03’s feet press into the cold linoleum, vision blurred by black feathers that drift around the small cell. The noise suppresses the rising anxiety that threatens to bubble over as memories of a different cell flood his mind—though as his eyes settle on the drifting feathers in the cells around him, he releases the tension he holds.
One by one, minute by minute, the others appear behind glass set into the curved wall of a spacious room, not unlike the silo in design but much smaller. He has wings, he realizes, as he feels their weight shift on his back and watches the dark shadow they cast all around. They all have wings in varying dark shades. 03 grabs one stray feather from the air, wincing as the edge of it cuts his hand open.
“Shit—” He pulls his bleeding hand to his chest, pressing down on it to try and stop the flow. The blood tipped feather continues to drift down along with the others, before slowly dissolving into black ichor at his feet.
The others look around in awe, 03 does too, shifting to see the full size of the black wings attached to his back, though just as he spots them pressed up against the wall of his cells, they bubble and drip, turning into black tar, flowing into his spine with a faint sucking noise, leaving him with rags for a shirt.
Some part of him wants to freak out, to panic. Another part of him wants to pick at it, find out everything there was to know about what just happened to him and his friends, and the noise struggles to mold his mind until it produces the response he needs to have. Clinical acceptance, and theories about how to use this to benefit Site-51.
They are all left there for a time, 3680 seconds to be exact, before a set of doors along the far arc of the circular room open up, two familiar faces and a new man 03's never seen before emerging from beyond, all flanked by a number of guards.
“It looks like you all teleported appropriately. That's good!” Doctor MacArthur claps his hands together. “Director Williams and his wife are truly an incredible pair… Mind you not all of you will be able to teleport again, but to those who can—”
“Attempting to teleport within the boundaries of this facility will land you here,” Doctor Yiva cuts in. “You would do well to remember that. Should we find you here at any point outside of expected and cleared teleports you will be decommissioned. We cannot afford runaways or those who disobey orders. Am I clear?”
“Yes Doctor,” all seven say in unison.
“Excellent.” with a press of a few buttons the glass wall slides open, allowing them all out.
Each one tentatively removes themselves from their respective cells, 03 noting a twinkle in 04’s eyes as he scans the others with a hungry expression.
Doctor MacArthur clears his throat, snapping everyone's attention directly to him without a moment's hesitation. “I would like you all to meet Lieutenant Colonel James Matthews, and as of this moment he will be acting as your handler for training and field operations alongside Doctor Yiva.” He geastures to the new man. He's remarkably average, with darker skin, a neat haircut and dressed in a military uniform. His eyes are assessing, clinical, with a hint of curiosity and maybe something like surprise buried under all that crisp professionalism.
“Please, just James is alright with me,” James chuckles, his assessing gaze scanning each one of them carefully.
“Nicknames and perfectly acceptable, as a matter of fact—” Doctor MacArthur hands a tablet over to James and shows him a few basic functions. “Take a look at their profiles, and I leave it to you to provide them with more appropriate callsigns—currently they just have number designations.”
Doctor Yiva eyes the older man with a look of abject disappointment, going so far as to blink in an intentionally slow manner.
“Doctor, I believe it was your paper that details conversational protocol in the early stages of the project...”
“Yes yes, I know what I wrote. But it is one thing to design around hypotheticals and another to actually see the product of my life's work before me. I believe as the project’s lead scientist I am permitted to violate my own rules?”
Doctor Yiva rolls her eyes, ignoring MacArthur’s self satisfied smile.
“Besides, I believe I also detailed well enough in my papers that pack bonding is far more beneficial for late stage growth than simple fear response conditioning, or god forbid an over reliance on the noise,” Doctor MacArthur continues.
“Is saying all this in front of them safe?” James asks, looking up from the tablet.
“Of course it is. The chemicals coursing through their bodies, the psychological effects of the noise, the weeks of conditioning in tandem are far more potent than what their awareness is capable of breaking them out of. That is to say, their minds have been altered at a fundamental, biological level. They are fully aware they have been drugged and conditioned and yet I assure you it will have no negative effect on their obedience.”
James catches 03 eyes.
03 watches him for a while, piecing through Doctor MacArthur's words and testing them inside his own head. He thinks about what it would be like to use one of those feathers that sprouted from his back to kill everyone here and run away, but the thought does little for him other than bring a wave of the noise crashing down upon his psyche. He doesn’t even know if he wants to kill them, or if the thought spawned as a sort of experiment. The two sides of his mind once more battle against the inside of his skull, and once again it yields no clear victor other than the noise that works to suppress it all.
“Would you care for a demonstration?” Doctor Yiva asks, looking over the group.
“A Demonstration?”
“08, kill me.” Doctor Yiva says coldly.
The room shudders under the force of 08’s movements, the wind cracks around him, as his body moves faster than any human should be capable of, until he comes to stop inches away from Doctor Yiva, one of 08’s hands extending to rip out her throat.
The force of his stopping nearly blows Doctor Yiva off of her feet, and 03 realizes then that his ears are ringing faintly, likely from a sonic boom he didn’t realize had happened yet.
“They will obey our every order. Mine, Doctor MacArthur’s, yours, and then the 0-6’s, in reverse order. That being said, they are also physically incapable of bringing harm to any of us, regardless of who gives the orders.”
“R-right.” James swallows.
A single tear streaks 08’s cheek, as his whole body shakes, hand nearly touching the doctor's throat, breath stuck in his nearly paralyzed chest.
“I see you are a little confused, James.” Doctor Yiva says, taking a step away from 08.
“I would be lying if I said I expected this,” James chuckles nervously.
“I assure you, they may look like teenagers, but they are not, we have made sure of that.”
“Then why do they look like teenagers?” James tries.
“The details are—” Doctor Yiva starts, but a single motion from doctor MacArthur stops her.
“Please, let’s walk and talk and I'll explain.”
“Doctor MacArthur, your papers said not to inform handlers...”
“I am aware of what my papers say, as I am always. Still, I have read James' file, I believe it will do more harm to keep it a secret. Now—if you will, Doctor Yiva...” Doctor MacArthur gestures forward, and the three of them turn to leave through the door they arrived in.
The boy once known as Tony, places a hand on 08, who takes a long exhale and releases the tension in his outstretched hand. “Come on.” he offers, squeezing down on 08’s shoulder until he relaxes enough to fall in step with the others who obey more diligently.
“What is all this?” the boy once known as Hayden asks, examining his own hands.
“It’s for the good of site-51,” 01 calls out from the front of the line, her voice as flat as ever.
She’s right, this is all for the good of site-51. It’s exactly as Doctor MacArthur had said. 03 is aware of what he has been through, aware of the tactics being used, aware that his mind was altered, but the awareness of a thing does little to stop its effects. No matter how much he understands it, he can’t help but to feel that overwhelming compulsion to obey, the primal drive to appease them, to do as he is told, to use every ounce of strength he has to make sure they have everything they could possibly need from him.
It makes part of his brain sick, makes him want to tear and rip himself apart, and it makes another part of his brain hate himself for thinking that.
Upon exiting the ‘teleportation room’, they are led through an airlock hallway that opens up into a large common space, not unlike a nice house.
A series of couches are set in the center of the room looking at a fireplace, surrounded by a number of academic books. A large, simple tablet beset with eight chairs leads to a sizable kitchen space, before branching into a long hallway.
It looks painfully modern, devoid of all life and style—the space entirely utilitarian, with nothing of note beyond exactly what’s needed for basic living functions.
“The process is complicated so I will try not to overwhelm you with proper nouns,” Doctor MacArthur continues, guiding them through the common room and into the hallway just beyond.
“I can handle proper nouns,” James chuckles. “I wouldn’t have made it this far if I couldn't.”
“Very well...” Doctor MacArthur smiles. “The Harbinger anomaly is a testy thing, truly it is a miracle we can control it as much as we can, though I suppose we have the Williams to thank for such advances. They have been studying it for years now, though the fact remains that the Harbinger anomaly is wildly unstable and above all... picky.”
The hallway passes a few closed rooms on the way to the exit. Leaving the common room, they are greeted by a walled courtyard the size of a football field, with a track set around it. The boy once known as Jerimiah suppresses a grunt of satisfaction as they enter another building at the edge of the courtyard, revealing a stadium sized training room where weights larger than anything 03 has seen in his life sit ready for use.
"In our initial phase of testing in the early 2000's using death row inmates, we were able to determine that the Harbinger prefers to grant its power to younger individuals, as well as those who have witnessed death in some capacity. Those who had never once seen anything die, would themselves die almost instantly. Those who reported only ever seeing dead animals were nearly as instant—a fraction of a second difference. Those who reported seeing at least one human death would last longer, and more human deaths witnessed meant a much higher chance of survival and thus high chance of being selected. Our studies concluded that those who had both killed another human being, and those who witnessed a large volume of human deaths were the most likely to be selected by the Harbinger. The Harbinger of Death, who could have ever guessed?”
It makes sense, 03 thinks. He found it odd how the Harbinger showed him all of the deaths he had witnessed. He figured there was something about the Harbinger that wanted to see if a person could survive the trauma of that event maybe? It would be impossible to know but for now he just listens, finding the information morbidly fascinating as well.
“We set up a test to ensure that every condition could be met. After all, the more authentic the death seen, and the more authentic the killing, the emotions, the chemical reactions, the better results. I should note that in later tests, those who had killed on accident, or deaths that were witnessed on television or in sterile environments yielded middling results. The deaths witnessed needed to be gruesome, authentic, and the killing needed to be personal. The more emotions surrounding it the better—it impacts the soul after all.”
Leaving the massive training room, they walk towards another separated building containing lockers and a shared shower space.
James coughs, his eyes shifting to the ever apathetic 01 for only a moment as he clocks the lack of privacy.
“Do not worry, the chemicals we injected them with in the initial conditioning phases removed all of their drive. It is not a problem for them.” Doctor Yiva cuts in to answer his unspoken question.
It’s something 03 hadn’t considered, then again it wasn’t as though he was afforded the opportunity to give it much thought. Trying now, he recognizes his body feels apathetic to the idea, and any lingering emotions that do exist are quickly suppressed by the noise in his head.
“Even with all of the conditions met, ensuring that only the strongest survive, those with the greatest will to live, the best leadership qualities, the smartest, most resourceful and so forth, we still had a single failure in bestowing the Vanguard with their abilities. Such is the imperfection of dealing with anomalies.”
James nods casually, before pausing a moment to think about how to phrase his follow-up. “How did you source them to begin with?”
“It’s the digital age, James! Phones, cameras, grades. This is the single most effective weapons project on the planet. Besides, the Williams had a personal injection of funds beyond our usual defense budget to ensure there was enough manpower to find our potential candidates. We needed intelligence, resourcefulness, and awareness. Everything from the cars that followed them to how they managed to navigate our more obvious approaches and probes. Everything was a test in order to find the perfect candidates. It's not enough to be favored by the Harbinger, they needed to be capable soldiers once we were done. Each one of them, each of our birds, is a nuclear device with competence, problem solving, the capacity to improvise, pack bond, and power unlike anything we have ever seen.”
Doctor MacArthur takes a deep breath, pauses, and with a wide smile turns to look each of them in the eye.
“As of today the current nuclear stockpile of the United States is around 5200 units. Compared against the amount of time, money and effort to maintain those disastrous things since the Manhattan Project? Our birds are a mere drop in the water. Years of Williams R&D. Decades even since the discovery of the Harbinger. So many years…and at the end of it all maintaining the Vanguard will cost less than maintaining our nuclear stockpile.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“That answers some of my questions...” James admits as they walk through a hallway from the showers back into the common space, taking a long path along the north side to a series of separate bedrooms. Each one is large enough for a bed, its own bathroom, and a closet where rows and rows of plain white clothes hang neat and organized. “It seems pretty wasteful though. To kill off so many other potential candidates. I'm sure several would have been perfect but died due to bad luck.”
“Luck is a very real thing, Handler. I do not want anyone in this project who is not lucky,” Doctor MacArthur explains simply. "Though, those the Harbinger favors highly will...adjust circumstances. The Harbinger is intelligent, and will tug ever so gently on the string of fate to meet its favorites.
James shares a glance with Doctor Yiva, who rolls her eyes dramatically for what felt like the hundredth time since 03 had met the doctor. Evidently Doctor Yiva disagrees with the idea of luck and fate.
03 turns his focus to 07 as memories of the ‘escape’ surface again. He is perhaps the luckiest of them all. He’s small, physically the weakest by no small margin, but he never gave up. He had a strong will, and despite a number of hang-ups he pressed onward, fought to be useful, and refused to allow himself to fall behind. Luck was the only thing keeping him in pace with the others, so Doctor MacArthur had to be right, luck is real, and 07 has plenty to spare. That, or some of them are favorites...
“If this is the first batch, and there are more to come, why split them up? Wouldn’t it be more efficient to train them all together in the same base? Surely it would save money.” James continues
“Still stuck in the army's budgeting habits, hmm?” Doctor Yiva teases gently.
“Anyone could tell this place has billions in it, and I see no harm in saving the taxpayer a few dollars,” He chuckles.
Doctor Yiva smiles for perhaps the first time. “Money is no object here, despite the previous bragging about cost saving measures.”
“While you are correct—” Doctor MacArthur continues. “A universal training regiment would yield more consistent results, the 0-6 overruled that decision. They didn’t want to put all of our eggs in one basket in case my methods failed. Not to mention the very real threat of foreign actors eventually targeting the project. Having a series of facilities all around the United States ensures the project has ample redundancies and contingencies for failure.”
“The Williams are a very thorough family…” Doctor Yiva nods sagely.
“For not wanting to break the eggs, I hear you sure have expedited everything substantially. I don’t take it the Williams were too fond of that? When i was up for promotion they told me to expect to wait at least twelve months before being given my new station. The paperwork was...unclear but I got the impression that what ever the project was, needed a bit more time.”
“Also correct, I am glad you have done your research but sadly the reality of a situation often does not match the paperwork, as I am sure you are aware. External circumstances call for expediency, and despite Director Williams' personal protests the 0-6 has voted to move forward at the new rate. Such is the beauty of bureaucracy.”
“Truer words have never been spoken.” James nods.
“Do not inflate his ego, if his head gets any fuller I will have to send one of our birds to get him down.”
“You’ve said birds a couple times now.” James notes, leaving the actual question of ‘why’ unspoken.
“The Harbinger typically manifests itself as an avian-like entity, typically that of a crow or crows. The power it grants those who are deemed worthy are given, in similar fashion, a bird motif,” Doctor Yiva explains.
James looks over the group, something moving in the back of his mind as he considers them all.
“Right right, well, their bodies adapted well to the Harbingers' abilities but so did their minds. 01’s for example already had an incredible genius level memory but now it is nearly perfect. The same can be said for the others. Their minds function much quicker than ours to a shocking degree. We can train them in a single fighting style and they will have it perfected by the end of the week. Teach them strategies and tactics of modern guerrilla combat and they will be masters by the end of the month. In short, the much shorter time frame hinders us of course, but it is by no means detrimental.”
“Save for the 22% remaining fragments.” Doctor Yiva cuts in.
“Which is within the acceptable parameters,” Doctor MacArthur reminds her with a wagging finger.
“Can I trouble you for some insight into the need for the fast track?” James asks as they finish the tour, and are returned back through the courtyard to the training facility, where a collection of lingering scientists have appeared, tapping away at their tablets.
“Because the world is changing faster than we could have ever predicted.” Doctor Yiva sighs, cleaning her glasses. “There are devils from the real hell poking their heads up Africa and the middle east again after years of dormancy. There is confirmed alien life much closer than you think, eldritch entities are starting to plague Estonia, Arch is accelerating its genetic testing to an unstable degree and we—the United States government—are still hiring out men in black camouflage to fight these anomalies.”
James whistles in a low tone. “I knew things were accelerating, but to this degree? I wouldn't have made it this far without encountering my fair share of Anomalies, not to mention the unredacted reports out of Blackwood's archives the DOD parts with, but what you're describing is...”
"Absurd?"
"That's one word for it.
“How do you think we feel? We have had to rebuild the entire sub level silo to accommodate the anomalies our men can get their hands on and that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what we don’t even have tools to measure yet. The Williams have recruited two of their three children to help expedite the process, the 0-6 is pulling on every contact they have access to or the few contractors that remain, and it still is barely enough.”
James shakes his head, and watches intently as Doctor MacArthur gestures for all of the children to use the equipment inside the gym, eyes hungry for new data.
“That is why we have them… the only surefire way to ensure victory over other anomalies is no longer advanced experimental firearms wielded by contracted mercenaries like how we used to do it.”
03 watches as 05 places himself down in front of a rowing machine, the dial on the side indicating weight well into the tonnage.
One of the scientists present adjusts its setting to read 5 tons.
The boy once known as Jerimiah grips the handles, and in one smooth motion pulls the weight of a school bus as if it’s nothing, the sound of the metal plates bang through the room with a near deafening crash.
“The Harbingers gift isn’t just power. Its energy, an energy that can impact other anomalies in ways our weapons can not. The only way to win against anomalies effectively is to use our own.”
***
They train on the machines for hours, until they sweat through their clothes, until they fully realize the magnitude of their new strength and speed, until everything aches and the air burns their lungs. The doctors stay for a time, watching, assessing, tracking, but once they have their data they leave, and the training continues without them.
03 had been told to train, and so 03 trains, trains until someone tells him to stop, until an order releases him. His mind explodes with data, information—about himself, the circumstances, anything to drown out the crushing grief that gives rise to the noise. He has to think, or else he'll fester. It's hell, but compared to everything that came before this particular hell feels far more bearable.
“Alright, that's enough for today!” James calls out at the fourth hour.
Some of the scientists in the room give him odd looks, one going so far as to whisper something 03 is shocked to realize he could hear.
“Doctor MacArthur’s protocol dictates that—”
“Doctor MacArthur selected me as their handler because he trusts my judgement, and my judgement says that at this moment protocol needs a little breaking, they are done.”
The scientists look to one another, and then break away, filing out of the room.
“Fall in line ladies and gents.” James says casually, flipping through his tablet and waiting for everyone to line up.
Much like the doctors, 03 feels an overwhelming urge to obey, as if his body works to follow the order before his mind can piece together the words themselves. Before he knows it he is shoulder to shoulder with the others, standing at full attention, his eyes locked to James.
James presses a fist into his mouth and taps it there for a moment, scanning the tablet in front of him.
“I’ve read up on damn near everything, and I am sure given how quickly all this has gone you have plenty of questions your minds won't let you ask.”
03 blinks, stunned for a moment, his mind suddenly racing to figure out where exactly this goes.
“Like I said, Doctor MacArthur selected me as your handler because he trusts my judgement. I know you all don’t know me, but I will do my best to change that, and I hopefully in turn can get to know you. You are tools, weapons, products of site-51 designed to fight anomalies—I get that. But in order to best guide you and order you I need to know you. This will be a long process, but one that I hope will be fruitful for everyone, especially site-51. They do good work, really they do, even if their methods are…unorthodox.”
That is yet to be seen, but it isn’t as though 03 is capable of disagreeing. He exists for site-51’s benefit. If they have to kill and kidnap tens of thousands of children just like him then so be it… right?
The noise threatens to build in the back of his mind, and 03 crushes that lingering doubt and store it away.
Fact is, despite that part of his brain—the 22% The doctors kept talking about—telling him to hate this man, he also finds himself respecting his honesty.
“The doctors suggested that I christen you with some new names…I like what they said about the bird theming, but in order to give you names I think will suit you best I need to see how you all perform. Shower up, get some shut eye, and we will continue with the recommended training regimen for as long as I feel is necessary. From there we will move to combat exercises and sparring, names will be rewarded after I've assessed your characters so you have something shiny to wear on your first real deployment.”
James claps his hands, and moves the tablet away. “Dismissed. I will see you tomorrow at 0500 sharp.”
The world slips into that familiar smear again. 03’s body moves on autopilot as he returns to the showers they were shown a few hours ago during the tour. He strips down and saturates his body in water so hot it feels like it will melt his skin.
Everything itches, an itch he can't scratch as the lingering effect of the stims the scientists used to forcibly continue their training prickle at his muscles and tendons.
He watches the drops work down his body, and notices for the first time that the crookedness in his arm and hands are fixed. In fact he doesn’t have a single scar on his entire body any more. They must have done something to him while he was unconscious, after he was ordered to slit his own throat. Or maybe it was during the noise? the acid? he couldn't tell, it all blurs together.
03’s fingers dance along the line the scalpel had made on his neck, searching for proof that it happened at all. He instead finds nothing.
A tapping pulls his attention away, and to the person using the shower head next to him. It’s a familiar tapping in a way, one that makes his heart ache ever so slightly.
08 rests his head on his arm as he props himself up against the shower wall, blond hair plastered to a face so sunken 03 worries it might vanish into shadow entirely.
He taps again, the rhythm of the Morse Code vibrating through 03’s mind.
“E-R-E-N,” it spells.
03 shakes his head, waiting for the noise to come, and lets out a sigh of relief as it never does.
“That’s dangerous,” 03 whispers, shifting to place his back against the shower wall, looking out through the steam to the others before he lets his head roll to the side to look 08 in the eye.
“C-R-I-S” 08 taps out next.
“You can’t…”
“It’s my name,” He mutters, bringing his head up and back down to make a faint smacking sound against the tile wall
“Not any more,” 03 tries, though he doesn’t sound too convinced himself.
“We can’t do this, this isn’t us. Is it?”
“It is,” 03 grinds out, the noise starting to take hold of him now, that screeching vibration rattling his skull, the acid flow in his veins that makes his body shake with agony even now.
“Why?”
“Because it just is.” The noise cascades over his senses, the fire burns across his skin, making the heat of the water unbearable, sending white hot flashes through the root of his eyes.
“Maybe…maybe there is still a chance—”
“Shut up,” 03 grinds out in a whisper, slamming the water off as the pain threatens to tear him apart. He falls to the ground, hands over his ears as the noise crushes his skull, tears at his neurons, grinds through every atom in his body until he can’t help but hold his breath.
He doesn’t know how long he stays there, only that it hurts more than anything he could ever conceive of, until a hand finds itself under his armpit, and his eyes peel open to see 06 lifting him off the ground.
“Are you alright?” He asks, his smile not nearly as warm as it used to be, but not unwelcome.
“No—” 03 grinds out, glancing to where 08 was moments ago, finding only an empty space.
“Come on, let's get you dressed and in bed, you’re alright… I got you.” he urges, and 03 follows him, eager to put an end to the noise that still lingers as his mind struggles to dash away the words 08 had said to him.
It isn’t until he is dried off, and alone in his new bedroom, that the noise finally comes to an end, leaving him in an almost equally painful quiet.
What the hell was 08 thinking? Saying stuff like that? Why didn’t the noise hurt his friend as badly as it hurts himself?
His mind swims with so many thoughts it threatens to drown him, so many thoughts he almost forgets about the sight of Jessica's corpse lying on the ground.
What had she taught him again? Ten seconds in, ten seconds out?
He tries it now, his breathing coming in steady at first, only to be broken up in raspy sobs as he stares at the blank ceiling above.
Tears stream down his face, as his hands ball into tight fists.
What the fuck is happening to him, what is any of this? Why…
He pinches his eyes shut as the noise threatens to return.
The noise won’t let him mourn, not fully, it won't let him think certain thoughts, disobey orders, or feel anything that doesn’t benefit Site-51. They wanted a tool, a weapon, someone to fight anomalies, whatever that meant. However, 22% fragmentation is evidently too much. He would have rather become a doll, a robot, someone like 01, he would rather his humanity stripped away entirely than left just enough for him to feel the pain of not being able to feel fully.
He tries to breathe, but the sobs don’t stop, even as the noise builds once again.
His mind is broken, split into fragments. He’s smart, he’s logical, and his deductions all come to the same conclusion despite the part of his mind that yearns for release. He won’t let himself become a robot, or a doll, or be stripped of his humanity. As easy as it would be, as much as he wants it to hurt less, he knows deep down his body won’t let him. Just like with the Harbinger, it didn’t matter if he wanted to suck in the tar and sink the bottom, once it got into his lungs he would fight it off again.
A memory surfaces of a conversation they had in the medical ward, that a person dies twice. Once when they are put in the ground and a second time when they are remembered for the last time. They had agreed to keep living, living for the memory of the people they loved. Even as the noise rises in his ears, 03 lets out a breath, and steels his resolve.
It’s all easier said than done, and when the pain of the noise comes crashing down he knows he will waver and second guess himself just as he has been doing several times today already. But in the quiet moment now and all the quiet moments to come, he reaffirms his original promise made with himself.
He will feel just a little more than what is bearable, damn the noise, damn the acid, he won’t forget them, and he won't forget himself. He will play by their rules, and do everything he is asked, but he will not for a moment allow himself to forget anything, even if it hurts.
