S3, 12 Truth (FB) (August 25, 2016)

Corresponding text underneath each picture.

**20th May 2094**

Sparks flew as two sections of shaped metal were welded together.

Even though I was wearing a protective visor, I still squinted as I worked with the glaring light of the super-heated tool.

I finished working my way along the join in the metal plating and turned off the welding iron. The glare vanished and I lifted up my visor, blinking away the spots in my vision.

My project was looking good! It was taking a while, but it was certainly getting there! And there was, of course, no rush. I wasn’t going anywhere. Goodness knows how long I was going to be stuck in this cave for, so I might as well have something to work on!

Although, that being said, there was only so much I could do to it! I’d have to finish it and turn it on eventually.

Recently, after spending more and more time working on it, I’d decided that ‘it’ was in fact going to be a ‘him’. I had traded several of our stolen guns for a voice modulation unit and had calibrated it to sound like a male. No particular reason why, I just felt like he should be a guy rather than a woman.

As I lifted the newly-formed plate from the workbench, Jarred came in from the sun through the open doorway. He shrugged his jetpack off and let it fall onto his hard, wooden bed and then came over to join me, just as I fitted the plate into position on the robot’s face.

Jarred: “I see you’ve been usin’ the welding gear I grabbed for you?”

I wasn’t a fan of Jarred’s stealing habits but this piece of gear had proven to be extremely useful! Plus the guns had proven invaluable as trading items or for selling in order to get money to buy other stuff we needed. So I’d started to learn to accept his habits. I still wasn’t a fan, but I knew they were necessary.

Mostly.

Tank: “Yeah! It’s great, thanks.” I smiled as I began drilling a hole in the side of the new faceplate, ready to attach it into position.

Jarred: “Nice.” He commented. “It’s really comin’ on well!”

Tank: “Thanks.” I replied, drilling a hole into the other side. “Oh, and it’s going to be a ‘him’ by the way.

Jarred: “A ‘him’?” he asked, surprised.

Tank: “Yeah! He’s going to speak! I installed a voice box a last week!”

Jarred: “Man, you get the opportunity to give us some company and you can’t even make it a woman.” He shook his head, but a smirk gave away that he was only messing around.

Tank: “Hey, do you want to build him?” I asked with my arms wide.

Jarred: “No, no, I’m good thanks, pal. You keep at it.” He joked and I turned back to my work, smiling.

Jarred: “Seriously though; a guy? What are you going to call him?”

Tank: “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that recently, but can’t think of anything suitable.”

Jarred: “Tracks.” He suggested without even thinking.

Tank: “What? Why? He has legs.”

Jarred: “Because it’s funny! Tank and Tracks!”

Tank: “Oh God…” I groaned at the bad joke and he laughed.

Jarred: “Well, I like it.”

Tank: “Yeah?” I asked sarcastically, as I stood back up and turned to face him.

Jarred: “Yeah!”

Tank: “Well, keep thinking!” I laughed.

**20th August 2096: Present Day**

I adjusted myself as my backside grew numb from sitting on this rather uncomfortable chair for so long.

I was sat in the archive-slash-research section of a DNA Clinic, killing time. I had come in earlier on, determined to, once and for all, find out whether Franklin Morales had been telling the truth about being my farther or not. I couldn’t live not knowing and so about a week ago I’d booked an appointment at this clinic and had arrived a few hours ago to have some blood taken.

After spending the last few weeks worrying, I knew I had to find out the truth. I’d also spent lots of time over the last fortnight or so looking up anybody named Christian in relation to my parents but there was nothing! Literally! Not a single mention of anybody named Christian in any record I could find! The man was even more of a ghost than Zeth Stripe was proving to be! I knew I had to find him though. He was, at the moment, the only lead I had to go on for finding Stripe! But I was beginning to wonder whether Franklin, the man who’d given me Christian’s name, had either gotten the name wrong or had been lying.

I was praying that he was lying about being my real father, but if that was the case, then it could also quite likely be that he’d lied about this name too. But I’d find out soon enough.

After arriving at this clinic earlier on, they had told me I could either go away and come back later today or alternatively use their research area to look into my family history if I was interested.

I had never really thought about it before, and so out of curiosity decided to take a look.

That was a few hours ago and I was still here now! It really was quite fascinating! Delving into the past like this!

I had started with my dad’s side of the family, tracing it back through time. My parents had gotten married on the 30th of August 2071. My dad… well… the man I have always believed to be my dad, at least, was born in 2040.

I had continued tracing that back through history and had gotten back to a date in the 1800’s! I had then moved onto my Mom’s side of the family.

For the first time, I saw her maiden name – Manghan. I’d never really thought about it before, but, of course, Foster had been my dad’s name which she’d taken on when they married. She had been born in 2047 and, in what came as a surprise to me, her sister, named Katie, had been born in 2049. I’d never heard of an Aunt Katie before, but according to the family tree and a marriage certificate that I found, she had married a man named Roger in 2073, just a couple of years after my parents had gotten married.

I frowned as I followed their section of the tree.

I had been born in 2075, I knew that much. But apparently, this Aunt Katie and Uncle Roger had had a child named Jay in the same year!

I had a cousin?
I wondered why I had never met any of these people before.

Moving on from there, heading back into the past, now following my Mom’s side of the family, I discovered that my Mum had been born in 2047, her parents – so my grandparents, were named Ben and Lucy. Ben was a Manghan and Lucy a Montgomery. They had married in 2046 after Ben had moved from England to America in the previous year.

Ben had been born in 2023 to Robert and Katie Manghan and…

Woman: “Excuse me? Mr. Rockwell?”

I jumped slightly at the woman’s voice, having been engrossed in my family’s past for so long.

Tank: “Yes, that’s me.”

Woman: “Your results are ready.” She smiled, handing me a sealed envelope.

Tank: “Oh! Thank you!”

Woman: “And just to remind you that all results are confidential and have been printed and sealed automatically for your peace of mind. Nobody other than the computer has seen what’s inside that envelope.”

Tank: “Brilliant. Thank you very much.” I smiled.

Woman: “You’re welcome.” She replied warmly before wandering away again.

I took a deep breath. Well, this was it! I was going about to find out who my dad was! Was it the sleazebag Morales? Or the man whom I’d spent the last few hours discovering the family tree for – the man I’d always called Dad?

I opened the envelope and slid out the single sheet from inside.

I skim-read most of the opening text, muttering aloud as I went.

Tank: “results show that…”

Here it was!

Tank: “Mother: Lana Foster. Father: Jeremy Foster.” I muttered and a huge grin appeared on my face.

Tank: “**YES**!” I whooped aloud.

I was so, so happy! I *knew* that Morales had been lying! That bastard! I knew my Mum wouldn’t have done anything like that!

Well, I’d hoped and prayed she hadn’t, anyway! And thankfully, my prayers had been answered. Whether or not they had in fact been having an affair, I couldn’t answer for definite, but at least I knew now that my dad was… well, my dad! And I hadn’t come from that scum, Morales.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and leant back in my chair.

I’d also been concerned about the scientists finding out that I was actually Frank Foster – I was still a wanted man, after all! So their own privacy rules and having the entire process automated so that nobody else got to see the results but me worked out pretty well in my favour!

I grinned and grinned for another good minute before my comlink began to beep. I pulled it out and flicked the ‘on’ switch.

Mr. Grey: “Good afternoon, Chain.”

Tank: “Afternoon.” I greeted in reply.

Mr. Grey: “How goes the hunt for Zeth Stripe?”

Tank: “I have a lead, but it’s taking a while.” I replied, referencing my hunt for Christian Walker. However, I didn’t want to go into details because I still didn’t trust Mr. Grey or The Brain with the knowledge about the ripped photograph. I wasn’t sure why not, but I hadn’t mentioned it yet and it still didn’t seem right to.

Mr. Grey: “Fair enough. The Brain does have a task for you though.”

Tank: “And here was me thinking this was a social call.” I commented dryly.

Mr. Grey: “Amusing.” He replied straight-faced. “Do you remember ‘The Boss’, whom I have discussed with you previously?”

Tank: “The other guy who sounded remarkably similar to The Brain? The secretive mafia-type boss who controls everything from the shadows? Yeah, I remember him.” I replied sarcastically.

Mr. Grey: “Well, the Brain wasn’t happy when we discovered that his informant, Mr. Harrison, had been killed…”

Tank: “The one who’d been working for the Boss and leaking information to the Brain?”

Mr. Grey: “The very same. The Brain was not pleased that he’d gotten caught and killed as a result and now wants payback.”

I frowned.

Tank: “Payback sounds rather violent.” I commented, worried at what I was going to be asked to do.

Mr. Grey continued, ignoring my remark.

Mr. Grey: “As you can imagine, Mr. Harrison was just one of a great many people working for The Boss and the Brain has managed to uncover the home address for one of The Boss’s top informants, a Mr. Jake Tapworth.”

Tank: “Let me guess…” I started.

Mr. Grey: “The Brain wants him dead.”

Tank: “Could’a guessed.” I muttered.

Mr. Grey: “I know you’re not a murderer, Chain, but you have killed many, many times before…”

Tank: “Yeah, out of self-defence!” I replied heatedly.

Mr. Grey: “All the same, you have killed. And there is one other thing…” He added. “This informant knew your parents.”

That got my attention.

Mr. Grey: “He knew your parents and has been an informant for the Boss for some time. The Brain does not know whether or not he worked for the Boss whilst your mother and father were still alive, but if he did…”

Tank: “He might know something about their deaths.” I finished, nodding, suddenly eager to go and see this man.

**The Next Day…**

I had rung the bell and knocked very loudly repeatedly, but nobody had answered the apartment door and so, after fiddling with the electronic lock for only a few seconds, the sliding door ‘swooshed’ open and allowed Tracks and myself to enter.

Tank: “Hello?” I called but there was no response. I could hear sound – muffled voices coming from somewhere inside, though. “Mr. Tapworth? Anybody home?”

Again, only silence greeted us.

Tracks grumbled in his mechanical way, asking where everybody was.

Tank: “Work?” I suggested, having no real idea.

We made our way inside and started looking around. I wasn’t entirely sure what we were looking for if the man we’d come to see wasn’t in, but I felt like we should do some snooping. I desperately wanted to speak to Mr. Tapworth, now that I knew that he’d known my parents. I didn’t know how well he’d known them, however, ask Mr. Grey had pointed out, he knew my parents, they had died and he now worked for a mafia-boss-type person. Slightly suspicious.

I had absolutely no idea if this ‘The Boss’ was involved in their deaths at all, however, it was a possible lead and was therefore worth pursuing, especially as my hunt for Zeth was currently yielding no fruit.

Tracks and I looked around the small apartment. The muffled voices I had heard turned out to be a TV that had been left on. I paused for a moment to watch as the news showed areal footage of a huge battle raging outside of the Fortress of Deja on Etrion.

Moving on, there was nothing remarkable about that apartment. A perfectly ordinary home. From looking around, I’d have guessed that Mr. Tapworth lived alone, but I could have been wrong.

I headed over towards a closed door and tried the handle – locked.

Tank: “Hmm…” I pondered, wondering what could be inside. “Tracks.” I beckoned for him and he lolloped over. I gestured to the door and with a single kick from his powerful metal legs, the lock smashed and the door swung inwards.

It was dark inside, but enough light spilled in through the newly opened doorway for me to see that it was a bedroom. I squinted at the nearby walls through the dark and succeeded in finding a light switch.

Flicking it on revealed a grim sight.

Tank: “HO!” I gasped aloud in shock as the light revealed a man’s body lying on a blood-soaked bed.
I sighed deeply with sadness as I approached the corpse. The red-stained sheets were dry and the man’s skin was pale and gaunt, meaning that he’d been dead for at least a few days. He was face down but I gingerly rolled his head to one side.

Tracks whirred a question.

Tank: “Yeah, it’s him.” I confirmed sadly. It seemed I wasn’t going to be getting any answers out of him, after all.

Tank: “Come on then. It’s pointless hanging around any longer.” I told Tracks and headed back towards the bedroom door, but halfway across the room, the lights went out and plunged us into darkness.

Tank: “Whoa!” I exclaimed and froze in place. Tracks growled threateningly.

Tank: “Don’t look at me!” I told him. “You were watching me! How could I have done it? I was halfway across the room!” I argued. All I could see in the darkness were Track’s glowing red eyes, which was rather unnerving. “Look, stop arguing.” I told him. “Turn your eyes up to full brightness and let’s get out of here.”

He did as commanded for a change and his eyes become bright enough for me to see by. Tracks’ optical sensors worked well in the dark anyway, but being only a human, I needed light to see by!

My companion ground out a question.

Tank: “Yeah, it must be another power outage.” I responded. “Who knows how long it’ll be out for. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

**Qoter: Senate Building – The Governor’s Office…**

Judas: “Ah, Colonel, please, come in.”

Col. Ramson: “Governor.” He saluted sharply. “It’s an honour to meet you in person.”

Judas: “Um, at ease, Colonel.” He responded, unsure of military procedures. Ramson relaxed and stepped further into the Governor of Qoter’s office.

Judas: “If the notes in my schedule are correct, you wanted to see me about a wanted fugitive, is that correct?”

Col. Ramson: “Yes, sir.”

Judas: “Well, Colonel, what can I do for you?” the Governor asked, settling back into his chair.

Col. Ramson: “It is my belief, sir, that you have been spending a fair amount of time with a wanted criminal.”

The Governor frowned.

Judas: “Explain?”

The Colonel produced a pre-prepared datapad, turned the screen on and placed it on the desk in front of Judas. He frowned at the footage being shown.

Col. Ramson: “The man who saved your life at your Inauguration speech. Chain ‘Tank’ Rockwell.”

Judas: “What about him?” he questioned, confused.

Col. Ramson: “You two have been seen together on several occasions.”

Judas: “And?”

Col. Ramson: “And he’s dangerous, sir. He cannot be trusted. He’s a wanted man.”

Judas: “Ah, but you’re forgetting; Mr. Rockwell received a full pardon. He has been cleared of all crimes.” He reminded. “Now, unless there is anything else?” he checked, preparing to stand.

Col. Ramson: “Actually sir, that isn’t entirely correct.”

Judas frowned and remained seated.

Judas: “What do you mean? I signed it myself, I know he has been pardoned.”

Col. Ramson: “Sir, you may or may not be aware that I am in charge of tracking down and re-capturing criminals who escaped from prison during the Shift…”

Judas: “I was aware, yes.” He confirmed.

Col. Ramson: “Your friend, ‘Tank’, is on my list. He’s been lying to you, sir. His real name is Frank Foster.” He revealed and swiped a finger across the datapad and the screen changed to Frank’s criminal record, showing a picture of him looking a lot younger in his prison mugshot. “He was imprisoned for murdering his parents when he was just ten!”

Judas stared at the datapad with a neutral expression, keeping his emotions well hidden. Inside, however, he was in turmoil. Could this be true? The man whom he considered his best friend, who had saved his life on more occasions than he would care to admit, was actually an escaped convict who had murdered his own parents? The picture was undoubtedly of Tank. Why had he lied? And why save his life so many times? Did he want something? Did he mean to kill him?!

He didn’t know what to think any more. He didn’t know… anything. Judas sighed mentally. What he *did* know, was that Tank was a friend. One whom had saved his life on multiple occasions and had proven himself a loyal companion.

Judas: “Maybe so, Colonel. But I trust him.” He began.

Col. Ramson: “But, sir. He is *dangerous*!” he interjected and Judas held up a hand for silence.

Judas: “I trust him. He is a close friend and an ally. If he had meant any harm to me, he could have let my death fall upon me numerous times – but instead, every time, he was there to save it.”

Col. Ramson: “But sir!” he insisted, but Judas scowled and flicked his hand up again to cut him off.

Judas: “I trust him. And so I am ordering you to cease all searches for him, effective immediately.”

The Imperium Colonel’s mouth fell open in shock.

Judas: “You are to stop hunting Tank and you are to remove him from the wanted fugitives index.” He announced and pushed Ramson’s datapad back across the desk to him.

Col. Ramson: “Sir, I must protest! This is highly un-advisable and fool-hardy! If he…”

Judas: “If you insult me or my decisions again, Colonel,” Judas interrupted quietly, rising to his feet. “I will have you demoted and moved to janitorial duties. And the same applies for if you fail to cease hunting down Tank, do I make myself clear?”

The one-eyed Colonel opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he wanted to protest, but was weighing up the options.

Col. Ramson: “Perfectly, sir.” He confirmed.

Judas: “Good day, Colonel.”

**Elsewhere…**

There was a sharp rap on the door.

Alberto Rinse: “Enter!”

The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges and an aging, yet sharply dressed man, with long grey hair and glasses entered the softly lit office.

Alberto: “Ah, Barnaby! It’s good to see you again!” he greeted as Barnaby Walsh, old friend of the Foster’s and known to Tank affectionately as ‘Uncle’ Barnaby, walked towards the desk in the centre of the room.

Barnaby: “Alberto.” He greeted in return, his tone even, not matching the secretive man’s happiness – he knew it was just a show. Both Walsh and Rinse had been part of the ‘regulars’ – a group of friends, including Tank’s parents, who used to gather at all of the social occasions and local events in New York city. At the time, they had been good friends. The group had fallen apart after the Foster’s murders and in the years since, the relationship between Alberto and Barnaby had soured. Barnaby acted as an informant for Alberto, digging up information on whatever was asked of him. He took no pleasure in it - It was simply a job to keep money coming in.

Alberto: “As you know, I asked you here to discuss a deal that you made in April 2085 with Jeremy Foster.”

Barnaby: “Yes, but I don’t understand why. What do you want to know about it?”

Alberto: “Everything.” He replied, leaning forwards in his high-backed chair. “I want to know where the money came from, where it went and what it was used for.”

Barnaby: “Um, okay…” he began, unsure of why this was being asked of him. “It was a joint venture between our two companies and a company in Zurich simply called ‘Das Austausch’. They bought and sold insurance bonds and Jeremy and I felt that partnering up our companies with theirs would prove profitable for all.”

Alberto: “And was it?”

Barnaby: “Sadly, it wasn’t to be. Jeremy died the following month and the man who took over his company disagreed.”

Alberto: “So the deal fell through?”

Barnaby: “Oh no, we were partnered up for about five weeks in total, before the new guy, Hugo Eckheart, ended it again.”

Alberto: “Do you have the details of the transactions?”

Barnaby: “Yes. It’s all in here. The full money trail from all three parties – mine, Jeremy’s and the Swiss’.” He replied, stepping forwards and sliding a brown, leather briefcase onto the desk.

Alberto: “I’m not interested in yours or the Swiss’.” He announced tartly, taking the case from Barnaby.

Barnaby: “Just Jeremy’s?”

Alberto: “Indeed.” He responded, opening the case and taking a quick glance at the paperwork inside.

Barnaby: “Why? What are you doing?”

Alberto: “I’m working with somebody who has a great interest in the Foster family’s finances. I’m just investigating some important financial transactions.”

Barnaby: “Important financial transactions? As in ‘digging up dirt’?” he alluded.

There was a pause, in which Mr. Rinse, closed the briefcase and set it aside.

Alberto: “Good day, Barnaby.” He responded, ending the conversation.

Walsh sighed sadly and turned to leave. He walked a few paces but then stopped and looked back.

Barnaby: “If you’re looking for dirt, you won’t find any. Jeremy was a good man; A good friend to us both. You’re betraying his memory. I don’t know why this person you’re working with thinks that the Fosters had some dodgy dealings going on, but they didn’t, I can tell you that now.”

Alberto: “Good day, Barnaby.” He repeated, more forcefully and the elder man turned and continued out of the room.

Alberto watched his old friend leave and once the door had closed, let out a sigh of his own.
For a long time, he had believed that the Foster’s couldn’t have gained *that* amount of wealth legally – that some of it *must* have come from some illegal dealings or dirty side projects – that’s why he had started looking into their finances in the first place.

Then of course, Darkblade had come along and they had now pooled their resources. However, Darkblade was pushing him. He was doing his best but nothing was coming up! He couldn’t find *anything* vaguely suspicious. He still had the Foster kid’s datapad that had been recovered from Iapra, but he’d still not managed to get into it. There just *might* be something on there of use, but in all honesty, he didn’t think there would be. The kid was just that – a kid. He’d have no knowledge of their financial dealings.

He sighed again.
Maybe the Fosters were as clean as the rest of the world believed…..

**NO**! He couldn’t believe that! There *had* to be something! Anything! For his own satisfaction, but also for his life….

He didn’t trust this mysterious Darkblade and didn’t want to think about what might happen to him should he not be able to produce the goods he had promised…

No, he *would* find something.

He had to…

**BONUS PICTURES**

The set for the DNA clinic.

As my series is going to be jumping around though time, I will include a date on each episode and add it to the timeline at the end of each episode so that you can follow it.

TIMELINE