Olento Research Series Boxed Set: A Paranormal Science Fiction Thriller

by Sarah Noffke

  “Good. But I want fifty percent,” Connor said.

  “Everyone always gets ten,” the guy said, his smile dropping.

  Connor felt the wolf inside him growl. It wasn’t like Connor to negotiate. He had never stood up for himself, but the wolf believed it deserved more. They deserved more. “And everyone always gets taken advantage of,” Connor said, his voice a coarse whisper, one that made the hairs on the back of his hands stand up. It was the wolf speaking inside of him and he thought he might change at any moment.

  The man squinted at him like he hadn’t heard him right. “Son, I don’t—”

  “Fifty percent,” Connor said with a growl.

  The man considered him for several seconds. “Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll give you a three-day trial and if you aren’t bringing in the bucks then you get ten percent and you like it.”

  “I’ll bring in the money,” Connor said, standing, hoping that his shaking wasn’t obvious to the man.

  “All right, well, pull that scowl off your face. Why don’t you celebrate your new luck by stopping by and seeing the Gottimer twins? I bet they’d take a shine to you right away. They always like newbies and usually give them the first time free,” the carny said.

  Connor stared in the direction of the booth where red curtains hung and he could currently hear giggles from behind it. Not only was he not in the least interested in getting a series of STDs, but also the thought of the twins brought a round of visuals to his head. Visuals that spoke of his regret, of his longing. All of the visuals were of a single girl with red hair and discriminating green eyes. The girl he couldn’t see, for fear that he’d attack her yet again.

  Chapter Eight

  “Rio Hernandez – Age: Thirty. Height: Six-foot, six inches. Weight: Two hundred sixty pounds. Hair: Black. Eyes: Brown. Ethnicity: Hispanic. Employment: Discharged Police Force. Skill: Strength. Rank: Unknown.”

  - Lucidite Institute, Werewolf Project File

  An astringent chemical hit Mika’s nose. It had to have assaulted him more than others due to his heightened sense. He glanced at Drake, whose nose wasn’t pinched like his own. Middlings were so normal. They were without any of the talents that Mika’s dream travel skill afforded him; well, and also the experiments that he’d had done on himself to grant him new skills. Telekinesis was the skill he’d been born with, but heightened senses, increased speed, and telepathy were gifts he’d had manufactured and implanted into himself. A man with the right mindset could do anything and become anyone.

  “So you’re telling me that we are simply waiting around for the subjects to wake up?” Mika said, pausing beside a window that looked into a room where a man lay in a starched white bed.

  “I don’t know what else you expect...” Drake said, and then caught himself. “Yes, sir. Unfortunately we have to wait, but in the meantime I’ll focus on Project Neandertalin.” This was the Finnish term for Neanderthal, which was how Mika named most of his projects. It was how he’d named his companies.

  The only thing that Mika appreciated about Drake, besides his superior scientific skills, was that he lacked a moral compass. Never had he cringed at any of Mika’s project ideas. And when this CEO had informed the scientific team that he wanted to do a project that involved de-evolving a subject, taking him from human to Neanderthal, at least two of his employees grimaced. Those weak individuals were fired the very same hour. They had been transfers from Parantaa Research, with skills Mika thought would lend to the new project, but they apparently had an overly rigid conscience. That was typical of scientists who came from Mika’s other company, since the work at Parantaa was humanitarian based, whereas Olento only focused on revolutionary science and experiments.

  Mika eyed the man in the bed, his head wrapped in white bandages. Everything about the room was white. The walls, the linens, the equipment, the man. It almost hurt his eyes to look through the window at the bright monochromatic room. “What is his IQ?” Mika said to Drake, his eyes on the subject.

  “Ninety-two,” Drake said, not having to consult his notes.

  “If that number increases by fifty percent, then we will deem Project Muisti a success,” Mika said.

  “Well, he made it through the surgery, which is better results already than we had with the chimpanzee,” Drake said, pulling his clipboard up close to his chubby chest.

  Mika let out a long sigh of disappointment. “I don’t count wins based on my past failures. If this man you pulled in from the streets demonstrates that he’s acquired eidetic memory then we have succeeded. Plain and simple benchmarks.”

  “Do you plan to have the procedure for achieving photographic memory done to you, if this experiment is a success?” Drake asked.

  “Why else would I have invested millions into this research?” Mika said, his voice suddenly tight.

  “Good point, sir. It’s just that Project Canis Lupus and Project Neandertalin don’t seem like experiments that could benefit you. I was only curious,” Drake said, pulling on his white and gray beard before threading his knobby fingers into it.

  “Those are more curious projects. Well, and also the investors wanted weapons. Maybe the Neanderthal we create will also make a good assassin, like the werewolves. We’ll have to see,” Mika said, turning at once, having heard something behind the closed door at the end of the hallway.

  He spun back around to face Drake. “Grant is awake.”

  “That is good news,” Drake said.

  “Not by the sounds of it,” Mika said, pressing a red button on the wall. The emergency buttons could be found all over Olento Research and were pressed often due to the many alarming situations that happened as a result of the risk associated with the work. The nurses that ran past Mika a moment later would have been alerted to the disturbance through monitoring vitals and video surveillance. However, Mika’s amplified hearing had given him an early warning. One of the nurses fumbled with the keys while the other pulled the cap off a syringe. She then pressed it into a tiny bottle and had it almost filled with sedative by the time Mika and Drake joined them.

  Through the observation window Mika watched as Grant yanked at his restraints, his body heaving forward. His black hair and red of his face were a stark contrast to the white bed where he struggled for freedom. He let out an enraged snarl when the nurses burst into his room.

  One nurse pressed down on his flailing arm, trying to steady the irate man, but just then he threw his head forward, ramming her hard in the skull. The woman fell to the floor at once unconscious, the white linoleum adding insult to her already busted open head. The other nurse twisted around, staring through the window which she couldn’t see through, but knew that was where Mika and Drake stood watching. The doubt and fear oozed from her stare as Grant threw his chest in the air, pulling the bed a foot forward as he did. Even restrained at the wrists and ankles, he had impressive strength, Mika observed.

  “He’s displaying early aggression,” Drake said, his voice clinical. “This will be a result of the enhanced features we added to his procedure.”

  “Yes, I think that we will notice many changes in Grant that are different than in the other werewolves,” Mika said, as four guards rushed by him and into Grant’s room.

  At first the four men only watched as their previous boss tore from side to side in his bed, making it skirt to the left and then the right. The passed out nurse lay motionless on the ground before them, not getting an ounce of attention. Everyone was focused on the man who now opened his mouth and let out a vicious growl, foam spilling from the side of his curled lips. One guard made a motion to the other and they both approached on the right side, the other two guards following suit on the opposite side. And then, as if cued by a countdown, they all jumped forward, pressing down on Grant, trying to stabilize him. The effort of four men was hardly a match for Grant based on the way they bobbed up and down, almost failing to keep him restrained. Then Mika’s sharp eyes spied the black fibers poking through Grant’s skin, a subtle si
gn that more changes were about to come.

  “They better get him sedated now, before it’s too late,” Drake said, his voice sing-song, like the scene before him was highly amusing.

  “This won’t be a problem once we finalize his training,” Mika said, his voice also calm. “Now that he’s awoken from the procedures and we know it was a success, we can rapidly send him through the training protocol.”

  A guard jumped back, holding his hand that had been clamped over Grant’s forearm. Mika’s enhanced vision spied the blood prickling on the guard’s hand, a result of the sharp hairs that now were two inches long on Grant’s arms and face. Fangs slipped from his mouth as black claws pierced the ends of his fingers. And then his body seemed to swell, making his clothes tighten around his muscles.

  “He’s much more impressive than the other twelve werewolves,” Drake said, pride in his voice.

  “And he’s going to kill everyone in that room if the incompetent idiots don’t subdue him,” Mika said, pulling the door that had still been cracked all the way shut, locking it.

  Drake eyed Mika, giving him a curious look before turning his attention back to the room filled with chaos. “Maybe we should have kept him in a cage like we did with the other subjects for Project Canis Lupus.”

  “Soon we can control him with shock therapy, once you deem him physically ready. And I trust that Grant will be well behaved once he’s settled. It’s the benefit of having a willing subject,” Mika said.

  “Yes, only Grant would volunteer for something of this nature. All to please you,” Drake said, that old condescension returning to his voice. He just couldn’t stay well behaved for too long.

  The guards had all stepped away from Grant, who was now pulling at the chains, making them tug farther from the bed. He was loosening the metal, about to break free. Beside Grant’s bed one of the guards pressed two fingers into his own mouth and blew, producing a whistle that only Mika could hear outside in the hallway. Grant halted his thrashing and whipped his head up to stare at what had made the high-pitched sound. But just then the nurse, still holding the syringe, lunged forward on the other side of the bed and stuck it into his arm, injecting the sedative into his body.

  Mika turned, not looking at all impressed.

  “If shock treatment doesn’t work then, once he’s fully recovered, we can use tranquilizers on him in these instances,” Drake said, hurrying to catch up with his boss.

  “I’m fairly certain that won’t be necessary. Even as a werewolf, Grant will be loyal to my orders,” Mika said, striding forward.

  Chapter Nine

  “Orion Murray – Age: Twenty-seven. Height: Five foot, ten inches. Weight: One hundred seventy pounds. Hair: Light brown. Eyes: Green. Ethnicity: White. Employment: None/Disability/Previous Orderly at Hartford Hospital. Skill: Unclassified. Rank: Proposed to be an omega.”

  - Olento Research, Canis Lupus Project File

  It had never been difficult for Rio to make friends. This was probably why starting over, after the lab, hadn’t been too problematic. Most people instantly liked the guy who smiled easily, flashing the deep dimple on his right cheek as he did. And Rio liked people, which was why he went into law enforcement. He wanted to protect them, make the world better; at least he used to. Now the cynicism had taken over, along with the mood swings. But he tried not to be too hard on himself. He had been through a major ordeal, which was surrounded by mystery. Sometimes he wanted to track down one of the detectives he used to work with to see if they could help him figure out who had done this strange thing to him. Made him into a werewolf with incredible strength. Who would want to do such a thing to another man?

  “Want another round?” the guy whom Rio called Bruno said. It wasn’t his name, but the fat-faced man resembled a bulldog, and that seemed like the right name for such a character.

  “More like two,” Rio said, sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the bar. He knew throwing his money away on liquor was a bad idea when he was already short on rent. But also, he didn’t really care at the moment since the gin was clouding his head, as he intended.

  “You got it,” his buddy said, picking up his tumbler and clinking it against the one in Rio’s hand. They both threw their heads back in unison, emptying their glasses.

  Rio should have been taking invitations for arm wrestling matches that night, but something in him told him that it was a bad idea. There was a quiet festering happening in him and he’d noticed it upon waking. It was like the wolf was growing restless, but he didn’t know why. Rio never knew what the wolf wanted. It was hungry for meat and speed, but then there was something else. A raw desire for something intangible. The more he tried to reconcile with the beast the more he felt like he was losing his mind. How did he think he could understand the thing inside him, when criminals never made sense to him? How did he expect he’d understand a canine? Maybe if he had been a dog person, but he never was. He liked reptiles. Snakes were quiet and graceful and strangely beautiful. Dogs were loud and a pain in the ass most of the time. Why people with dogs could never control their mutts and thought that letting them roam off leashes was a good idea eluded Rio. If that was a snake, then people would be freaking out.

  “Dude, you mind taking our picture?” a guy said beside Rio, pulling him from his rambling thoughts. Rio turned to find a sun-bleached surfer standing with his arm draped around a girl’s shoulder. She was wearing a halter top and a look that implied she’d had a bit too much rum. Girls could hardly ever handle their liquor, Rio had always thought.

  “Sure,” Rio said, extending a hand to the guy, who deposited one of those sleek smartphones into it. Rio had given up technology after the whole abduction. He didn’t miss it, probably because he was overwhelmed with missing being alone in his head. The wolf was always there, never giving him any privacy. Although it didn’t know what went on in his life, like it was trapped in a closet in his mind, it seemed to hear his thoughts and bark its own. Holding up the phone, he waited for it to focus on the couple in the dark bar.

  “Smile, Jenny,” the guy said, hooking his arm around the girl’s neck more and pulling her into him.

  “Brittany,” she said, with a repulsed smirk, obviously uncomfortable from the way the guy nearly had her in a headlock.

  “I’ll call you what I want and you’ll answer to it with a smile,” the asshole said and then he reached over with his other hand and grabbed the girl’s boob. “Take a picture of this,” the guy said to Rio.

  “Ugh, stop that,” said the girl, whose dark hair and eyes reminded Rio of his younger sister. His blood coursed through his head with a new heat. And then the pressure between his eyes erupted and a growl spilled out of his mouth. In his hand, the phone cracked from his grip and he closed his fist, turning the electronic to bits.

  “Whoa, what the hell?” the guy said, racing forward and pulling what remained of the phone from Rio. He eyed it, his gaze full of heat, and then looked up at Rio. “Are you out of your mind?” the drunk said.

  “I am,” Rio said, standing from the bar stool, making his full size highly noticeable.

  Fear registered on the dumb surfer’s face, but there was nothing he could say to persuade Rio to reconsider his next actions. The wolf had its own agenda and it couldn’t be appeased.

  “Come on, Timmy. Let’s go,” the girl said at his back.

  “Yeah,” the guy said in a rush, but Rio was already reaching for him. His large hands wrapped around the punk-ass kid’s polo shirt before he shot them into the air, towing the guy off his feet.

  “Dude, put me down,” the guy said, his voice now full of fear.

  “You want me to put you down, dude?” Rio said.

  The guy only shook his head erratically. Rio was slightly aware that the girl was yelling. Other people around him were yelling, pleading with him to stop. At his back he heard Bruno telling him to snap out of it. However, Rio didn’t care what those others wanted. The wolf didn’t care. He pulled the guy in close to his face, fe
eling like he was holding a paper doll and not a full-grown man. When he growled against the guy’s cheek, the gin bounced back hitting his nostrils. It made his stomach tighten with unease, which only made the wolf more diabolical. He turned in a full circle, hauling the guy with him as he did, the crowd parting for the flying body. When he’d completed a full circle Rio launched the guy in the air and he flew fifteen feet before sliding to the ground and rolling into the legs of the pool table.

  I probably could have thrown him farther if I wasn’t inebriated, Rio thought, reaching for the tumbler full of gin Bruno had set there a minute before. He spilled the drink down his chin and onto his shirt as he slung it back, taking it in one gulp. Only half aware that people were going mad all around him, Rio grabbed the other drink and ambled for the exit. People scrambled, no one daring to stop him after that display of power. The shouts dissipated, replaced by sirens when he made it to the exit. He tossed the drink back and then threw the glass at the brick wall of the crummy bar as he charged down the sidewalk, his head shrouded in clouds.

  Chapter Ten

  “The records of hundreds of civilians and military personnel were stolen from the Pentagon last year. The thief was not determined through surveillance or dream traveling back in time because they were thought to be invisible.”

  - Lucidite Institute, Werewolf Project File

  Opening her leather-bound book, her most prized possession, Adelaide flipped to the page she had marked detailing the process for hypnosis. Her father had made it sound so easy, but the most she’d been able to do was make Kaleb queasy and she didn’t even know if that was a result of witnessing her hypnosis. Kaleb could just be sick of sitting around and watching Adelaide spin the silver ballpoint pen in her fingers.