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They said you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. I still hadn’t figured out who they were, but the certainty that they were full of shit was at an all-time high.
If I’d learned one thing over the past few debacles, it was that I didn’t shower enough. Every single time things went haywire in my life, I somehow had to wade through the troubled waters while smelling like a sewage plant.
I’d decided to become a maniac when it came to showers. If I was going to punch murderers in the face and get in gunfights with terrorists, then I could at least smell pleasant while doing it.
It just wouldn’t do to have a magnificent Adonis such as myself being dragged down by terrible B.O.
I stepped out of the shower and toweled off. With any luck, that would be the first of many for the day. It was the kind of thing that Drew and Nami would have normally poked at me for, but they both approved of the new, clean Asher Benson.
My living quarters were small, but clean. That in itself was a minor miracle. Drew liked to feign shock at the neatness of my space. What a friend. It wasn’t too difficult to keep your place tidy when you didn’t have many belongings. It also helped when you actually threw the garbage out rather than stacking it in the corner.
Amazing, I know.
Ever since The Massacre, I’d aimed all of my energy into finding Smith and emptying a full mag into his stupid, scarred face. That entailed actually getting my shit together, for the most part. I worked out, helped reman the Psych Ward, and focused on honing my unique talents.
I still drank a lot though.
That damn monkey climbed higher up my back with each passing week. The effect the booze had on quieting the voices in my mind was my best excuse though, and I planned on hanging onto that gem as long as I could.
The space the government had given me to stay in was essentially a studio apartment. I had a bed, fridge, oven, computer, and television all jammed into the same room. At least the shower and toilet were in a separate space.
Cases of beer were stacked high beside the fridge. The urge to crack a can open tugged at me a bit as I got dressed. I resisted the urge.
Barely.
Instead, I grabbed a jug of protein powder and dumped a few scoops in a shaker. My epic muscles wouldn’t feed themselves. The powder tasted like cardboard, but it made me feel like He-Man.
After pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt, I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and stared at myself. I did that every morning. Facing who I was, what I’d become, the things I’d done, was part of my daily routine now. I had to embrace all the bullshit surrounding me, not run from it. The old me ran.
You’ll get them all killed, Sammy whispered.
“No.” I grabbed the sink, ground my frustration into it.
Everyone you care for will end up like me.
I tried to convince myself that the voice wasn’t Sammy’s, but the specter of whatever part of her I’d taken with me as she’d died. It didn’t work. Hearing her soft voice speak those horrible words really kicked me in the nuts. My stomach tightened every time it happened.
I hadn’t told anyone about our little conversations because I knew they’d take me off the mission and out of the Psych Ward if they knew. Drew would be all motherly about it. Nami would shit on me. Nelson would have kittens.
I couldn’t get my revenge if I sat on the sidelines with electrodes connected to my temples.
My mind wandered out, tendrils of consciousness floating through the building before settling on Nami. I didn’t read her thoughts or invade her privacy, too much, just got a feel for her mood level.
She was agitated. Downright pissed off.
Fantastic.
I considered getting a beer again as I walked to the door, but decided not to be too pathetic already this morning.
The hallway outside, much like my room, didn’t have much character. Gray paint covered the walls, cheap Berber carpet stretched across the floor. Doors lined the walls down the hall where new recruits to our little operation would live. A few men were in them now, though most were empty.
Drew and Nami had rooms around a corner to my left. They were both really pissed off that they were being held here. Even though our current living situation kept us safe, that didn’t change the fact that we were essentially prisoners.
I’d been a slave to my affliction for the past half a decade, so I didn’t care as much as the others. My life sucked nads no matter where I slept at night. And to be honest, this beat a cabin in the middle of nowhere with empty beer cans stacked four feet high in the corner.
Nelson was the only part of the Psych Ward who didn’t currently live at the installation. No one knew about his involvement with us, so permission had been granted for him to go home every night and sleep in his own bed. Nami, Drew, and I were all prime targets for Smith, so we were granted jack and shit.
Because of the chaos created by The Massacre, President Thomas, whose life I had so graciously saved earlier in the year, had his feet held to the fire. After Murdock had nearly killed him, Thomas’ approval ratings shot up.
But when an entire town had been churned into a bloody pulp, he’d fallen out of favor with the people. What had once appeared to be a slam-dunk reelection for him next year was now in serious question.
He’d managed to sell the idea of an outside terrorist being the cause of everything to the public, but people wanted said terrorist’s head on a stick and he hadn’t provided it yet. Even worse, his own government was turning against him.
Those in the senate knew that something else was afoot, and they were asking questions. When Murdock had crushed the Psych Ward, he’d also killed the handful of people outside of the organization who even knew it existed. Only Thomas and Smith had remained, and they were in the middle of a nasty divorce.
The FBI, CIA, and Secret Service were all running their own investigations into what had occurred and were coming up with jack squat as far as I knew. I figured it was only a matter of time before they turned something up and then all hell would break loose. The world wasn’t ready to hear about telepaths and mind control.
After what happened in D.C. and Arthur’s Creek, it would be my head on a pike as soon as people learned about my gift. No one would care that I had helped to stop those two events. People feared what they didn’t understand.
While I was pounding beers in West Virginia, The Psych Ward had been restarted by a man named Albert Nelson. He’d been charged with resurrecting a program from the dead. The previous Psych Ward used individuals with unique talents, such as myself, to pilfer secrets from other governments and terrorist organizations.
The new version of the program currently had one goal—find Smith and take him out.
That mission was the only reason they’d managed to talk me into joining this little shindig. Before bringing me on board, Nelson had recruited Nami and Drew, who were chomping at the bit to get after Smith after the whole Murdock fiasco.
Nelson had sent them to Arthur’s Creek to find me, convince me that joining a secret government program that wanted to exploit my malady was in my best interest, and to integrate me with the team they were forming.
I had balked at the idea.
But not anymore.
Even though I knew better than to expect anything but an unhappy ending from being involved with the government, I’d decided it was time for me to step into the ring and throw a few haymakers.
Unfortunately, we weren’t doling out ass kickings just yet.
The Psych Ward was currently outside of congressional oversight and a secret of the highest order. To keep it that way, President Thomas had ordered us to be stashed away on Aberdeen Proving Ground, a tiny little post in Aberdeen, Maryland about thirty minutes northeast of Baltimore.
The post was primarily used for research and didn’t have any soldiers or Marines stationed there.
Abandoned World War II buildings covered most of it. As far as military bases went, Aberdeen ranked high on the crap-o-meter. Locals referred to it as Aberdump.
But being stationed there kept us out of the limelight and in a spot where no one would think to look. Bragg, Hood, or Meade were all more obvious choices, which was why we weren’t there.
It wasn’t too much of a stretch to figure they’d stashed us here so that I couldn’t get into trouble too. We were in the middle of the most downtrodden, abandoned section of the post. There wasn’t anyone around for half a mile. I couldn’t get a glimpse into the heads of any government researchers if they kept me hidden away.
Though I’d focused all of my efforts on finding Smith, I still discovered the occasional nugget of information from a government-funded scientist who strayed too close to our building. While most of the research happening on APG had to do with ordinance, vehicles, or tactical armor, there were a few other programs of bigger significance happening.
I knew for a fact that a large-scale particle collider was being constructed underground. The fact that the project had never been announced to the public, and must have required a colossal budget, made me wonder just what in the hell they were doing. A secret project of that scale made me uneasy.
Sometimes, I wanted to spend a little time to find out what kind of nonsense the Department of Defense was up to on the post, but usually, I just focused on my own little war. Asher’s War—as Drew called it.
There would be time for inter-governmental snooping later.
Heading for the stairwell, I went up to the next floor to meet Nami.
The building we’d taken over fit our needs surprisingly well. The place had sat empty for the better part of a year when we’d moved in.
It had been built less than two years ago for one of those shady security services contractors used by the military. They hired former spec ops badasses to run questionable operations in Iraq and Afghanistan that the government didn’t want to openly align themselves with. The DoD cancelled the contract after a handful of Afghani civilians were murdered during a black op last year.
Because of its former use, the building had living quarters, office space, a gym, cafeteria, shooting range, and a full-on training center on the top floor. Hell, it even had a helipad on the roof and a secured room on the fourth floor Nami used for her digital forensics crap.
Nelson had adapted a bit of it for specific purposes, but the fit had worked out quite well. The place was huge for how many people we had working in our operation, but it gave us room to grow.
Not that I planned on being around for long.
I pushed through the door leading to the fourth floor and walked down to Nami’s office.
Secure rooms like hers required a lot of unique specifications during their construction. They used steel studs instead of wood, had small vent openings for heat and air conditioning, and a bunch of other little things that I didn’t know or care about. The designs were meant to make the room secure for storing classified information. That didn’t do a whole lot of good when you had a telepath hanging around.
I stopped in front of the metal door and grinned down at its heavy-duty combination lock. Only two people, Nami and Nelson, were supposed to know the combination. It used a five-number sequence I’d long ago pried from Nami’s mind. I could get in and out whenever I wanted.
Instead of putting in the numbers, I pounded on the metal with my palm.
Having to get up and let one of us in all the time annoyed the hell out of her. Being the wonderful friend that I was, I did my best to get under her skin as much as possible.
Nami opened the door, glared up at me. “I know your mind-raping ass figured out the combination weeks ago. Stop being a dick and just use it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re such a douche canoe.” Nami stepped back and waved me past her. “Get in here. I gotta test some shit on that stupid head of yours.”