‘Subject One’s responding as expected, aren’t ‘ee? Let’s increase the dose.’
Subject.
In one sodding word I was sticky labelled nothing. No identity or personhood.
I was the monkey in the lab, and when did he ever escape alive?
To lose my freedom a second time was… My mind fled into the slave dark.
Welcomed it.
There was no Grayse this time to save me by reminding me I was Light.
My name is…
Light.
A thin crack – angelic awe-inspiring glory – spilling through the bottom of my eyelids.
I could move.
Just a fraction but I’d take what I could get. I wiggled my toes.
Blinding – that’d never felt so good.
Next my fingers. They felt loose, as if I was a ragdoll, or had been on one hell of a bender.
Tongue next – serious one that, because not talking? You try it when you’ve got a big gob like me. My tongue was like a sleepy snake but still…possibilities.
I risked opening my peepers half-mast.
Bollocking hell.
Retinas scorched, with tears running down my cheeks, I let out a strangled yelp.
Voice box was up to snuff then.
Gasping, I waited for the blaze of glory to settle. Fuzzy shapes spectred out of the strip lighted haze. A glass barrier directly in front of me out into a narrow corridor, which was panelled in bronze military style, as if I’d been swallowed by a beetle and was pinned to its metallic guts.
Let’s all scrutinize the bug on the slide.
I could see my own starkers, strapped down reflection bounced back: I wouldn’t be winning any Miss Britain sashes.
An IV set-up was running into the back of my left hand; there was a steady ache where the thick needle pressed under the skin. A crimson bag hung limp from the stand; it was stamped with a logo: a branching black tree.
I sniffed: human blood.
My hollow belly groaned.
They were keeping me alive like a sodding coma patient.
Suddenly the slavers’ baby bottles were looking more appealing.
I licked my dry lips. No water or food. Of course not, because I wasn’t human, was I?
‘Paralysis has reduced in subject.’
I rolled my nut to one side to see my chief tormentor in the long dark: a spindly bloke with neat grey hair and intense peepers, like a decrepit spider. His white lab coat, over cord trousers, was too short and his shirtsleeves were rolled back, revealing thick forearms.
The tosser was scribbling notes in a file on a ‘60s oak desk, which was out of place amongst the laptops, Blackberries and gleaming steel trays of scalpels, pliers, saws…and the sliced remains of Will’s green bracelet.
I was going to hurl.
The scientist scampered to my side, running his latex gloved hand down the centre of my body with casual ownership. His fingers curled around my todger: weighing and measuring. ‘As noted earlier, Subject One is…average.’
I shot out my fangs. ‘No touching the goods, Frankenstein.’
‘Subject One is teasy ‘cos it’s still tired. You have the gag?’
‘Yes, professor, but surely we don’t need--’
‘Call me Ivor. Dusta think I care about titles like professor?’
I twisted to the other side.
A frumpy bird in an oversized lab coat was banging through a glass cupboard of scientific equipment.
Torture devices.
If you’re the rat it’s one and the same.
The bint was flushed and wouldn’t meet my eye. She brushed a stray brunette strand, which had fallen out of her haphazard ponytail – cry for help if ever I saw it – as she handed Frankenstein a steel gag. It even had the black tree logo on it: thorough branding that.
‘Thank you, Ms Shah,’ Frankenstein held out the gag like it was a gift, ‘now if the subject is a babby and don’t open up, remove the IV. Do it some good to go without vittles. See if the subject won’t knuckle-in then.’
I glanced between them. Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win a war. And sometimes?
You don’t even know who you’re fighting.
Reluctantly, I withdrew my fangs and opened my gob. Tremors took hold, as Frankenstein fixed the gag at the back of my nut, wrenching my jaw. And then as the experiments began.
Sometimes as I drifted in and out of paralysis in a pain induced fog, I just wished they’d bloody get it over with.
Whatever it was.
Because this was playing silly buggers, like a kid pulling off a fly’s wings. I tried to remember if I knew the bastard: it felt personal. If I’d noshed his family or feasted on his lover back in the bad good old days with Ruby. Yet there’d been a rule: no witnesses. Ruby had drilled it into me with kisses and clouts.
I couldn’t have been that careless?
Despite the relish Frankenstein was taking, however, there were also the soldiers, with their hands smartly behind their backs, observing me in all my naked, battered glory, as they stood behind the glass.
The soldiers had curt chinwags, but because my cell, which masqueraded as a lab, was soundproofed (after all, it’d be a crime for my screams to interrupt their morning coffee), I couldn’t hear them.
Their expressions – like an army of clones – were always the same: a dumb smart blankness. As if experimental research on a Blood Lifer was just another day at the office. Maybe they were dissecting a bulbous headed alien in the cell next to mine: I was nothing special at all.
But somehow?
I reckoned this was all to do with Blood Life.
Our venom: how it paralysed, and how the military could use that to carve a crimson path in whatever war they pleased.
Everyone reckons it’s about defence, but there’ll always be terrorists. The enemy.
Others.
There’ll always be an excuse to fight like the beasts we are. Yet it’s needing an excuse, which raises us above the animals.
None of us should kid ourselves though, First or Blood. We pretend we want peace, when in fact our blood calls for war. We cherry pick the battles we can win and then to be the victor we create the best warriors, with the deadliest weapons.
Any First Lifer stole the advantage of our venom?
They’d be conquerors of the world.
All I knew? I couldn’t allow it to happen. I didn’t have a scooby though – trussed up, gagged and brutalised as I was – how I was going to stop it.
I blinked the sweat out of my peepers. That was…nine increases now?
I couldn’t help having a butchers at the black box in the wanker’s hands, as his thin fingers turned the knobs: when the wires were attached around my bollocks for a spot of electro torture before bedtime, I was long past playing it cool.
‘Handsome: Subject One’s heart rate be significantly increased. Let’s see how loud the subject can screech. Level ten coming dreckly.’
The hum leapt. Furious wasps all flying to fry my privates, except they weren’t so private anymore. My tender balls were out there: free to be shocked, thumped, and burnt.
I shook from the stink of my own sweat, the agony, which had swallowed me in searing waves and the shuddering fear of level ten because Frankenstein loved to build the anticipation: until it struck – lightning bolt. A shock worse twice over because you couldn’t prepare.
Tosser knew what he was doing.
A low whine. Like a mutt.
Then I realised it was coming from me.
Cool fingers were on my brow, brushing back my hair.
I forced myself to glance away from that black box – and level ten. Shah was – trying – to smile at me. This wavering little thing, as frightened as I felt.
‘We’ve proven the sensitivity of Subject One’s…of that part of a Blood Lifer’s anatomy surely by now?’ Shah concentrated hard on the notes she was scribbling on her stainless steel clipboard, ‘I don’t think we--’
I shri
eked into the gag, my fingers clawing at the arms of the medical table. My body bow rigid.
White hot searing agony: I recognised it from the tracker. But not there.
Not like this.
I was floating. A crescendo of sparking agony with no end. Maybe this was how it was always meant to be. Sun rose before me on the clouds of the ceiling in her flint-speckled top; she cast it aside for an Alex Highbury-Lord suit, as she transformed into a trader. Our family’s leader: powerful and ambitious. And Will? He watched me through his sunshine curls in a halo of light, Trinity at his shoulder. No longer dragged into the dark with me: his false angel. Now he was left to live his mortal life, as I’d allowed Kathy to live hers.
The nancy boy tears fell then.
Dimmed, I could just make out panicked voices far below.
‘He’s not responding…’
‘Subject’s a bleeding tuss. If I give him another dose--’
‘Don’t you dare, Ivor.’ Shah protectively cradled her arms around my chest.
Ivor shook his nut. Then – like a kid denied his treat – sulkily ripped the wires from around my bollocks.
And that? Sodding. Hurt.
At last, Shah let go of me, straightening her lab coat. ‘Professor, I had no intention--’
‘Hush, no harm done, and it’s Ivor, remember?’
Movement. Down the beetle bronze corridor. On the other side of the glass.
Whilst my muscles were still cramping from the strain, my throat was still sore from screaming, and my balls still fizzed on fire.
The bustle of two soldiers, stony-faced giants in the narrow space, dragging a tiny First Lifer between them. Caught still between the real and dream worlds, I let myself watch, as if it was all an illusion. Just another false future, except this time a nightmare one.
Then, however, like a boot to the gut, all dreams were chased away.
Will.
Will’s arms had been wrenched behind him in handcuffs, but he was still struggling, even though his ankles were in shackles too. His peepers were puffy, like he’d been bawling, but he wasn’t crying now. He was furious: struggling and trying to fight.
Like I’d taught him.
The brave – stupid – little git.
Why the buggering hell did the military want some homeless kid?
Suddenly lead colossus gripped Will by the curls and cracked him across the jaw. The blood spurted.
That was e-bleeding-nough.
I fought my chains. They cut, breaking the skin and purpling rainbow bruises. I howled and cursed: garbled round my gag.
The cell was soundproofed, but when the lead soldier shoved Will, and he stumbled, Will glanced up – and our gazes met.
At first, Will’s peepers widened with a mix of shock and hope. Just for a second. But then? I wished he’d never seen me: starkers, bound and bleeding. Because then he did bawl, as the soldiers hauled him off down the darkness of the corridor, until he was lost to me.
And I bawled too.
I’d understood the despair. I was Will’s angel: I was meant to save him, but now he had no hope. If Will had been captured by these bastards?
Then I had no hope either.
‘What..? Is the subject hungry? Do we need..?’ Shah was patting my arm, as if calming a baby.
‘Subject’s a bleeding tuss, I told you. Now I’m jumping; this is not acceptable.’ When Frankenstein snatched up his Blackberry, I didn’t notice his blathering.
I couldn’t breathe through the waves of sobs, which were shuddering through me: impotent rage. My hands were fisting repeatedly against the cold plastic; unable to fight, run, hunt, smash, boot, bloody kill, all I could do was lie there and wail, like the kid Shah seemed to be pretending I was.
Someone new was opening and closing the door. A shadow dark over me, then a laptop’s screen shunted in front of my mug. Ghosted through my tears, it was blurred.
‘Told you I’d have my vengeance, little man.’ It was like being submerged in a bath of ice water. No more tears. Struggling. Despair. Because this betrayal was a bitter path I’d walked before. Now I knew the face of my destroyer? I was me again. I’d show Fernando just what Blood Lifer vengeance was all about. ‘What? No clever comeback? Where’s that witty sense of British irony now?’ Alpha Geek traced a casual finger along my gag. Bloody hell, how I wanted to take just one bite… Little man: that was Will, and a blasphemy on this tosser’s lips. Fernando laughed. ‘Whoa, don’t look like that; we had a deal. I get it, your end? Not so great, but the frackin’ research? It’s going to win us Nobels. You’ve no idea.’
Except I did, which was the sodding problem.
‘No talking to Subject One.’ Ivor shoved Fernando’s hands, which were clutching the laptop, higher. Confused, I stared at the blank screen.
Then it sprang to life.
If I reckoned I’d been in ice water before? Now I was in an ocean of it.
Sun.
She was strapped – like me – starkers to a medical table, in a cell that was identical to this one. She was motionless and silent without the need for a gag. Desperately, I inspected her: no injuries. She must’ve been injected and paralysed. A living death. She was hooked up to a crimson IV circulating artificial life.
Everything crumbled. Resistance. Rage. Reality.
They had Will and they had Sun.
There was nothing they could do to me – nothing – that was worse.
I’d promised – fought – to keep them safe. My mind had fled through every torment to the cocooned hope of their better futures without me.
But now that was smashed, and me along with it; there was nowhere left to hide.
I shook, as I raised my gaze to Fernando.
He was watching me hungrily.
It’s strange when you meet a bloke, you’ve only ever seen over Skype. He was shorter then I’d expected. His perfect black hair was messier. His white toothed grin was more crooked close up.
Yeah, he was no Mr Perfect.
I realised then something, which I’d been a daft berk to miss: just how dangerous Fernando was.
Because hell hath no fury like a geek scorned.
‘Subject One needs to know that Subject Two,’ when Fernando tapped the screen, I jumped, as if he was actually molesting Sun’s helpless body, ‘is also part of our research project. Come on, I’m a scientist. All experiments need controls. Professor here says you’ve been acting like a chowderhead, so let me paint a picture. If you be a good little man and play along with Mr Scientist here? Then I’ll spend some quality time with the erstwhile Grayse Cain.’ When Fernando wet his lips with his long tongue, I stiffened; decent bloke my arse. ‘If you don’t..?’ He held my gaze, as he snapped shut the laptop – bang – cutting me off from Sun; I felt the loss keenly in every aching inch. ‘And instead are a bad little man for Mr Scientist..? Then we’ll have to see if Sun can be a better girl than you in these tests, and there’s some wicked frickin’ pissa ones coming up, which involve the heart and pointy things. How the frak do you reckon she’d handle those?’
Frantically I shook my nut.
I’d be a good little man, even if it meant testing a stake to the heart, before I let them play one game of research the Blood Lifer on Sun.
‘Hey, I’m not convinced. How about--’
‘You’ve made your point. We have work to get on with.’
‘Sure thing, Ms Shah.’ Fernando tucked the laptop under his arm, patted my nut as if I was his pet, and strutted out of the lab.
‘Bellend,’ Ivor muttered, as he shuffled his papers on the desk.
I lay unmoving, staring at the painful white of the ceiling, remembering the image of Sun on her own examining table. A twin of me: starkers, shackled and still. Fernando was with her right now, whilst I was powerless to stop him.
I might as well have had my fangs ripped out again.
I was no leader. No Blood Lifer. No man.
And now? I had to play perfect research subject to mad scientist or r
isk Sun taking my place.
Bugger it.
I was dragged back to the reality of the cell by the pain of the gag being loosened and then yanked out from between my teeth. I whimpered. Then I tested my jaw side to side; I’d never get used to that.
I glanced up questioningly.
‘Subject will cooperate without the need for gagging,’ Shah explained quietly, ‘because of--’
‘Threats to torture and kill the woman I love?’ I rasped.
Shah reddened.
Frankenstein was clattering objects onto a steel tray. I wasn’t going to look – I bloody wasn’t. Then he rolled it over to my side. This was like sodding Christmas to him.
Slam.
Without warning, Frankenstein slapped a heavy silver crucifix across my chest. Right over the heart.
I gasped from the cold. Then I only just held back the snigger. ‘I’m not a sodding vampire, mate.’
Clatter – there went the crucifix.
Slice.
I hissed, staring down in shock.
Frankenstein had carved right through my nipple.
Maybe shouldn’t have made the vampire dig.
He flicked and… I howled.
Bleeding hell: that had better grow back.
Clatter – there went the scalpel.
Then Frankenstein was pouring clear water… It wasn’t..?
The wanker, of course it was.
Holy Water over my abused nipple.
What was Frankenstein expecting? Bubbling blisters and steam?
‘Bollocks vampire myths…’ I got out through gritted teeth.
I saw a quirk of a smile from Shah, which was quickly hidden by her hand.
Clatter – there went the empty bottle of Holy Water.
Frankenstein examined me, in a way that made me want to scrub every inch. Then he carefully picked up a silver wand with a glass alien headed bulb in the middle and a sharp metal tip, like a giant needle; he was the picture of Doctor Frankenstein now.
‘Xenon-mercury short-arc lamp?’ Shah asked nervously.
‘Sounds like a rubbish band name.’ Then I twigged. ‘Hang on a tick…’
Shine – bluish-white light burst a blinding path from the lightbulb onto my gut. Artificial sun ejaculated in a ray searing onto my skin.
I hollered, as the skin melted under the sunlight. Thrashing side to side – white, white, white – exploding snowflake flurries.
Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3) Page 12