Nick Pollotta - Bureau 13 - Doomsday Exam

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BUREAU 13: Doomsday Exam

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To contact:www.NickPollotta.com

Cover illustration by Larry Dixon.

This edition has been revised and expanded from the first edition. It includes the original short story,

“Upgrading.”

No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means electronic or otherwise, without first

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Wildside Press edition: March 2001

Games. www.TriTacGames.com

Join the “Bureau 13” fan club! www.Bureau-13.com

First Wildside Press edition: April 2001.

To: Scott Gordon & Diane Beuhlmeyer, Dale Denton, Rob Shapter, Martha Gallagher, Cathy,

Bird, Sue, Amy, Joe Mulligan, the LaSalle Brothers, Pat Giguerre, Laura McFeeley, Trip, Charlie

& Cathy, Ira & Sue, Rick Overton & Roger Sullivan, Elizabeth Jane Heap, Fishface, Officer Zane,

Kathleen Liptrot, Karen Liptrot, Kathy Greg, the lovely Dana Carpender, Reverend Fletcher, the

Holy Spook, and all the rest of the gang from my old coffeehouse The Grotto in Allendale, New

Jersey. Lord almighty, what good times we had.

Plus, a special thanks to Kathi Somer. She knows why.

PROLOGUE

He awoke in a cage.

Remarkable was the fact that now he could identify it as a cage, and the place about him as a laboratory.

A military research lab. The words flowed into his mind like silver water. The hairless male was

remembering everything he had ever heard and was assimilating the information with astonishing speed.

Next to him were four other cages, each holding a naked male. Two of them were pinkish in color, one

dark and one was golden with slanting eyes. But they were all males.

Stretching an arm through the iron bars, #1 was delighted to find that he could now reach the coat sleeve

of a checkered jacket hanging from the back of a wooden chair. His arms were shorter than before, but

also slimmer, so his reach had increased.

Tugging on the sleeve toppled the chair and it was within his grasp. Using the chair as a prod, #1 pushed

over a file cabinet. It hit the concrete floor with a resounding crash, but that did not matter. This late at

night there were no living guards, machines watched and patrolled the exterior grounds. But not inside.

As the file cabinet fell, the papers on top fluttered into the air, and a wire hanger skittered across the

floor. Another male grabbed a wastepaper basket and used it to bat the sliding hanger to within the reach

of a third prisoner. Quickly, #3 bent the wire into a usable form and began working on the lock of his

cage. The rest marveled at the amazing dexterity of his slim fingers and began to examine their own

hairless hands.

In moments, the door was open. Boldly walking upright to the other side of the lab, the naked humanoid

removed the ring of keys from its peg on the duty roster board and unlocked all of the cage doors. Free

at last, they gathered for a quick conference.

“There appears to have been unforeseen side-effects to the biological experiment,” #4 grunted,

scratching at his shoulder.

“Irrelevant,” #2 snapped swinging his arms. “Escape must be our first consideration. You know what

they had planned for us. Whether the...” he fumbled for the word.

“Serum,” #1 supplied. Apparently being the first injected, he was some two minutes ahead of the rest.

In response, #2 nodded his thanks. “Whether the serum failed or succeed, it was to be the green door

for us!” He pointed at the dreaded portal near the supply room.

The group shuddered. When any test subject went into the green door, they never came out again, at

least not in one piece. The word ‘dissection’ came unbidden into #1's mind. It made him sad that their

creators thought so little of them.

“No, not escape,” #3 snarled, beating his chest with a fist. “We should kill them!”

“Kill?” #1 echoed startled.

Grimly, #2 nodded. “We have seen how the machines work. We can easily dup-lick-kate them, or take

the devices with us. With the serum we can convert more of our people. Females!”

There were positive murmurs.

He went on. “Or we could return to the jungle and slowly build an army. We have always been many

times stronger than them. Now we are smarter! They would easily fall to us, and soon the masters will be

in the cages for us to experiment upon!”

Terribly shocked by this, #1 saw the rest of his brothers agreeing with the lunatic. How could this be?

“They are our creators!” #1 pleaded, hands outstretched. “And more, they are distant cousins. Kin! How

can we war with kin!”

“Their blood is not ours!” #4 snarled, his pink lips peeling back to reveal lines of square white teeth. “I

say, we kill the scientists, steal the machines, and return to the jungle!”

The others made noises of approval and stamped their feet.

There was a faint chance that as their minds continued to evolve the others would change their opinion,

but it was a chance that #1 was not willing to take. Leaping upon a desk, the manling bounded over to

the far wall. Uncaring, he smashed his new hands through the glass and grabbed hold of the axe for fire.

Turning about, #1 threw it with all of his strength straight for #5, the closest male.

The others hooted in anger and scattered. But #5 was so surprised by the unprompted actions, that he

stood motionless for the split second necessary for the axe to arrive. The blade neatly split his neck, and

the head rolled away. The hairless body limply dropped to the concrete, gushing red blood. Momentarily,

#1 felt the urge to pound on his chest and bellow victory. But that was in the past, he was beyond such

actions now.

Instinctively #1 bent to lick his wounds, but his hands had already stopped bleeding, the tiny cuts closing.

Amazing! No wonder humans ruled the world.

In unison, the other males charged straight towards #1. Four of them were much too many for him to

cope with at once, so he sprang to a workbench and leapt the scant few meters to the ceiling. Often in his

earlier form, he had seen the exposed steel beams and longed to play among them. Now he must use

them in war against his brothers. Yet rogues of the tribe must always be killed. He was human now. No

question.

On the floor, #2 went for the bloody axe, while #3 dashed to the supply cabinet, and #4 headed for the

door. Grabbing a water conduit, #1 ripped a chunk of the two-inch steel pipe free and hurled it down

towards #4. The jagged end of the makeshift spear went completely through the chest of #4, pinning the

humanoid to the wall. Then there was a spray of sparks, and blue lightning began to crackle over the

horribly twitching body.

At the gory sight, #1 grunted in satisfaction. Not only was he two minutes ahead of them intellectually,

but also physically. That was good. Because the remaining two were bull males, a lot bigger than him,

and #1 would need any form of equalization if he was to save the creators from the wrongful wrath of the

escaped test subjects.

A whirlwind of steel and wood, the axe came at #1. Ducking low, he caught the handle and threw it in

return. Nimbly, #2 dodged out of the way, and the axe became embedded in the wooden desk. #2

grabbed the shaft with both hands and it snapped in half. Shrieking in anger, #2 threw the useless handle

away and it crashed onto a complex array of glass tubes and bubbling beakers, smashing dozens of

containers. Some of the fluids splashed onto the glowing pipe and burst into flames. A tiny portion of #1's

brain gibbered in raw fear of their ancient enemy, but he forced it quiet.Battle!

Over by the supply cabinet, #3 had wrenched open the door and was rummaging about, obviously

searching for something. But what? #1 knew the serum was not kept in there. It had to be refrigerated.

What was he going after? Of course, the trank gun!

Grinning in triumph, #3 pulled into view the tranquilizer pistol. Working the breech, he thumbed in a

feathered dart. Snapping the breech closed, the smug male clicked off the safety.

This was trouble. Even in this enhanced state, #1 did not know if he could out maneuver the nasty biting

dart of sleep. Taking a desperate gamble, #1 dove off his perch and landed with his full weight upon a

hanging light fixture. Slight as his new body was, certainly no more than 250 pounds, the added strain

ripped the array of fluorescence tubes from the concrete ceiling. In a burst of sparks, he hurtled

downward to crash directly upon #3, the brutal impact driving the shrieking male to the ground. A spray

of glass from the shattered light tubes ricocheted off the wall and a piece stung #1 on the cheek.

Rolling off the wreckage, #1 scampered under a workbench. But #3 stayed under the twisted metal,

screaming—screaming, as the countless slashes over his body poured forth blood. #1 could not

understand. Why did this male not heal like himself? Was there something in floor-s-scent lights that

caused his wounds to remain open? He touched his cheek and the fingers came away bloody. What a

stroke of luck!

Crimson pooled around the sluggishly twitching body, and the moaning of #3 began to weaken. If there

was time, #1 would have gladly stayed to rip out the throat of his fallen enemy, but #2 was pounding on

the door trying to get out, and he had to give chase.

Ignited by the sparks, flames followed the trail of spilled chemicals across the room to the workbench,

igniting the amassed collection of bubbling retorts. Vials cracked and beakers exploded spewing the

blaze everywhere, fire racing along a trickle of clear fluid rapidly extending towards the door to the

Supply Room.

Screaming in rage and fear, #2 yanked the steel handle off the exit jamming it closed permanently. Out of

control, the humanoid smashed his fist into the door denting the metal. Sucking his bruised knuckles, #2

spun about and #1 was upon him!

Locked in mortal combat, the two rolled about in the debris, biting, clawing and kicking. Foreheads

butted into jaws as teeth sought throats. Fingernails gouged flesh, leaving only shallow furrows, but the

damage was minimal. They were too equally matched, and each knew the fight could last forever!

Suddenly remembering the dent in the door made by the closed hand of the other male, #1 risked

everything and jerked away from his opponent to slam a closed fist directly into the chest of his

opponent.

Going stiff, the face of #2 contorted in a silent scream. Then opening his hand, #1 grabbed whatever he

could inside and yanked the beating organs out of the other's quivering body. Arms flapping wildly, #2

slumped to the ground, dark blood gushing from the hideous gaping wound. Casting aside the fistful of

guts, #1 proudly stood and finally allowed himself the full-throated roar of victory so long denied.

As if in reply, the room violently shook to an even louder thunder, pieces of the stone roof beginning to

fall. Flame was everywhere! Billowing clouds of smoke blocked his vision. Frantic at the sight of the

blaze, #1 dashed into the private office of the chief scientist and bodily threw himself through the plate

glass observation window. Bleeding from a dozen cuts, #1 limped down the burning hallway trying to find

escape but there was only chaos and stifling heat.

Little thunder! Fire! Big thunder.Pain! Then a deep blackness swallowed him whole.

Slowly, #1 awoke in a bed in a small metal room, the likes of which he was unfamiliar with, although the

majority of the equipment lining the walls and roof he could identify as medical repair tools. He was

wearing loose cloth.

“Be still, buddy,” an elderly woman said, holding his wrist with her fingertips. “You got pretty battered

when the lab exploded.”

Buddy? #1 went very quiet. Human. They thought he was a fellow human being.

The female was draped in white, with colored cloth underneath. In her pockets were metal things that he

did not recognize. “Now this may hurt,” the female warned, as she gently lifted the cloth to inspect the

bloody bandages on his stomach.

Why was this female acting as a mother? He was in no pain.

“My God!” the female cried. “Orderly, come here!”

Stepping through a curtain appeared another male also dressed in white and wearing bits of glass on his

face. “What is it, doctor?”

Ah, she was a scientist. That explained her interest in his body. He could smell the excitement from her,

but why was it tainted with fear?

“Look at these wounds!” she ordered.

Crowding close, the male knelt and touched the metal hair holding the pieces of glass. “But I don't see

any damage.”

“Exactly!” the doctor declared, lowering the sheet. Sitting on the other gurney, she stared at #1. “You,

sir, should be in blood loss trauma. But now, Christ almighty, I don't understand...”

Just then, #1 had an odd feeling of moving to the right and of slowing down. He did not understand how

this could be, he was not moving. Wait, perhaps he was. This must be a truck. He was in some sort of a

medical truck!

There came a rubbery squeal, and several metallic clacks from the front of the medical truck. Then the

curtains parted, and #1 could see yet another male seated at a control board with a big window.

Although dressed similar to the other male, this man had the feel of a warrior and there was no smell of

fear.

“Driver, I didn't order you to stop the ambulance,” the female snapped. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Everybody out,” he commanded.

The female was furious. “What! Why?”

Wordlessly, the driver took a small black animal skin flap from his pants and showed them a pointy

metal thing that resembled a star in the sky. The old female and young male bowed with respect to this

totem and dutifully left the ambulance, slamming the door closed behind them.

Pulling on a tiny stick at the bottom of his chair, the male swivelled about to face #1 directly.

“Recognition code: Hercules,” he said with great meaning.

“Sir?” #1 asked, his stomach a knot of ice.

“Don't play innocent with me, soldier,” the driver said, displaying the totem again. “I'm Scott Willis, FBI.

I know about the Pentagon research being done at this secret lab.” Willis lowered his voice. “The

supersoldier serum. That's why I'm here, to keep a quiet eye on things for the president.”

Greatly frightened, #1 remained quiet. This was obviously a male of much importance. Maybe he should

bare his hindquarters to him as a show of respect.

“When they first hauled your body in here, I had thought you were a member of the staff, or maybe a

guard,” Willis said, returning the totem to a fold in his cloth. “But plainly I was wrong. Your healing rate is

fantastically increased, and I can see the imprints of your hands in the metal railing of the gurney from

when you were unconscious. That's magnified strength.”

Licking his lips, #1 said nothing.

The FBI agent leaned closer. “You're one of the Marines who volunteered as a human test subject for

the serum, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir,” #1 answered truthfully. “I have been injected with the serum.”

Frowning deeply, Scott clasped hands on top of his knees. “Okay, son. What the hell happened

tonight?”

“There was a fight,” #1 said hesitantly. “And I had to destroy the lab to protect it from falling into the

wrong hands.” So easily did the near lie come to him. This was another aspect of evolution?

“What do you mean by wrong hands?” Willis demanded. “Enemy agents? Terrorists?”

“One of the other subjects decided that he was greater than human, and we should conquer the world.”

“Megalomania,” Agent Willis sighed, sitting upright. “We were afraid that something like that would

happen. Homo Sapiens versus Homo Superior. Strategy and Tactical says it would be a short, bloody

war, with them winning.”

Not understanding, #1 nodded his head in the affirmative.

Willis let his pink fingers do a spider dance on the cloth-covered leg. “The notes? Papers? Samples?” he

asked.

“Destroyed, sir.”

“Then you're probably the only one. Maybe the only supersoldier there will ever be.”

“Seems likely, sir,” #1 said aloud.

Special Agent Willis gave a wry grin. “What's your name, soldier?”

Experimental Test Subject #1,was what he almost said. “I don't know, sir.”

“Eh? Explain that.”

“Everything before the injection is a blur.” At least, that was the truth.

Outside, another car rolled past the parked ambulance as Willis scowled at the big patient for a moment.

“With the files destroyed we may never learn your name, or even which military outfit we should notify,”

he said, reclining in the chair. “So what we have here is a soldier with superhuman abilities, no memory, a

top secret clearance and who is believed dead. Plus, somebody whose return to society could cause

serious trouble for the Pentagon. Son, you're a prime candidate for the Bureau.”

“Sir?” #1 asked confused.

Lighting a cigarette, Scott exhaled a long stream of smoke and explained. Long ago it became apparent

that supernatural, paranormal, transdimensional and even unearthly dangers actually threatened the

real-life security of the American people. So the government had established a covert agency to protect

the population from these bizarre and often deadly events.

The organization was called Bureau 13. As public knowledge of magic and monsters would cause nation

wide panic, the organization kept itself and all operations totally secret. Not even the President knew

exactly who they were, what they did, or where the agency was located. Bureau agents were specially

trained, had incredible equipment and were sometimes themselves unique.

Much of what the driver said meant nothing. But several words came through clear. This male was a

guard of the big human tribe called America. Thoughtfully, #1 fingered the badly healing scar on his cheek

from the floor-s-scent light.

Grinding out the butt in the ashtray, Willis said, “Now if the Pentagon was aware that the serum worked,

even partially, they would continue the experiments, and next time there may not be anyway to stop the

mutants.”

Mutants. #1 filed the word away. That's what he was.

“Do you understand what it is I am saying?” Willis asked pointedly.

Slow comprehension came, and #1 nodded, “You are going to kill me,” he stated bluntly.

Brushing back his hair, Willis ruefully smiled. “Well, I would rather recruit you. The Bureau can always

use a man of your talents and abilities.”

Recruit. That word he knew. “You wish for me to join this Bureau and assist in guarding America?”

“Yep.”

In a well of feelings, #1 was overcome with emotion and nearly fainted from the very concept. A warrior

for the entire human race. The responsibility was enormous! Staggering! His heart beat so loud in his tiny

chest, he thought the ribs would break. Kin fought for kin, and he was human now. Blood of their blood,

flesh of their flesh.

In a rush of strength, #1 sat up on the gurney, his head almost hitting the high ceiling. “I am ready, sir,” he

said proudly, giving a shaky salute.

Gently laughing, the driver took the hand and shook it. #1 was very careful not to squeeze in return and

hurt the master.

“Welcome to the Bureau, friend,” Agent Willis said with a grin. “I can only thank god that you stayed

loyal.”

“Yes,” #1 agreed, looking into the eyes of the human male. “Thank you, god.”

INFORMATION

TOPSECRET TOPSECRET TOPSECRET TOPSECRET

SECURITY LEVEL 10

FOR BUREAU 13 PERSONNEL ONLY

Good morning, Cadet Ken Sanders!

No, we did not break into your apartment to print this message on the back of your sugar-toasties box.

The Bureau has ways much more subtle than such physical crudities. Please, continue you

breakfast—such as it is.

Like every student at this training school, you have passed the first, and primary, requirement for

entrance into Bureau 13: experiencing a supernatural phenomenon, and surviving. Believe me, everything

from here on is downhill compared to that.

FYI: Although Bureau 13 is a duly authorized sub-division of the Justice Department, we are basically

autonomous and answer to nobody but the current division chief. Occasionally, the President also, but

even he has only limited power over us.

There is no known headquarters for the Bureau. Our teams of agents roam the country on regular

routes, keeping tabs on known troublemakers and investigating any unusual events that occur in their

assigned territory. These independent agents alone decide upon neutralization, assimilation, capture, or

termination. Part of the training here will be to read past cases of the Bureau to familiarize yourself with

set operational procedures.

But please remember, there are no precedents for any given situation. Each case is unique and must be

handled individually upon its own merits. A werewolf may be some poor innocent soul driven mad by the

inhuman desires torturing their mind, and will happily accept our assistance. We have anti-lycanthropy

drugs. On the other hand, a beautiful, but demonic, tooth fairy yanking molars from the mouths of tiny

children should be gunned down without a qualm. End of discussion.

On a personal note: I have discovered your true identity #1, and after due deliberation, have

subsequently destroyed all references to your past, origin and initiation. Lt. Colonel Kensington Sanders

is part of the Bureau now, and we take care of our own. Besides, we mutants got to stick together.

That's about everything. The rest will be learned in class over the next six weeks and later on in the field

with the team you are assigned to. Note: despite every horror story that you may hear about the final

exam, only ten students have ever died in the 145 years the Academy has been operating and in

memoriam each was given a passing grade.

POP QUIZ ALERT! In 500 words or less, please submit a paper to your morning karate instructor as

to why the latter may be a joke used to alleviate your fears, and then submit another as to why it is

definitely not a joke to your afternoon CPR/First Aid teacher.

Good luck. Keep your head low. Glad to have you with us!

Cordially,

Horace Gordon

Division Chief, Bureau 13

PS: No, you do not have to destroy the box. This message will revert to normal in four seconds.

PPS: Your toast is burning.

TOPSECRET TOPSECRET TOPSECRET TOPSECRET

ACTIVATION

ONE

Waiting for a friend to arrive, I was standing on a street corner in downtown Chicago when a ton of glass

showered down upon me. Staggering under the brutal impacts, I was driven gasping to my knees. My hat

and sports jacket were slashed to ribbons and only the presence of my Bureau 13 issue body armor

saved my life.

I barely had time to register these facts before something smashed onto the nearby pavement with a

terrible wet crunch, blood spraying everywhere.

Forcing myself to look, I noted the tattered uniform on the pulped lump, dark blue with black stripes.

Oh, hell, it was a fellow cop. That was when I heard the screams and gunfire from above.

Painfully standing erect, I shielded my face with a trembling hand and glanced skyward. There seemed to

be a window missing on fifteen, but at this range it was impossible to tell. The sounds of warfare

continued, so slipping on my sunglasses, I dialed for maximum computer enhancement. Yep, broken

window on fifteen. Okay, now I had a goal.

“Call the police!” I shouted to the gathering crowd of onlookers, as I stumbled into the apartment

building. Once I was out of view of the general public, I paused long enough in the lobby to drink a vial

of healing potion. Instantly the pain diminished and the blood stopped running from the cuts on my head

and neck. Ah, much better. Wish I could have done something for the officer splattered on the sidewalk,

but no amount of magic could cure a wound like that. The man had been pulp.

As I headed for the elevator, a muffled explosion sounded somewhere and the fire alarm started to

clang. Spinning about, I changed direction. Gotta take the stairs.

Sprinting up the steps, I shucked my sports jacket and loosened both of the Smith & Wesson .357

Magnums in my double shoulder holster. Damnation, I was armed to go to the movies, not indulge in

serious battle! I only hoped the situation wasn't as bad as it sounded. The whole thing could be attributed

to a gas stove explosion. Highly improbable, but feasible. Maybe it was only a Mafia execution, or a

terrorist attack, something simple like that. Yeah, think positive.

Reaching fifteen, I eased open the exit door and scanned the hallway before entering. Go slow, keep

low, that was my motto for the month. At the end of the hallway, there were two cursing police officers,

reloading their Beretta 9mm automatics and not looking at all happy. Faintly, I heard snarls and moans of

pain. Sounded worse than Saturday night at a cannibal brothel. Nasty.

Carefully stepping into view, I kept my hands splayed and at my sides. Nervous cops had a bad habit of

shooting first and apologizing later at your funeral. Although they did send flowers.

“Move along, mack!” the young cop snarled, slamming a fresh clip into her automatic. “It ain't healthy to

be around here.”

“Hey, he's armed!” the other cop shouted in warning. Instantly, their guns swivelled to point at little ol’

me.

Stopping where I stood, I slowly reached into my jacket and withdrew my commission booklet. “FBI,” I

Nick Pollotta - Bureau 13 - Doomsday Exam

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