Chapter Six
Black Ravens
Meridian
Mission Preparation: Part II
Jo placed both hands on the edge of the table as the living map went black, then blinked back to life, showing lines of data, names, and scrolling streams of intel.
Meridian reclined in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, studying what was in front of him. Already, he was impressed with how much the Recon department had constructed from the information they’d taken from Graham Graves.
Jo’s voice drew the room in.
“The data the Blacks recovered confirms what we suspected: there were layers of corruption in the original Ravens program. The former director was operating with outside investors, many of them in high-level positions in federal agencies, and also notorious names on the FBI and DEA’s most wanted list.”
The wall behind her shifted to photos of men and women wearing government badges from the DOJ all the way down to local police, and a few labeled Private Sector Security.
“These,” Jo continued, “are individuals who used the Ravens in unauthorized contracts and missions for personal or private gain. Black-market arms recovery, assassinations of political rivals, trafficking networks disguised as Intelligence extractions.”
Ex cursed under his breath, and Meridian knew what his partner was thinking. How many of those corrupt missions had they executed? How many innocent lives had they taken under the deception of justice?
He rubbed his hand over Ex’s thigh beneath the table until the tight muscle began to loosen from his touch.
Jo’s fierce gaze scanned around the table before she narrowed her eyes at him.
“I know that look, Meridian. You have to let it go.”
She sighed as if she knew it wouldn’t be easy for a man like him.
“One of my favorite philosophers said, ‘The past is a place of reference, not a residence. You can’t dwell there.’”
She went back to surveying the room before she continued.
“Those days are over. Together, we’ve rebuilt this organization from the ruins of its own destruction. The new Ravens will serve only sanctioned mission and aiding in counterterrorism. We’ll assist in international stabilization, execute tactical recoveries, and much more.”
No one spoke because none of them needed to. They were all in agreement.
Jo nodded to one of the Intelligence officers on her right. “Run the footage.”
The hologram shifted again, and the room darkened.
The image that filled the screen was grainy security footage from the old facility. Scientists in lab coats moving between restrained subjects. Men in white hospital gowns, unconscious on surgical tables with needles embedded in their veins.
Meridian flexed his jaw as disgust lodged in his throat before he swallowed it back down.
“These are the last known recordings before the destruction of White Sector Thirty,” Jo said. “The subjects were a part of the director’s final experimental phase—what he called the White Ravens.”
The Greens straightened in their chairs, having been the only ones in the room who’d encountered them.
Rory, an Intelligence officer, stood and went to one of the screens.
“Their files were incomplete, but the data recovered helped us rebuild partial profiles. The subjects who escaped the Greens are the only two confirmed survivors from the White experiments.”
The holograph split, displaying two faces, both police mugshots.
One man had jagged features, eyes hard as iron, and the other was a bit tanner, younger, with eyes bright and dangerous like static before a strike.
“Subject One,” Rory said. “Oscar Calloway, known as Scar on the streets.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“He’s the former leader of the South Side Kings gang. Was serving three life sentences on a triple homicide conviction in ADX Florence penitentiary. His file describes him as brutal, merciless, lacking emotion, and extremely resourceful. Cruel even before the serums.”
Meridian studied the image, gaze lingering on Scar’s face. He didn’t blink or shift, just stared at the holograph until it disappeared.
If Scar truly was cruel, violent, and emotionless, he’d be the kind of weapon Meridian understood too well… and could train.
“Calloway was extracted from a prison transport by the director’s people before serving even a quarter of his time. Records say he was killed in the explosion of that transport.”
Zorion leaned forward. “That’s not what he looks like now.”
Jo raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t he hooded?”
Zorion nodded. “Yeah. But when he ran, his hood fell for a moment before he threw it back on. His hair is longer now and fuckin’ snow white.”
Jo looked at Dr. Rossi, the lead physician. “How can that happen?”
The doctor scrolled on his laptop for a few moments before he answered.
“It could be a result of inaccurate splicing that caused an inversion of pheomelanin produced in the hair follicles. Or more than likely, the overdosing of catecholamine resulting in a dominant negative that blocked the pigment gene, causing rapid, colorless growth.”
“Is it reversible?” she asked.
The doctor shook his head. “Afraid not. The damage is already done. Even if he dyes his hair, the roots will always grow white.”
“The scientists must’ve gotten some of the formulas right because he’s bigger now, stronger, strong enough to throw a damn antenna pole like a javelin through our helicopter’s window and into our pilot.” Valor said.
Jo exhaled through her nose. “The old director’s formulas were inconsistent. Half genius, half recklessness. We’ll have the medical and science divisions do their best to figure out what he was trying to achieve, but clearly, we’ll have to decipher a lot on our own.”
Dr. Sherman, head of Bioengineering, spoke next.
“It seems the director was attempting rapid genome balance, but rapid rarely means effective or safe. The Whites’ cellular acceleration increased their strength and speed, but it’s gonna’ be unstable.”
“I should’ve killed that motherfuckin’ director a lot slower than I did,” Meridian gritted.
Everyone knew how he’d killed him, so the thought of him inflicting even more torture made an uncomfortable silence roll through the room.
“Duly noted.” Jo blinked, then turned back to the research team. “Anything else usable? What about upbringing?”
Reconnaissance officer, Mariah, stood up.
“Scar has no siblings on record. Both parents are deceased. Mother died from a drug overdose, and his father was killed by police during a robbery. He’s been on his own since he was twelve.
There’s limited intel on his associates, but we know of a few clubs and pool halls that’s been overtaken by the Kings. ”
A strategist tapped away on his laptop. “We’ll start at those hangouts. My gut says Scar will go back there for help. Once in a gang, you’ve got a family for life, or so they say.”
The second image on the screen brightened and showed a face caught mid-motion, head slightly tilted, expression stoic, eyes a reflection of immense regret and pain.
“Subject Two: Gage Harrington.”
Jo’s voice lowered a degree. “This is the one whose vision was damaged during the experimentation process, yes?”
Dr. Sherman nodding solemnly. “Likely due to optic overload. They must’ve formulated a tri-compound serum to expand ocular range, but the instability resulted in an optic overstimulation that caused retinal collapse.
But according to records, Gage was adapting fast to his vision loss with high auditory and tactile compensation. ”
“Okay.” Jo folded her arms, looking serious. “We need to find them before anyone else does. The director wasn’t the only one who wanted these two.”
Zorion leaned back in his chair. “Gage didn’t move like a man who couldn’t see. If anything, he fought better than most who can. Scar was calling out directions—north, left, and using degree rotations—and Gage responded as if he’d been moving that way his entire life.”
Jo looked in the direction of the seven lead managers of the medical division.
“Compile me a list of the world’s best specialists in sensory rehabilitation, specifically for combat operatives.
And, you”—she pointed at Izzo, the weapons coordinator—“draft adaptive weapon designs for visual impairment and have some prototypes to present within forty-eight hours.”
Izzo blinked. “How will I know what type of weapon he’ll best adapt to?”
Jo stared. “That’s what I pay you to figure out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Anything usable in Harrington’s background?” Jo asked.
Mariah flipped through a thin file folder.
“He’s twenty-three. Grew up on the West Side of Chicago.
Two-parent household. Father’s a pastor, and mom stayed home but volunteered weekends at the local food banks.
Strict upbringing. Strong academic history.
He completed a few semesters at seminary school before getting involved with Mateo Ciro Rodriguez, known as Roz, a lieutenant in the 13th Ward Hustlers gang. ”
Ex frowned. “He doesn’t fit the mold of a banger.”
“Because he’s not. Gage was with a low-level member, um, Jace Guzman, who robbed a gas station. Police were called, Jace got away, our subject did not. He refused a plea to name top officials in the Hustler’s gang and was sentenced to three years for accessory.”
“So he’s dumb but loyal,” Valor muttered.
“Harrington was taken from the jail’s infirmary and woke up in the Ravens facility after only serving three months. Ravens had him classified as killed by another inmate,” Mariah added.
Mirage frowned. “So the preacher’s kid wanted to play gangster. How original.”
Meridian set his glass down. “Do these two have any kind of connection to each other?”
Mariah scrolled through her notes, pursing her lips like she always did when she was thinking hard.
“According to behavioral reports, Scar and Gage refused to cooperate with staff or each other. They fought constantly, physically and verbally. They were kept in separate quarters until they were scheduled for termination. There’s bad blood, but no record as to why.
The director might’ve misjudged their relationship. ”
Jo nodded slowly. “Then that’s where we’ll start. If they hate each other, they won’t be together long after escaping.”
“What’s the orders, boss?” Ex asked.
“We divide and recover,” she said. “Blacks and Browns will take Scar. He’s dangerous, volatile, and most likely to put up resistance. Start in Chicago. Track the South Side Kings. If anyone interferes, you have full autonomy to handle it.”
“Define handle it,” Meridian said.
“We all know what gangs like that are capable of. Handle it however you see fit.”
Meridian’s grin was slight and dark. He liked the sound of that.
Jo turned to the Greens. “Valor, Zorion, you go after Gage. Check his parents’ last known address first, then his buddy Roz. If anyone knows where Gage is headed, it’ll be him. Bring them in alive and unharmed…that’s nonnegotiable.”
Everyone nodded.
Jo glanced at the digital clock on the wall. “The Whites have a pretty decent head start on us. But I don’t want to underestimate them again, so get your strategies aligned. You’re wheels up in forty-eight.”
She closed the holograph projection with a swipe of her hand, making Scar and Gage’s faces dissolve into darkness.
The meeting adjourned, but Meridan remained seated, thinking, plotting.
Ex turned toward him. “Chicago gangs, huh? This is a first.”
He and Ex had fought against leaders of organizations who used genocide to dominate countries, religious zealots who strapped bombs to their chests, arms conglomerates, and terrorists with funds vast enough to start civil wars.
City gangs were a fuckin’ insult to them.
“The goddamn South Side Kings,” Ex sighed. “Is this what we’ve been reduced to, Mere? Going after a group of idiots who entertain themselves by shooting into people’s houses, knocking over mom-and-pop stores, or swiping old ladies’ purses.”
Meridian stood and pulled out one of his smokes now that Jo was gone.
“If these dumbasses like senseless violence so much…” He shrugged. “I say let’s give it to ’em.”