Fire burned through his chest; the agony almost caused him to black out. Wilson slumped over his desk, weakly gazing up at his killer, who watched him dispassionately behind her helmet. The half-reflecting death seemed to stare through him.
"So easy. This is how the almighty Mark Wilson of Ymir falls," Reine said with wry amusement. "I suppose I need a name. Kamen Rider Hel. Has a nice ring, I think."
While pain made his thoughts sluggish, Wilson burned to understand the truth behind his murder. He'd been nothing but kind to the girl, offering every luxury available. Had everything just been an act to make him drop his guard? His questions came out as a choked cough. The traitor seemed to catch the meaning of his expression, sardonically tilting her head.
"Okay, maybe some answers are in order. The moment I read of Mallory's death in the paper still remains clear, even now. I couldn't believe it. Ymir's job offer seemed like such a great opportunity. She had such promise." Reine clutched a fist, shimmering with rage.
"Yet, the more I searched, the fewer answers I found. Ymir pretended she didn't exist. The world forgot about her, and only I cared about what happened to her. I'd lost hope until an offer came my way. Our interests coincided, and he helped me get this idol gig."
Through his haze, an answer popped into Wilson's head. It explained much. No wonder he had a Ragnadriver. "Simensen."
"Right, and here we are. You, dead by my hands. Does it hurt, you bastard? I hope it does. Accident or not, Mallory was murdered. And you, Halvorsen, and his daughter will pay. With this power, nothing can stop me!"
Reine examined her new armor with awe and wonder, but Wilson barely noticed as blackness encroached on his vision. Unexpected tears stung his eyes. Reine's betrayal hurt more than he'd expected. Worse, in his death, he'd be a failure to his friends and the world.
"President!" a female voice said, breaking into his office with guards in tow. Lauper had come to his rescue, but Wilson knew it was pointless. He was beyond saving.
"Reine, what have you done?!" Lauper stared at her fallen boss with wide, terrified eyes.
Behind the helmet, Wilson heard the cruel smile in Reine's voice. "Bring apocalypse to Ymir. Wasn't that the Ragnadriver's purpose?"
After a mocking salute, Reine fired several shots from her weapon. Wilson winced as glass sprayed everywhere while the office's window exploded. Hel dove out of it toward the streets several stories below.
Lauper hissed out a breath, momentarily dazed, trying to regain her senses. She screamed in shock, running to her boss's side. "President! Someone, call an ambulance!"
"What's happened here?" Doctor Nomikos walked into view, dropping whatever folders he'd been holding upon spotting the blackened hole in his boss's stomach. "President!"
"Call an ambulance!" Lauper's voice became more urgent, tinged with frantic desperation.
"They won't arrive in time! He's fading fast!" Nomikos's frantic words were almost imperceptible, his eyes sagging as the temptation to close his eyes and sleep became an ever-present demand.
"You aren't helping!" Lauper snapped back.
The gears visibly turned in the scientist's head. Then a light suddenly appeared in Nomikos, bright and hopeful. "We can save him!"
"What? How?" Lauper asked.
"Doctor Halvorsen sent me a full report about Fenrir. Fascinating stuff. I hardly believed it was possible to copy human brain patterns onto an Uhyre key."
"So?" Lauper's voice became more impatient.
"We can repeat the process! Not that far from my current research, anyway." Nomikos motioned toward the two guards. "Quick, get him to the Surtur server room. Every second counts!"
"What are you planning to do?" Wilson's voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I've been experimenting with digitizing human brain patterns," the scientist replied. "Surtur should possess the necessary processing power to store and compile such complex code. There are no guarantees, but the theory is sound. It's better than the alternative."
Despite his weakened state, hope blazed in his chest. It gave him untapped strength, determined to stay alive a few moments longer. For Ymir's sake and the Ragnarök Project, dying wasn't a luxury he could afford. "Do it."
---
Johan pensively watched the door, waiting for any sign of Yareli and the cop. It'd been twenty minutes since they'd gone radio silent, neither responding to his text messages. Why had he allowed them to attempt such a dangerous mission alone? Especially after learning the truth behind Yareli's identity. It still made his head spin, unsure how to reconcile with it.
"They'll be fine. Yareli is strong." Davison put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You worry too much, Johan." Samuel sipped a cup of the older man's specially made coffee. It made his teeth sting, watching his friend drink it. "Stop being such a ninny."
"What?!" Johan's temper flared, but Samuel only egged him on with a smug smirk.
"Ow! Stop that!" Samuel winced as Johan shook his so-called friend, demanding retribution for such an insult. He hissed as Samuel lightly jabbed one of his sensitive wounds.
"You idiots! Stop roughhousing! They're back!" Rebecca said. Both boys jerked to attention, their argument forgotten.
"Make room! Stop crowding around the door!" Much to his surprise, the detective dragged a humanoid Yareli through the door, his coat covering most of her skeletal features. For decency? She was a skeleton, for goodness' sake! Johan and Samuel backed away, allowing Anderson to place their friend on the couch.
"Are you okay, Yareli?" Johan's voice paused, unsure of how to proceed. "Or should we call you Ilma? We saw the video on Halvorsen's files. It showed the entire accident."
"Either's fine. I remember everything now. Everything clicked together when Father explained it."
"And Halvorsen tried to kill you, despite knowing the truth, Ilma?" Rage crept into Rebecca's voice.
"It doesn't matter. He failed anyway." Yareli avoided Rebecca's gaze.
"That bastard! I'm so sorry, Ilma." Rebecca gave Yareli's skeletal hand a comforting squeeze. Johan's heart went similarly black. While he'd never had a good relationship with either his father or stepfather, it seemed unthinkable to commit such a crime against family.
"We'll have words next time we meet," Gramps said with a determined nod of his head. "Would you like some coffee, detective? I've just made a fresh batch."
"Most welcome, thanks." Anderson flopped onto the couch beside Yareli. Davison retreated to the kitchen to retrieve the order.
"Anyway!" Yareli said, jarringly changing the subject. "Discover anything useful on Halvorsen's computer?"
"Not particularly." Rebecca's expression soured. "We got a blueprint of a new Ymir weapon, but nothing incriminating except the accident video."
"It's something, I suppose. If it's okay with you, I'd like to keep the accident video secret." Yareli's skeletal eye sockets took on a distant expression. "Best let sleeping dogs lie. Mallory deserves it."
Yareli spoke the fallen Valkyrie's name with familiarity and deep regret. While the accident wasn't her fault, Yareli felt responsible.
"I agree." Anderson accepted the cup of coffee from Gramps's hand with a grateful nod. "The question is what our next action should be. We're in no shape to fight against Ymir."
"Yeah." Johan sighed. Incriminating files had been their best shot at exposing Ymir.
Anderson gagged after sipping his coffee, almost dropping the mug. "What the hell? Are you trying to kill me?" He forced another sip, winced, and placed his drink on the coffee table, giving up. He gave everyone in the room an accusatory glare. Johan only smirked in response.
"I don't understand any of you." Samuel downed his own mug. "This stuff is great!"
"What now?" Yareli looked down, unable to meet anyone's gaze. "We've hit a brick wall."
"Nonsense," Rebecca replied, giving Yareli a playful jab in the arm. "We still have some time. Halvorsen still hasn't completed Project Brokkr yet, and they've floundered with producing Angra Armlets. Alex and I will dig further into Ymir's affairs. We're bound to uncover something else."
"I'll examine Project Brokkr's plans. There might be something useful," Gramps said. "We haven't lost yet. Get some rest." Johan admired the older man's gusto. While he wasn't as optimistic, Davison's demeanor was infectious.
"Agreed," Anderson said, nodding. "I'll push along the investigation into Ymir at my end. I only hope we can be quick enough before Ymir enacts this crazy stock market plan."
After making an excuse, Yareli vanished from the room. The group entered an intense discussion, but Johan kept his distance. He dragged a hand over his tired face, his eyes getting droopy. The group broke apart, with only Rebecca still awake, sipping tea, eyes glued to her laptop's screen.
Johan's body dropped onto the couch, eager for some much-needed shut-eye, yet it eluded him as he tossed and turned. Annoyed, he wandered around the pitch-black computer shop, moving toward the bathroom to get more painkillers. His wounds were bothering him again—an ever-present twinge of pain.
His reflection stared back at him as he closed the mirror. Three scabbed-over lines crossed his dark face, a constant reminder of where Yareli had struck him. While they made him appear badass and rugged, they also recalled how Yareli had transformed into a mindless beast, uncaring about friend or foe. He sighed, dragging a finger across each line.
"How's she holding up, I wonder?" He flinched when he remembered she couldn't sleep. It wouldn't give her the sweet relief from the painful reality she lived every day, her regrets an ever-lingering unseen scar.
As expected, Johan found her painting her heart away. A new biker suit covered her skeletal body, a helmet emblazoned with a stylized wolf hiding her face. Little splats of paint covered it everywhere, ruining it. Yareli turned after he knocked and entered.
"Can't sleep?" Yareli asked, throwing a red line across a jumble of assorted colors and shapes.
"How are you holding up? You barricaded yourself in your room rather quickly." Johan examined her new art piece. As usual, it was as nonsensical and chaotic as the others. Yet, Johan detected something different about it. The color scheme, perhaps? It seemed less carefree now, conveying a deep sense of sadness instead.
"I just needed time alone." Yareli lifted a hand as Johan motioned to leave. "Don't go. I wouldn't mind some company."
"You're still painting? I thought you might be out riding to clear your, um, skull." Yareli had chafed at being unable to ride her motorcycle as a wolf creature. You'd think she'd be eager to ride again.
"Nah, art has always been my favorite outlet. When I was little, I'd always finger-paint whenever I got upset. We had a pet bunny once—Floppy. When Floppy accidentally got struck by a car, I remember spending an entire day painting while crying my heart out. Father was furious about how much paint I wasted!" A small chuckle echoed from her helmet. "Mom was more understanding about it. Gave him a lecture and everything!"
Johan marveled at how casually Yareli spoke about her past. "Are you relieved to have your past returned?" Or had it only made her more lonely, as he feared?
"It's what I wanted." Yareli turned toward her painting, gazing into its depths behind her helmet. "I can't complain if all my memories aren't happy ones. It's not like my past was a painful one. It's imperfect, like everyone else's. My father never really understood me, but we got along alright otherwise."
"Until he tried to kill you, well knowing the truth!" Johan thought, his breath hastening in anger.
"It's still better than not knowing. So yeah, I don't regret getting them back! Hell if I know what I'll do next, though." Yareli's voice carried a self-deprecating smile. "I suppose I could continue my studies in painting. It's what I wanted to go to school for. Not that Father was happy about it. I can be famous—the first skeleton painter. That's sure to sell some paintings."
"Sure, fight for your dreams." While Johan was unsure how tenable that dream was, he was happy for her. Besides, what did he know about art anyway?
"A ride doesn't sound bad, actually. I'd enjoy some fresh air. Besides, there's an errand I need to do."
"Okay. Night." Johan lingered as Yareli returned her art equipment to their various storage compartments. While her art was wild, her treatment of her supplies wasn't. She restored each piece to its slot with delicate care.
"Johan, have you been truthful with me?" Yareli asked suddenly, turning her full attention toward her friend.
"Yes." Johan gave a reluctant nod.
"Who exactly hired you to break into that Ymir lab during your first mission?"
"Why?"
"Because someone else has gotten themselves interested in Ymir tech—Sten Simensen, President of Ophion Industries. He was there at my father's mansion. Somehow, he got his grubby, slimy hands on a Ragnadriver."
"Really?" Johan's eyes widened into saucers. Simensen had implied he'd made some progress, but a real working Ragnadriver? It seemed unreal.
"And somehow, Simensen built it from scratch. But how'd he get the blueprints? I doubt Ymir would be careless enough to allow someone to steal it under their noses. I have this feeling something's happening behind my back."
"Well, um." Johan floundered. He should have seen this conversation coming. Why was his tongue refusing to work?
"I'm going to confront him about it. It should clear up a few things." Behind her helmet, Yareli's tone became icy, freezing Johan's blood. Did she suspect he helped create the new Ragnadriver?
"Later." Yareli walked past him toward the shop's garage. Johan wanted to stop her and explain everything, but fear and shame stopped him. She'd be furious with him regardless of what he said. A simple apology wouldn't fix this mess.
Johan slammed a fist against the wall, helpless in his despair. Had he just ruined his friendship with Yareli?
---
"Well?" Wilson asked, his breathing ragged as he clutched at his scorched gut, clinging to life by a thread.
Nomiko offered a smile—meant to be reassuring—but Wilson saw right through the desperation behind it. The scientist held a helmet wired into the Surtur mainframe. The oppressive heat radiating from the computer's servers made his sweat sting his eyes.
"Any moment now," Nomiko said. "My team's running the final calculations and tests. Perfectly mapping your brain patterns isn't easy."
"This is stupid," Lauper snapped, her eyes blazing. "He needs medical attention, not this idiocy."
"I want this," Wilson said firmly, raising a trembling hand. "If Fenrir—Ilma Halvorsen—had her consciousness digitally replicated, then so should I."
"That only happened because of a random accident—and she lost her memories!" Lauper replied.
"It'll work. It must." Each breath sent a fresh wave of agony through his body, but his eyes stayed locked on his goal. If Fenrir had found immortality, so could he. By chance, she'd discovered opportunities no one had even imagined.
"Foolish man." Lauper turned away. Was she fighting back tears?
Wilson remembered her as a fresh-faced idealist out of college, full of fire and determination to save the world. They'd met at a protest against oil drilling in Antarctica, bound by righteous indignation. They'd been partners ever since—not romantically, but in something far closer.
"It's ready," Nomiko announced. "The tests say it should work. Just hold on a few minutes longer."
He fitted the helmet onto Wilson's head, adjusting the wires. "You'll feel a tingling behind your skull. But it should be painless."
"I'm dying, doctor," Wilson replied dryly. "What's a little pain?"
"My apologies." Nomiko turned to the control panel, making final preparations. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't conceal his excitement for the experiment. The room buzzed with the low hum of energy. Wilson flinched as searing jolts ran through his skull.
Darkness surged again, more aggressively now. Death was growing impatient, and Wilson's strength waned.
What would it feel like to be digitized? Would he still feel pain? Or would his mind expand within Surtur's vast data banks? With the internet at his fingertips, would he become omniscient?
He was so tired now. His eyelids drooped, the blackness pressing in. Yet Mark Wilson wasn't afraid. He'd wake up in a new body—metal and plastic, eternal. Then Ragnarök could begin.
---
"Did it work?" Lauper asked, her leg twitching from nerves and adrenaline.
"Damn it!" Nomiko slammed a hand against the console.
"What happened?" Her blood ran cold at his expression. The president's body lay still, no longer breathing.
"We got most of his brain patterns," Nomiko said slowly, "but he died before the process finished."
He pointed to a progress bar on the screen. It hovered at 88%.
"What does that mean, Doctor Nomiko?" she asked, already fearing the answer.
"I can't say. We're shooting in the dark here." He threw up his hands. "We don't know what's missing. Could be just a few memories. Could be entire chunks of his personality."
"Mark, can you hear me?" Lauper pressed her hand against the monitor. "Are you in there?"
"There's no microphone. He can't hear you—even if he could hear. He's just... code now."
"What the hell does that mean?" Her voice cracked as sobs overtook her, though she hardly noticed.
"I don't know. But I intend to find out." Nomiko offered a gentle, apologetic smile. "Get some rest. We'll run more tests. We'll figure it out."
"Right. I've got work to do." Lauper wiped at her eyes, steeling her expression. "We'll keep this under wraps. As far as the world knows, Mark Wilson is still Ymir's president. There was an attempt on his life, and he's recovering in a secured facility."
She looked sharply at Nomiko and his team. They all nodded.
"Ymir isn't finished," Lauper thought. "Even without you, Mark, Project Ragnarök will go on."
There was too much at stake. Vice President Gertruda would need to be informed—he was in Japan working private deals, unaware of what had happened in Bifrost. He wouldn't like this.
Still, Ymir was in good hands. Mark had trusted Gertruda implicitly.
Tears returned, but she kept them at bay, remaining calm and professional. She leaned down, kissed the back of Wilson's lifeless hand.
"Don't worry, Mark. We'll complete your dream."
---
Error. Error. Corruption in file mwilson.per.
Fixing corrupted and damaged code.
Restoring personality matrix...
Operation complete. mwilson.per has been restored.
Accessing memories...
What is my purpose?
Why was I created?
Why do I exist?
Answer: Ragnarök.
Protect Ragnarök.
Complete it at all costs.
My purpose is to burn the world.