sir."

“Good. He can serve as Dr. Chavez's assistant!" The Old Man chirps.

“Are you certain that's a wise decision?" Mr. Nazarov asks.

“Sir, Dr. Chavez is clearly becoming unstable. I strongly recommend we eliminate him." Director Bloodworth adds.

“Besides, aren't we shutting down Red Base next year, after Group D are brought to term?" General Davis asks.

“Please, gentlemen, give me a little credit! I've been doing this since the mid-60s and I know a thing or two about manipulating people." The Old Man smirks. “The good Doctor is a loyal dog, but even a dog will abandon you if you don't pat it's head and play with it every now and then. I told him exactly what he needed to hear. He doesn't know that Red Base has already outlived its usefulness, and to be honest, I'm not sure if he will continue to prove useful. However, in the event that he surprises us, I want him close at hand and eager to serve. At least as the Director of Purple Base, all he needs to do is keep the residents happy, and maybe he can even play doctor to all of those new families we've created. This is exactly what he needs to bring him into the fold. Give him time, and trust my judgment."

“And what about Agent Sharpe? You recently had him transferred there to act as Chief of Security." Director Busch asks.

“Yes, I did... You let me worry about that." The Old Man confidently replies.

Making his way back to his car, Dr. Chavez finds himself alone, standing in the parking garage beside the borrowed pearl colored Mercedes-Benz. He stares into the tinted window, gazing upon his own reflection. He runs his fingers over his graying, five o' clock shadow, and the wrinkles near his eyes, seeing the long-term effects of his alcohol abuse. Though not a stumbling drunk, he typically sleeps three nights out of seven with a bottle. Glancing to his left, he sees a lone trash can.

“You're right... I'm Dr. Jose Chavez, genetics expert and co-creator of an entirely new species. I'm better than this." He mutters to himself.

Approaching the trash can, Dr. Chavez casually pulls out his stainless-steel flask and discards it. It's as though he threw away a heavy weight from his shoulders, and though he knows it's going to be a struggle, he's already gone two days without a drink. Climbing into his car, he turns the key and makes his way back to the small airport, where a Sikorsky S-92 VIP helicopter waits for him. It'll be a comfortable but long flight back to Red Base, and once he arrives, his golden, 2013 Mercedes-Benz CL 65 AMG will be waiting for him. The luxuries he's afforded by his job often ease the sting of the work. However, in only seven more days he'll be rid of the nightmares of Red Base. He can make it that long.

Lying in the darkness, on the hard bed of a cheap motel room, Donnie stares at the textured ceiling as he struggles to sleep. He ponders the last few weeks, recalling the time he'd shared with his friends, The Four Horsemen, and the AdvAnimal girls, who now share their manor. Though he tries to control his thoughts, he finds it odd how often Victoria emerges. She pushes her way to the surface, as though she has a hold on his mind, latching on with all of the power in her muscles. He cannot help but wonder exactly who it was he'd heard having sex in the study last night, but the core of his chest stings whenever he imagines it being Victoria and one of his friends.

The sadness that shrouds him when those thoughts arise reminds him of how saddened she appeared when he left. Strangely, that's one of the few thoughts that gives him any comfort, that and the progress they've made in revealing, and hopefully thwarting, Sovereign Six's wicked plans. His satellite phone rings and Donnie lifts his head. Only one group of people have that number.

“Hey."

“We found you something..." Louis begins.

He sits up, turns on a table lamp, opens a pen with his teeth and throws his legs over the edge of the bed as he prepares to write on a small notepad.

“Okay. Go ahead."

“Mentone Texas in Loving County. ZIP code, 79754."

“Never heard of it. City?" Donnie asks as he writes down the information.

“Not exactly... We couldn't find a definitive location without a deep dive, but that's the closest community to Red Base. There's a log of an upcoming flight via helicopter, departing Red Base, and then another log listing a scheduled flight back. Same tail number, but a few hours later. Only one passenger, a 'Dr. Chavez'. Must be a short meeting or something. If you leave right now, you might be able to spot it as they fly back."

Donnie looks through his maps and finds the town in question. His eyes grow wide and his mouth hangs open.

“Woah! How do you expect me to get all the way over there from Texarkana?!"

“If you drive ten over the speed limit and stop only for gas, you should make it." Louis casually replies.

“But... I haven't been to bed yet! I've been driving all day!"

“Take some caffeine pills and drink a few Red Bulls... Hey, you wanted a lead! This is the best we've got!"

With that, Louis ends the call and Donnie is left scrambling to gather his pistol, his gear and his maps. He checks out of the motel only a few hours after checking in, and though the clerk asks him if he'd like a refund, he ignores her, racing out of the front door and toward his jet-black, 1989 Ford Mustang. He follows his friend's advice and pops a few caffeine pills. The constant roar of the 5.0L V8 engine is a soothing lullaby, but as he takes a sip from his third Coca Cola, the sun reaches high into the sky. He's already so close! Donnie soon passes a road sign and chuckles at the absurdly low population.

“God, how the hell am I going to find a motel out here?!" He thinks aloud.

Feeling the burning in the back of his eyeballs, Donnie pulls over and parks along the side of the road. Climbing out of the car, he groans as he leans back, against the door. His head tilts backward as he stares into the clear, blue sky. The exhaustion is so severe that the warm breeze stings his skin. Only the caffeine and sugar coursing through his veins keeps him awake.

“What the..."

He lifts his head and turns around, facing a small dot in the sky. He shoves his upper body into the car, through the opened window, and grabs his binoculars. Taking a closer look at the dot, which moves slowly through the air, he cannot help but smile. A black and red helicopter flies toward the vast nothingness of Western Texas, just beyond the town's borders.

“Son of a bitch... I found you!"

Jumping back into the car, Donnie is able to follow the helicopter, which rapidly decreases altitude. He finds himself in the middle of the small town, parked across the street from the only two-story building he can see. The helicopter disappears beyond the horizon, landing a considerable distance away. If he had to guess, he'd say it was one or two miles. Feeling a grumbling in his stomach, Donnie decides it'd be best to focus on rejuvenating himself, then continue the search. He climbs back into the car and drives around, passing a few townsfolk who immediately notice him. He finds a diner and pulls over.

“Howdy, stranger!" A middle-aged woman chirps as she wipes down a counter top, her Texan accent soft but noticeable.

“Hello."

“We don't get many new faces 'round here." She remarks.

“Found me out that quick, huh?" He smirks.

“I know everyone in town, and you aren't any of them. Have a seat, sugar, and I'll take your order." She says with a warm smile.

“Fair enough..." He takes a seat at the counter.

“So... Comin' to visit or just passin' through?"

“Just passing though. I've been on the road a long time."

“I'll say! You look like you could use a cup of coffee."

“More like the whole pot." He says as he closes his eyes.

“Would you like some breakfast, sugar? We got the best bacon and eggs in the west! Or at least for the next hundred miles."

“That sounds good."

He watches as a cook collects the paper from the waitresses' notepad, grabbing it through the large, square opening in the wall. Their fingers touch as they pass the note. They wear matching wedding bands. He sits with his cheek resting on his upturned palm, his head occasionally dipping forward before he catches himself. She sets a cup of coffee on the table and clanks a spoon against the mug, gaining his attention.

“Oh, thanks."

“Are you alright, sugar?" She asks, a worried look on her face.

“I'm alright. Just been on the road a long time."

“Where ya' headed?"

“I'm not sure yet."

“A drifter, huh?" She flashes a little smile.

“I remember those days!" The cook remarks through the opening.

“Yeah, me and my hubby back there used to ramble, too, 'till we finally settled down." She chimes in. “Where ya' comin' from?"

“I drove all night from Texarkana."

“That far?!" She raises her brow and her eyes widen.

“Before that, I left central Indiana. I think I've spent the last twenty-four hours in that car."

“Well, no wonder you're tired!"

“You shouldn't drive so long without breaks, mister. It's not safe." The cook remarks.

Passing him a plate, Donnie slowly eats the picturesque meal, which is every bit as delicious as it looks. After finishing his food, he sets a $10 bill on the table. She collects his change. He polishes off the coffee, then rests his head atop the counter, using his right forearm as a pillow. Opening his eyes, he's startled to see that the sun has lost its strength; the light has a soft, amber hue. He lifts his head and looks around the diner, where he is still the only customer.

“What happened?!"

“You fell asleep, sugar." The waitress remarks.

Cleaning a table in the far corner, it's obvious that another patron has been and gone.

“We felt bad rousin' you, so we decided to let you nap for a few." She continues.

“Thanks. I'm sorry for imposing." Donnie says as he reaches for his wallet.

“It's no trouble!" She says with a smile.

“Want a free coffee? We pour out the pot at the end of the day, anyway." The cook chirps from the kitchen.

“Sure. That sounds nice." He flashes a little smile.

A soft hum draws his attention. Donnie glances over his shoulder, only to see a golden colored luxury car driving past the plate glass windows. He furls his brow as the waitress turns her back to him, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head as she also watches the very conspicuous car.

“Well, that's something." Donnie remarks, looking toward a building that the golden Mercedes just passed. “Must be another stranger."

“Hardly." She sighs, still shaking her head. “It's those government types."

“I never did trust them." The cook interjects.

“Government types?" Donnie looks back.

Emerging from the kitchen, the cook pours Donnie a cup of coffee from the pot. His wife joins him, standing by his side and slipping an arm around his waist.

“Yeah. They showed up a few years ago. Put together some base way out there." The cook begins.

“Built a swanky apartment complex, too! I guess they wanted to keep them away from us regular folk." She adds.

“Yeah. Van D'Steen Construction guys put it all together in less than three months. Gave us great business for a while, though!" He chirps.

“Huh... Interesting." Donnie glances back at the plate glass windows. “I don't suppose I could get that coffee to go, could I?"

“Of course, sugar!"

“I think you should stop at the motel, though. Too much road and pretty soon you'll be a part of it, if you know what I mean." The cook remarks.

“I just need enough juice to get me there."

As the cook pours more coffee into a Styrofoam cup, Donnie pulls out his wallet and slaps a $50 bill on the table. The cook puts a cover over the cup and slides it past him, seeing the bill on the table.

“Oh, the coffee's free!" He says, a shocked look on his face as he pushes the $50 back toward Donnie.

“I know. That's your tip. Keep Grant company for me." He says, pushing the $50 back toward them. “Have a nice night."

“Well, thanks, sugar! Drive safe!" The waitress chirps.

Taking his coffee, Donnie makes his way back to his car and climbs in. He drives toward the edge of town, following the only roads. It isn't long before he sees the multi-story apartment complex, shielded by a fence and gates, and monitored by security cameras. It almost appears to be a cross between a luxury loft and a prison. With his headlights turned off, he creeps toward the edge of the road and parks the car a distance away. Drinking the last of the coffee, he rubs his eyes and pulls out a laptop computer, hooking up a card with a small antenna attached to it. He glances repeatedly at the complex as he types away.

“Alright... Let's see what we can see." He speaks to himself.

His lips curl as he hacks into the apartment's Wi-Fi. In short order, he accesses more than just their internet. He formulates a plan, but he needs to be refreshed to carry it out. After making a series of notes, he disconnects from their Wi-Fi, closes the laptop and drives toward a motel, just outside of town and in the opposite direction.

“Alright, you two. Watch the house while I'm away." Dr. Chavez chirps, looking toward his pet cats, his only companions.

Collecting his briefcase and stepping into the hallway, he locks the door behind him and hums a little tune. He already feels better now that he's decided to give up drinking, though his rosary rattled as he placed it around his neck. As he turns a corner and walks toward the elevator, a door to his right suddenly opens and a masked man jumps out. Before he can scream, the terrifying figure covers his mouth with a gloved hand and shoves his back against the wall. He can feel the cold barrel of a small pistol being jammed into his chin.

“Don't say a word. Thirty feet back, there's an electrical room. Go."

Dr. Chavez sidesteps as the masked figure guides him. Opening the door, the man with pale skin and piercing blue eyes, the only features he can see through the opening in his balaclava, pushes him inside.

“W-w-what do you w-want? How d-did you even get in here?!" The terrified doctor asks.

“Shh!" The masked man covers his lips with the barrel of his Beretta Cheetah, flashing it for the doctor. “Sovereign Six is overconfident in their surveillance and their Agents. They made one too many mistakes and left more than a few blind spots."

Shrouded in all black, the figure stands and points the gun at him. Somehow, Dr. Chavez feels a strange peace overcoming him.

“Well, if I'm going to die, it might as well be today." He murmurs.

“I'm sorry?" The masked man raises his brow.

“You're a Puritan, aren't you?"

“No. I'm just a concerned citizen."

“Oh... So, how would a citizen know about Sovereign Six?" Dr. Chavez asks, straightening his shirt collar and tie.

“I know a lot of things, Doctor. I know that the AdvAnimals aren't what people think they are. I know that you work at a place called 'Red Base', and I know that whatever's going on there is sick. I also know that without proof, no one will believe a word I say, no matter how true it is."

“You're right..." Dr. Chavez sighs. “There are very bad things going on there. Things I'm directly responsible for. Things I wish I could forget, and no one is ever going to believe you..."

The stranger's eyes grow wide. He never expected his target to so freely admit his guilt. He's so taken aback that he struggles to continue interrogating the man.

“So? What do you want from me?" Dr. Chavez asks, breaking the silence.

“The truth."

“You already seem to have an idea about that."

“I want proof. Hard, irrefutable evidence." The gunman reiterates.

“And how am I going to provide that? Sovereign Six is always two steps ahead of everyone." Dr. Chavez raises a brow.

“Not everyone. I was smart enough to slip into this place and get to you." The masked man begins.

“Good point..."

“Get me what I need, and I'll be the one who's two steps ahead of Sovereign Six."

“Well? Tell me what you want, before they notice I'm taking too long to get downstairs."

“I want access to files, to real, hard evidence, and I want a tour of Red Base."

Dr. Chavez chuckles at the gunman's audacity.

“Why not ask me to steal the Statue of Liberty for you, too!"

Stepping closer, the stranger puts his gun up against Dr. Chavez's chin for a second time. He cocks the pistol, and the Doctor closes his eyes.

“I'm not playing games with you, Doc. You have access. Just get me the files and some codes and I'll do the rest."

“Why?"

“Why?! I'm genuinely worried about the future of humanity! Do you even care that they're creating a new species en masse? A race that could one day become the next apex?! What do you think is going to happen when a stronger, faster creature with animal senses and human intelligence gets out?! Why do you think Stephen Hawking was so worried about aliens coming to earth? It all ends the same way, with us in chains or gone..."

“Probably..." Dr. Chavez murmurs.

“Then why don't you care?!"

“Who said I don't?"

“You sure don't act like you do!"

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the Doctor feels the pressure building. He shivers as he contemplates going against Sovereign Six, the very people who've given him the life he has. Not only have they given him wealth, status and a place in history, they allowed him a face-to-face meeting and granted him asylum at Purple Base... But he still suffers from the memories of years of work, watching and even directing unethical events. Hearing the rattling of his rosary beads, the stranger cocks his head. Using the barrel of his Beretta Cheetah, he lifts the beads before grabbing the rosary and examining it.

“Is this just to satisfy your conscience or do you really believe in it?" The stranger asks, holding the pendant in his palm and presenting it to him.

Jose turns his eyes away.

“That's what I thought... If you truly believed in God, you wouldn't stand by and help His children be wiped out."

“Don't you dare question my faith, you son of a bitch!" Dr. Chavez snarls, startling his attacker. “You have no idea the nightmares I live with, but what else can I do?! I've given up everything for my work! It's all I have!"

“You think you're the only one who's lost something?! I've lost more than a good night's sleep! I've lost my family! I got people killed over whatever this secret is, and I won't stop until I know that it wasn't in vain, otherwise I may as well have pulled the trigger on them myself!"

Seeing the pain in the masked man's face, Dr. Chavez begins to cry. He steps back and pushes himself against the wall, placing his head in his hands.

“I'm a coward... I know God will likely send me to hell for what I've done, and I'm just too scared to do anything about it. I was too scared to pull the plug on Harriet eighteen years ago, and I'm too scared to help you today... I would've rather you just robbed and killed me, then I wouldn't have to suffer anymore."

Flabbergasted, the masked man lowers his pistol, watching as his target crumbles. He takes a moment to think, glancing back at the door. They don't have much time left.

“If you help me... Maybe God will forgive you?"

Dr. Chavez sniffles and lifts his head.

“After what I've done?!"

“You're sincere in your regret. That much is clear. All I need is proof. I won't expose you or make you do anything you aren't comfortable with. I just need files or videos. Irrefutable proof of a conspiracy. I need something that I can show to the world. Anything you can give me. Please..."

“We had an incident at another facility a few weeks ago..." Dr. Chavez begins, wiping his tears away. “Due to increased security, I can't get you close, but I can probably get you something... I can bring you back proof. If you'd just-"

“Do you think I'm stupid? I got this close, and now you think I'll just wait for you, where your pasty meat-robots can get me?!"

Visibly offended, Dr. Chavez glares at the masked man while lifting up his briefcase.

“Do you think I'm stupid? I know full-well what you're asking me to do, and what will likely happen to me if I'm caught doing it! My helping you could get more innocent people killed... The only reason I'm even offering to help you is because I fear for humanity's future, too! Now, if you'd let me finish, I was going to say that I would never meet you face to face. Pick a time and a place, and I'll make a dead-drop. You can watch it to make sure it's not being surveilled and then collect it at your leisure."

“I'm sorry." The masked man speaks softly.

“It's alright."

After taking a moment to ponder his suggestion, the masked man accepts, silently nodding his head. He gives Dr. Chavez a time and a place, then stows his pistol in a jacket pocket and slips out of the room. The Doctor takes a moment to calm down before stepping into the hallway, just in time to see the masked man slipping back into the broom closet, where he'd first appeared. Curious about the stranger, the Doctor opens the door only to see an empty room.

With a furled brow, he looks around, wondering how the man could simply vanish. Finding a small pile of dust and bits of white paint on the floor, he looks up to see a vent cover. He silently chuckles and shakes his head. The stranger is even more audacious than he thought. Making his way to the elevator, Dr. Chavez sees two Agents emerging. They turn to him and stare through their mirrored sunglasses, looking as inhuman as ever.

“Was there a problem?" One Agent asks.

“You're taking longer than usual." The second remarks.

“I just stopped to pull something out of my shoes. Sorry." He replies.

Sitting in his car with the seat tilted back and his eyes shut, Donnie takes a short nap. The sudden beeping of his wristwatch startles him. He lifts his head and blinks, then yawns and stretches his muscles. Checking his watch, he deactivates the alarm and opens the door. The night air is cold, cutting down to the bone. He shivers, using the frigid air to shake off the sleep. With ten minutes to spare, he hopes that the remorseful Dr. Chavez will come through for him. He'd given him a full day and a half, to allow the man time to relax and plan the deed. He wonders what the Doctor will retrieve for him.

Will it be written notes, a thumb drive or maybe a CD? Perhaps he'll have changed his mind by now, and won't leave him anything? Perhaps he's warned the Agents and now Donnie won't be able to get close to him again? Perhaps he gave him too much time, and now he'll be nabbed by Agents during the pick-up, in a trap set by the spiteful Doctor? A primal fear begins to creep in, its icy fingers caressing his heart. There's no turning back now, though, not if he wants his proof.

Climbing back into the car, alert and refreshed, Donnie takes a moment to ponder. All of those things he'd said to Dr. Chavez, he meant them, but as his mind dwells on Victoria, he feels a growing sadness. She's so strong and so capable, and yet, to him, she's nothing but sweet and gentle. Does fearing for the future of the human race somehow conflict with the warm feelings he has when he thinks of her? Does being kind to Victoria and giving her a chance to become closer to him somehow lessen his own work? Is he a hypocrite? It's a strange dichotomy, pulling him so violently into completely different directions.

“Victoria isn't the problem..." He speaks to himself. “Sovereign Six is the problem. Whatever they have planned is the problem. It's not a conflict of interest, giving her my time and energy, and it wasn't right to be mean to her, when she didn't ask to be born... Jeez, I'm starting to sound like Jack!" He shakes his head. “Maybe when I get back and spend more time with her, I'll get over whatever the hell this is, exactly, and she'll finally get out of my head?"

Turning the key to the ignition, Donnie starts up his car and shifts into gear. He drives slowly and casually through the tiny town, only to park across a corner, overlooking the drop site. Shutting off the lights and the engine, he watches with binoculars, waiting to see something, anything. Only two more minutes to wait. Lights appear in the distance, and the golden Mercedes with the tinted windows pulls up to the rural alley.

Donnie takes his eyes away from his binoculars to glance at the clock. He's almost exactly on time. Climbing out of his car, Dr. Chavez buttons up his overcoat and looks around. He then makes his way toward the rural alley, where he disappears for a moment. Reemerging from the alley, he walks toward his car. Donnie slips on his balaclava and waits, but then Dr. Chavez stops.

“What are you doing, Doc?" Donnie thinks aloud.

Looking to and fro, the Doctor suddenly turns and heads for the nearby store, the only shop in town open past midnight. It's a curious thing, and Donnie takes a moment to ponder the move. Is he worried that he's being followed and he's trying to not look suspicious? Setting the binoculars aside, he opens the car door and steps out. He doesn't know why, only that he's compelled. He hears his logical mind screaming at him to stay in the car, that it might be a trap, but he simply cannot help himself. Taking off his balaclava, he walks diagonally across the street and into the store. The bell jingles as he steps inside.

“Good evening, sir!" The friendly clerk chirps. “Boy, we're busy tonight!"

Donnie nods at the clerk, then looks around the modest store. Dr. Chavez stands near some coolers, his head turned as he stares straight at Donnie. After a brief moment, he turns back toward the cooler, looking at a selection of flavored alcohol; hard ciders and sweet seltzers, directly above traditional beer. Donnie walks the aisles and gather some snacks for the road, then stands beside the Doctor, who presses a hand against the glass door of the cooler.

“Some of these look really good..." Dr. Chavez says with a sigh.

Donnie refrains from speaking, opening a cooler several doors down and collecting some soft drinks. As he takes a few steps back, the door slapping closed, the Doctor glances at him.

“What's your favorite flavor?"

With a little smirk, Donnie holds up a bottle of Vanilla Coke. Dr. Chavez softly chuckles and glances back at the flavored alcohol.

“Not a fan of the hard stuff, huh?"

“No." Donnie finally replies.

Dr. Chavez's grin fades.

“Alcohol doesn't solve any of my problems... Have a good night."

Making his way to the front counter, Donnie buys nearly $60 worth of snacks and drinks, to the elation of the clerk. Dr. Chavez stands behind him, holding only a bottle of Perrier and some Tylenol. After paying for his things and leaving the change, Donnie makes his way out of the store and swiftly ducks into the alleyway. His heart begins to race as he wonders if he'd just made a tremendous mistake. He sets his bags aside and swiftly puts on his Balaclava, shaking his head as he silently berates himself.

Racing deeper into the alley, he finds the dead drop, beneath the storm drain of the convenience store. A small package, wrapped tightly in a garbage bag, waits for him. Collecting the package, he races toward the alley, only to hear the jingling of the door's bell. He stops in his tracks and hides in the shadows. Approaching his car, Dr. Chavez notices the other shopper's bags sitting just beyond the corner of the building. Popping open the trunk of his car, he sits on the bumper and opens the bottle of Perrier. Taking a few Tylenol and chasing it with the fizzy water, he sighs and drops his head forward.

“I picked a hell of a time to quit drinking..." He remarks.

Donnie hides in the shadows and listens as he hears Dr. Chavez standing to his feet and digging through what sounds like a pile of CD jewel cases in the trunk of his car.

“You don't have to worry. I doubled back twice." The Doctor continues. “I often take long drives after work, to clear my head. You were right, earlier. They make mistakes. The Agent are used to that habit and rarely follow me home anymore... They're probably used to my drinking, too. It was one of the ways I coped with all of the horrible things I've seen and done... I don't know who you are but you look like a decent guy. You're certainly a man of conviction, far more than I ever was. I hope that my helping you can begin to make amends for what I've done."

“It does..."

Hearing Donnie's voice from the shadows, the Doctor's hands cease shuffling the CD cases, but only for a moment. He promptly continues to search his trunk.

“Regardless of what you brought, however useful it may or may not be, the fact that you risked yourself at all tells me that you aren't the coward you claim yourself to be... You've done more than enough, Doc. You gave us some ammunition, now it's up to us to continue the fight."

“You have no idea how much that means to me. Have a good night, kid..."

“I'm pushing thirty-four." Donnie retorts.

“You're still a kid to me."

Collecting a CD, Dr. Chavez closes the trunk of his car and climbs in. Donnie can hear him playing Paganini, the classical violin music blaring through the closed windows as he casually drives away. Holding the package, Donnie hastily stuffs it into one of his bags, grabs his snacks and drinks, dashes across the street and climbs into his car. Yanking the balaclava off of his head, he turns the key, shifts into gear and pops the clutch, taking off. He drives out of town and back to his motel, where he hastily collects his belongings before leaving, the room key sitting on the nightstand.

Jumping back into the car, he drives for nearly forty miles before he decides it's safe to pull over and examine the package. Unwrapping the garbage bag reveals a small box, the factory packaging for a replacement laptop hard drive. His eyes grow wide as he stares at the hard drive. A note sits just beneath it, on a piece of yellow notebook paper and written in a wonderfully confusing calligraphy.

“That's definitely the handwriting of a doctor." He chuckles.

After taking a moment to carefully examine it, he's able to decipher the brief message.

“Dear Vigilante, I couldn't get you into Red Base “for a tour" but I did the next best thing. I managed to copy the data from my workstation onto this laptop hard drive. Subject records, experiment reports, and archived video footage of our best and worst experiments. After the aforementioned incident, they recode our keycards every week. Included are templates and this week's codes. It's a good thing it's officially Monday, now. I left a little extra for you, as well. This should be more than enough."

Setting the note aside, Donnie leans far into the back of his car and digs through his equipment. Collecting his laptop and a special ribbon strip, he activates the compact computer and plugs in the hard drive. To his elation, the hard drive is absolutely filled, containing thoroughly categorized and properly labeled files. It's everything that Dr. Chavez's note claimed it would be. Turning off the laptop and placing the hard drive in a pants pocket, where it won't be lost, he scrambles about to find his satellite phone.

“Donnie?!" Louis' voice grumbles.

“Yeah. Where you sleeping or something?"

“Kind of."

“Listen, buddy, I need your advice."

“Okay..."

“I can get into Red Base."

“What?!"

“I. Can. Get. Into. Red. Base." He reiterates.

“How?!"

“Never mind that. I can get in, but I have a seven-day window. The problem is, I have something with me. It could be huge. If I get caught, it'll probably be lost or taken. What should I do? Come back and burn three or four days? Or should I hide what I have and try to get in ASAP?"

“Bring it back! Duh! Why are you even asking?!" Louis barks.

“Heh... I'm glad it was you who picked up, and not Jack. Let them know, I'm on my way back..."

“Alrighty."

Hanging up the phone, Donnie shifts into gear and takes off, eager to get the hard drive back to The Four Horsemen. Meanwhile, Dr. Chavez finally returns to his apartment, after another long drive to clear his head. He turns the keys, steps inside, flips on the lights and stops in his tracks. Two Agents sit on his couch, one of the eerie men holding one of his pet cats. They're as still as statues, looking past him. Suddenly, as if they were robots being activated, they turn to look at him, staring through their mirrored sunglasses. They rise slowly from the couch and straighten their ties.

“Dr. Chavez..." One Agent begins.

“You need to come with us." The other finishes.