“Come on, Johnny, you’re just delaying the inevitable here. The old cliché of the lone badass, surviving against all odds is just that—a cliché.” A shadow, cast from one of the flickering emergency lights, stretched into view. Even taking into consideration the distortion of the light, what was coming was only vaguely human shaped. His voice had changed, as well, becoming more sibilant, as though he were trying to speak through a mouthful of teeth. I suppressed a shudder as he continued, “I get it though, really I do. You jarheads love to see yourselves as the ultimate warriors, the one flare of light blazing defiantly into the overwhelming tide of darkness. It’s admirable. Stupid, but admirable.” He stepped into my line of sight.
“Semper Fi, Motherfucker.” I pulled the trigger.
Bullets tore through his chest, a three round burst that made him stagger slightly. He recovered quickly, snarling as he sprinted forward, hands elongating into talons as he moved. I put another burst into him to keep him focused on me, and not the path in front of him. I threw my arm over my eyes as he hit the tripwire.
The concussion caused me to lose my balance briefly, precious seconds wasted as I stumbled and caught myself. I regained my balance, opening my eyes to get a fix on Baptiste.
While not the best-case scenario, the grenades had done some damage. Baptiste clawed at his face, tearing strips of flaming skin from his skull as he lurched towards my position. I took advantage of his disorientation, firing as quickly as possible, putting round after round into his torso as he closed. The sound of a thousand nails scratching across blackboards erupted from his throat, giving voice to his pain and frustration.
Damn, but even as damaged as he was, Baptiste could still move.
“For Christ’s sake,” I couldn’t keep the exasperation from my voice, “Would you just die already?” I pulled the trigger frantically as his enraged form got within arm’s reach.
Nothing. Magazine empty.
Baptiste’s laugh of defiance filled the room as his claws slid around my throat.
“It’s time to end this, Johnny,” he said, grip tightening. The now familiar black veil appeared at the edge my vision. “I have grown tired of your games. You have two options: tell me the codes, and I’ll make this quick. Or you can try to continue to play the hero and I’ll drag them out of you inch by agonizingly slow inch.” He moved his other hand to my ribs, applying gentle pressure to the tender spot, grinning as I winced involuntarily. “Ever peeled an onion, Johnny?”
It took everything I had to keep the scream inside as his talon slid through my shirt and into the top layer of skin, the sharp claw paring away a strip of flesh and cloth. He held the piece of bloody meat in front of my eyes before slowly bringing it to his mouth.
“Mmm…tastes like pork rinds.” As he chewed, the seared portion of his face began to heal, charred and blackened pieces sloughing away to reveal raw pink tissue. “A quick history lesson for you, Johnny. Did you know that flaying has long been a tradition in human culture? Extremely versatile, and useful.” Another sharp pain, followed by a tearing sensation. “Oh my, I seemed to have been clumsy with that one.” Another piece of me went between his jaws. “As a warning, there’s nothing like leaving the face of a thief or a political enemy on the door to deter others. As a method of torture? I’d say it’s in the top three.” Another slice, another strip of my skin dangling in front of my face.
“Did you want a nibble? No? More for me, then.” Around his latest morsel, Baptiste kept talking. “The average human could stay alive for anything from hours to days while being flayed. It all depends on shock and blood loss, really.” His face grew thoughtful. “I say you would probably make it at least twenty-four hours.”
Through the white fire of pain in my side, I could feel Baptiste trying to force his way in again. I tried fighting back, grinding my teeth while focusing on building a mental barrier, to no avail. It was too hard to concentrate while his fingers and mind violated me.
It would be so easy to just let go, I thought, give him what he wants and make the pain stop. I could be with Concy again, for all time. All I’d have to do is tell him what he wants.
“That’s it, John,” Baptiste’s voice became a seductive purr. “Just let go of your pride, your stubbornness. It’s only making this last longer.”
Something caught my eye through the haze of pain. Kraken lined the windows, as many as I’d ever seen in one place, with still more joining them. I glanced quickly at the large methane filled tubes, surprised to see them packed with the ray-like creatures. Hope washed over me, a gentle blanket of calm with a thread of defiance running through it.
It hit me. The kraken were using their empathic abilities to bolster my resolve, sending me wave upon wave of positive reinforcement to counteract Baptiste’s assault on my mind.
Baptiste picked up on it as well, his wrecked face registering mild surprise at the passive resistance.
“Oh? So this is where your defense is coming from, is it?” He turned his head, slowly regarding the aliens. “Interesting. I wasn’t aware the smaller ones were that strong.” Grip remaining firm, he closed his eyes. I could feel the pressure on my mind shifting, still present, but focused on something else. “I’ve wondered, you know, if I could…”
Muted pain knifed through my brain, the psychic wake of a mental torpedo as it surged toward another target. Several kraken fell away from their position on the window, plummeting into the depths.
“That was…strangely satisfying.” A grin spread across his face. “Let’s do it again.” Another ripple of psychic force, and another kraken plummeted. I swear, if he could clap his hands together, he would. With sniper-like precision, Baptiste sent Kraken after Kraken into the abyss before turning back to me.
“Do I have your attention now, big guy?” He called out. Yeah, he was crazy. Pretty sure that’s been established. “Well, that was fun, but I really should finish what I started. Okay, maybe just one more.” Another Kraken writhed in agony as it fell away. He guffawed. “Now, where were we?”
“You were about to let me go, and commit seppuku?” It was worth a shot.
“Ah, right—the access codes.” The pressure on my mind came back, a wrecking ball slamming into my head, breaking through what little resistance I had. The Kraken’s defensive shield crumbled under the assault, leaving me open to Baptiste’s will.
“And there we are.” The self-satisfied smirk on Baptiste’s face didn’t give much insight into how much time I had left. Could be minutes, could be days. Either way, there was no doubt that I was in for a boatload of excruciating pain.
“Since we have some time left together, Johnny, let’s experiment a little.” The mental fingers poked inside my head some more. “… No, not there…maybe over… Hm. Ah!” Like he had flipped a switch, the pain in my body disappeared. Not that it did me much good, I was still firmly in his grasp. “Now, what if I do…”
I went numb. Not just the absence of pain type of numb, but ‘My foot’s asleep and I can’t feel it or walk’ kind of numb. Baptiste released his hold on my neck. I remained upright for about half a second before slumping to the floor in a heap.
“This power is truly amazing, Johnny. Frankly, I’m giddy with excitement. All this potential.” The prisoner hunkered down next to me, resting his chin on a palm. “Just think—in a few weeks, I’ll be anywhere I want to be, getting anything I ever wanted or dreamed about. Now there’s a thought—what do you think about a few hundred kids, some mini-me’s running around in about ten years? Introduce this little genetic quirk of mine into the gene pool. A few generations from now, and I’ll have a loyal army of supreme beings, all willing to do whatever they want. Homo Sapiens Sapiens would be supplanted as the dominant species. Homo Sapiens Baptiste, the new masters of destiny.” He paused, a twisted grin dominating his features. “The name may need some work, but you get the idea.”
The ghost fingers brushed across my mind again, and I felt the numbness recede. Not that it did me much good. You
know that recovery period between your foot falling asleep and the ability to walk on it? Now imagine that, but all over. Warmth spread up from my toes to my knees as the feeling came back, intensifying as the seconds passed.
“How about those codes, Johnny?” Baptiste raised an eyebrow as pain erupted in my lower extremities. “I can do this all day, and night, and the next day…” Another twitch in my skull, and I could use my vocal cords again.
“Eat…shit…asshole…” It felt like my feet had been held in boiling oil, and the sensation was spreading.
“Hmm….” Baptiste said, tapping a finger on his chin. “Pain isn’t much of a motivator, it seems. Must be that hero worship we discussed earlier. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this again, but, well, you leave me no choice.”
The two remaining maintenance men marched into the room, stopping at crisp attention directly in front of me, each holding a pistol. The pain in my legs disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
“So here we are again, John, someone’s life in your hands. You remember what I can do, right?” At his words, the two men began to dance again, each placing his hands on his shoulders, forearms crossed at the chest before moving them behind their head. The prisoners dropped their hands to the opposite hip, again crossing their forearms, grabbed their ass and jumped. Behind them Kraken performed an intricate sequence of perfectly synchronized maneuvers, rings of the manta-like creatures weaving in and out of each other in time to Baptiste’s hand motions. “Just tell me the launch codes for the shuttles, and they stay alive a bit longer.”
The two mind-wiped prisoners raised their guns to their temples.
“Oh,” Baptiste continued, “I found your pet scientist as well. He’s currently holding a scalpel to his throat, just waiting for me to give him the word.”
I could wiggle my toes, but that was about it. Nothing else on my body was responding to my will. Granted, Baptiste had me dead to rights, even if I could move. The rifle was technically within reach, but for all intents and purposes, might have well been on a different planet. To make things worse, I had no way of knowing if the lunatic was bluffing about Isaac. I could probably justify letting the mind wipes die, for the short amount of time I had left, but knowing that I sacrificed the scientist?
Shit.
“You win, Baptiste.” The bitter words practically gagged me as they left my mouth. “You win. I’ll give you the codes.”
“I’m listening…”
God help me, I gave him the codes. I hated doing it, but the thought of being responsible for the deaths of the mind-wipes was too much. I had to, and I hated myself for it.
“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Baptiste said, smiling.
Twin gunshots rang out in the room, each mind controlled man’s brains painting the other’s skull with pink gore.
“Goddammit, Baptiste! We had a deal!”
“True, we did. You were to locate Holomisa for me. You failed to do so.” False pity morphed his features into a parody of a sad puppy look. “This is all your fault, I’m afraid.”
Deep down, I knew he wasn’t going to let those men live, but there had been a glimmer of hope. That glimmer disappeared in a wave of guilt and fear. I looked over Baptiste’s shoulder to the window. The kraken had mostly disappeared, either driven away by Baptiste’s command, or scared off by his demonstration of cruelty and mental powers. Can’t say I blame them.
“That’s enough, Baptiste.”
The voice came from behind me, in the vicinity of the open cells. Apparently, it had shocked Baptiste enough to release his hold on me partially— the pain lessened slightly, allowing me to roll my neck around, and get a better look. I blinked, hard, trying to clear the blurriness at the edge of my vision, not trusting my eyes.
Captain Emery Holomisa faded into view, seemingly coalescing from thin air as I stared at what had been a previously-empty spot in the cell.
“You want me,” he said, “You got me.”
Chapter Thirteen
The more I know about people, the better I like my dog
-Mark Twain
The former captain strode forward, stretching and rolling his shoulders. A panther uncoiling from a nap, he exuded casual grace as he moved, weight naturally on the balls of his feet, each step measured and careful. In comparison to his clean-shaven and groomed appearance, Baptiste looked like twenty miles of bad country road; I looked like something that had wandered in front of the car.
“Now’s your chance, Baptiste.” Holomisa brought his hands in front of him, one curled into a fist, the other, palm open and perpendicular to the floor. “You talk a big game. Can you back it up?”
Baptiste’s grin, frightening before, took the number one slot for my nightmares as it stretched across his face. Moving like a heavyweight champ, he reached in between his shoulder blades with one hand, then the other, before bringing both hands into a chin-level guard position. He bounced slightly, shifting from one foot to the other in rapid succession.
Holomisa’s breathing slowed—long deep breaths making his chest swell twice its size. He began an intricately paced series of hand motions.
The two men closed, measuring each other. Baptiste feinted, a pulled left jab that came nowhere near Holomisa, before a quick uppercut sought the other man’s chin. Holomisa didn’t look surprised, watching as the fist occupied the space his head had been only moments before, the motion becoming part of an open-handed strike to Baptiste’s Adam’s apple.
Baptiste rocked back, gagging, shaking off a blow that would have crippled a normal man. He recovered quickly, anger flashing in his eyes as Holomisa began weaving his hands in front of him, still breathing slow and deep. Baptiste advanced, more carefully this time, keeping his elbows together, fists in front of his nose.
Holomisa’s hands stopped for a split second, seemingly leaving him wide open. Baptiste took the opportunity, throwing a jab towards the other man’s chin, following it with a hard right hook to the torso. Holomisa’s hands were flickers as he deflected both punches, redirecting the energy with graceful ease before lashing out with his foot. Baptiste staggered, breath leaving at the force of the kick to his stomach, doubling over slightly as he fought to regain his balance. Holomisa followed through with a heel to the temple.
The shot broke Baptiste’s concentration, causing him to lose his hold on my brain. The agonizing pain left me, as though a switch had been flipped. I slumped, drained.
Holomisa pressed his attack, two quick steps leading to a flurry of punches. Starting at the other man’s solar plexus, Holomisa worked his way up, finishing at the chin with a spinning elbow. He continued the movement while setting his feet, before grabbing Baptiste by the arm and heaving with a grunt of exertion. The look of shock on the monstrous prisoner’s face as he found himself airborne was almost worth the pain I felt.
Almost. I still hurt. A lot. Moving was the last thing I wanted to do, but the thought of being close enough to catch a badly aimed punch or kick gave me a good incentive to try.
The agony of trying gave me all the incentive I needed to stop.
Holomisa closed again, trying not to give Baptiste time to recover. Unfortunately, he was a fraction of a second too slow, the next strike whistling as it passed Baptiste’s ear.
Baptiste rolled, gaining his feet and deflecting Holomisa’s kicks with crossed forearms, before stepping in and throwing his weight into a head butt. The muffled crack of bone as his forehead connected with Holomisa’s was loud in the relative silence of the room.
The captain, slightly stunned at the sudden move, but still functional, turned his stagger into a sidestep, narrowly avoiding Baptiste’s wide haymaker that would have taken his head off if it had connected. He sidestepped again, allowing Baptiste’s momentum to carry him out of reach and giving him room to breathe. Holomisa shook his head before returning to his relaxed ready position.
“You lack discipline, Baptiste, counting on brute strength and dumb luck to carry you through.” Holom
isa watched the other prisoner as he slowly circled, his steps bringing his back into my line of sight. “That and what you think is unpredictable behavior.”
From my angle, it was difficult to see exactly what Baptiste tried—all I saw was Holomisa’s lightning fast blocks and redirects. He didn’t press, though, allowing the other man to exert himself with no reward. Holomisa was on the defensive, trying to keep himself between me and Baptiste.
I needed to move, soon, or risk becoming a weakness in the captain’s strategy. That, and I couldn’t expect Holomisa to finish this on his own. I’m all for a fair fight when needed, but there was no need for one today. I just had to wait until Baptiste was completely focused on his adversary.
Holomisa turned his head slightly and gave a small nod.
“I’m not even breathing hard, Lieutenant,” he said. “I knew you Navy spooks were soft, I just never thought you were that soft.”
I don’t think the sound Baptiste made could be replicated by any other living animal. At least not something native to Earth. He launched himself towards Holomisa, arms wide, fingers extended into claws. His face, still in its nightmare form, morphed and distended as his emotions played themselves out on the canvas of his skull.
Holomisa moved, flowing under and to the side of the leaping prisoner, hardly exerting himself as he grabbed an arm. The motion turned into a spin, launching the other man to the far side of the room.
Baptiste seemed ready for it this time, or at least able to adapt faster, turning in midair to land on his feet, facing away from me.
I took the opportunity to test the limits of my mobility, making it about six inches before I had to stop. Any effort to support myself was met with violent shakes and a massive spike in pain. Whatever Baptiste had done in my head was still lingering. I needed more time.
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