GENESIS
The sack over Harper’s head smelled like nervous sweat and vomit. Burlap scratched the thin skin of his neck, driving him to distraction. It took all his effort not to try and rip his hands free of the cuffs that held him, and yank the sack off his head— blood ran down his fingers from previous attempts, the unrelenting metal biting hard.
The smooth hum of asphalt turned to a brain-blending cacophony of gravel under the van’s tires. Harper bounced on the metal floor, hitting his head hard. Stars exploded across his vision, a brief reprieve from the suffocating darkness.
“Christ,” he groaned, trying to push himself back up to a sitting position. “Give me warning next time.”
“Quiet,” a male voice grunted from next to him.
Harper shifted away from the voice, missing the weight of his gun at his hip. He felt off-kilter without it, like he’d lost a limb.
Idiot, he hissed at himself. The two men had caught him off guard, trussing him up like a turkey and tossing him into the back of the van before he’d had a chance to take a breath. Harper hadn’t been so thoroughly dressed down in years. All his weaponry— gone.
They’d even taken his shoes.
Harper shifted, trying to get a sense of where they were from sound alone. A blindfold alone didn’t pose a problem to him, but the thick sack effectively killed his sense of smell. It warped his awareness, muffling all sound.
The van hit another bump. Harper fell hard into the side of the man sitting next to him, unable to catch his balance.
“Careful,” the man growled, pushing Harper away with what felt like the barrel of a gun.
“It would be a lot easier not to fall if you’d uncuff me,” Harper snapped back, leaning away from the gun.
“Shut up.” Two blows to the ribs punctuated the guard’s words. Harper doubled over, trying to catch his breath through the suffocating darkness.
“Careful,” the driver warned, from somewhere ahead of Harper. “We’re supposed to deliver him in one piece.”
“I’ll just say he fell off the seat.”
“And you think they’ll believe that?”
Harper cursed under his breath. What precious little information the guards let slip meant nothing to him. A mysterious “they”. An order to keep him alive and whole. It could mean anything from some crime lord wanting to employ him to an organ-harvesting ring.
Or both, he mused to himself.
By his count, they were six hours into an interminable trip north. The only break in the monotony of the drive was the bickering of the guards and the change from what Harper assumed to be the interstate to the gravel— and now what felt like shifting sand.
The van slid to a halt, the driver cursing as he slammed on the breaks. Harper leaned forward, on edge, heart beating wildly.
Someone banged on the side of the van, and seconds later, a wave of heat blasted him as the door slid open.
“Everybody out,” a new voice commanded. A hand grabbed Harper by his upper arm, shoving him out the open back door of the van with a little too much force. Harper, unable to break his fall, landed facedown in the hot sand
Immediately, the sun began searing the back of his neck, sweat sticking the black of his combat clothes to the small of his back.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jackson,” the driver complained. Harper stumbled as someone hauled him upwards by the back of his shirt.
The sensory deprivation was wearing thin, fast.
“This is him?”
“Matches the description your boss gave us,” Jackson said. “Tall. Dark hair. Cocky as hell.”
“And incredibly good looking,” Harper added, voice hoarse from thirst.
“That’s him.”
Harper nearly sank to the ground in relief at the familiar voice; maybe the first time he’d ever felt relieved to hear the Master’s voice.
The Master as good as raised Harper— and about a thousand other boys, although Harper didn’t like to think about that. Harper hadn’t seen him since he’d been deployed to Alhambra, and he had no doubt the Master’s presence here had something to do with the disaster Harper had left behind in California.
A hand guided him into the backseat of a car, pressing his head down to avoid bumping it on the roof. Harper could have cried at the feeling of the plush leather on his bruised spine.
Behind him, two gunshots sounded, and then the wet, heavy thump of bodies hitting dry earth. Harper jolted, straining against his handcuffs. Normally he would not have panicked, but he was sitting in a strange car, blinded, in completely unfamiliar territory, without a weapon.
Harper knew, then, that he was well and truly out of his depth.
“Harper,” the Master said, starting the car. “I was starting to worry you’d irritated your transport to death.”
Harper rolled his eyes so far back into his skull that they burned. He was glad, for a split second, for the cover of the bag. A punch to the ribs was nothing compared to what he’d get if he was caught rolling his eyes at the Master.
“They would have deserved it,” Harper grumbled into the bag.
“I’m sorry for the unpleasantness back there,” the Master said coolly. “They were extraneous, and protocol dictated their death.”
“I’m not too beat up about it,” Harper scoffed, and regretted it as the foul smell of the bag invaded his nose once again.
“I’m sure you’re plenty beaten up. You never were one to let the guards have the last word.”
“Why by the smartest and the strongest in the room if I can’t show it off?” Harper asked, keeping the sarcasm from his voice as best as he was able.
“You’re not the smartest if you’re picking fights while handcuffed and blindfolded,” The Master pointed out. “You’re good. Harper, but not that good.”
Harper snapped his mouth shut. He had no response for that, at least not one that wouldn’t get him killed.
The car bounced to a stop. The Master reached back and yanked the bag off Harper’s head. He hissed as it burned his throat, blinking as light scorched his retinas. The world swam into focus, leaving him more confused than ever before.
They were in front of what appeared to be an abandoned desert compound. Brown-red hills rose into sharp peaks around them, and a low, decrepit building sat nestled in their base. The stucco was sloughing from the cement walls, and the roof sagged sadly. The whole thing looked as though it had been crushed and left for dead.
Even stranger, though, was the warehouse next to it, the huge rolling door lifted. Inside were dozens of girls, either crowded around or inside boxing rings.
Harper watched in horror and fascination as the girls in the ring closest to him tussled, the loser spitting blood onto the concrete. She slapped the floor with the flat of her hand. The winner rolled off of her, the cheering reaching the car, despite the distance.
A bell tolled from the sad building. Right away, the fighting stopped, and floods of girls emerged from the warehouse, making their way into the building. Harper gaped as they filed in— it looked too small to hold that many people. Finally, everyone had filtered inside, save for two lone figures.
Harper looked at the Master in horror. He had never seen anything like it— not at the Ark, not on assignment.
“Welcome to Operation Lilith,” The Master smiled wolfishly. “The most top secret project in the United States, including Noah. Each of these girls is trained to kill. They’ve never seen the world outside this valley.”
Harper stared at the now-empty warehouse, a spatter of fresh blood still visible in the shimmering heat.
“What am I doing here?” He asked, although he was not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.
“We’re here to meet your new partner.”
