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Chapter 1 - Logan Specter
🕑 Added 2023-08-10 19:17:42 +0000 UTCLogan Specter was painting an exquisite landscape. While he was no peerless master, he knew this one was going to be good. How could it not, with a view as breathtaking as was behind the easel. It was a case of the raw ingredients being too high quality for complete failure.
[7 days, 8 hours, 22 minutes]
The timer was distracting Logan from his work. He couldn’t wait for the seven days to be over. As far as he was concerned, he was just killing time until humanity would know what it meant.
People really needed to relax about the timer. If the world was going to end, so be it. What was so great about it anyway. It was built by old rich men for old rich men.
That’s no reason to not immortalize this delectable view though.
Yes, every line of the valleys was natural and beautiful under the brush. The vivid blue lakes sparkled in the faint light of the sun, inviting one to swim, even drown in them. The symmetry was perfect. The contours of the soft and fertile land were just… right.
“Why do you insist on doing this so often?” the naked woman on the sofa asked.
Logan peeked behind his work and grinned. “Maybe I want to practice my skill?”
“You barely paint if it doesn’t involve me, Logan.”
“You’re hell of a muse, Frey.”
“I’m hell of a everything, baby,” she said and watched him intently as she stretched her limber body on the sofa.
“You sure are,” Logan said, letting his gaze roam all over Freya’s threadbare beauty. “Maybe I just want an excuse to see you in nude.”
She grinned mischievously despite herself. “You know you don’t need an excuse for that.”
Logan shrugged and put the pencil down. “While true, I enjoy the foreplay.”
“Oh that’s what you call this?” Freya said, quirking an eyebrow. “I call this boring. Come here and kiss me, Logan.”
Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He practically jumped from his seat to meet her on the sofa, where she waited. They would ruin it, but who cared, really?
Freya’s full lips curled in an anticipatory, winner’s smile. Her blue eyes smoldered with pure seduction. Honey-golden locks cascaded into curls on her slender shoulders.
What a lucky guy I am…
“Do you have any idea of how many unfinished paintings I have of you?” Logan breathed. He grabbed her chin, pulling their lips closer.
“Let’s make a gallery…”
A knock at the door. Logan recognized it and groaned.
“She is not dressed,” he yelled out.
They didn’t care. Four large men in black pinstripe suits more expensive than the average person’s car entered. All of them were wearing stupid sunglasses and those stupid little squiggly things in their ears. Freya yelped, threw a shoe at them and began hastily dressing.
“Young master Specter,” the gooniest looking of them said. Logan felt like he recognized this goon, but they all looked so stupid it was hard to say. “Your father requires you.”
Logan eyed the goon. Maybe I could start memorizing them by ranking how sharp their jawlines are?
“Tell him I’m busy,” Logan said and made a dismissive hand gesture.
“I’m afraid his orders were clear, Young Master.”
“For the millionth time, stop calling me that,” Logan said.
“Apologies,” The gooniest goon said. “But we must get going.”
“I am sorry miss Beckstein, but you cannot attend,” a young goon Logan certainly didn’t recognize said and raised a hand at Freya.
Freya pulled down her blouse and began protesting. Logan raised one finger. All of the four men went still as mannequins. Logan let Freya throw a few scathing words at the young agent. Logan enjoyed watching her have a go. Then he addressed the fool. “She’s family and you should know better.”
The young agent had the decency to flinch. His mouth drew into a line and it was clear he really wanted to say something to Logan. Logan just sneered.
Come on. Make my day.
His father might be the boss, but it would only require a single phone call from Logan to get this guy fired.
“Apologies,” the leader goon said. “Agent Balmer is new in this detail.”
Logan stared down the young agent, who was definitely bristling with suppressed anger now. Logan gave him one last condescending smirk. “Whatever. Let’s just go, so I can get on with my day.”
One of the back row goons produced a suitcase, wherein in black foam was encased a pair of handcuffs and a syringe.
“Really?” Logan asked. “Again?”
“I must remind you young ma—” the gooniest goon cleared his throat. “Last time we let you come unsedated, you escaped in the first traffic lights.”
Freya giggled at that. Logan tilted his head up in happy reminiscence. “It took you four days to find me. Good times.”
“If you would,” the gooniest goon said, nodding at Logan’s arm.
“Fine,” Logan huffed and peeled a sleeve. Promptly he was drugged, handcuffed and whisked away. Logan looked behind him as his vision blurred. Freya followed the procession, hands behind her back. She gave him a reassuring smile to which Logan responded weakly before his mind dimmed out.
*
[7 days, 6 hours, 31 minutes]
“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” A deep, sonorous voice cold and hard as ice and steel called as the groggy Logan was escorted into an office of vast proportions.
A hallway of black marble led to a dais, upon which a brobdingnagian desk of ebony loomed over everything. Behind the desk was a wall made of glass. From the other side the muffled roar of a waterfall could be heard faintly.
“More like he was dragged in, father,” Logan said, and keeping to his custom, was sure to accidentally kick up the corner of the long white carpet that led to his father’s desk of a throne. “Really robs the story of all its meaning.”
His father cast a passing annoyed glance at the rolled carpet, before he fixed his sharp, merciless eyes on him. Classic intimidation. Logan could barely suppress a snort. His father was truly a visage of bloated ego.
If one didn’t know better, one might mistake his father as a leader and a visionary. A lot of people did. His father was good at managing his image.
He was a businessman in his prime at the age of fifty five. Body well kept and a face resembling an angry hawk. Malcolm Specter was balding, but still exuded raw natural power. He approached Logan, hands behind his back like a well-postured tiger.
“Droll as always, Logan,” Malcolm said before turning to Freya. He fixed a smile he must have fancied charming on his face. “Freya, your loyalty is admirable, but this one you will want to sit out. What we are about to do is not for the faint of heart.”
“Where Logan goes, I go,” Freya simply said, her voice containing no small dash of resolve she knew Logan’s father respected. Indeed Malcolm Specter smiled a real smile at her. It was a thin hint of a smile void of all warmth. But it was an approving one. It had been a while since Logan saw one of those directed at him.
“What are we doing exactly, father?” Logan not so much asked as demanded.
“A breakthrough,” Malcolm said.
A cold realization washed over Logan. “No! Absolutely not! It’s illegal!”
His father scoffed. “Since when do you concern yourself with what is legal?”
“When it became an issue of my own damn body!” Logan shouted. He tried to think. But he was still groggy. He couldn’t escape. He was on the 72th floor of the headquarters of MindTech LLC. There were probably six stupid goons guarding the elevator alone, with live ammunition for intruders and rubber ammunition for the only child of the CEO.
“Do not be foolish, Logan. Do you not understand what I am offering here?”
Logan shook an accusing finger. “A way to control me. A way to mindfuck me.”
“This is a gift, you fool!”
“Umm,” Freya said, coming closer to clutch Logan’s arm. It calmed him and he nudged his head at hers. She placed a gentle kiss on the side of his head. “What’s going on?”
“My father wants to perform experimental brain surgery on me and install an AI in my head to do calculus for me.”
“You know the research is not experimental at this point,” Malcolm said, almost exasperated.
“I know only what you tell me. And you tell me what you think I need to hear for you to get what you want,” Logan spat out.
“You saw the monkeys,” Malcolm said. “They learned to write with a computer in three months.”
“Wow, that story was true? Freya asked Logan.
“Of course it's true,” Logan muttered. “Why would I lie to you?”
Freya nudged him. “Don’t be like that. You’re melodramatic and exaggerate all the time.”
“Frey, this is not the time.”
Freya’s playful smile waned. “Right. So brain implant? Only in the Specter family… Is it safe? Is it good? Sounds kind of crazy.”
“Of course it’s crazy!” Logan said. “Listen to her, father.”
“Frankly, I do not care what people call it,” Malcolm said. “This is my magnum opus. It is my legacy. A one of a kind advantage to my son, and we need to do it before it is too late.”
“Don’t want it,” Logan said.
“That is not up to you,” Malcolm simply said. Then he snapped his fingers and a bunch of goons were upon his son. “Time is ticking.”
“Logan!” Freya cried out.
“Frey!” Logan yelled, before another syringe emptied on his arm. This one took the lights out in an instant.
