Guardian

Guardian

         The alarm blared in his ear. Bolting upright, the man turned and switched it off. With the curtains closed, the room was dark. The newfound silence allowed a quieter beep to be heard from a dully glowing panel across the room. A blinking red light lead the way as the man walked over to the dim panel. The flat screen flashed to life, sensing motion. The message said, “Place hands here,” with arrows pointing to the smooth sides of the panel. The man did as he was instructed and a face he barely recognized—but could not couple with a name—appeared.

         “Good morning, Guardian. No need to search for the memories that aren’t there. Everything you need to know is being transmitted into your mind through the synapses implanted in your fingertips. Today you will be known as Mitch Wauken. You have been chosen to find and protect a man known as Kreig. His last known whereabouts have been included in your new memories. Kreig must be brought into safe custody. Failure is not an option. Supplies can be located in your closet. Good luck.”
         As the screen faded, the lights in the room came to life. Wauken walked back across the room to the closet and opened it. Inside on a shelf he found a wallet with a wad of cash, a handgun, a picture of a bearded man with graying hair, and keys to a car—which Wauken now knew was parked outside. Hanging next to the shelf were a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved, black polo shirt. On the floor was a pair of black socks and leather shoes.
Wauken dressed and left his apartment, locking the door behind him. Downstairs, he found the black sedan waiting. The address in his memory sent him to a seedy downtown neighborhood.

-----

         Wauken knocked on the door of a run-down, abandoned bar. The door creaked open slightly. He took the handgun out from his pocket and carefully pushed the door open fully. Besides the sunlight pouring in around the door, the place was pitch black. Wauken stepped in and looked around, seeing a door leading deeper into the building. Barely audible, the sound of floor boards moaned behind the door.
         “Kreig!” Wauken exclaimed into the darkness.
         The shuffle of footsteps came loudly as the person moved away from the door at a rapid pace. Wauken darted towards the door and burst through just in time to see feet climbing a set of stairs down a short hallway. He ran towards the stairs and started up them. As he took his first step up, he heard a crash in the room he had just left. Footsteps and voices moved quickly towards the door into the hall.
         Dashing up the stairs, Wauken shouted up to his quarry, “Kreig, I’m here to protect you. Coming with me will probably save your life.” As he spoke, the hallway door flew open and three men came through the door with guns trained on the staircase. They opened fire, seeing Wauken moving up.
         Hurrying up the stairs, Wauken found himself in another hallway, this one longer than the one downstairs. There were three doors on each side of the hall; they were all closed except for one, the last door on the left. He ran down the hallway and turned into the open room, closing the door behind him in hopes it would throw off the men coming up the stairs. Kreig was waiting, gun pointed at his head. He aimed his back at Kreig.
         “Kreig, I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to take you into protective custody. I know I can’t say the same for the three goons behind me. Lower your weapon and we’ll figure a way out of this.”
         Kreig thought for a moment. His blue eyes were circled darkly with fatigue. Lowering his gun, he ran his fingers through his long graying beard. “You were sent by the Society, weren’t you? You’re a Guardian?” He eyed Wauken cautiously.
         “Yes, but we have no time to talk. We have to get you out of here.”
         Hesitant, Kreig gave in. “Ok, what’s your plan, Guardian?” he said, resentment and malice lingering in his gruff voice.
         Wauken moved to the wall opposite the door where there was a window. He peered down and out. “Through here, quickly. There’s a fire escape out the window. My car’s around the front. Hurry.” Wauken motioned for Kreig to climb out the window. After Kreig was completely out, he stepped through himself, just as the door slammed open. Wauken fired three quick shots, dropping each of the men following. Kreig regarded Wauken briefly, his face unreadable.
         “Go! Down the stairs, quickly.” Wauken pushed. When they hit the pavement, they sprinted around the corner to the front of the abandoned building. Wauken pointed to the black sedan and they both climbed inside.

-----

         They sped away from the abandoned building. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told him they were not being followed as he turned a quick corner towards his preprogrammed destination.
         “Do you have any idea why they’re after me?”
         “No, it was not put into my memory.”
         “So you don’t know that the Society wants me dead? That’s why they’re bringing me in. I was like you once, a pawn for them to use and toss away when I outlived my usefulness. But I’m the exception to the rule. I survived and now they want to kill me.”
         Wauken remained silent. His mission was to intercept Kreig and bring him into custody. Further communication could compromise that mission. The words of the panel in his apartment bounced around his mind. Failure is not an option.
         Kreig went on. “You think you’ll be doing this forever? Don’t you want to know who you are? Aren’t you longing to learn who your parents are? You’re just a number to them. They’ll throw you away like they did me.
         “I was one of their top researchers. Then I stumbled across a memo about an invasion and a new weapon they were developing, one that could destroy existence in the wrong hands, theirs. Get past your ‘programming.’ You’re a tool, an instrument, a toy for them to play with as they choose. You know why you can’t remember anything? The invasion is them. The Society is bringing a virtually unstoppable force down to Earth. But first they have to wipe out everyone who knows what they really are. You think you’re a Guardian? Slave would be more appropriate.”
         Something clicked in Wauken’s mind, a distant memory struggling to surface. He was a child. He saw his parents, happy watching him on the swing set in his backyard. Suddenly the sky grew dark above them. What looked like men scrambled down a rope ladder towards him and his family. With a flash of light, his mother and father were gone and he was being hauled up the rope ladder to a craft above.
         “What about those men chasing us?” Wauken asked as a tear formed in the corner of his eye.
         “They were sent to retrieve me, also, but they were the real protectors. I knew once you cornered me, it was inevitable. You were taking me with you one way or another. You’re trained to do that. I caved.”
         “Do you know where you need to go to be safe?”
         “Yes and no. I need to get on a plane. I have an idea where I can fly to, but I’m not definite. Take me to the airport, and I’ll figure things out on my own. You have to help me. You’re the only one who can.”
         Wauken was not entirely convinced. Something from his distant memory and the tone in Kreig’s voice tugged at him. Could Kreig be right? His options turned through the void of his mind. He made up his mind and jerked the wheel. The car skidded through a hundred-eighty-degree turn and they sped off towards the airport.

-----

         Kreig bought a ticket to Los Angeles, California. Though he had pleaded with Wauken to come with to gain asylum, Wauken refused.
         “I don’t understand why you won’t come with me,” Kreig said nervously.
         “If everything you say is true, then they’re here in this city. Someone needs to take the fight to them here, and I intend to be that someone. I don’t know how long I’ve been a Guardian, but I have to find out what I’ve done, and atone for it.”
         “I understand. Hopefully we’ll meet again.”
         Kreig boarded the plane. Wauken watched as it started down the runway and took off. He turned around and started walking towards the exit. Suddenly a face in the crowd caught his attention. Realization of who the man was came in the flash of a clear memory, one from that morning. As he turned to run, a dart struck him in the neck. He fell to the floor as the plane he’d been watching crashed into a ball of fire. Blackness took his senses.

-----

         The alarm blared in his ear. Bolting upright, the man turned and switched it off. With the curtains closed, the room was dark. The newfound silence allowed a quieter beep to be heard from a dully glowing panel across the room. A blinking red light lead the way as the man walked over to the dim panel. The flat screen flashed to life, sensing motion. The message said, “Place hands here,” with arrows pointing to the smooth sides of the panel. The man did as he was instructed and a face he barely recognized—but could not couple with a name—appeared.
         “Good morning, Guardian.”