The news regarding John's alleged patricide spread throughout the entire country like a wildfire; A wildfire not triggered by natural causes, though, but one caused by a spiteful, maniacal arsonist.
Those type of fires spread faster.
For John, the next few subsequent days after his father's death was fraught with ceaseless interrogation, court-hearings, several-set arraignment dates, and multiple filed petition for a continuance.
But all of these were nothing when compared to the amount of attention drawn to his very self by the unrelenting Media.
His mere public appearance would prompt the materialisation of several News casts and Journalists—out of nowhere—before they come swarming at him, thrusting their microphones at him, while bombarding him with myriads of questions, either regarding his reason for killing his father, or if he was coerced to do so, and also to explain what he actually meant by "He was framed" since what ever evidence had been brought to light paints him as the culprit, and not the victim.
Few of the questions went like this:
"Mister Carter, some people say that You murdered your father out of pure spite, due to your past grievances and provocations. Is that true?"
"Mister Carter, care to explain why you think you were framed if your fingerprints were all over the murder weapon, and you were practically drenched with your own father's blood?
Given that there weren't any signs of struggle—according to forensic reports, it would only suggest that the victim possibly knew his attacker. Which in this case, was you."
Compelled by this lawyer to utterly ignore their questions, John was guided through the Court stairs as many more media personnel arrived at the scene to bombard their own series of questions.
**
"Listen to me, John. We can do this, you just have to be patient." John's lawyer, Darren, said as soon as they made it to the cop car.
"It's been two weeks, and we haven't gotten anywhere near winning this case." John replied, his gaze and mind wandering aimlessly as he was being driven to Axegate, which was were he was being held after his first arraignment.
"John, It's very hard to win this case when the prosecution have a substantial and incriminating evidence to put you behind any judicial favours." Darren said.
"Are you saying that I did this?" John said, turning to face Darren.
"No. All I'm saying is that every evidence we currently have are purely circumstantial. And circumstantial evidences can't win a case in a law court. We need exculpatory evidence."
"You and I both know how impossible that is. I already told you who I think is behind all this. If you can't prove my innocence, then find the real person that did this." John said.
"I've got someone working on that, but I must tell you: those guys you mentioned, they don't really have any ties to you, or your father at all. I'm afraid that you may have sent us on one wild goose chase."
John sighed, lowering his head to mutter under his breath: "If I get convicted, I would be given the death penalty."
"I won't let that happen, John," Darren stated. "I'll do everything in my power to see that you don't end up in Axegate after the verdict...
...Everything in my power." Darren reaffirmed.
John was perplexed as to what Darren could possibly mean by "Everything thing in his power"—and was left in that state till he arrived at Axegate.
Stopping before the walls of the great bastion, Darren noted that at that point was where they had to go their separate ways, and they would meet again—possibly before the day of the verdict, which was considering if he finds new plausible evidence to exonerate him.
He got out of the car and watched as John was being cuffed and bound with thick titanium fetters, before being dragged to the opened gates of Axegate. His gazed lingered on the massive walls of Axegate, mentally noting to not involve in any activity that would prompt his arrest and arrival to this Penitentiary, as he wouldn't wish for anyone to suffer such a fate.
Especially not for John.
*
______[Present Time]_____
At the heart of the dense Mangrove forest in California was a two-mile diameter clearing.
Built on it was a wide, oblong bunker, fortified with a high tensile-strength earthen material, which was partially submerged below the ground.
At first glance, this bunker may look like a typical one-storey building, which was an effective facade employed to ensure its imperceptibility from the eyes of the government, as the establishment of this building was attained illegally.
However, if one were to closely inspect the nature of the outer reinforcing of the building, they would certainly know that who ever would use that sort of material, was definitely trying to keep something from getting out...
...Or something from getting in.
But fortunately, it wasn't the latter, and the bunker was practically invisible to government's radar. So the workers, who were also inhabitants of this bunker were going around with their regular routines, which included—at the first floor, the manufacturing and maintenance of several machines, automatons and some unidentified gadgets.
"..."
But in a spacious room, several miles below the top floor, were scores of scientists garbed in either a doctor's or an engineer's robe, each, varying in colour and size.
Some were seated and seamlessly punching the keys on their keyboards while periodically glancing at their screens. Some were clutching—in their hands, a tablet used in taking the energy readings of the gigantic gizmo at the centre of the room. These ones would occasionally circle round the gizmo, taking and recording specific readings on several parts of the machine.
While the rest of the group were directly before the machine, seeming to be making a few modifications or repairs on it.
The entire room seemed rather tranquil—as everyone were fully immersed in their respective jobs.
Until a buzzing sound resounded from the entrance door, a signification that someone was requesting entrance into the room.
"The Boss is here! Everyone, quit clowning around and glue your minds to your Jobs." A calm yet bossy voice ordered, prompting the directing of several icy glares from the hardworking crew in the room to him.
Before the owner of the voice, a dark-haired man with a slender girth, made it to the door, a few other buzzing sounds were made, this time, signalling their supposed boss's impatience and irritation.
Being one of the many restricted rooms in the bunker, it required a passcode to open the door, so it took a while to get the door open.
But when the door made an unlocking click, it was violently swung open by the one on the other side before he barged into the room.
Ignoring the salutations of young man who had open the door, he plodded his way towards a certain employee, who was still diligently doing his work, intent on finishing it.
Shifting his gaze from his computer screen to face his boss, who was making his way towards him, the employee subconsciously gulped at his boss's anger usually hidden behind his usual calm facade.
One of his colleagues, another young man, who was next to him, understood that if he didn't find a way to extract himself from situation, he would most likely partake in his boss's ire.
However, before he could pull away from his wheeled seat, his boss's hand reached out and shoved him away, claiming the seat and drawing closer to the dazed employee, who was inwardly trembling in apprehension.
"Hello, Jack." The man said to the trembling employee, his voice ominously calm and devoid of any chafe.
"Y-Yes, Mr. Ron, Boss—Sir." Jack stuttered.
Narrowing his gaze into Jack's fearful eyes, Ron asked calmly: "Tell me, Jack. What do I hate more than anything in the world?"
The question may had sounded a bit odd and vague, but not to the group who worked for Ron.
"I guess that would be disobedience, Sir." Jack answered.
"And...?"
"A-And whoever had subjected themselves to it."
Ron nodded in affirmation. "Then I guess I should let know now that you are officially on the list of things I hate more than anything, Jack."
"B-But S-Sir, I haven't done anything in contradiction to what you have expected of me."
Ron sneered while pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, out of nothing, his hand shot out to grab the back of Jack's neck.
Applying a strong pressure on that spot, he said: "I happened to watch the news this morning, and I had found out, to my surprise, that the loose-end, John Carter, was still alive... despite giving you an explicit instruction to tie up every loose-end in Static Medicals and Technology."
Groaning in pain, Jack uttered with a shaky breath: "W-Well Sir, At that time, I didn't understand what you had implied by "eliminating the loose-ends" so I..."
Jack didn't get to finish his sentence, because in the next second, Ron swung his arm in a wide arc, knocking several monitors off their resting position, destroying some of them in the process.
"Extirpate!" Ron boomed. "I said: Extirpate the loose-ends! Not framing them for murder, or-or having them deported...
...Extirpate! I ordered you to kill them all. Every one of those loose-ends!"
At this point, The other employees who had been fully focused on their respective jobs turned to witness the commotion, slightly hoping that they don't get to witness the death of another one of their fellow employees in the hands of their boss.
"I'm sorry, Boss. I just couldn't bring myself to kill anyone." Jack pleaded.
"Yeah, and thanks to your sour restraint, John Carter's lawyer had been sniffing around in our business. And it's only a matter of time before he finds what we are doing here."
Saying that, Ron's gaze darted to the seven-foot tall doughnut-shaped gizmo erected at the centre of the room, which had-around it, a tangled mess of wires, sockets, and several other gadgetries.
Turning back to face Jack, whose neck he still clutched tightly, Ron asked: "What about the other loose-ends?"
Jack barely swallowed his saliva, but he answered, nonetheless: "Erm... Most of them fled after hearing about John's indictment. But don't worry, Sir, I have people who are hot on their trails."
Ron chuckled, a tinge of exasperation in his tone. "You see, the problem I have with you being "on their trail" is that: By definition, you'd always remain behind your prey. Is that not?"
"Well... then I guess it will come down to whoever have the fastest running speed." Jack replied with a painful groan.
Drawing closer to whisper into Jack's ear, Ron muttered threateningly: "One week, Jack. One week!
And if after when these set of days elapse without any tangible result, you'll be the one on the run, and I will be the one who'd be on your trail. And trust me, it would only be a matter of a few seconds before I find you. So don't even think about screwing this up."
Jack was about to reply, but stopped because someone else had beat him to it.
"Mr, Ron, Sir. The modifications on Quasiparticle Transporter is completed! Should we commence Test-run 0347?"
Shifting their gazes to the owner of the voice, Jack and Ron found that it was Steve, the man that had opened the door for Ron a few minutes ago.
Turning to face Jack, and scrutinizing him with a scowl, Ron said:
"No... postpone the test run till next week. Let's give Jack here a chance to redeem himself."
"Erm... Boss...?" Steve called. "My source says that if everything were to go as planned, John Carter would be giving the lethal-injection sentence and would be executed effective immediately."
Turning to Steve with a frown, Ron asked, perplexed:
"What? What source?"
"My spies in the DA..."
"But the verdict isn't due till–like..."
Ron glanced down at his wrist watch.
"...three more hours."
Steve could only shrug in response.
Loosening his grip on Jack's neck, Ron said to Jack: "You better hope for your sake that what he said is true, if not...
...Well you already know what would happen to you if you screw up."
With that, he released his hold on Jack's neck, leaving a contused outline of his fingers behind. Then he proceeded to admire the newly-modified Quasiparticle Transporter; a device built for the sole purpose of establishing a faster means of transportation:
Teleportation!
"Thanks for that." Jack thanked Steve as he massaged his sore neck-joint.
"Oh you can thank me later when we've actually gotten the Judge to really give John Carter the lethal-injection penalty."
"What?! You lied to Ron?" Jack asked in a whispering tone, shocked. "You know it's only a matter of time before he finds out the truth, right?"
"Then I guess we have a lot of work to do then, Jack." Steve answered calmly.
Jack laughed slightly. "Look, Steve. I admire your confidence, but right now, our lives are on the line."
"I wonder whose fault it is." Steve teased.
"But seriously, I don't get it. What's so important about this John person? And why is it so important that he doesn't get to live anymore?" Jack asked, confused.
Steve shrugged. "That's the sort of question that pushes your name up the list of things the boss hates most.
So best do what he says without questioning, or you suffer the same fate as Jace...
...and Lyle
...and Andre
...Melissa
...Rue
...Eri—"
"I get it, Okay!?" Jack interrupted with a low yell.