The AdvAnTAGE Project

By

Mantrid Brizon

Episode 02: Unforeseen Consequences

“Well? What have you found out?" Agent Sharpe asks as he takes a sip of coffee from a plain white mug.

“Three computers, a new Compaq Deskpro 386/25 and two older Macintosh IIs, circa 1989. We've done a thorough examination but unfortunately we did not find the compromised file." A suit-wearing man replies.

“Damn..."

“Considering the file size, that document could fit on any conventional floppy disk. Perhaps someone else was in the library before we arrived?" The Agent continues.

“We'd never know, since there are no security cameras in that library..." Another Agent remarks.

“Alright... Plan B: Watch and wait. That file is encrypted. Should anyone access any of the message boards looking for a way to break encryption, we need to know about it. Check to see if any curious mind live in the area or have family that lives in the area. They're sitting on something big and they know it. They'll slip up, and when they do..." Agent Sharpe pauses to take a sip of his coffee. “I'll inform The Old Man."

“Good luck, sir."

Lying awake in bed, Donnie cannot stop thinking about the file he'd stolen. What is it about? What is 'Spec-#0941'? What secrets are waiting to be revealed? The tension is palpable and he finds it difficult to even close his eyes. He glances at the digital clock resting atop his nightstand. It's nearly four o' clock in the morning.

“There's something out there, at that lab... If it's as big as a hangar, I should be able to see something."

He suddenly bolts up in bed, his sapphire eyes as wide as saucers.

“The bike!"

Leaning over, he checks a thermometer that's attached to his windowsill. The exterior temperature is unusually high for winter in Michigan; only forty-two degrees.

“Not too cold... I hope."

Slipping on his shoes and coat, Donnie collects a few pieces of equipment and then quickly but quietly creeps toward the garage. He opens the interior door and flips on the lights, nearly able to see his breath in the unheated structure. The bluish-white glow of the light bars illuminates the garage, revealing the vehicle. A 1992 Honda XR200 in classic red, this motorcycle was purchased by Donnie himself, communicating over-the-phone with a local dealer and using funds wired to an account which came from his first stolen credit card numbers. It was initially a test, his choice of vehicle influenced by John Connor's bike in Terminator 2: Judgment Day.

Unsure of the exact model, he picked the make but accepted the model that the dealer suggested. His parents, Lance and Jenny, were immediately concerned, as they are both blue-collar, struggling to maintain their status in the upper-middle class neighborhood which they share with the likes of Dr. Kyle Burnheart. However, Donnie masked the true origins of the funds, claiming that a $500 savings bond his grandmother had left him was seed money for a lucky stock market purchase. As intelligent as he is, they merely accepted this as fact, and to this very day, all of his successful fraud schemes are credited as windfalls from playing the stock market.

He closes the interior door and heads for the bike. Throwing a leg over the icy cold seat, he shivers as he grips the rubber grips of the handlebars, taking a moment to put on gloves and prepare himself for the ride. Donnie tries to kick-start the bike, which has no electric starter nor a battery. The hum of the engine is startlingly loud so early in the morning, in the enclosed garage. He pauses and looks back at the door, almost expecting his father to burst in and yell at him. After a moment of staring at the door, he tries once again. Two, three and then four kicks. The bike roars to life.

Donnie climbs off, turns on the single headlamp and adjusts the carburetor before flipping off the lights and opening the garage door. He needs to take care, as his bike is not street legal, nor is it properly licensed. The youth pushes the bike outside and closes the garage door behind him. With his nerves causing him to tremble even more than the cold, Donnie hops onto his motorcycle, takes a deep breath and begins to ride.

Many people know the location of Unifact's MiLab. It isn't exactly a secret, especially among the teenage population. For over an hour he rides along the desolate roads. It's the first time he's ever made this journey by himself. It feels like an icy eternity, but soon he finds the spot where many of the town's teens come to drink and make-out. Riding into the earthen lot, the grass long ago rubbed away by the tires of pickup trucks and old, compact cars, Donnie creeps along a trail made by scores of feet. Luckily, his one and only vehicle is more than capable of traversing the path.

Coming upon a fence, Donnie is forced to park his bike. After leaning it against a sturdy tree and covering it with some dead brush, he heads for the fence and slips through a small hole near the bottom. He brushes the dirt from his coat and checks his pockets. His tools are right where he left them.

“Alright..." He murmurs to himself, using a flashlight with a red lens cover to illuminate a small path. “Let's see what you're hiding."

Walking along the trail, Donnie tries his best not to disturb any of the brush, though his biggest concern is being caught. As they're still in the heart of winter, the brush is dead and the trees are bare; he has little cover beyond their trunks to hide himself. Soon, a trickle of light catches his attention. He freezes and the light stops with him. He shifts and takes a few steps closer. There's a large building in the distance! As he slowly approaches the complex, his eyes grow wide. It's a sprawling, multi-story brick building, surrounded by lights. Little figures move about, near the base of the structure.

Taking out his gear, he uses a monocular to spy on the figures. Though it only has 4X zoom, it's more than enough. Donnie's jaw drops. Soldiers wearing dark BDUs and black balaclavas walk about in a relaxed manner, their rifles draped across their chests. A man standing near the front door is almost as pale as a hospital bedsheet and wears a suit and sunglasses, even at night. He speaks to a soldier, who nods his head before walking away. Donnie scans the layout with his monocular, but to his dismay he doesn't see a hangar. How can this be?! A structure that big would have to be visible. Perhaps he's missing something?

He decides to get a little closer and contemplates moving around the complex. However, as Donnie creeps around the trunk of the tree he hides behind, he suddenly hears a noise. Pulling the monocular away from his eye, he freezes in shock and horror. Leaning against another tree, barely ten feet away, is a soldier. His left hand rests over the barrel of his MP5SD, his right arm raised as he looks at the glowing face of a fancy sports watch. The soldier lets out a bored sigh as he drops his arm, his gloved fingers tapping against the grip of his submachine gun. As Donnie takes a very careful step back, the soldier turns his head, scanning the area. Within seconds, he moves from the tree and focuses on the youth.

“Hey! You!" He shouts.

“Shit."

Donnie turns and bolts, panting and stumbling about as he weaves through the dead brush. He doesn't dare look behind him. He can hear the soldier giving chase and calling out on his shoulder-mounted radio.

“Indigo! Southeast corner!"

An alarm begins to sound. Donnie dives into some brush and moves around a tree, trying in vain to confuse his pursuer. As the soldier stumbles and falls forward, he barely manages to catch the teen; the bottom edge of Donnie's coat slips through his fingers. Donnie makes his way back to the trail. As he nears the fence, a figure emerges! Wearing identical garb, Donnie slams into the chest of the masked soldiers, whose chiseled body doesn't even sway from the force of the blow. It's as if the youth has struck a brick wall.

“Nice job, Samuelson." The soldier chuckles, looking down at the boy lying near his feet.

“Hey, man! Hhff-hhff! He's fast!" The soldier chasing Donnie says through labored breaths.

“Alright, you! Get up!"

Lying together in a small, unfolded bed, the lovers share a quiet moment. She kisses his cheek and nuzzles his face before resting her head atop his chest.

“Mmmm-you were wonderful." She coos.

“It's all part of my training, ma'am." He coolly quips.

“Oh, it is not!" She chuckles.

He kisses her lips and gives her dainty form a little squeeze.

“You know, I never thought I'd ever get to use this futon." Director Chen giggles, her finger gliding over Agent Sharpe's chest.

“I'm glad we could break it in, Amy."

“As rough as you are, Daniel, I'm surprised it held up!" She giggles.

Suddenly, an alarm startles the pair. Agent Sharpe lets out a low, frustrated growl.

“Oh, what now?!" She snarls, sitting up in back.

“Figures..."

“Is this going to happen every time?!" She sighs with frustration.

“At least we were able to finish."

“Yeah, but I like cuddling!"

“I'll tell you what, Amy..." Agent Sharpe says as he climbs up from the futon and pulls up his underwear. “We can cuddle later on, for however long you want."

“I'll hold you to that, Daniel." She flashes an innocent grin.

He leans in and kisses her softly upon her lips, then continues to dress himself. Director Chen climbs out of bed and after slipping on her bra and panties begins folding up the bed that conceals beneath the loveseat in her office.

“You know, for an Agent, you're not nearly as inhuman as you originally looked." She remarks, pulling up her skirt.

“I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not."

“I'd consider it a compliment."

Agent Sharpe straightens his tie and collects his sunglasses. He swivels his head and lets out a long, deep sigh before staring at his own reflection in the glass of a Director Chen's framed diploma. His stare is cold and hollow, unnerving the woman.

“What are you doing?" She asks in a soft voice.

“Getting into character... Alright... Let's see what all the fuss is about." He speaks in an eerie monotone, slipping on his sunglasses.

As she buttons her blouse, Agent Sharpe leaves her office, walking in a strangely rigid manner. He closes the door behind him, leaving her to ponder their encounter. As soon as he emerges, he nearly walks into one of his men.

“Sir! There's been a breach!"

“Relax, Agent Jacobson. Maintain your demeanor."

“Sorry, sir."

“So, what's this breach? Another hack?" Agent Sharpe asks in his dry, emotionless voice.

“Not that kind of breach. There was an intruder, sir."

“Interesting... I'd like to see them."

Dragged closer to the compound by the burly soldiers, Donnie finds himself inside of a small trailer, similar to those used as mobile offices by construction crews.

“Let me go, you jarheads!"

Shoved into a folding metal chair and handcuffed to a thick, steel ring mounted to the wall, Donnie is left helpless.

“The hell, man?! I have rights!"

The soldiers both shake their heads and sigh, more annoyed than anything. They stand beside him like a pair of gargoyle statues, listening to the teenager berating them. After a few moments of waiting, the front door suddenly opens. A tall, pale, blonde-haired man with a suit and sunglasses enters the trailer. His walk is strange, almost robotic, and his face is expressionless. He doesn't even seem human!

“So, this is the breach?" The suit-wearing man asks in a disturbingly soft, almost sinister tone.

“Yes, sir!" A soldier stands at attention.

“Interesting..."

“H-hey man, I'm just a kid, alright?" Donnie nervously begins.

“I can see that." The suit-wearing man flashes a small but twisted grin.

“I-I wasn't doing anything, alright?!" Donnie exclaims.

“If you were not doing anything, then what brings you here, to private property?" The man asks.

He seems to glare at the teen through his sunglasses. Donnie gulps, shifts his icy blue eyes and glances toward his handcuffed wrist, then turns his attention back to the strange man.

“Uhm... I come here to smoke pot." A terrified Donnie blurts out.

“... To smoke pot?" The man in the suit raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah! The building looks really trippy after a good hit!" Donnie adds.

The teen has never smoked a joint in his life, but he can't think of anything else to tell the men.

“Is that so? I've been looking at this place all wrong then." The man in the suit softly chuckles.

Even his laugh is eerie!

“We didn't find any pot on him, sir. In fact, all we found on him was this stuff."

The soldier to Donnie's right presents the boy's tools: a pocket sized monocular, his flashlight with the red lens cover and a cheap multitool. The man in the suit tilts his head forward in an exaggerated motion as he looks at the objects.

“I see..."

“I-I threw the pot away when the first guy saw me. I thought he might be an MP or something." Donnie explains.

“Interesting... And this is an aid? To see your trip more clearly?
 The man in the suit lifts up the monocular.

“I, uhm... I use that... To look at girls..." Donnie does his best to act ashamed. “I don't want to look like a creep!"

“Heh. Kids." A soldier chuckles.

“I see..."

The man in the suit stares daggers at the youth for a moment, before suddenly flashing another sinister smile. He passes the monocular back to the soldier and stands in an eerie silence for a moment.

“What do you want us to do with him, sir?" A soldier finally asks.

“That's a good question... Are you going to come back here? ... To 'smoke pot'?"

“No, sir!" Donnie exclaims.

“Good. It's bad for your health... To 'smoke pot'. You should quit, while you're still alive."

Donnie's heart sinks. Has he just been threatened by a man in black?! How serious is this?! Suddenly, static emits from all of the men's radios, followed by a voice.

“Corporal Donahue, we've found a vehicle."

“Oh? What kind of vehicle?" The man in the suit turns to the soldier to Donnie's left.

“What kind of vehicle?" The Corporal asks.

“It's a motorcycle, sir. A dirt bike."

The soldier turns to the man in the suit.

“Log the vehicle. We may need that information in the future." The man in the suit calmly instructs, turning his head toward Donnie.

“Take down the plate number." Corporal Donahue replies.

“It isn't street legal, sir." The voice replies.

“Then get the VIN number!" The Corporal growls.

“Yes, sir!"

“Corporal Donahue, come in." Another voice over a radio suddenly speaks.

“I read you."

“Is Agent Sharpe with you?"

“Yeah. Why?"

“We need him back at the office, right away!"

“Copy that. Sir?" The Corporal turns to the man in the suit.

“An Agent's work is never done." Agent Sharpe says with a sigh. “Escort this young man to the front gate and give him his motorcycle. I'd never come between a boy and his bike."

“Yes, sir!"

As Agent Sharpe makes his way for the door of the trailer, the soldiers uncuff Donnie and give him back his belongings. Just then, Agent Sharpe stops in his tracks. He turns in a slow and exaggerated manner, glancing over his shoulder and looking back at the youth.

“I trust I won't be seeing you again... Will I?"

“N-no, sir!"

“Good!" The Agent flashes an eerie smile. “Safe travels..." His smile quickly fades.

Agent Sharpe then departs and, as instructed, the soldiers walk the teenager back to the front gate. There, he finds a guard in a blue uniform and padded jacket beside a heavily armed soldier. The guard stands beside Donnie's dirt bike, which rests on its kickstand. Their eyes stare daggers into him as he climbs aboard his bike. One, two, three kicks and it fails to start.

“Heh... It, uh... It sometimes takes a minute."

Another two kicks and nothing happens.

“Come on you piece of..."

Two soldiers roll their eyes and approach the youth.

“Put her in gear." One instructs.

The soldiers, with their rifles slung over their chests, grab on to Donnie's rear fender and seat and begin to push. As he moves down the street, a soldier taps his back. Donnie pops the clutch and the bike roars to life. He rides off, looking back at the soldiers. Should he wave to them, as 'thanks'?

“Well, that was fun." A soldier remarks, waving back at Donnie as he disappears into the night.

“This is why I don't have kids." His companion adds.

“I thought that was because you're fuck-ugly?" The first soldier chuckles.

“Hey, you never complained before." The second soldier quips.

After racing home, Donnie pulls up to his garage and stops the bike. He presses the small button on his remote, which he'd stowed on a small pouch attached to the rear fender. His fingers nervously tap the grip of the handlebar as it slowly lifts. After turning the bike around, her leap off of the motorcycle and pushes it backward into the space his parents made for it, nearly slipping on the concrete driveway as he rushes back inside. He catches himself and his bike before scratching the paint of his dad's 1989 Chevy S-10. He lowers the kickstand and closes the garage door behind him before hastily pulling open the inner door and dashing inside of the house.

Donnie makes his way back to his room, just as the clock strikes six o' clock. In thirty minutes, his father will awaken and prepare for work. By then, his motorcycle's engine will be cold. They will never know where he's gone tonight. Donnie struggles to sleep, managing only a few minutes at a time. His nerves are just too rattled. He glances at his PowerBook more times than he can count, simultaneously curious and fearful.

As the sun rises into the sky and he hears his father leaving for work, Donnie decides to try and take his mind off of the events of the strange and sordid night. At about eight o' clock, Donnie makes a simple breakfast and drags himself outside, walking toward his friend Louis' house. Of his group of friends, Louis Jagger lives the closest to him. Upon arriving, Donnie knocks on the door, only to be surprised by Martin Foster and Jack Kelley standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hey, Donnie!" Martin chirps.

“Martin?! Jack?! What're you doing here?"

“Louis is our friend, too." Martin replies.

“We were actually about to come over to get you. We're just waiting on Connor and... Oh! Speak of the devil!" Jack points a finger.

Donnie glances over his shoulder then turns and takes a step back. Martin steps outside, followed by Louis, who still munches on a piece of jellied toast. Twelve-year-old Connor Tully, the youngest member of their group, races up to them on his bicycle, pedaling as fast as his slender legs possibly can.

“Hey, Connor! What's up?!" Louis chirps, crumbs spewing from his mouth.

“Guys! Hey guys!" Connor exclaims, waving a hand above his head and panting. “Did you guys hear?!"

“Hear what?" Martin asks.

Connor dumps his bicycle on the grass as he tries to run towards them. He stumbles and falls to his knees, visibly weakened and out of breath.

“Are you alright?!" Martin races up to the boy.

“What's going on, man?" Louis asks before taking another bite of his toast.

“Is everything alright?" Jack asks, helping Connor up.

“Guys, did you hear?!"

“Hear what?"

“Old Mr. Hapcock was murdered!"

Time ceases and Donnie's heart skips a beat. Louis stops mid-chew and both Jack's and Martin's jaws drop. With a trembling hand, Donnie clenches a fist and gulps. He knows in his heart that it's his fault. What has he done? Suddenly overcome by a mixture of fear and adrenaline, Donnie dashes toward the bushes near Louis' front door. What little breakfast he ate quickly comes back up, to the shock of his friends.

“... Donnie?"