Walker tossed his gun into the air beside him. Two invisible hands caught it and closed around it. Walker walked up to the fallen body, placing his index and middle fingers up to the neck.
"He's still alive," Walker noted, looking back to the floating guns. The doctor's hands reached up to the mid-back, just to the right of the brainstem, plucking out a small dart filled with a major sedative. "He should be out for a while. At least until we get this little 'rebellion' of his tied down... Put him in Operating Room C. Restrain him with the atom-tight bolts. I wouldn't want him altering his density to get out until I'm ready, now would I?"
Tweed was suddenly seen standing right behind Walker. The big man nodded, looking as solemn as possible. He was no stranger to warfare. He had been a mob-boss. Granted, he was used to giving the orders, but, he knew that in a time of war, everyone had their parts... He holstered his gun and hoisted the unconscious Cicciotto over his shoulder, toting him down to the Operating Room.
Walker watched the man as he rounded the corner, then pulled a small headset out of his labcoat pocket and placed it on his head. "Lochlan, report..."
"No problems," came the former John Doe's response. "Lochlan out."
Walker swore as the man in black switched off his communication link. Walker could just see him ripping it off of his head and tossing it to the ground. He decided to use a different tactic.
"I.G.O.R., report."
//The situation is well-in-hand, Doctor,// the mechanical voice returned. //I.G.O.R. drones Alpha through Sigma applied throughout the city. Dispatching more as the need arises...//
"Have you located this 'Rothman' character?" Walker asked, beginning to walk down the hallway and into his office.
//Not at this time, Doctor,// the robot responded.
"If you do, merely sedate him and procure him..." Walker said, taking a seat behind his desk. "I want to witness what he can do personally..."
//Aye, sir. This unit will relay the message to the remainder of the field team.//
"Thank you, I.G.O.R. Walker out."
Pushing a button on the side of his desk, Walker watched as a wall of monitor screens lowered from the ceilings, each displaying a different newscast from around the city of Chicago. "The Metahuman Storm," the anchors were calling it.
Carnage filled the streets as metahumans killed any and every human they could find. Meanwhile, Walker knew that his own men, the EPS, were doing whatever they could to put the metahuman mess to rest.
Walker's attention turned to his computer screen, where cameras mounted within the I.G.O.R. drones relayed information directly from the field onto Walker's desk. A tally at the bottom totalled the metahuman death toll at three-hundred twenty-five.
No. Wait.
Three-hundred and twenty-six.
They were dropping like flies. With men like Walker and Turner on the field, this insurrection was as good as over...
