Special Agent Mark Johnson was face-down on a bunk in a dark room. As he lifted his head, he tried to recall what happened.
Just an ordinary day. He and the rest of Team 13 were going to check out a supposed psychic disturbance in Mequon when suddenly, things went black.
The agent surveyed his surroundings and determined that he was underground in military quarters judging by the pressure and the lack of decor. The room was vacant.
Mark got off the bunk slowly and crept to the door. He popped it open a crack and looked down the outside hallway. He could hear distant boots marching, but the hall was empty.
Before venturing out, Johnson decided to look for clues as to get his bearings. He looked around for some identifying insignia and spotted a calendar on the wall. He focused on its current date.
“JULY 1976”
Johnson recognized the year as his birth year. He then realized he had traversed time.
Johnson opted to leave to room before anybody returned.
***
General Will Birchham sent a contingent of men and scientists to investigate the seemingly erratic surge of energy in the bunking wing. He didn’t like the fact that the surge occurred so close to the GenManip wing, but at least it wasn’t the Alien Craft wing. Nope, those other-worldians weren’t going to try an contact home on his watch.
He was sure it was nothing to get worked up over. Might’ve been a power surge. Damn hippies probably messing with the off-base power lines again. They really needed a power plant on-base.
They also needed cameras in every room so situations like this could be avoided.
***
After a while of wandering cement hallways and dodging a troop of American military personnel, Johnson came to a large open space with a series of elevators in the center. There were two levels to this spacious room, and Johnson was hiding behind a railing on the upper metal platform that ran along the rim of the room.
The place was crawling with scientists, men in dark suits and trenchcoats, and soldiers. Johnson was surprised he hadn’t been spotted yet.
As he surveyed the room, he saw a gigantic sign on the opposite wall behind the elevators that read “AREA 51 - NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY.” Johnson was taught in Bureau 13 basic training that Area 51 was a decoy place. He was told it was just an average army base. No secrets. That meant that this place was probably just an illusion. A dream. But then why was he having a dream?
Johnson also noticed that the closest exit was a set of double doors marked “II” on the level below him. He silently climbed down a service ladder under the cover of a nearby lowering elevator. Then he rushed toward the double doors, hoping he was still unnoticed.
***
The troops didn’t confirm anything. They didn’t find any explanation. The did, however, claim to hear someone (or something) running though the halls. They thought it might have been an intruder, but there was no evidence to support it. Still, General Birchham put everyone on high alert.
***
The black-suited agent rushed in though the double-doors. They silently closed behind him. He was now in a hall filled with desks, file cabinets, and a few massive computers. No visible sign or placard identified this hall.
Johnson walked slowly into the unlit workplace. No one seemed to be there at the moment. The time-warped agent, hoping he hadn’t been spotted, walked amongst the bare desks until he came to a long table with a single legal-sized paper on it.
Mark picked the document off the table and read the heading.
“Summaries of Current Projects in GenManip Branch”
Johnson surmised that “GenManip” was an amalgam of Genetic Manipulation. The agent opted to read on.
“- - FOR THE EYES OF THE TWELVE ONLY - -
Progress in this branch has been made. We’ve successfully manipulated genetic sequences to maximize desired attributes and the fetuses are developing flawlessly. We’ve given the unborn as much exercise and conditioning as a fetus can handle. With any luck, they will develop exactly as you wanted them.
This advancement has prompted our lead scientists to request that you greenlight Project Remus.
Project Remus, as I am certain most of you know, will genetically copy the successful subjects of Project Romulus. We can have our army of perfect enforcers if you give Remus the go - ahead.
The following fetuses have been cleared as viable “cloning” candidates and will be copied immediately with your permission:”
Johnson stopped reading and set down the paper. Someone was coming down the hall behind him. Mark looked for a nearby exit. He saw a double door leading down a slightly lit hallway. It went further into the complex (he thought), but what choice did he have?
As Johnson silently sprinted into the hall and closed the door, a row of windows along each side of the hall at face-height lit up. They emitted an eerie blue light from the metallic walls.
Johnson walked up to the closest one and carefully peered in. He couldn’t see past the brilliant, ice-blue light for a bit. When his eyes adjusted, he saw what would make Agent Frink recoil in fear and wonder.
A frozen human fetus was a foot in front of his face.
Johnson gazed down to a small metal plate just below the window. It was engraved with the name “FRANK MARTIN.” About a foot directly above the window was a timer that went down to the second. It read “00:07:03:04:01:06.” The fetus was seven months old.
The time-warped agent walked to the next window and saw another fetus. Its nameplate read “JOHN CONSTANTINE.” The timer above it was exactly the same as the last. Mark gazed at the timer above the next window and saw it was the same as well. He looked down at the nameplate of that window and it confirmed his theory.
Johnson saw a pattern. These fetuses were created at the same time from a definitely similar gene. Their names each contained a title derived from Roman nomenclature (Constantine, Martin, etc.) and a generic American name (John, Frank, etc.). That fit with the title of the projects. Romulus and Remus were the founders of Rome.
Mark was going to check to see if other fetuses followed this pattern when he fully realized what the letters on the nameplate of that third window said. The black-suited agent did a double-take and focused on the capitalized letters.
They read in proud New Roman font “MARK JOHNSON.”
***
The presence of the intruder had been confirmed by a patrolman that saw the man disappear into the GenManip branch.
General Birchham was not about to let one of those damned hippies wander this facility no matter how they got in here. The general did what any seasoned military commander would do: order an army of his thugs in there to kill that menace for him.
Birchham smiled. The best part about being a member of MJ 12 was that you could kill just about any non-affiliate without repercussions.
*** Johnson heard metal clank far down the hall. Then the sounds of dozens of jackboots could be heard from that direction. Johnson decided to risk it and retreated back out the door from which he entered this strange hall.
Back in the desk-filled hall, Johnson noticed that a few ceiling lights were now on and a man stood a few yards in front of him. The suited man was staring straight at him with a revolver pointed directly at Mark.
Johnson, thinking quickly, kicked a desk over and ducked as several shots rang out just over his head. The time-warped agent somersaulted over the overturned desk and landed right in front of the man with the gun.
Mark punched into the man’s gut and grabbed the arm holding the gun. Johnson spun around and twisted the man’s arm, causing the man to recoil in more pain and drop the firearm.
Johnson caught the gun as it dropped and let go of the arm he was grappling. The time-warped agent jumped over another desk and raced down the central aisle until he came upon another double-door.
Mark took his chance and dove into the unlocked entryway just as military personnel poured in though the other sets of doors.
Now Mark was inside a massive research center that looked like something out of a Sixties comic book. Massive computers and antiquated science machinery surrounded a room filled with lab tables sporting test tubes, giant calcinators, and sinks. Frink would have loved it.
On the end wall closest to Johnson was a projector screen opposite an old slide projector. The machine was on and displayed a slide with notes. The title of the slide read “PROJECT ROMULUS : SUBJECT ATTRIBUTES & TENDENCIES”
Beneath it, Johnson glimpsed what looked like behavior patterns the adult fetuses of this project should have. Amongst details, he read “All subjects will display a fetish for wearing black suits and ties with white shirts . . . Subjects will be naturally serious and reluctant to smile, laugh, cry, or experience any emotion aside from anger . . . Subjects will be generally disinterested in women and will refuse to engage in sexual activity . . . subjects save subject will lead incredibly structured, moraled, and/or lawful lives . . . Subjects will lead somewhat atypical lives without knowing of their infancy.”
Johnson stopped as a group of men in dark suits, hats, and trenchcoats burst into the room, guns leveled with him.
The lead man spoke while steadily pointing his revolver at Johnson. “Do not move. You will be taken in for interrogation. If you fight us, you will be killed. Do not move.”
Johnson focused on the man’s face. Mark knew he must be looking at a mirror. The man looked exactly like him. Then the world went dark as something heavy hit his head from behind.
***
General Birchham decided to take this interrogation himself. He walked through three sets of double doors before reaching the door that led into the actual containment room. “Stay here,” he ordered his guards as he opened the door into the side room.
Inside, the intruder was knocked out cold and had a patch on the back of his head. Behind the seated trespasser, Senior Agent Marc Johnson still had his service revolver at the ready.
“You may leave, Johnson,” the general said to the man in the trenchcoat. He observed the agent’s composure. Tall, proud-yet-humble, ready-for-action. No wonder the eggheads in GenManip chose this man’s DNA as the base for genetic manipulation.
Marc Johnson didn’t move. This prompted the general to say, “Soldier, I said you could go. Now go.”
Marc shifted his gaze from the general to the captured intruder’s head. General Birchham, mildly annoyed, followed the gaze to the trespasser’s face.
Birchham did a double-take. The seated, unconscious man was identical to Senior Agent Marc Johnson. “We have a problem,” Birchham solemnly said, considering the possible explanations for this coincidence. None of the explanations he had in mind could “naturally” occur.
***
Mark Johnson awoke with a sore on his head in an unlit meeting room. He was seated on an executive-type chair. Across from him at the other end of a long table was a military man in uniform. A single light was shining down from the ceiling on this person. Judging by the medals, the man was at least a general. Twelve other men were seated at the table, features shrouded in darkness.
“Welcome to Area 51, son!” the general shouted gruffly from across the table. “I’m General Will Birchham. These other men are the Majestic Twelve.”
Mark did not understand. “Who?” the black-suited agent asked.
General Birchham’s features seemed to constrict. “You don’t know what the MJ 12 is?”
Johnson shook his head negatively.
The general seemed perplexed. “Son, what’s your name?”
Johnson told him and saw one of the shrouded figures move uncomfortably. The general seemed to smile in recognition. “Ah, so you ARE the experiment. What year are you from? How did you get here?”
Johnson told the man the year from which he came and explained that he was unsure how he reached this place.
General Birchham’s smile seemed to widen with this information. “So, we must’ve figured out time travel in the future,” the general began, “and we decided to test it out on one of our unknowing lackeys. Well boys, at least we know our experiments are a success.” The man focused his gaze on Johnson again. “Son, were you sent here to tell us anything?”
Johnson shook his head negatively again.
The general seemed once again perplexed. “Well then, why in the hell are you here?”
Mark honestly replied, “I don’t know.” Then the agent vanished in a flash of light.
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