The Collective

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ethan

One of my first ops with Max ended with us undercover at AA. There was a psychiatrist who was playing some very nasty mind games with recovering addicts. Of course, Oversight wanted her under her thumb. Aside from when they were doing her dirty work, which wasn't even technically their fault, the people at AA were the most honest people I'd ever met. They were inclusive and not judgmental. Even though 80% of what we told them was lies, it was still nice.

This was not nice. It didn't matter that the buddy hadn't made it to AA. Everyone there was dead, too. There were a couple gunshots, but for the most part, it seemed like some bizarre mass suicide. I grabbed a bottle from a limp hand. I sniffed it. I gagged, tossing it aside. Warm beer was not a good smell.

Regan stood by a middle-aged man next to the podium. She pulled two fingers away from his neck. "He's dead, too. Look at his neck."

Of course he was. Every time we got that much closer to answers, we ended up right back where we started.

I looked at his neck. There was a puncture mark. Turned out, everyone had them. I sighed heavily.

This had the Collective written all over it.

     There was just one, small problem. Oversight always left one survivor. She said if there was no one to tell the story, then didn't happen, and Oversight never did things covertly, despite our profession.

I scoped out the food and beverage table. The cookies were stale, but they almost always were. The coffee was cold. A few cups, partially full, lied around the room.

The coffee pot split apart, bullet burying itself into the wall.

I dropped, grabbing my handgun. Another three shots bit into the drywall.

Regan stared at me from across the room, huddled behind the podium. "Did you see where it came from?"

A bullet tore through the microphone. I crouched, running towards Regan. A hail of bullets flew pretty much anywhere but where I was running. I slid in next to Regan.

"It's amateur hour in here," she hissed, as if that was our biggest issue.

We needed a plan. Whoever this was could not shoot to save their life. Still, running blind towards the door was not a viable option. There were only two of us, with no back-up and no real resources to speak of. Statistically, the shooter was bound to get lucky by sheer volume, and we couldn't afford any injuries.

I scanned the room. Considering the lack of bullet holes in places that mattered, I was willing to guess this wasn't our assailant. He was probably just running late when he walked into this disaster. Yeah, okay. That was good. Let's go with that. I held the gun out to the side of the podium, where the shooter was bound to see it.

"What are you doing?" Regan demanded.

I waved her off. "Hey! We don't want any trouble, okay?"

"Why should I believe you?" Another burst of bullets flew. The gun clicked. He was either empty or jammed.

"I've got him." Regan bounced to her feet before I could stop her. She crouched, heading towards the other end of the room.

Pretty sure that wasn't part of the plan. Just make our lives more difficult why don't ya? "Sounds like you're empty. Here, I'll put mine down and then we can talk, yeah?"

No words.

I was losing him. "I'm Ethan. We just want to talk."

"They're all gone." His voice broke. He definitely wasn't our assailant.