Flotsam Prison Blues

by M. K. Gibson

  Shit, the blade was poisoned. But I’d be damned if I was dying flat on my face. I fought my way up on all fours. Twitch pulled harder on the garrote, which made me angrier. I tried to stand up, but Twitch kicked me in the face. The kick crunched the cartilage of my nose and sent me back to the ground.

  My shield didn’t go up, as the Collective was doing everything it could to stanch the wound closed while simultaneously trying to counteract the poison. Lying on my side, I saw several hellion Brutes coming from the other end of the bunker. Leading the pack was Toothless, now with a scrap of cloth across his face serving as an eye-patch. Toothless stood beside Twitch, then laid a big wet kiss on her.

  Well, that was unexpected.

  “Salem, I believe you know my friend, Bhalin,” she said as she released the garrote slightly. I guess they wanted me alive enough for what was coming next.

  “I prefer ‘Toothless’,” I gasped.

  Bhalin/Toothless growled and advanced on me. The hellion picked me up with ease by my neck and punched me so hard in the gut I thought I felt him hit spine. He dropped me back down on the ground, face first, and put a foot on the back of my neck. “I am going to pull your teeth out, you little runt.”

  “Won’t we be a matching set then,” I said, trying to get my breath.

  “You see, Bhalin and I have been an item for some time now,” Twitch said, kneeling down beside me. “That night you interrupted our…special time.”

  “There were two hellions that night. They were hurting you,” I said, stalling for time for the Collective to keep stitching me up.

  “What can I say? I like it rough.” Twitch shrugged and Bhalin laughed. “But after that night, word got around that you were useful. You and that big idiot. So, I employed you and convinced Bhalin to hold off taking you apart for a while. Now that we have a significant advantage over the Makers, and you have taken out Bhalin’s Brute snitches, your usefulness has run its course.”

  Man, fuck prison.

  Bhalin and his Brutes came in close. I couldn’t make out how many, but there were more than I cold deal with. And all of them were going to stomp me until my head was broken. I felt a little surge of adrenaline kick in as the Collective diverted enough resources to give me a fighting chance.

  Gripping the semi-loose garrote, I rolled Twitch over my shoulder with an impromptu judo throw. I followed it up with a hard stomp right between the tits. Normally I’d be respectful of the lady parts, but the skinny bitch did stab me in the back.

  Bleeding, drugged, and in close quarters, I couldn’t fight them. I had enough sense in me to run like hell away from them and towards Chael. I staggered to my feet pumping my legs as hard as possible up the ramp and back topside.

  “Chael, help!” I rasped as I fell to the ground, the poison turning my legs to jell-o. My throat burned and my head felt like it was packed with eight pounds of Play-doh.

  And Chael just stood there looking at me.

  Goddamn it.

  The two topside Fixers left behind as guards moved in on me. I tried to stand, but my legs were numb. I collapsed to the dirt again. Damn, the poison she used was potent.

  “Chael! Seriously, little help here. Do your psycho-rage thing already! Chop-chop!”

  “Good things come to those who help themselves.”

  The Lord hates me. If he were still here in this universe, he would be looking down on me laughing.

  When the Fixers got close, I swung wild, connecting with the knee of the first one, smashing it. He hit the ground next to me screaming, holding his knee. I lunged upwards, interlaced my fists, and brought them down Captain Kirk-style and smashed his face, knocking him unconscious.

  The second Fixer planted a boot in my head, which I never saw coming. My head bounced off the ground and I saw stars. I brought my arms up in a defensive ball and rolled away. A second boot just missed my head. I focused past the pain just long enough to see the Fixer spring up to one knee. I rewarded his toughness by punching him in the crotch.

  As the Fixer doubled over, I wrapped my arm around his neck and dropped him onto his head, DDT style. Even with a hole in my back and drugged, I still racked up two unconscious Fixers. I was awesome. Then Toothless, his team of Brutes, Twitch, and her two cyborg guards came up from the underground bunker.

  Sigh . . . I was an idiot. A soon-to-be-dead idiot. And there was fuck-all I could do about it. With my head down, I just prepared for the beating.

  “Bhalin!” A loud, deep female voice called out. “Remember the deal!”

  When the beating didn’t come, I chanced a quick look. Two of the three Lust demons I went through indoctrination with, Lavender and Four-Arm, were walking towards me from behind the pack of Brutes.

  “I remember, Khlabra,” Bhalin said as he held Twitch. “But I owe him for this,” he said, pointing to his eye.

  “I don’t care,” said the tall Lust demon, Four-Arm/Khlabra. As she advanced on me, her smaller sister, Lavender, came close, practically crawling on her hands and knees.

  “Do we get to keep him?” Lavender asked. Even for a demon, there was something predatory in her human-like face, akin more to a feral cat. A meat-eater waiting for you to turn your back on it.

  “Move, Yeela,” Khlabra commanded. Yeela obeyed, scurrying away while keeping her eyes on me.

  Khlabra squatted down and stared at me, assessing me. She wore ragged clothing like everyone else, but somewhere she managed to scavenge bits of tactical gear for armor. It was hard to keep my focus on her, as the poison was running its course. Thanks to the Collective, it felt like I was fighting off an Ambien.

  “You’re what all the fuss is about?”

  “Apparently,” I said as I shook my eyes, trying to clear them.

  “I don’t see why Mother wanted you spared.”

  Mother?

  “Move, let me see. Is it really him?” a third female voice said.

  With my blurred vision, I saw the third Lust demon approach. She wore a cloak and had a hood up. Her wings were furled as she approached me.

  “Roll him over,” the new demon said.

  Khlabra obeyed and pushed me hard to my back. I heard Chael rumble in displeasure, which earned him a hiss from Yeela.

  “Nice kitty,” Chael said.

  “It’s really you,” the third female said. “You humans do look a lot alike. You cut your hair and shaved your beard. “

  I brought my hands to my face to run my eyes and really focus through the poison. Straining, all I saw was a burned face beneath her hood. Indigo coloring beneath the burns on her face . . .

  . . . and lavender lips.

  “Hello, Reynolds.”

  “Gh’aliss?”

  The demon threw her hood back, revealing her face. It was her. Scars from a long-ago fire snaked across the left side of her face and into her hairline. Her left hand, also covered in burn marks, matched her face.

  “Gh’aliss, is that you?”

  Gh’aliss answered me by kicking me in the face. The blow snapped my head back to the ground. Gh’aliss rested her cloven hoof on the hollow of my throat, slowly applying pressure.

  “I take that as yes,” I rasped. “Chael, are you just going to let this happen?”

  Chael ignored me. Rather than helping, he was occupying himself by staring at the sky and mumbling Phil Collins lyrics.

  “Oh, how I thought about this day,” Gh’aliss said as she ground her hoof down a little harder. “Hoping one day to find you again and gut you. I wasn’t sure if that was you in the arena, but the way you moved, the way you fought. I’d know that ruthlessness anywhere. Being naked helped,” she said with a grin.

  “Gh’aliss, you’ve seen him, now I get to cut his eye out,” Bhalin said.

  Gh’aliss sighed. “Hellion mutt,” she muttered. “Yeela, be a dear and rip out his throat.”

  “Wait!” Bhalin said, but before he could say another word, Yeela sprang at Bhalin, swiping with her claws. She slashed open the hellion’s throat, the blood
spraying over Twitch. The young cyborg froze in horror as her demonic bedfellow vainly clutched his throat, trying to hold the blood in.

  Bhalin toppled over, dead. Chael looked down at the corpse and giggled. “Sometimes at the end once can glimpse the eye of the abyss.”

  “Gh’aliss, we have to go,” Khlabra said.

  Gh’aliss looked up and sighed once more. “Indeed. I’ll be seeing you soon, Reynolds,” the demoness said as she removed her hoof from my throat. In moments, everyone scattered, leaving only Chael and me behind.

  I coughed, trying to suck in air. I still felt groggy and my head was killing me. Then, I smelled something. Something off. Something rotten.

  Looking up, I saw three flesh golems wading past the fleeing Fixers and Brutes. The lead flesh golem bounced into Chael, who stood his ground. Chael just looked down at the golem, drew back his fist and hit it so hard and so fast, the creature’s head actually exploded into bits and mist. The headless corpse dropped to the ground and poured blood all over Chael’s bare feet.

  “Mmm, it tickles my toes and warms my heart, to see you dead and fly apart.” Chael smiled.

  My head was swimming and I was seeing darkness around my vision. I was blacking out. Either Twitch’s poison was working overtime or the Collective needed me unconscious to deal with the problem.

  The flesh golem reached for me. Instead of pain, I felt it lift me up. I realized that they weren’t coming to save me, they were coming for me. Shit. Then I heard it speak. To me.

  “Master wants you.”

  The golem threw me over its shoulder as I continued blacking out. Last thing I saw was the ground and the golem’s ass.

  Man, I really hated prison.

  ************************

  A long time ago . . .

  “Tell me everything!” Gh’aliss said as Reynolds came into the apartment. The demoness lifted him off his feet in a hug and began taking his clothes off. “Will we be powerful? Will we have riches? Imagine it! Imagine the ecstasy awaiting us as we rise in station and power.”

  “I asked for land,” Reynolds said.

  Gh’aliss stopped ripping away his clothing and set him down on the couch. “Land?”

  “Yes. Land in far west expanse of the new middle kingdom.”

  “There’s nothing there. Nothing. It’s just irradiated waste.”

  “Yes. And as long as I pay my tithes, it’s my land.”

  “You gave up a position here, for that?!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Gh’aliss asked, trying to comprehend Reynolds.

  “My reasons,” Reynolds said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re free, Gh’aliss. I release you. As promised, I will transfer a large sum of credits into an account for you and set you up with modest accommodations.”

  “Fuck you! I’m not your whore!” The demoness screamed and bared her teeth, her fangs and claws elongating as she did. “Over twenty years I’ve been with you! I will not be cast aside by a . . . human!”

  “Stay, go, it doesn’t matter,” Reynolds said, shaking his head. “Either way, we’re done.”

  “NO!” Gh’aliss screamed again, spreading her wings. The demoness lunged at Reynolds with her now sharp talon-like fingers.

  Reynolds rolled out of the way faster than any human should be able to without cybernetic enhancements. Gh’aliss lashed out her claws, which Reynolds slapped away with one hand while throwing a right hook with the other. His blow connected hard with the demoness’s nose, breaking it. Purple-black blood sprayed as her head rocked back.

  In the momentary distraction, Reynolds calmly seized the apartment’s stylish coffee table. Hefting over a hundred pounds of wood and glass, he swung it like a war-maul, smashing it over the demoness. The glass shattered against her shoulder while the sheer weight and power of the swing launched her against the wall.

  Reynolds dropped the broken wooden frame in quiet anger and walked over to Gh’aliss. He picked her up by her hair. The demoness struggled, but Reynolds punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. He hoisted her dead weight up until they were on eye level. Her one eye was swelling shut, her beautiful visage now marred as hundreds of tiny cuts had left her a bloody, broken mess.

  “We are done,” Reynolds said.

  “H—how? How did you do that?” Gh’aliss said as she was trying to get her breath back.

  “I’m . . . different,” Reynolds said, not wanting to betray the true nature of his internal cybernetic enhancements. If she knew, then Hell would know. And they would either use him or kill him to learn his secrets. In the twenty years together, not once had Reynolds laid a hand on her, outside the bedroom at her request. And not once had he demonstrated his full abilities. That was the secret to having a trump card—you never played it until it was the right time.

  “Tomorrow, when I wake up, you need to be gone,” Reynolds said as he released her.

  Reynolds walked into his bedroom and locked the door, not once looking back. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes.

  Tomorrow he would kill himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  1000-Pound Murder Puppy

  I slowly came to. I was sitting in a maroon, overstuffed leather chair. The kind my grandparents would have had. The kind with the quilted diamond-style pattern with brass button staples.

  I stood up and immediately regretted it. I nearly puked as my head swam. It wasn’t Twitch’s poison that was still kicking my ass; this felt like a sedative. I reached to my back and felt new skin. The Collective closed the wound in my back first; that was top priority. Since the Collective hadn’t made direct contact with me, I knew I wasn’t in immediate harm. But how long was I out for?

  A quick check of my person told me my weapons were gone. But my smokes were still there. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, I’ve always said. I lit up and leaned back into the chair, looking around. I was in the corner of someone’s office.

  It was a pretty large rectangular room, lined with bookshelves, tables and small alcoves set up for various hobbies like art and music. The room was wood paneled and had paintings in heavy, high-quality oval frames with thick glass. My mind was coming back to me as I smoked my cigarette.

  Gh’aliss.

  Gh’aliss was here in Flotsam? Oh, shit.

  I hadn’t seen her since . . . the morning of the fire? And if she wanted to see me again, I wasn’t safe. I was a different person then. Hell, I’ve been two different people since then.

  “Ahem.” A voice cleared itself, snapping my eyes back into focus.

  Behind a large mahogany table at the far end of the room, beside a giant bay window overlooking the prison, sat a single, simple-looking man in a chair similar to the one I was in. He was the same man I saw sitting next to Mastema when I was in the arena.

  Gerhardt. Mastema’s top lieutenant and scientist.

  He was turned slightly to his right and looked out the window, casually smoking a cigarette of his own. He turned slowly and deliberately to regard me. He smiled. It was obviously a smile that meant to disarm someone and put them at ease. Right before you stabbed them.

  The man was handsome, in an antiquated way, like the old images of Walt Disney. He had dark hair, oiled and perfectly groomed, and a thin mustache. He smoked his cigarette and studied me. He wore an extremely expensive, deep brown tailored suit with a preacher collar, a bright white shirt, and a matching tie.

  “Welcome. I am glad to see you are awake. My name is Gerhardt. Gregory Gerhardt,” he said in a warm, endearing voice. Dare I say, he was charming.

  “Uh, hi? I’m—”

  “Salem. Yes I know. Or would you prefer Isaac McMillan? Hmm? Or Reynolds or Winston?”

  Oh shit. This guy knew all about my past. Well, pasts.

  “Salem is just fine,” I said cautiously.

  “May I?” Gerhardt asked as he stood up from his desk and walked in a fluid, confident manner over to me and took my smoke from my mouth. “These knock-off things? Tsk. H
orrible. Here, try one of mine.”

  From a black box on his desk, Gerhardt opened the lid and removed two cigarettes. He crossed the room and positioned himself on a matching ottoman next to me, cross-legged. He offered me one. I eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged and took it.

  It was an old-world original smoke. Dear God, I loved this man right about now. He lit it for me with an ancient Zippo lighter. The smoke was heavenly.

  “Good, good,” Gerhardt said, and he reached over and retrieved an ancient heavy brass and crystal ashtray stand. The kind that was in my grandparents’ home when I was a kid. A circular dish on a three-foot brass pole with a carrying handle. He flicked his own cigarette’s ashes into it and leaned back on one arm on the ottoman.

  “You may be wondering why you are here.”

  “Among other things. Mostly I am wondering why everything in this room reminds me of the 1940s.”

  “It was my favorite era,” Gerhardt said with a pleasant smile as he looked around his office, admiring it. “People were civilized then. They dressed up to go out. They were pleasant. The music was better, the times were better.”

  “You act like you were there,” I said to him suspiciously.

  Gerhardt smiled. “You are not the only person who has lived a very long time, Mr. Salem.”

  Double shit.

  Something on my face must have flashed and given away my reaction. Damn, I was a horrible poker player.

  “While you were asleep I took the liberty of taking a small sample of your DNA along with injecting you with a healthy dose of base composite materials and vitamins. You are, after all, nobility,” he said, and I looked stunned. He smiled.

  “Of course we were notified about you when you were delivered to Flotsam. But I just had to know for myself. When your leg refused to break, I performed a full body scan. I must say, the nanites in your system are quite remarkable. Almost completely flawless cell reproduction. I would put your age in the 220s, 230s perhaps?”