FUTURITY

MR. ISAACS

Cheyenne, Ian thought. I won't let you down. I don't know how, but I promise, I won't.

He sat on the bed with his head in his hands. With a sigh, he sat up straighter and pushed his long, dark brown hair out of his eyes.

Flashes of his last few moments with Cheyenne came to his mind. The fire had seared his skin, the smoke had choked him, and Cheyenne's face had burned itself into his mind. He could still see the way she had looked—beautiful even in death, her black hair cascading around her tan, smooth face.

"Cheyenne?"

Her eyes looked back up at him, blankly. Then she disappeared, and the blank walls of Ian's prison cell appeared again.

It had been six months since Cheyenne had died. With the evidence the police had uncovered, they had blamed Ian for Cheyenne's murder and the act of terrorism, burning the lab to the ground.

Ian frowned. Someone else had lit the place on fire. The lab was top secret, the home of the top geneticists in the world.

Ian shook his head and looked again at the blank wall. In his mind, the prison disappeared again. The burning laboratory reappeared with orange flames, and purple smoke rose. There lay Cheyenne again. I'm sorry.

CLANK!

Ian blinked, and the smoky world of the lab disappeared.

A prison guard stood in the doorway and nodded to him. "Your friend is here."

Ian frowned. "My friend?"

"Just come on. He says his name is Sean. You remember him?"

Ian looked through the bulletproof glass at a dark man he had never seen before. He studied Ian with an appraising eye. Ian hesitantly grabbed the phone on his end and put it to his ear. The smaller, muscular man picked up his.

"Hello?" Ian said.

"I know you don't know me, but I have come to talk to you."

"Why? How did you get on my visiting list?" Ian asked, scratching his head.

"I can do much more than get on a petty waiting list, Mr. Isaacs."

Ian frowned and glanced at the guard. "Who are you?"

"I'm a guardian of the truth."

Ian smirked. "What truth?"

"The truth that the American government started the fire in the lab."

"But that's . . . that's not possible. It was clearly a terrorist attack—" 

"—that killed Cheyenne," the man finished.

Ian couldn't speak. The old, moth-filled fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered, making strange shadows on the cement floor and walls. The lights buzzed and ticked as they flashed on and off. It made the room feel old, uncomfortable, and dirty.

"The more 'threat' evident to the American people the more acceptable it is to grab more power. They want more power, Mr.

Isaacs. That is why they started the fire."

Ian shuffled his feet, not sure what to say. He tried to understand the implications of that statement.

With effort he found his voice. "But that wouldn't work if it were just one incident, right?"

"Oh, there have been many more. Remember 9/11, the Boston Marathon bombings?"

Ian shook his head and rubbed his temples. He kept the phone pinned between his ear and shoulder. "But the government wouldn't fake terrorist attacks and kill its citizens."

"Why wouldn't they? Why wouldn't they kill a young woman in a lab who happened to get in the way?"

Ian felt a shock of anger rocket up from his feet to his head. Then he got another flashback, of Cheyenne in his arms.

The man named Sean looked back at him through the glass. His brown eyes were like pools of mystery. "I can get you out of here, Ian. I am part of a brotherhood who call themselves the Agents of the New Order—ANO. We can help you fight for justice. Help me stop this power-hungry government, Ian. Do it for Cheyenne."

Time seemed to stop. Ian's suspicions were realized. I was right. Something had been off about the whole thing. Then a wave of doubt came over him. What if he's lying?

A big hand grabbed Ian's shoulder. Ian glanced up at the overweight guard who said, "Time's up."

Ian swallowed. He had to make a decision and fast. He turned toward the man on the other side of the glass, tried to use every last second. He quickly made his decision. He had to do this for Cheyenne. 

"I'm with you, Mr. . . . uh . . ."

"Daniels. My name is Sean Daniels. I'll see you shortly, Mr. Isaacs."