Page 62 of Runaway Magic
He could deal with that.
As soon as he had the anger under his heel, other unfamiliar feelings burst to life inside of him. Uncomfortable as it was to do, he watched them, wary they too might try to take him over. He was interested to see that, after a short struggle, the emotions wilted under his regard just like the anger had.
Could it be so simple? Was observation the key to controlling the ridiculous inferno of emotions that kept ripping him apart? He was no stranger to vigilance; it was part of what made him a good sniper.
Unbidden, a memory came to him of being cold and dirty while lying in wait on top of a cliff. He had stayed there, barely moving for days, taking only light cat naps when he was forced to as he waited for the president of a small country to sneak off to go hunting like Fourteen’s handler claimed he liked to do. After day four, Fourteen had gotten lucky and completed his mission with the simple pull of a trigger.
The president had been a good man and took care of his people. His only crime had been to stand in the way of a company that wanted invasive mining rights to a protected wildlife reservation. His death sent the country into chaos and allowed The Company to install a puppet as their new president.
And Fourteen had made it all possible for them.
Fourteen’s head pounded and his vision blurred as rage stomped on him with unforgiving, steel-toed boots. The anger had returned and brought backup. He was going to kill the Colonel for what he had done. What he had made Fourteen do.
Against his better judgment, he allowed the emotion free rein and watched it as it rose and tore through him, rending parts of himself he couldn’t even comprehend. When pain lanced through his temple, Fourteen was caught off guard and staggered over to brace himself against the brick wall of the alley.
All he wanted was to fight, to kill, to destroy everything and everyone in his path to vengeance.
Emotion was a monster digging its claws into his gut, gleefully tearing out whatever it found. How could anyone survive this? Fourteen felt like he was coming apart at the seams—he was a fool to think simple observation could defeat the monster raging inside him.
His brand-new, stupid, pointless emotions were going to tear him to shreds and destroy everything that made him a person, leaving nothing but a soulless killer.
Just as he reached the point of no return, the stark terror on Cym’s face as he ordered Fourteen away shoved its way into the forefront of his mind. If he gave in to his need for revenge, he wouldn’t be able to help Cym.
The Colonel needed to pay for what he’d done to Fourteen.
But not today.
The monster thundering through him had proven too much tackle head-on, so instead, he focused on the pain in his skull—on the physical manifestation of his anger. His attention made it flare up, and he saw double as white-hot pain throbbed in his head. He focused through the pain—it was an old friend. Abruptly, it lessened. His mind went from uncontrollable chaos to a manageable whirlwind in seconds. It was still there, but it was no longer kicking his ass.
He pressed his face against the cool brick and breathed a sigh of relief. Cautiously, he poked at the anger, making sure it would stay in formation. It flickered defiantly but had none of the bite from a moment ago. When he was certain he was in control, he peeled his body away from the wall.
This was going to work. He wasn’t sure if this was how civilians dealt with emotions, but it was how he was going to do it.
Shaking fingers pulled out a packet of aspirin and tore it open, tapped the pills onto his tongue, and he dry-swallowed them. He considered the hole in the back of his shoulder—he could rig a makeshift bandage using medical tape and his shirt, but reaching it was going to be a challenge. He rolled his shoulder, testing it for impaired performance, and found it to be satisfactory. Blood flow was minimal.
Conclusion: it could be ignored with few repercussions.
Fourteen swung a leg over his bike, hit the ignition, and pulled in the clutch. With now-steady hands and a mind—temporarily—under his control, he let out the clutch whilerolling back the throttle and darted into traffic. Outraged honks and shouting faded swiftly as he gained speed.
Would Cym like his Suzuki Hayabusa as much as he did? He had a feeling the freedom it offered would appeal to him and made a mental note to take Cym for a ride after he got him back.
The first place he went to resupply was a bust. The abandoned gas station had deteriorated so badly the ceiling had caved in, burying the floorboard he needed to access under tons of rubble. What had originally made it perfect for his purposes ended up making it unusable now.
Fourteen had been banking on the gas station to resupply. The Company had no knowledge of this spot, so they wouldn’t think to come here looking for him. And they would be looking for him by now—it had been forty-eight hours since he had last checked in. Protocol dictated checking in once a mission was complete.
After twenty-four hours passed with no sign of him or his handlers, they would send out a team to find out what had happened. The only reason they hadn’t found him yet was because they knew nothing about his warehouse. The other supply caches in town were a different matter. They were in place for any operative to use, so they were known to every agent in The Company.
Fuck his luck to hell and back again. Why hadn’t he made a second backup stash? He was paranoid enough to do so, but it was nearly impossible for him to hide anything from The Company.
He hadn’t been trying to hide the gas station; both it and the warehouse had been outfitted hastily out of need. Otherwise oneof his handlers would have discovered them. The gas station had been from a mission five years earlier. He’d abandoned weapons there to keep from being incriminated in case he’d been caught after an assassination gone south. He’d ended up in New York before he’d managed an extraction, so he’d never bothered to go back for them.
The warehouse had been for a mission requiring him to pose as an antiques dealer, but the mission had been scrubbed before he had done more than set up his identity. The same day he had been pulled from the mission, he’d been given another and had been wiped of anything regarding the abandoned mission. He only learned about the warehouse’s existence after discovering mission notes and paperwork for it in a pocket of his equipment bag.
It had been common for him to find random things he had no memory of, so it hadn’t fazed him. The fact that he kept it a secret from The Company, rather than sharing it upon discovery, made him feel proud. At the height of their control over him, he had still managed to rebel.
If only he had managed to rebel a little more. With one more secret stash, he would be ignoring the stupid plan forming in his mind rather than feeding it.
The Company had made sure each of its operatives was kept up to date on the location of the resupply stations that dotted every major city on the planet. To the best of his knowledge, there were ten caches in this city alone, but all of them were under some form of observation.
