Smiling, he read on.
Before their escape, Shannon and Lambourne produced a computer virus which would shut down and destroy New London's clone factory, which ultimately made its way into the hands of Terrorist Faction 001 (known among themselves as the ‘Underdogs’). It is assumed that Shannon remains sheltered with them in their countryside hideout (which they have named ‘Spitfire's Rise’).
O K , let ’ s make the next bits more interesting.
The insurgents Underdogs invaded New London on April 25th, with a team comprised of Ewan West, Kate Arrowsmith, Jack Hopper, Alex Ginelli and Charlie Coleman (deceased). Their intention was to neutralise annihilate the clone factory, although they were forced to evacuate chased by Oliver Roth into the Inner City prison. The exception being Alex Ginelli, who was separated from his group (see also: The Ginelli Project).
‘Oliver,’ came the gruff voice of Iain Marshall through his radio.
‘Nearly done, calm yourself.’
He knew his tone would annoy his boss. But Marshall was the kind of man who deserved to be annoyed whenever possible. Anyone who would willingly choose to be New London’s Head of Military Division was never going to be a barrel of laughs.
‘We’re waiting for you in the Experiment Chamber right now. You don’t want to miss the fireworks, do you?’
‘You perform the AME experiment without me and I’ll break your pretty little jaw. Now wait a second.’
Marshall huffed and fell silent. Roth continued his edits.
The insurgents Underdogs were able to utilise a weakness in the Inner City walls staff incompetence, and escaped the prison on the morning of April 28th. They were able to destroy the clone factory as planned (in addition to seizing intel on the AME project from an officers' sector), and escaped with Alex Ginelli. The exception being Charlie Coleman, who was apprehended and killed shot repeatedly in the chest by Oliver Roth, bringing his Underdog kill count to eight of the morons.
Roth smiled. It was an improvement at the very least. He read the final paragraph as he rose to his feet.
To date, the surviving Underdogs remain at Spitfire’s Rise. They are assumed to be planning their next move against the AME project. As a result of their raid, research regarding AME has been sped up dramatically.
Talking of AME, it was time for those fireworks. Roth jogged towards the door: Grant, Marshall and Pearce would wait for him even if he walked, but he couldn’t wait to see the experiment for himself.
*
With a swipe of his keycard and the flicker of a green LED, Oliver Roth was granted access to the Experiment Chamber. The teenage assassin found himself in the same room as Iain Marshall, New London’s Head of Military, and Nathaniel Pearce, its Chief of Scientific Research. Only Grant himself was missing.
‘Evening, Oliver,’ said Nathaniel Pearce with shallow sarcasm. It was barely seven in the morning, but Pearce took every opportunity to point out his colleagues’ faults, including lateness.
Roth smirked, and said nothing. Part of being fearsome meant knowing when not to step into arguments.
‘Is the subject ready?’ Roth asked, spotting the figure behind the glass.
‘He doesn’t look it,’ replied Pearce, taking a sip of coffee from a mug which read ‘smart-arse and proud of it’ in big bold letters. ‘Not that it matters.’
Roth took a closer look at the clone inside the chamber. He may have been a manufactured collection of factory-grown flesh and organs, but the emotions on his face seemed very real. He showed signs of nervousness and suspicion, clueless as to why he was armed to the teeth with an assault rifle, holstered handguns, grenades and a belt full of hunting knives. Especially since the Experiment Chamber around him was almost empty, hosting little more than a pair of stone pillars that stretched to the ceiling, positioned a metre apart in the centre of the room.
Roth glanced to his left. Iain Marshall was predictably impatient, his hands in his pockets and his top lip beginning to quiver. Nathaniel Pearce wore his usual creepy smile, perhaps a little too entertained by his own work.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Roth asked.
‘AME is four months ahead of schedule,’ Pearce replied. ‘You can wait another minute.’
Don’t say that like you’re proud, Roth thought. If it weren’t for Ewan West stealing our plans from that officers’ sector, Nick wouldn’t have made you speed up the research. McCormick and his special needs kids have had three weeks to plan their next move.
Special needs kids. It may have been true, but Roth used the phrase to insult his enemies rather than underestimate them. Thanks to their efforts in April, New London’s glorious clone factory had become a burned-out ash pit which hadn’t grown a soldier in three weeks. Those ‘special needs kids’ were the reason why the ageing clone population was in steep decline, only propped up by imported soldiers from other Citadels.
The phone rang at the side of the desk, and Marshall picked up the handset. Without seeking permission, Roth pushed the speakerphone button to allow himself and Pearce into the discussion too.
‘Experiment Chamber,’ Marshall said.
‘Iain,’ came a lively voice through the speakerphone.
It was the voice of Nicholas Grant.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘Looks to me like you’re ready. Commence the experiment, gentlemen.’
‘You’re not coming down?’
‘Floor F’s too low for me. The view on my screen is perfect.’
Roth leaned over the desk.
‘Hey Nick,’ he said, ‘I bet you wish Shannon were here for this!’
‘My daughter made her decisions,’ Grant answered. ‘Now she can live with them.’
Roth looked to his left. Pearce’s face wore an entertained grin, and one corner of his lips perked at Grant’s last sentence. Roth could not interpret what that particular grin meant, and Pearce did not elaborate.
Roth had not spoken to Shannon much during their time together in the Citadel. As far as he remembered, the girl had spent most of her days locked away in some far corner of Floor A like a fairy-tale princess. Whether this was through her own choice or through her father’s overprotection, Roth had never known; he just knew that Shannon Grant had been a private neurotic failure of a person, and she was probably still her private neurotic failing self in Spitfire’s Rise too.
‘Now, if you please,’ Grant finished. Roth brought his attention back to the Experiment Chamber and the clone who stood inside, and he remembered how excited he was to witness the proceedings about to take place.
Pearce nodded and pushed a button. The CCTV cameras around them began to record.
‘Eight
