“We are live in one minute Mr President”
The oval office was a hive of activity. The young man who had just informed the president of the time until he gave one of the most important speeches of his time in office had moved behind one of the three camera men aiming their lenses at his face, while advisors, members of cabinet, aides and other members of the film team got ready for the broadcast.
The makeup artist gave the president a last touch up of some powder he couldn’t remember the name of, apparently to remove the possibility of the lights dotted around reflecting off his skin and disappeared to the back of the room. The director started the count down from five, closing his fingers as she did so, turning silent at 2 and finishing out the timer on just her small, well-manicured fingers.
The President took a deep breath to calm and centre himself, looked into the camera and began.
“My fellow American’s, and indeed, my friends around the world, today is a day that will live in infamy. A terrorist attack, unprecedented in scale, has struck several major cities around the world. Today, humanity must come together and unite against a new threat, one brought to us not by race, religion or international borders, but by technology.”
He waited for the screen to show the audience a picture of the person behind one of the worst days in human history.
“This is Dr Maximillion Teroar. He was a member of the international science council until just a few months ago. He was terminated from the council for a plan, one that would technology used to turn humans,” he paused for dramatic effect, “all humans, into cyborgs.”
The image being shown changed again, this time to display the same man, this time with half of his head covered with a red and silver plate covering the right side and the left showing scars and unkept dark black hair.
“He has now become this. No longer fully human, he is now something that only a few years ago was considered science fiction – a cyborg. He is now known as Doc Terror, and this is the person who is responsible for today’s atrocities. Rest assured America, and the World, we will not stop until he is brought to justice.”
The speech went on for a few more minutes, included a plea to anyone with information on Terror’s whereabouts to tell the authorities and concluded with yet more assurance that the worlds governments where working together. To be fair, for once they actually were, for once, working in complete coordination.
Every government was also under the silent understanding that every other government was planning on capturing Terror alive and using him to produce an army of deadly drones like the ones he used around the world today. No one is going to admit that, and some legitimately wouldn’t be trying it, at least, the politicians wouldn’t be. The countries generals could be another matter.
The broadcast had ended and after another ten minutes of activity the President was left in the oval office with just his closest advisors, who were discussing strategies for finding Terror and his army. He apologized, and asked them to leave. He needed time to himself, just a few minutes, to contemplate a day no President should have to deal with. He stood and simply stared out of the window.
He wasn’t sure how long he was stood there, staring into the sky, before a bright yellow flash lit up the room and made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He turned round to find a red haired woman wearing a blue jump suit with a light grey vest over the top, white knee high boots and holding a data pad.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion Mr President, I’m…”
“I know exactly who you are Ms Kane.” He interrupted.
The door to the oval office burst open and three secret service agents ran in, weapons drawn and pointing at the woman. The President held up a hand.
“You’re dismissed gentleman.”
“But, sir…” the lead agent protested.
“I said dismissed.”
The men holstered their guns and retreated, but he could them standing at attention by the door ready for anything.
“You are not a threat to me are you Ms Kane?”
“Please call me Crystal. And no, I’m not.”
“Then what are you? Apart from…” he chose his next word careful, “enigmatic.”
“An ally, Mr President. An ally to the world.”
He scoffed at that.
“I find it hard to believe a trillionaire living alone on a private space station has much to offer the world other than a share of her fortune.”
“You know I pay my taxes right?”
“How noble of you.”
Crystal crossed her arms and pouted, “Who says I live alone?”
The question threw him for a moment. The CIA’s intelligence on her space station, called Sky Vault, was limited. They basically knew the name, and its shape and basic functions from external pictures, but its true capabilities were frustratingly unknown. Given how she had managed to enter the White House, it certainly was a mystery.
“What do you want Crystal?”
“To help, Mr President. The world’s forces cannot react quickly enough to the threat Doc Terror represents. But I can.”
He just stared into her deep blue eyes, unsure what to say. She took this as a queue to continue.
“I have spent the last few years working on a project that could help, not just with the cyborg threat, but natural disasters, large scale accidents and more. It can respond almost instantly and adapt to the situation almost as quickly.”
His interest was certainly peaked, “How?”
She handed him the data pad, containing the basics on the project. He skimmed through and furrowed his brow, unable to fully understand what he was looking at, not because he was an idiot, far from it, but because it looked like something out of a 80’s science fiction film.
“This…this can’t be real…” he said.
“How do you think I got in here?” was the blunt response.
He glared up at her, then went back to the pad. After a few minutes he handed it back.
“What do you need from me?”
“Three people, one for each specialization.”
“I will find the best. What’s the project name?”
She took a step back and pressed something on a wrist computer. As the beam of light appeared around her, she looked at the President.
“Project Centurion.”