“What the…?” he said quietly.
Just then, the door to his room opened, startling him. He dropped his arm and looked over as Josh entered the room.
“You’ve been out for over three hours,” he said, as he approached the bed. “How are you feeling?” His British accent sounded excessively cheerful, under the circumstances, which Jericho found mildly irritating.
He took a deep breath before replying. “Better,” he said. He moved his hand back to his face momentarily. “What happened to me?” he asked.
Josh smiled apologetically. “That’s a… big question,” he replied. “One step at a time, eh? Let’s get you dressed and into a conference room. I think it’s about time you were de-briefed in full.”
On cue, Julie appeared behind him in the doorway, holding some clothes in her arms. She stepped inside, moved past Josh, and stood next to the bed.
“I’ve brought you something to change into,” she said, raising her arms slightly and gesturing to the new outfit. “They’re not exactly the height of fashion or anything…”
Jericho flashed a polite smile. “That’s fine, thanks.” He looked back at Josh. “I want answers. No bullshit.”
Josh nodded. “Fair comment… I haven’t fed you any so far, and I have no intention of starting now,” he said.
Jericho took a moment, and then swung his legs out from under the covers, resting his feet on the cold tiles. Placing his hands either side of him on the edge of the bed, he gradually put more pressure on his legs, until he felt comfortable enough to stand. Slowly, he did, inhaling as he stood to his full, impressive height.
At six-five, Jericho was an intimidating sight. He wore hospital scrubs on his legs, which were at least two sizes too small. His bare torso was incredible, with large, well-defined muscles on every inch of it. A small network of scars decorated his otherwise impeccable chest and abdomen.
His huge arms were adorned with extravagant tattoos. On his right was a very detailed Chinese dragon, which ran the full length — the head covered his shoulder, and the body wrapped itself around, all the way down, with the tail finishing in a circle around his wrist. On his left was an equally detailed, and slightly more impressive, Renaissance piece, complete with images of clouds and Cherubs. Michelangelo would have been proud of it.
His entire body was almost triangular in shape; his broad shoulders narrowing to a natural eight-pack on his waist.
Jericho glanced at Josh, who he estimated was close to six-one or six-two. The Brit was looking him up and down, and had a weird smile on his face.
“Jesus… you are a big fella, aren’t you?” he said.
Without replying, Jericho turned to Julie, who held out the clothes to him. He noticed her gaze never left his own, seemingly less impressed with his physique than Josh was.
He took the outfit from her, dropping the items on the bed behind him. He pointed to the bandage covering his head. “Can I take this off?” he asked them.
They exchanged a silent glance, which Jericho was quick to notice and interpreted as concern, though he said nothing.
“Your wounds are still healing,” said Julie, finally. “We’ll assess how well you’re doing later, but for now I need you to keep them on.”
Jericho nodded and turned toward the bed, picking up the T-shirt from the small pile of clothes. He pulled it on over his head, slowly feeding each arm through the short sleeves before tugging it down over his body. It was a tight fit.
He picked up the beige cargo pants and paused, looking over his shoulder at both of them in turn.
“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the pants, signaling his need for privacy.
Josh smiled. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready.”
He stepped outside into the corridor, reaching behind him and holding the door open for Julie, who let her silent gaze hold Jericho’s a second longer than was necessary before following.
Alone in the room he’d apparently spent the last week or so occupying, Jericho sat on the edge of the bed, quickly getting dressed. After he’d finished lacing his boots, he paused for a moment before standing, his hands gently feeling the bandage around his head and over his left eye again with an unavoidable curiosity. He ran his fingers across his forehead, as if expecting to feel metal beneath them.
He moved a hand to his left eye, but stopped himself from touching it. He had no idea what damage had been caused, though he suspected he wasn’t going to like any answer he was given, should he ask.
Finally, he stood and stretched, moving his arms out to the sides and easing them back. He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Josh was waiting for him, leaning against the wall opposite with one leg tucked up behind him.
“All set?” he asked as Jericho appeared.
“I want to know everything,” he replied. “Like I said before — no bullshit. If you lie to me, or hide anything from me, I’ll know. And bandage or no bandage, I will beat the shit outta you, understand?”
Josh seemed to suppress a smile as he nodded. “You’re just like him…” he muttered cryptically as he pushed off the wall and set off walking down the clean, gray corridor, toward an elevator at the far end.
“Just like who?” asked Jericho, confused.
Josh spun to face him, continuing to walk backward, smiling. “Come on, big guy, we don’t have all day.”
The conference room on the fourth floor looked out over the vast expanse of GlobaTech’s headquarters, located at the base of a small mountain range. The entire area was roughly the size of a small town, and was teeming with activity.
Jericho was standing by the window, squinting in the glare of the bright afternoon sun, as he looked down at hundreds of GlobaTech operatives all marching across the compound in groups, and massive trucks navigating the small network of roads within the enclosed community, transporting weapons and technology between different buildings.
Behind him, Josh was sitting at the end of a conference table, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head and his feet resting up on the desk.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he said, rhetorically.
Jericho looked over at him and shrugged. “Looks like any other military base,” he replied. “It’s just this one can do whatever it wants, I guess.”
Josh smiled. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? But while we might not answer to any colonels or the president here, we do have a board of directors, and a shitload of corporate sponsors, which, believe it or not, is actually much scarier.”
The door behind him opened, and another man walked in, dressed similarly to Josh — smart and casual, with a shirt tucked into his jeans. Jericho recognized him immediately, and didn’t understand at first why he was there.
The man extended his hand. “Jericho Stone,” he said, with a distinctive Texan drawl. “It’s damn good to see you back among the living, son. I’m—”
“Secretary Schultz,” interrupted Jericho, shaking his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here…”
Schultz smiled. “Call me Ryan. I’ve not been the Secretary of Defense for a while now.” He gestured to one of the chairs around the table. “I’m lending a hand around here for the time being — God knows they need all the help they can get at the moment. Take a seat, son”
Jericho did, sitting with his back to the window, and nearest to the door. Old habits of planning your exit long before you needed it. He caught Josh staring at him, somewhat curiously, and frowned before looking at Schultz, who had taken a seat on the opposite side to him, near his colleague.