"Was it worth it?" His sterile voice matched the lab.
"You ask that as though the choice was mine," I retorted. My fingers anxiously tapped on the stainless-steel counter.
"Everything is a choice," he continued. "I chose you; you developed this code, ..."
"Cynthia chose to be a soulless traitor," I offered.
"See, you understand choice." He smiled as though I were an infant that just took its first step.
"Why did you choose me?" I had wondered since I first met Dr. Raymond Smyth when I was only thirteen.
"You were bright, and your present reality did not hinder you," he offered.
"I was naïve," I countered.
"Donovan, you are many things, but naïve is not one of them." As Dr. Smyth spoke, he paused from his typing, letting his wrists settle on the cool metal below his keyboard.
"Mmhmm, perhaps stupid is the right word," I childishly murmured.
"Has the false love of one woman really derailed every achievement? Don't you see that with this technology, this series of letters and numbers, we can bring peace?"
"Or we could bring total world destruction," I noted.
Dr. Smyth shook his head dismissively and returned to the computer. His tapping echoed around the otherwise empty space.
"What if this is a mistake? He who has the biggest guns defines the law. What if it really is just a race? He who has the biggest guns only has them temporarily," I pondered.
"Donovan, our code, your code, can dismantle and rebuild the world as we know it; there is no bigger gun," Dr. Smyth contended.
"Tell that to Oppenheimer." I let out a sigh and rounded my shoulders.
"You have created a reality. Imagine surrounding an entire military with the same shared delusion. You could make wars end with just a few keystrokes." Dr. Smyth's voice always went up three octaves, and his words shot out at the speed of bullets when he was excited.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but as his words fell out, I could have sworn I heard Cynthia's swooping laughter filtering from outside the door.
"Did you hear that?" I asked as I looked toward the windowless steel door.
"No, and it's a fortified steel door; we wouldn't hear a bomb go off out there," Dr. Smyth distractedly spoke as he continued to tap through computer screens.
As though he manifested it, a loud bang erupted from the door. The door continued to hang there for a moment before it unceremoniously fell to the floor.
"Honey, I'm home." Cynthia's voice soared like a song into the room. "Did you miss me?"
I sputtered in my seat as my feet attempted to push me away from danger, from her. The chair released a painful scream as it slid reluctantly across the floor.
"Your dead," I managed.
"Am I?" Her face filled with shock as she lifted her hand to inspect it. "But I feel so alive," she giggled.
"How?" The chair finally gave up its course, as I began to fall back to the hard tile floor. I gathered my senses quickly enough into a roll beneath the desk. "Smyth, get down here," I prodded.
"The code; I have to save the code," he retorted.
"It's not worth it," I urged as I assessed an exit plan.
"It is the only thing that matters," Smyth argued.
"Boys, boys, no need to argue on account of little old me. The way I see it, there is one door, and I am standing in front of it with this trusted friend of mine." As Cynthia spoke, she cocked the gun.
"Even if she gets it, she won't know how to run it," I yelled. Smyth's singular focus was going to get us both killed.
It was futile. A single bang sliced through the air as Smyth dropped to the floor next to me. A hole in the center of his forehead oozed with fresh blood, and the floor behind me was painted with the brains of one of the world's greatest minds. His hand rolled out before me, holding the simple prism charm that had spent months hanging from Cynthia's neck. Instinctively, I snatched it before kicking the leg of the steel table enough for it to bounce on the tile floor. It was all I needed to be able to flip it with ease as I stood. As expected, a bullet reflected off the surface and ricocheted back at her.
"You are such a bitch," I announced as I took advantage of the recoil kick from her last shot and charged at her waist like I was sacking a quarterback.
We tumbled to the floor together. As we struck the hard floor, the gun spun away from us both. Undeterred, Cynthia let out another laugh.
"And you're insane," I added.
"You're the one who created world-shattering weapons. How do you know I'm the evil one? Maybe you're the villain, Van. Did you ever think of that?" Her voice was teasing, always teasing.
"Evil is intent, and my intent has always been to save lives," I argued.
"Like you saved Smyth?" She laughed right in my face.
"You killed him," I charged.
"Did I? Are you sure? I'm dead, right?" The tiny space between her eyes furrowed at the thought.
In a split second, her hands were on my throat, and she flipped me over onto my back. I grasped at her unyielding grip, half-shocked that she was so strong and half-shocked that she surprised me in the first place. My temples began to throb for oxygen. Soon I would have no presence of mind at all. I had to get the upper hand. Without a warning rock, I fully committed to a roll. Cynthia didn't see it coming. Her shoulder hit hard on the floor as her grip released from my neck. We recoiled apart. As expected, Cynthia reached for her gun while I darted for the door.
I accelerated down the hallway to the temporary safety of a left turn. Cynthia's footfalls echoed behind me, but my racing heart and heaves of breath drowned mine. I sped quickly past a string of darkened offices, grateful for the late hour, so no one else was in danger. A shot rang out, and beside me, a fire extinguisher burst into a white cloud. I took advantage of the fog and sprinted into one of the vacant offices.
Cynthia's footsteps pounded past me without hesitation, but I didn't get the satisfaction of the win. In a blink, I was back in the sterile room with Smyth tapping away on his keyboard.
"I won," I argued.
"You killed me," Smyth shot back without looking up from his keyboard.
"You're the one at the computer, so technically, you killed you," I shot back. "And why is it always Cynthia? You're a sick bastard; you know that?"
"She is our greatest threat. She knows far too much," Smyth continued as he worked to reboot the program.
"I told you; she's dead. There is no way she got out of the club," I reminded him.
"Mmhmm; whatever you say, Donovan. Just try not to get me killed this time," Smyth requested.
