"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss. the abyss gazes also into you" -Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

He stood at the head of an impossibly long table that intersected with another table, a horizontal one. His surroundings were austere and gray; few dim lights lit the room. Puccini felt ill and he fought the overwhelming urge to retch.

It was not the Triumvirate who entered the room, as he feared, but someone almost as daunting. A horde of Black Coats in a crisp methodical single-file line strode and on their heels was the imposing Mr. Cox.

Cox seated himself near the center of the horizontal table and folded his hands neatly before him.

“Gentlemen,” he acknowledged the Black Coats assembled. His piercing gaze slid over to Puccini; he leaned forward slightly. “Doctor.”

Puccini fidgeted nervously with the collar of his shirt under the secretive smile the other man regarded him with.

“Is it clear to you, Doctor, why we are unhappy with you?” The smile vanished, replaced by an unaffected expression.

“N-n-no,” Puccini stammered. “I-I…”

Cox waved his hand for silence. “We are in a rather fascinating situation. Our friends are making quite a nuisance of themselves. They know things,” he looked at the doctor sharply. “Things they are not suppose to know. Why is that?”

Puccini was rapidly loosing color. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Mr. White stepped out of the shadows and tossed a broken glass syringe onto the table. The hypodermic rolled down the length of the table stopping inches away from Puccini.

“We found this in a hotel room Amelia stayed in,” White informed him callously. “Someone activated the Sub-personality and issued an unauthorized hit on one of the original Project constituents.” He gave Puccini a significant look. “One of your former colleagues.”

He gaped at them aghast. His squinty eyes darted frenetically between the two men. Realizing that his life was jeopardy, he scrambled to compose himself and downplay his horror.

“So?” he responded with a mechanical shrug in a transparent attempt to play it cool.

“So,” Cox’s voice dropped an octave and resonated within the room, “you have one chance to explain yourself, Doctor.” He gave Puccini a withering look. “And don’t blame Mr. Lyle time. We know that he was not with the girl at the time nor did he know what the Serum was for- we know he is not responsible. So the truth, if you’d be so kind.”

“I-I,” his mind went blank and he could think of no excuse to offer to Cox. “I thought you had gotten to her.”

“No,” Cox drawled, growing weary of the doctor’s lies. “Someone did, but it was not us.”

“Impossible.”

“It is the only possibility.

Puccini knew he was in serious trouble, as they were not buying anything he said. Cornered and distraught, he threw his hands onto the table’s end and leaned forward, sweat beads dripping down his face. “Are you accusing me of this?” he shouted defensively. “You’ve trusted me for so long! How can you possibly think I would betray you now? I think your men,” he pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of the Black Coats, “are inventing tales to hide their failures! I’ll prove to you that I am loyal.”

Mr. Cox glanced at Mr. White and the two exchanged secretive smiles.

“You certainly will, Doctor,” Cox told him confidently. “Beginning now.”

After the Black Coats had taken Puccini away, a grim-faced Cox turned to Mr. White.

“Follow him,” he said shortly. He folded his arms over his stomach and stared a spot over White’s shoulder with a brooding expression. “I don’t want any more screw-ups.”

White gave Cox a disgruntled glare. “I see I’m doing all the footwork,” he remarked sullenly.

“And you have a problem with that?” Cox caught the other man’s gaze and held it with a hard look. White felt as though Cox’s eyes were boring a hole through his skull but he held his ground. Cox’s mouth twisted into a severe line. “Mr. Lyle is still under the impression that I work for him. It is imperative that he retains that belief. And to do that I must remain out of sight which leaves you to do the ‘footwork’.”

White was not one bit reassured and shot a nasty look at Cox’s retreating figure.

“So.” Mario finally broke the stifling silence. “What’s the story, Sis?”

“Huh?” Mia sounded startled. She looked her brother in puzzlement. “What story?”

Mario practically growled. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you got married? Nonna’s been bawlin’ her eyes out ever since she found.”

“Married? What are you talkin’ about?”

Realizing that his initial belief that the marriage was a hoax, he glared into the rearview mirror. ‘Maybe you oughta ask him,” he spat angrily.

Unconsciously, Lyle hunkered down into his seat as though trying to disappear. It never once entered his mind that she might find out about that little deception. So, he hadn’t been honest about everything. His cheek burned with an unfamiliar sensation- he was blushing from embarrassment.

Mia was sure there was a reasonable explanation for her brother’s odd accusation and twisted around in her seat in order to see Lyle. She watched him thoughtfully before speaking.

“How do you know Mario?”

Lyle refused to meet her gaze or answer her question. Mia turned to Mario.

“He came to the house looking for you,” Mario told her. His voice was hard and unforgiving. “Said you were newlyweds. He even had a ring.”

Mia’s nose wrinkled as she paused to mull something over. She did not seem overly concerned that Lyle had lied to her family about their relationship, only curious as to when he could have met them without her knowing it. “Must have been when we were separated,” she murmured to herself.

Mario heard and frowned. “So you are married then?” He was disappointed and it was evident in his voice; he did not want his sister to be tied down to this man.

“Wha… No, no,” she replied distractedly. She looked back at Lyle with an indignant expression. “You’ve got some nerve getting mad at me for not telling you I had met Jarod when you didn’t bother mention that you’d seen my family!”

Lyle mumbled something incomprehensible.

The two went back and forth bickering about trivial nonsense- who hadn’t told whom about meeting whom. Neither made any headway with the other; the only thing they accomplished was to infuriate Mario whose dislike and distrust of Lyle was growing by the second.

“That’s it!” Mario, sick of the lies and unanswered questions, slammed on the brakes pitching them all brutally forward. The tires squeal crossly as they tried to prevent the vehicle from careening into the car in front of it. He pulled over to the side of street and shifted the car into park. Glaring darkly at his sister, he turned to confront Lyle. “This car doesn’t move again until someone tells me what’s going on. I don’t care who it is; but someone better start talkin’!”

Mia caught Lyle’s discontented gaze. He shook his slightly at her inquiring look. She looked away from him and began to chew on her bottom lip until it bled. He let out a large breath.

It took nearly an hour, but Mario was told as much as he needed to know to understand the severity of their situation. Mario turned in his seat and stared at the road before him. From his vantage point in the backseat, Lyle watched Mia petitioned her brother to believe them. His mind blocked out the sound of their voices, as he was aware of nothing but the way Mia sought Mario’s trust and approval; the same way she had often beseeched him. A new darkness-a new hate- bubbled within him. He no longer viewed Mario as a potential ally- he only saw him as an enemy.

“Yes,” Sydney confirmed. He was just a few steps ahead of Broots- feeling his way through the sublevel. “Angelo was absolutely certain they were down here.”

“But why were they down here? I mean, I didn’t even know this area of the Centre even existed! What could have possibly brought Jarod and Miss Parker down here?” Broots’ hand brushed against something feathery. He jumped back and into a wall, his heart practically leaping out of his chest.

“Lyle perhaps?” the doctor suggested noncommittally. “Whatever the reason they obviously ran into serious trouble.”

“I’ll say.” Broots fell silent, worrying over the fate of his friends.

Angelo had been very concerned over their fates as well for he had been in frenzy when he came to Sydney’s office. Angelo had apparently followed Miss Parker when she went to get Jarod. Temporarily, distracted by another matter, he found them gone when he returned to the sublevel. Then he found Miss Parker’s gun and knew something very bad had happened. His directions to Parker and Jarod had led the doctor and the technician to the God-forsaken realm they were now in.

A dampened roar thundered from somewhere ahead of them. Broots’ nerves frayed more and his stomach churned violently.

“This way,” Sydney motioned to him.

Reluctantly, Broots followed positive that he was not going to like whatever it was causing the rumbling noise. A rusted door led them to an open expanse divided by a boisterous river.

“What is this?” Broots found he had to shout in order to be heard over the water’s tirade. “Why is there a river underneath the Centre?”

“Hydro-electric power,” Sydney called back. “During the 60s and 70s water powered provided electricity to this section of the Centre.”

“What was this area used for?”

“It was the original psychological research wing, or at least part of it was. It was rumored to have been shut down decades ago.”

“Guess the rumor wasn’t true,” Broots murmured to himself as he scanned the environment.

“There,” Sydney directed his flashlight to an area to their left. “That’s the dock Angelo spoke of.”

Broots was surprised how wet everything was. The river spit out water over its manmade banks as though furious to be intruded upon. He struggled to keep his footing.

The long, low mass of something that had washed up on the banking came into their view. Broots edged a bit ahead of Sydney and flickered his light over it. He was paranoid about what might be buried in the river and as a result almost missed what it was that had washed up. For a long while Broots had been plagued with a reoccurring nightmare in which, while hunting for Jarod, he found himself trapped alone in the sublevels where inanimate objects in the Centre’s abandoned regions came alive. Now Broots pinched himself and prayed he was dreaming. He wasn’t and his nightmare was coming true as mass on the banking moved.

“Parker?”

The sound of Sydney’s voice snapped Broots out of his frozen trance. He quickly caught up with the doctor who was crouched next to the mass, which wasn’t a mass at all, but Miss Parker with Jarod laying at her feet. She moaned lightly.

“Broots,” Sydney glanced at the other man. “Check on Jarod.”

Broots nodded and scrambled down the banking to the Pretender, almost slipping pass him. Jarod was extremely cold to the touch and did not respond to Broots’ calls. “Come one, Jarod,” he mumbled. He sat up a little straighter. “He’s unconscious, Syd,” Broots reported. “What do we do?”

In the darkness, he couldn’t see the tremendous apprehension on Sydney’s face as he carefully cradled Parker in his arms. “We get them out of here, Mr. Broots,” he replied quietly.

The basement was one large open room that was strangely lit up by small round lights in rows all along the floor rather than in the ceiling. Eerie shadows dance all along the walls. Lyle entered first with Puccini’s gun cocked and ready. Mario felt oddly cold even though the room was quite warm.

Puccini stood against the far wall and did not attempt to hide from them. In fact, he appeared to be expecting them.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted them quietly. “Amelia.”

Lyle was not in a sociable mood and therefore did not bother with pleasantries. He simply eyed the doctor darkly as he advanced.

“I know you all have many questions,” Puccini said wearily. “So allow me to expedite things and try to explain…”

Mario distanced himself from his sister and Lyle, opting to hang back in the shadows and watch… and listen.

“We’re waiting,” Lyle told the older man impatiently.

“In the beginning,” Puccini sounded as though he was narrating a horror movie. “There was a panel of fourteen scientists, doctors, and psychiatrists, myself included, working on Project Heptagon- then called Project Sentient. Initially, we believed that we were truly working on a cure of mental illness, but we soon realized that the true intent of the Project was a disturbing one.” Puccini loosened his collar with a finger as the heat was beginning to get to him. “Most of my colleagues and myself were against human experimentation, particularly when research wasn’t completed, but Dr. Raines persuaded us that it was essential… for the greater good of humanity. Sadly, we bought into the line and began testing an early form of the Serum on the patients selected by Dr. Raines for the Project. All of the subjects were in their early thirties, in good physical health, fit a specified psyche profile, and suffered from one mental illness or another. The latter condition proved to be false, but by the time we realized this it was too late to stop. The first five subjects tested were not Members in Project Heptagon- they were solely for testing and perfecting the Serum. Their fate was insignificant. After being injected with the Serum, each subject was reduced to a comatose state. So the Serum went to the lab for research while the subjects were confined to the Infirmary and forgotten.

While the Testing Phase was occurring, the Project Members were being selected. Dr. Raines had a very detailed inventory of what each Member was to posses as far as genetic traits and personality characteristics. The seven chosen possessed, theoretically, the capability of becoming Nobel Peace Prize winners or great humanitarians. We were not told why this was so important and we did not ask.” Here Puccini sighed and wipe his brow with the back of his hand. He seemed much older now, much older than his sixty-five years. He inhaled deeply before continuing.

“When Project Heptagon commenced, we found that the Serum was still not flawless. The first and oldest Member suffered the same fate as the initial test subjects. With each subsequent Member, the result was the same but slightly less severe. The fifth Member retained the ability to walk and so simple tasks only if it was instructed to do so. Without direct command, however, it was as useless as the others. The only explanation we could find was that age somehow was a factor in the Member’s response to the Serum. The fifth Member was twenty- fifteen years younger than the first Member was at the time of injection. So the sixth Member was brought to us at age fifteen.”

“Me,” Lyle said flatly. His face was expressionless, but his eyes hard.

“Yes, Robert,” Puccini could not bring himself to look into the younger man’s eyes. “Yes, I was the counselor you visited you and I was the one who began you on the Serum.”

“Why me?”

Puccini shrugged wearily. “It was chance really- the luck of the draw. While Mrs. Parker was pregnant, Raines somehow discovered that both children she carried possessed the genetic qualities he wanted the Members to have. He wanted both you and your sister, but Mr. Parker refused. It was a brief, but intense battle between the two of them. The Triumvirate intervened and settled the matter once and for all- Mr. Parker kept the firstborn while Dr. Raines got the second one. So you see, Robert, your role and Miss Parker’s could have easily been switched.”

Lyle seemed unaffected by this revelation and motioned for the doctor to continue.

“You were the first Member to respond successfully to Injection,” Puccini said after a moment’s pause. “At least until the Simulations began. We miscalculated many things with you, Robert. We never guessed that your primary personality would be so strong or fight for dominance. We had no way to control this so Raines decided to increase the dosage of the Serum. Unfortunately, the results were catastrophic, as you know since you read the file. Another regrettable side effect was dreaming.”

Lyle stepped towards Puccini obviously irritated. The doctor held his hands up as though to hold off an onslaught. “Please,” he entreated, “let me continue. I will explain everything.”

After a moment of tension, Puccini felt it safe to go on. “The seventh Member was brought in much sooner than scheduled because Raines wanted to test the Serum on a prepubescent subject. We finally achieved the desired result in Amelia. But we could not stop the dreaming.

To insure that the Primary Personalities retained no memory of what occurred while the Sub-Personality was activated a memory deletion process was developed. In clinical trials, the Deletion Procedure was effective, harmless, and permanent. No form of therapy or dreaming could recover the memories. Except for the two of you,” Puccini motioned to Lyle and Mia in a sweeping gesture. “You both seem to be the exception to every rule.”

“How enlightening,” Lyle said dispassionately. “So the other five Members are they dead or alive?”

“Oh, they are very much alive which brings me to our friends in black. Something very strange happened when the Fifth Member was activated. As I said before, the Fifth could move with direct commands. Somehow, the Serum created a collective consciousness among the defunct subjects and Members. With the Fifth, we could control the other nine.”

“So the Centre created an entire army of zombies,” Lyle said dourly.

“Yes,” Puccini confirmed. “Shortly after this discovery, the Project was shut down, the Psychiatric Wing sealed off, and all of us who were worked on the Project was dismissed. However, we made one last find. We discovered what possibly made you and Amelia different than the others- why you were more successful, why you dreamed. You both carry a special, random gene. We only got as far in research as determining that it was probable that this gene was a carrier for the sub-personality. It was postulated that the offspring of carrier parents would possess the sub-personality with no need for the Serum. It’s a pity that this theory was never tested.”

“Truly tragic,” Lyle muttered disparagingly. “So how did you worm your way back into the Centre?”

“We were left in peace for over a decade. The Centre left us totally alone and we should have been suspicious about that. Nine weeks ago the murders began. At first, I thought nothing of the headlines; murder was common in the City. Then I began to notice the pictures of the victims… every one of them was a former colleague on Project Heptagon. You can understand how afraid I was….”

“Yes,” Lyle sneered. “Afraid enough to cut a deal with Raines I would assume.”

“I did what I had to do to survive. You of all people should understand that, Robert.” Puccini could feel the heat of Lyle’s loathing of him. He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, I ‘cut a deal’, though that deal does not necessarily ensure my life after this is all over.”

“Right you are, Doctor,” An evil smile would have been effective, but Lyle could not manage even that. He advanced further on Puccini. “You made a deal with the wrong person… you should have come to me.”

Puccini glanced nervously at the gun in Lyle’s hand. “Don’t you want to know about Dominatus?”

“I was getting to that. But since you brought it up…” Lyle waved the gun careless in the doctor’s direction increasing Puccini’s nervous state.

“I really don’t know that much about Dominatus. I only know that the Director was the one who commissioned the formation of the Black Coat army. For what? I don’t know. But the Director isn’t as powerful as you might think. She wants what everyone in the Centre hierarchy wants- absolute power. She wants the Tower out of order, just as Raines wants Mr. Parker out of the way. This was their Project for, well the name says it all- domination.”

“You know,” Lyle jeered, “it’s really great of you to tell us this.” He gave Puccini a wan smile and a dry laugh. “And confession is good for the soul so I’ve heard…” his smile flattened into growl instantly and he raised the gun. “Too bad I’m not a priest.”

The dappled lightening illuminated Puccini’s face from below, making him look quite demonic. “A priest wouldn’t be of much use to me now. You see, I made a deal with the devil and I must carry out my end.”

He was about to question the meaning of Puccini’s statement when he became aware of a movement in the shadows. Lyle glanced around and saw Mario to his left and Mia on his right, standing close by as usual.

“I know you won’t believe this,” Puccini said remorsefully, appealing to Mario and Mia, “but I truly am sorry. I suggest you cooperate with them. It is the only way.”

Lyle turned on Puccini with a wicked glare and aimed the gun at his head. Mario looked to Mia, expecting her to call Lyle off, but she simply stared at the doctor with a look nearly as frigid as Lyle’s.

Three deafening booms filled the basement and Puccini fell to the floor. Stunned, Mario turned to Lyle and Mia. He felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare- everything was so surreal. Adding to his already blurred reality, the fallen Puccini put a trembling hand over his heart. Without warning, a Black Coat tumbled from the darkness behind the doctor, bleeding profusely from the bullet holes in his chest.

The smoke cleared, revealing the imposing figure of Mr. White. Lyle’s brow furrowed in confusion; he didn’t understand what his former employee was doing there. Then it began clear- White, like much of Centre staff, was a double agent. White said nothing; he merely regarded Lyle with a curious half-smile as though amused by a private joke. His slimy gaze slithered over to Mia. Instinctively, Lyle pushed her behind him as though that might somehow protect her. As he did, they were surrounded and trapped by a multitude of Black Coats.

Mario, helpless to do anything useful, flattened himself against the wall, praying to remain unseen. He watched in despairing confusion as the men took Lyle and Mia away. Cautiously, he inched towards an exit. Just as he reached the door, one of the Black Coats saw him. Fortunately, he saw much faster than his lumbering pursuers to catch. Once he was a safe distance from the building and could no longer see any of the men, Mario pulled a small bent business card from his jeans pocket. On the back of the card was a scrawled a phone number. He stared blindly at the number. Just before they confronted Puccini, Lyle had given him the card along with instructions on what to do in the event they were captured.

The air was crisp and chilling. Mario wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the cold. Clutching the card tightly, he glanced left and right before scurrying across the busy intersection in search of a phone.

“Whoever retrieved those files,” Broots was saying, “made a real mess of things. I guess they were in a hurry because they took the documents from Lyle’s file and left the folder, but they grabbed the folder from Mia’s file and left the documents.” He nodded to the stack of papers on the coffee table. “Everything Lyle told you about Amelia is in those papers.”

Parker grunted her understanding. “So we still don’t have anything on Lyle. Perfect.”

“Well,” Broots sounded hesitant, “there was one thing in Lyle’s folder.”

Parker opened one eye completely. “What?”

“A number was embedded in the back cover of the folder. I think it’s a sequencing code… or something.”

“Or something? You don’t know what it is yet?”

“Well… no,” Broots frowned. “I, uh, sort of got sidetracked with….” His voice trailed off. He going to say that he got sidetracked rescuing her and Jarod, but thought better of it. “But…”

Parker lifted and finger and pointed at him. “You’re working on it?”

“Yes, of course.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Broots.”

Three hours later, Broots, still sitting in the recliner, worked furiously on his laptop to decode the number from Lyle’s file. Parker had fallen into a restless slumber that was full of dreaming. She murmured incomplete thoughts about Lyle and her mother. She awoke suddenly asking for Sydney who just coming down the stairs. Parker seemed disoriented and worried.

Broots missed their conversation as his eyes were glued to the computer screen He yelped in disbelief. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “The code unlocked Lyle’s Project file!” He sounded enormously pleased with himself.

Parker was instantly beside him, peering over his shoulder at the screen. “Broots, you’re a genius,” she breathed. Her eyes scanned the electronic document, catching on phrases like “Robert Bowman”, “Sixth Member”, “essentially a failure”. The words suddenly blurred and she blinked. Her hand covered her eyes as she tried to refocus. She head Broots jiggling the keys in a panic.

“No, no, no,” he whispered frantically. “This can’t be happening!”

“What?” Sydney asked from behind them. He too was trying to trying to absorb as much of the file’s contents as possible.

“Someone’s erasing the file!”

Parker gripped him by the scuff of his neck. “Stop them,” she hissed.

“I can’t!” he cried helplessly, typing as fast as he could. His efforts were in vain and the only thing they could do was watch as the information disappeared before their eyes.

Parker swore viciously and stood up too quickly. She teetered unsteadily before collapsing on the couch, grumbling a blue streak.

Sydney was about to say something, but was cut off by his ringing cell phone.

“This is Sydney.” A deep frown creased his features. “Yes, yes… who is this?”

Parker sat up grimacing against a nasty headache. She exchanged questioning looks with Broots.

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” Sydney’s end of the conversation couldn’t have been more cryptic. “All right. Just stay put. Is there a number where I can reach you?” The doctor reached for a pad of paper and scribbled something down. “Yes, I’ve got.”

After terminating the call, Sydney faced the other two with a grim expression. Parker looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

“That was Mario Micelli,” he informed them.

Parker looked surprised. “How’d he get your number?”

“Apparently Lyle gave it to him.” He seemed distant, mulling something over. “Mario says that Lyle and Mia were taken by a group of men dressed in black.”

“Taken where?” Broots asked.

“Back to the Centre,” Parker said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes,” Sydney said dismally.

Broots glanced back and forth between them and gulped. “Now what?”

Parker covered her face with both hands. When she looked back up, she voiced what they were all thinking.

“We go back to the Centre.”