The Ragnarok Resolution

  The

  Ragnarok

  Resolution

  VIRGINIA SOENKSEN

  A close up of a sign Description automatically generated

  An imprint of Sunbury Press, Inc

  MECHANICSBURG, PA USA

  To my father, who will always and forever be my hero

  .

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The journey of each book from writing to publication is different, though I have been very lucky to have the Genetics Chronicles guided by the familiar faces at Sunbury Press. A huge debt of thanks goes to Lawrence Knorr, who several years ago took a chance on a new author. Chris Fenwick has been a brilliant guide for the past two books, and my writing is all the better for it. Riann Wilmans provided another glorious cover, bringing my vision of London to life.

  I am, as always, grateful for those who took the time to read and provide feedback on this manuscript. To Erin, Amy, Sophia, Sam, Kevin, Kirk, Jess, Sara, and Sydney, you have no idea how much you helped, and how much I loved sharing my stories with you. Thank you also to all the readers, known and unknown, who bought the book, lent it to friends, and followed these characters to the conclusion of this first arc.

  Excerpt from The agents’ Code

  There is no greater honor bestowed upon an agent than

  dying in battle on a mission. To give one’s life for the peace and security of the country is an end that should be dreamed of by each and every soldier.

  Chapter 1

  This whole city, Chayse thought, glaring up at the surrounding skyscrapers as he trudged through the exhaust-stained snow, can go rot.

  He didn’t usually think so; most days, London was a fine enough place for a serum-dealing mod like him. Big enough for anonymity, even with the ID tattoo scanners at the entrance to every business and residence and filled with people needing the edge offered by genetic modification.

  Chayse had certainly done alright by himself, peddling reptile serum to the city scum who squatted in the ruins beyond the restructured city and working his way up to skyscraper toffs needing the mental clarity that the serum offered. A couple of brushes with the law had gotten his ID in the dealer registry held by the Genetic Modification Task Force, but all that meant was that he shifted his sales indoors. No, London had done alright by Chayse, all things considered.

  But that was changing.

  At first, it was just whispers among mods of superhuman soldiers called Agents, who appeared and vanished without warning, leaving havoc and death in their wake. Then came a leaked video claiming that the soldiers weren’t mercenaries, but part of a black operation run by Libertas, the Prime Minister’s party. Chayse scowled to himself, remembering the unfortunate time he’d run into the rogue Agent who had leaked it. He remembered her all right, from her freakishly colored eyes to the bruises she’d left when shaking him down for information. He hoped she was locked in a detention cell somewhere. Not only because of the shakedown but because her video had driven Agents out into the city like so many rats flushed from flooded sewers.

  And the Agents seemed to be hunting for only one thing—mods. Just a few at first—high-distribution dealers, for the most part. Then they’d started turning up at mod pubs, driving the small-time dealers out of business . . . on and on until it was rare for a day to pass without mods dying. A week ago, Chayse had even seen a pack of Agents with his own eyes, their black armor and guns gleaming under the neon signs of the city as they filed into a club full of mods. Though Chayse ran, it wasn’t fast enough to escape the sound of gunfire and screams.

  The snow had soaked through holes in his boots to dampen the legs of his red tracksuit, and Chayse ducked into a doorway, shivering as he kicked the snow from the treads. The first snowfall of winter arrived without warning, blanketing London in a white veil that softened the edges of the rebuilt city. It muffled the sounds of the people within it, muting the colors. The artificial silence enveloped each and every street, making the broadcasts of the propaganda vans louder than ever.

  Chayse scowled as the garbled sounds grew louder, looking up the street as one of the oversized, black vans turned the corner. It moved slowly on account of the snow; the screens mounted on top displaying a beautiful, dark-haired woman with green eyes. Prime Minister Adrian Morrigan smiled out upon the passersby, as her amplified voice said, “My fellow citizens, I speak to you tonight to reassure you of the continued security of our country.”

  Several pedestrians eyed the van as it passed, stopping conversations mid-sentence to drift into stores and alleyways, moving out of sight. The van continued on, creeping down the snow-covered streets. On the screen, Adrian said, “I know that you are hearing rumors that say otherwise. Rumors begun by those who would throw our country into a state of chaos and hardship . . .”

  Those pedestrians who couldn’t escape the streets hurried their steps instead, pulling up coat collars and scarves to hide their faces from the van. The Minister’s recorded voice continued, “Like poison, these lies harm us from within, and those spreading them must be extracted, so that our wounds may heal. I urge you to report any rumormongers to your nearest police station, for the good of the nation . . .”

  The van turned the distant corner, the sound of the broadcast fading. Chayse’s narrow, ferrety eyes followed it. There had been similar vans outside the club on the night of the shooting, screeching to a halt as Agents poured out in a deadly tide. Since that night, he’d noticed the vans more, seeing them creep through the streets, spouting out the Prime Minister’s tripe. He’d wondered, more than once, if they did more than transport Agents. If, perhaps, they listened . . .

  Chayse glanced after the van again, making sure it was out of sight before spitting into the snow. Closing his fist, he banged on the door once, then paused before knocking twice more.

  A latch turned on the other side, revealing a kid with a dirty face and eyes with slits for pupils from dosing with reptile serum. He eyed Chayse, then stepped aside to let the dealer saunter past into the dilapidated building lit by electric camp lanterns. Chayse went to a battered wooden table in the center, shrugging off his rucksack and pulling out a nondescript bag.

  The kid called after him, “They gone?”

  “They ain’t never gone,” Chayse muttered, keeping his eyes on the bag. He opened the case to reveal row after row of serum vials, then tapped at his phone. Four minutes to the appointed time—his buyers would be there soon.

  The minutes ticked by, and Chayse began to fidget from nerves, acne pustules standing out against his thin, bloodless cheeks as he toyed with his phone, his bag—anything to offer a distraction. When the back door opened with a creak of rusted hinges, he started, managing to pull himself together before it opened fully. A group of men and women walked in, all wearing the smooth, polished black face masks favored by those who wanted to bypass the facial recognition of the street cameras. When they pushed them back, Chayse found himself looking at luminous eyes that were neither human nor bestial. He fidgeted more; wolf mods gave him the creeps.

  “You’re late,” he snapped.

  “You would have waited,” said one of the women near the back.

  “Yeah, well, I got other customers, don’t I? And patrols is tighter than ever.”

  “Why’d you think we’re here in this dump?” retorted a thin mod, his eyes darting to the doors and windows. “Not as if there’s anywhere better to go, what with Ahmad out of business and Agents crawling the city . . .”

  Chayse grinned, growing cockier in the face of their discomfort. He spread his hands, the lantern light glinting off the cheap gold rings he wore. “You come ‘cause I got what you need, right? Something very special . . . with a price to match.”

  The lead mod, a huge man with a flat face and dark hair, stepped forward and eyed the serum. “You’ve got it?”

  Chayse turned and selected one of the vials from within the bag, announcing, “As promised, the Titan Strain.” The mod reached for it with a hungry expression, but the dealer held it back and warned, “This is powerful stuff . . . you know what you’re getting into, right?”

  “Better than you,” retorted one of the women. “Is it all here?”

  “All fifty vials,” Chayse said. “You got the money to pay for it?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she drew out an envelope and said, “Half a million pounds had better be enough.”

  Greed flared up within the dealer, but he gave a laconic shrug and said, “Call it a first-time punter discount.”

  But when he reached eager, thin fingers toward the envelope, one of the mods jerked his head. “Not yet. First, we see what this serum can do.”

  Sweat broke out across Chayse’s hairline, but he scoffed, “Real mods know what the Strain can do.”

  Unmoved, the man stepped forward, drawing out a fresh syringe and sticking the needle through the cap to draw out the clear liquid. Chayse eyed the payment, just beginning to wonder if he could grab it and run when the mod stuck the needle in his own forearm and injected the serum.

  The effect was instant; the man’s eyes turned violently yellow, and an inhuman snarl came from his open mouth. The wolf mod shuddered, his muscles rippling under his jacket. One of the women moved closer, asking, “Well?”

  The man nodded, breathing as if he had just sprinted. “It’s good.” Chayse let out a minuscule sigh, but then the mod’s yellow eyes snapped over to him. In a low voice, the man added, “But it’s not the Strain.”

  Chayse felt his breath catch
, and then it was slammed out of him as the mod seized his throat and shoved him against the crumbling wall. Dust showered both of them, choking the dealer even more. The mod’s eyes glowed through the cloud of dust, his voice even more animalistic than before as he snarled, “You think you can cheat us, you little prick?”

  “Let’s just take it and get out!” said one of the women, voice shrill with panic.

  The mod tilted his head, lips curling even more as Chayse gurgled and kicked. “You’re a reptile mod all right; a snake out to cheat your own kind. Well, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to cheat, or talk, or walk ever again . . .”

  Chayse’s bulging eyes darted around the room, landing on the kid standing frozen by the front door. Stupid, useless berk, Chayse thought, the room beginning to fade from lack of air. A skittering sound echoed through the room. Chayse had just enough energy to look over and see the kid staring down, frowning at the small blinking device near his feet, seconds before it exploded.

  The entire building rocked with the blast, the mods knocked to hands and knees, screaming as bits of rubble and parts of the kid rained down on them. The lead mod dropped Chayse, who lay gasping through his damaged throat. He could only watch through bloodshot eyes as dark figures entered through the ruined doorway, moving faster than humans or mods. The Agents darted through the room, firing at anything that breathed. Mod after mod fell dead; Chayse began to crawl toward the door, desperately looking to the snowy street that meant freedom and survival. If he could just make it there before they noticed . . .

  Behind him, the screams stopped. The only thing that sounded through the building were footsteps, slow and deliberate, as they moved toward the dealer. He froze, rolling onto his back and holding his hands up. The light of the lantern glowed behind the Agents, turning them into faceless wraiths as they reloaded their weapons and walked unhurriedly toward him.

  Chayse began to shake, but he tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “Look, you lot like information, right? I got plenty. I can help you.”

  One of the Agents laughed, while the other just locked a new magazine clip into his assault rifle.

  “You’re looking for someone,” Chayse persisted. “One of yours, a girl, right? The one who went rogue and leaked the video about the Strain. I seen her.”

  The Agents slowed to a stop, and one of them demanded, “Where?”

  “At a pub,” Chayse lied, the words flowing fast now that he’d latched onto a way to survive. “Couple days ago. I can find her again, no problem, her and the copper. And I’ll bring them right to you. All you gotta do is let me walk out of here.”

  The Agent tilted his head, just enough that the dealer could catch the hint of a smile. “Couple of days, huh? You sure? Because she’s been in our holding cells for over a week.”

  “Nice try, though,” said the other Agent, shouldering his rifle and taking aim as he said to the other, “Call the shot.”

  The smile on the second Agent widened, and he said, “Make it a challenge; through the left eye.”

  Chayse opened his mouth to argue, to talk his way out as he’d always been able to do before. But all that escaped his lips was a high, keening scream that lasted until it was silenced by a single shot.

  CHAPTER 2

  Cold. Tired. At first, that was all she knew.

  Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to open against a haze of sleep and something else, something artificial that pulled her mind toward unconsciousness.

  She fought against the pull, forcing her eyes to open until the world came into focus. She lay still, eyes blinking and tearing against the low lights as she fought to orient herself. She lay on a narrow bed under stark white sheets. The room wasn’t large, and aside from the bed, there was nothing else but an empty chair. No sign of anyone else.

  Dim blue lights ringed the room, and the cold air held the metallic tang of disinfectants. There was something oppressive about it, something subterranean; she wasn’t sure how she knew, but this place was deep underground. Across the room, set into the smooth, rounded walls was a door without a handle. Clearly, a chamber meant to keep a person in. All of it felt oddly familiar, but no matter how hard she tried to pinpoint why, she was left with the horrible disorientation of not knowing where she was. Or who she was, for that matter.

  Did she even have a name?

  “I don’t know,” she said aloud, her voice hoarse and scratchy. Fear swept up her spine, and in an effort to stave off panic, she tried to focus on what she could tell about herself. She lifted a hand to run through the softness of her chin-length, white-blonde hair, then pushed aside the sheets to find that she wore white sleeping clothes. On her wrist, a motion monitor flashed blue at regular intervals. Her skin felt clean, and several bandages covered her arms. When she pried up the adhesive, she found the skin indented with healing wounds that she somehow knew to be needle marks.

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Nothing felt right, not even her body. She was weak and unsteady as if recovering from an illness. When she tried to think back to what she had been doing, there was just a void, an empty space in place of the memory.

  She stood, feeling her muscles shake from disuse. The sensor on her wrist flashed red, triggered by her movements. Someone is watching me; someone will come now that I’m awake, she thought, wondering how she knew that. Ripping the sensor from her wrist, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it.

  Sound filtered through the durasteel; the heavy beat of steel-toed boots against metal floors, the muted hum of conversations, and distorted loudspeaker announcements. She backed away from the door, her heart hammering out a panicked rhythm. None of it felt safe, none of it made sense. But she was certain of one thing; she wanted to get out.

  She’d barely formed the thought when the door began to slide open. An older man stood on the other side, distracted and gazing at the tablet in his hand. The sight of his white coat sent a chill through her, the air seizing within her lungs. There was only a split second to decide what to do, and as he glanced up with eyes that widened in surprise, she darted forward and slammed her shoulder into the man’s chest before he had time to shout. The man went sprawling backward, the wind knocked out of him, as she ran out of the chamber and down a white, rounded hallway.

  Her bare feet beat silently against the metal floor as she ran; the world around her blurring as she careened through the hall and around a blind corner. She collided with two more people in white coats, sending all three of them to the ground. The woman shouted and pressed a device at her wrist. The lights overhead and along the walls began to flash red, and a deafening alarm blared from loudspeakers. She scrambled up, more afraid than ever as she dodged past the cowering, unfamiliar people, and ran on.

  Ahead of her, several men and women in black stepped out of an elevator. She slid to a stop as they emerged, backing away and feeling her eyes go wide with fear. They moved toward her, raising weapons and shouting for her to kneel. Instead, she whirled around, hearing several darts strike the wall behind her as she turned another corner at a sprint.

  On she ran, her heart pounding in time with the unrelenting sirens. Fear choked her, making the floor seem to tilt and shift as she went. She turned down another corridor, glancing back to see the soldiers closing the gap to catch her.

  Time to stop running and fight, instinct whispered.

  She slammed to a stop, the metal burning against her bare feet as she launched herself back at her pursuers. The first one she flipped over her back, the next she seized by the wrist and tossed into the wall. She had no idea how she knew what to do, but she did; dodging blows and tranquilizing shots, she wreaked havoc through the hall. The world swirled into noise and chaos around her; when she caught a glimpse of movement behind her, she snatched up one of the guns from the holster of an unconscious soldier and whirled to level it at whoever had joined the fight.

  The newcomer turned out to be a handsome, dark-haired man wearing a black suit, his hands outspread to show that he was unarmed. Soldiers stood behind him, trying to take aim at her while the man seemed determined to block their shots. They didn’t like that, shouting for the man to step away. The man said nothing, only raised one hand in a wordless gesture for them to stand down. They went silent, weapons lowering, and out of the periphery of her vision, she saw the soldiers at her back mirror the movement. The sirens and lights stopped as well, silence descending throughout the hallway.