The Formula

Chapter 11

Felix hesitated at the top of the staircase. He stood at the far end of the church's upper floor. He wasn't sure what he expected to find up in the attic—dusty stools or old books maybe—but he was surprised by what was there instead.

Computers ticked away gently in the relatively wide space, their cables snaking over the floor and making the room feel more cramped than it actually was. Four separate cameras stood at the far end on tripods, with another two binocular mounts suspended in front of the church's main stained-glass window.

The window itself was at least a half-metre taller than Felix as he strode up to it. Putting his hands to his waist, he considered everything in the room. Shaking his head, he peered through one of the binoculars. It was fixed on the building across the street. He zoomed in.

They were fixed exactly on the same level where he worked—or used to anyway.

Standing up straight, he cursed to himself. They had been watching him. This whole time.

He turned hearing somebody else enter the room. Morrison tipped his hat at him. He huffed, and folded his arms at the old man.

"How long," he asked, "have you been following me?"

Morrison sighed and averted his gaze. "We started tracking you the moment we discovered the rebels' interest in you."

"How long."

He sighed again. "Maybe a month."

Felix turned to stare out the window again. People walked through the square down below, completely oblivious to the secretive nature of the inconspicuous church. As Felix had discovered, the freedom fighters' main base was located just underneath. They had retrofitted the vast network of catacombs for their operations. It wasn't dusty or dank as Felix would have expected, but it was still too stifling for his comfort.

Still, he spent most of his time down there, by Celia's side. They had taken them both in without question, and their doctors set to work right away healing her. They dedicated an entire team to her surgery, mending her internal and external injuries. The procedure had taken over ten hours.

Felix rubbed his arm. He had donated every ounce of blood he could spare for her. He had spent nearly a day recovering, and had only recently begun to leave the catacombs to explore the rest of the church.

"How's she doing?"

"Same as before. She's recovering. Really well in fact." Morrison leaned against a nearby table. "You saved her life, you know."

Felix relaxed. "I couldn't have done it without Van de Sande or the others." The hybrids had arrived only an hour or so after Felix. It was only later that Felix learned of their history—and plan to gain the freedom fighters' trust. Though they had lost three of their own, it had worked. Felix owed them his freedom, and much more.

Felix wrung his hands together. "Listen, I-I'm very grateful for all that you've done."

Morrison waved in dismissal.

"No, listen. I've met a lot of people looking to use me as some sort of weapon. But your people are different. I see now the good in you."

"Thank you." Morrison blinked and stepped up to the stained glass window. He watched the people walking around far below for a moment before speaking again. "I expect nothing from you, Felix. You've already been so much. But I want you to at least know where we stand in all this." He squinted at Felix, biting his lip. "All of us."

Felix unfolded a chair nearby and handed it to Morrison, who accepted it. After snatching his own, the two of them sat across from each other. The light flooding through the window held a strange orange glow to it, casting interesting hues over the old man's face.

"There is a delicate balance of power right now between the government and the rebels," Morrison began. "The former has been stretched weak due to international expansion as well as internal suppression. With Leap's coup came attention to these issues and the rebels' force gained an even stronger footing. They used to be comprised of civilians and ex-military, but now they are a group of mercenaries and power-seekers. Outside counties have even begun funding them, providing them with both men and munitions. When I was with them, we sought to change, not to overthrow.

"What we have gathered here are civilians looking for a relatively peaceful democratic revolution. But the nation has gone into a near lockdown with the rising threat of the rebels. They've been advancing underground, preparing for an all-out assault on this capitol."

"How come I've never seen all this?" Felix asked.

Morrison smiled sadly. "There's a lot the public eye doesn't see. The government excels in suppression. There are always ways to come in contact with groups like ours, but you have to be searching for it. We don't just hang up posters with our address. We have to find you."

"How many have you gathered then?"

"I can't say exactly. Not nearly as many as the government or the rebels. But if all goes according to our plans, hundreds of thousands will join the revolution in time. It will take every man, woman and child crying out for freedom before things begin to change." He sighed. "But as you demonstrated, most people are unaware of all the atrocities our government commits daily. We live in a censored nation."

"What do you plan to do then?"

Morrison tapped his cane on the ground. "Like I said, the two clashing forces are in a delicate balance right now. With both of them strong and active, the flame of our revolution would be snuffed out before it even caught. They need to be eliminated—or at least whittled down."

Felix furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"From all the intelligence we've gathered, the rebels are close to being able to overpower the government. However, the government is still strong enough to be able to halt a full assault. An all-out battle between these two powers would all but cripple both sides, leaving the country open and ready for revolution."

Felix frowned and leaned back in his chair. Things had always seemed peaceful to him. In hindsight, he should have seen the signs—should have known that something greater was happening in his country. He had only ever been concerned with himself, however. Never looked beyond the spectrum of his own struggles.

He nearly touched his injured eye, which was uncovered, but stopped himself. Now that knew how things truly were, it no longer concerned him. He didn't care if anybody saw it anymore.

Realizing that brought up another question though. What did he care for?

"Our plan," Morrison continued, after having given Felix some time to think, "is to incite the rebels into attacking the government. We have a...lead on some information that we believe will do just the trick. Bait, if you will. The problem lies in retrieving this information. As you can imagine, something so vital is well-guarded."

Felix frowned and leaned back in his chair. "That's where I come in, right?"

Morrison shook his head. "Not necessarily. Gustaf is more than willing to fetch the information. But he could always use some assistance." The old man patted Felix's knee. "I'll let you decide for yourself. In any case, you're more than welcome to stay with us as long as you want."

Morrison stood with a groan and after tapping his cane on the floor, made to leave. Felix turned his attention back outside, deep in contemplation. He owed nothing to the world; it had only ever given him pain and sorrow. None of those people walking around outside even knew what was at hand—he hadn't a week ago. Still, they had the right to freedom.

Secrets, murders, dragons. Above everything else, the people deserved to know the truth.

"Morrison," Felix called out. The old man stopped partway down the stairs.

"Yes?"

"I will help you," he said decisively. "But I have a request."