Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God by Brian McGoldrick
Book: Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God by Brian McGoldrick
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Authors: Brian McGoldrick
Tags: Fantasy
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to be far to slow for my needs. I will create my own training schedule, even though they are unlikely to allow to use their facilities to train outside of their therapy program's constraints. I will simply have to improvise and overcome; I think that was the motto of one of America's military branches, before humans were replaced with drones.
Two sets of footsteps are approaching my room. It could be any room on the corridor, but I have an unsettling feeling of animosity directed towards me. This is the same as the sensations I would feel while living in my Half-Dvergar body, whenever anything hostile was close to me. Why am I still feeling this now? Could this ability be something unrelated to my body in the Battleground of the Damned?
The door slams open. A large man, with the physique of a professional bodybuilder, belligerently stares at me for a moment before entering. Behind him, a smaller man, about average height, enters, with a benign expression on his face. The good guy and the bad guy. As old as the routine is, it will work on most people. Both of them reek of government bureaucracy.
The good guy walks up to my bed, while the bad guy stays near the door, as though to prevent a near invalid like myself from escaping. The good guy is a black man in his early thirties, with very short-cut hair. His is neither handsome nor ugly. Most people would never look twice at him, if he was in the middle of a crowd. Everything about him appears average, except for his eyes. There is neither warmth nor life in them. He has the cold hard eyes of a government bureaucrat.
The good guy smiles and offers his hand. “Mark McGuinness, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am Special Agent Jones of the FBI, and this is my partner Special Agent Jones, no relation.”
I do not shake the offered hand and keep my face devoid of emotion or reaction. “What can I do for you Special Agent Jones?”
His smile does not waver, and his cold eyes remain lifeless orbs. “Well, we, the government that is, have been investigating the simultaneous deaths of 1,138,345 people, and another 87,565 simultaneously entering a comatose state approximately and and one-half years ago. Since then all but one of the 87,565 have died, and the one is you, Mark.
“Now, when you woke up you asked Dr. Turner if the others were dead. That is very interesting, Mark. It shows that you must know something about what happened to the others. So, would you kindly explain to us what you meant by that?”
Deny everything, and there will be nothing they can do. They will not believe the truth, and if they did, there is no telling what the government might do to me.
“Sorry, Special Agent. I have no idea what happened. When I woke up, I was confusing nightmares with reality and misunderstood what the doctor was saying.”
Nothing shows in Special Agent Jones' face to give me a clue what he is thinking. He just startes at me for a few moments, with that perfect, friendly smile. “It's not very nice to lie to a government agent, Mark. You are the only survivor, and you know what happened. If you come clean, the Bureau will make sure you are protected.”
“I'm not lying. I don't know what caused everyone to die. I was in a coma, remember?”
The other Special Agent Jones, the white one, moves to the other side of my bead. He has hostility and intimidation down pat, but after what I have seen, he is not very scary. He is 6'6'' if he is an inch, and must weight nearly 400lbs. He moves like a trained killer, and I do mean killer, not fighter. After my time in the Lands of Despair, I can tell the difference. With his perfect suntan, blonde hair in a buzz-cut and lantern jaw, he could pass for the main Russian villain in an old action movie.
“Getting smart-ass with the FBI is the dumbest thing you can do, boy. Special Agent Jones is being very polite by giving you a chance to answer our questions in a friendly manner, instead of just arresting you.”
“On what charge?
Two sets of footsteps are approaching my room. It could be any room on the corridor, but I have an unsettling feeling of animosity directed towards me. This is the same as the sensations I would feel while living in my Half-Dvergar body, whenever anything hostile was close to me. Why am I still feeling this now? Could this ability be something unrelated to my body in the Battleground of the Damned?
The door slams open. A large man, with the physique of a professional bodybuilder, belligerently stares at me for a moment before entering. Behind him, a smaller man, about average height, enters, with a benign expression on his face. The good guy and the bad guy. As old as the routine is, it will work on most people. Both of them reek of government bureaucracy.
The good guy walks up to my bed, while the bad guy stays near the door, as though to prevent a near invalid like myself from escaping. The good guy is a black man in his early thirties, with very short-cut hair. His is neither handsome nor ugly. Most people would never look twice at him, if he was in the middle of a crowd. Everything about him appears average, except for his eyes. There is neither warmth nor life in them. He has the cold hard eyes of a government bureaucrat.
The good guy smiles and offers his hand. “Mark McGuinness, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am Special Agent Jones of the FBI, and this is my partner Special Agent Jones, no relation.”
I do not shake the offered hand and keep my face devoid of emotion or reaction. “What can I do for you Special Agent Jones?”
His smile does not waver, and his cold eyes remain lifeless orbs. “Well, we, the government that is, have been investigating the simultaneous deaths of 1,138,345 people, and another 87,565 simultaneously entering a comatose state approximately and and one-half years ago. Since then all but one of the 87,565 have died, and the one is you, Mark.
“Now, when you woke up you asked Dr. Turner if the others were dead. That is very interesting, Mark. It shows that you must know something about what happened to the others. So, would you kindly explain to us what you meant by that?”
Deny everything, and there will be nothing they can do. They will not believe the truth, and if they did, there is no telling what the government might do to me.
“Sorry, Special Agent. I have no idea what happened. When I woke up, I was confusing nightmares with reality and misunderstood what the doctor was saying.”
Nothing shows in Special Agent Jones' face to give me a clue what he is thinking. He just startes at me for a few moments, with that perfect, friendly smile. “It's not very nice to lie to a government agent, Mark. You are the only survivor, and you know what happened. If you come clean, the Bureau will make sure you are protected.”
“I'm not lying. I don't know what caused everyone to die. I was in a coma, remember?”
The other Special Agent Jones, the white one, moves to the other side of my bead. He has hostility and intimidation down pat, but after what I have seen, he is not very scary. He is 6'6'' if he is an inch, and must weight nearly 400lbs. He moves like a trained killer, and I do mean killer, not fighter. After my time in the Lands of Despair, I can tell the difference. With his perfect suntan, blonde hair in a buzz-cut and lantern jaw, he could pass for the main Russian villain in an old action movie.
“Getting smart-ass with the FBI is the dumbest thing you can do, boy. Special Agent Jones is being very polite by giving you a chance to answer our questions in a friendly manner, instead of just arresting you.”
“On what charge?
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