Subject 12
Page 7
I jabbed my fingers toward his belly button, so perfect a target, and focused the impact so intensely that my fingers kept on going. Skin parted, muscle tore, and my hand sank in to my wrist. I didn't stop there, though. I bent my wrist, half-stepped further closer to him, and pushed upward. The look of shock on his face as he felt my forearm sliding through his insides was priceless.
Having your hand inside another human being while he or she was alive is pretty disgusting. I don't recommend it for anyone who isn't prepared for it.
Tissue parted before the concentrated force of my fingers and will until I was in his chest cavity. He still hadn't screamed, for which I was grateful. Very few people could see what I was doing and that was to my benefit.
I felt for the vibration and shifted the angle of my attack. My fingers compressed his lung slightly as they sought their target. There.
I wrapped my fingers around his heart, still beating, pushing his life blood through his body, and squeezed.
He tried to suck in some air as the pain finally overcame the shock.
"Well, shit. I guess I was wrong. You aren't completely heartless after all." I twisted my wrist and yanked, tearing his heart free from his chest cavity and out the now-gaping wound in his stomach. "See?" I held it up to his face. It gave one last, pathetic beat before the muscles fell into fibrillation as it started to die. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like this back? No? Okay." I threw it over my shoulder, focusing on it so it hit the wall hard enough to splatter.
The blood pouring out of him had formed a pool at his feet, but still Grid Iron stood, his jaw twitching. One second, then two, before he collapsed halfway through the third.
I took my cue and took care of his cronies. The speedster I could handle, no problem, but the warlock had me concerned. Arcane tricks I wasn't good with, and if he made it in he had to be good at something. I quick-stepped behind him and twisted his head violently to the side. His neck snapped easily and he was in the process of falling when I shifted my focus to his friend.
Who was already moving. He was halfway across the room and gaining speed as he left his friends on the floor.
That wouldn't do.
He was fast, even for a trained speedster. I was faster, though.
Everything moves. Every heartbeat sends microscopic vibrations to the surface of your skin. Every intake of breath, every eye blink, every bubble popping in an open can of cola, every drop of condensation running down the side of a plastic cup of iced tea created movement I could use. Before even he could blink I was beside him, sticking my foot out so he tripped.
Yeah, it was a dirty trick. It worked.
His forward momentum was so great he flipped through 540 degrees before slamming into the wall so hard he left an indentation. I ignored the odors of my residue assailing me as I walked to the wall with merely human speed to see what was left of him.
At the speed he'd been moving his head had been harder than the composite material underneath the wood paneling, but not by much. Blood, cerebral-spinal fluid, and something a bit thicker was already running from the back of his head and ears. I could smell it over the reek of ozone.
Some of Grid Iron's blood had rubbed off my hand and had smeared onto the warlock's face, but I was still coated from fingertip to elbow. I shook what I could off and returned to my seat.
"Sorry about the interruption." I smiled pleasantly at the three women and one man sitting next to me. "Where were we?"
I couldn't see Jessie, so I couldn't say what she did, but Magda's two friends both recoiled in horror. Magda reached into a pocket and pulled something, I couldn't see what, loose. She slapped it onto the back of my hand and I was blinded by an explosion of light and sound, followed by searing pain. An instant later I blacked out from neural overload.
First time in my life I was glad to pass out.
Guild Intelligence File 92-88-29F-1
Submitted to Guild Intelligence June 12. Rejected.
Re-submitted to Guild Intelligence June 15 after review and corrections. Accepted. Archived.
Prioritized intelligence review begun on December 13. Classified Eyes-Only December 15 due to inclusion in Guild Intelligence File 92-45-16B-1A.
Excerpt follows:
From: hypnoguy@guildhq.org
To: TJF1@guildhq.org
Date: 11 June **** 13:00:00 -0600
Subject: Urgent help needed in Reno
Message-ID: <**************@mailserv.guildhq.org>
Clarence,
Sorry to disturb you. I know you've been enjoying your vacation recently, and I still feel it's rather well-earned after that last incident, but there's been a problem in Reno and I need you to help take care of it. Someone broke into the Guildhall and killed three people in the dining hall. There's been some confusion and I've ordered a full-scale investigation despite the objections of that ass in charge over there. My wife and I will take over the investigation as soon as I send this. The perpetrator is alive and currently under neural sedation.
Please, I beg of you, get to Reno as soon as possible and take the prisoner back to your compound and sit on him. Do not hurt him unless it's absolutely required. The reason I ask this is because there are reports of him tipping the scales on the power gauges into the red zone and if he really is that potent we don't want to make an enemy of him if we can help it. I need to verify the readings before any decisions are made as to his fate. This comes from on high, so my hands --- and yours by extension --- are tied.
I have been assured that the prisoner will remain sedated as long as his vitals are stable, but I have no faith in anything that putz tells me. Please hurry.
Raymond
Chapter 2
I awoke in what looked like a cross between a hospital room and a jail cell. I had a screaming headache and when I tried to move my hands I discovered I was restrained. I could move my head without restriction, though, so I strained to see what was holding me down.
I was amused they hadn't used police-issue handcuffs or a simple leather strap. Showed they'd been paying attention.
The translucent plastic bands holding me down were tough and flexible, with very little give, and had been cut wide enough not to do any damage to me unless I really worked at it.
The ones at my wrists snapped with five seconds of concentration and some serious wiggling. It would have been two but my headache made focus on anything but the pain difficult.
I removed the ones holding my torso and legs without a second thought as I sat up.
Sitting up was a mistake.
The room started to spin violently and my stomach tried to reject everything I'd eaten for a month. Seeing as how everything that had passed into my stomach had passed through a long time ago, all I did was bend double and heave. That made the headache worse, which made the nausea worse, and I seemed stuck in a positive feedback loop until my body said screw it and I blacked out again.
I distinctly remember knocking my head on something sharp on the way down.
When I came to this time I was in a jail cell. The walls looked different, so I'd been transported at some point while I was out. My head felt better, my guts weren't twisted in knots, and I wasn't duct taped to the bed. I took these as as good signs. I sat up and was relieved when the floor didn't drop out from under me. I put my bare feet on the cold concrete and tested my weight.
My legs felt a little weak but they held. I spied a mirror on one wall so I investigated.
I looked like shit. I needed a shave, my hair needed brushing, my eyes were bloodshot, and aside from that my forehead bore a new scar.
It looked fresh. I healed fast, but not that fast. That meant I'd been out for at least forty-eight hours since I whacked my head, but no more than seventy-two. Plenty of time to do whatever they wanted to me, basically. And that didn't include however long I was out after that thing Magda zapped me with had made me taste the rainbow.
That meant it had been almost a week since I'd eaten anything solid. A new record.
Which raised an interesting question. What did they expect to do with me now? That I was still alive spoke volumes. The endings were all blank, but the books were there.
I'd find out soon enough. Someone would be by shortly with food, which I would eat without complaint, and probably after that someone else would be by to talk to me.
But for the moment I was alone. Nobody was going to bother me for a while.
It felt good.
Food was brought by four armed guards. Two had stun rods and the other two had riot gas grenades with their hands on the pins. Further proof they'd been paying attention. It made me smile.
The food didn't, however. Some jackass had decided my rations were to be nourishing but simple. Ergo I got tofu blended in soy milk with the obvious tang of vitamin supplements and, I shit you not, saltpeter. Not a trace of sweetener or added flavoring. If they thought it was going to make me gag they should have tasted Alpha Zulu emergency field rations. I sucked it back and, with a thankful nod, handed the oversized polystyrene foam cup back to the young man wearing enough armor to disarm a bomb.
The kid backed up like a semi --- slowly, carefully, and in fear of crashing into something he couldn't see. The guards backed up after him and the door slammed shut, locking with an electronic buzz that set my teeth on edge. Nobody had said anything.
Well, they didn't know how I'd done what I'd done to Grid Iron and his toadies. Coupled with a lack of knowledge of why I'd done it and they were understandably cautious. The next step would be to either test me or talk to me, and where my money lay was no secret.
They'd already seen some of what I was capable of. They weren't going to test me till they knew they could control me. They couldn't afford to lose it.
I'd taken stock of my surroundings while I'd waited for them to feed me. Not much else to do, really. I could have meditated, if I'd taken the time, but I wanted to greet them like a caged tiger --- not a house cat in a warm spot.
If you give them the wrong idea, and at the same time play to their prejudices, then you already have the upper hand. Once you have the upper hand you had to keep it, but a clever berk can hold on to that advantage for a long time.
Right then it seemed like too much work. I had a little while, so why not just chill out and enjoy the solitude?
The bunk was comfortable enough, after all.
I came to, judging by my internal clock, about eight to twelve hours later. Sure enough, I was in a different cell. The air felt different, too. Thinner? No, that wasn't it. Fresher. More primal. The walls were also some form of cement rather than riveted metal with the anodizing from the heat differentials still intact.
I had on a pair of comfortable sandals, which was a great improvement over bare feet for walking on cold floors. I was also wearing a loose-fitting white shirt and a pair of khaki-colored pants. I didn't want to check my underwear but I was sure it had been changed too. Probably burned if it hadn't been dissected to check to make sure the stains weren't important.
Frigging scientists. Frigging idiot me for letting myself get drugged again.
This cell had a functional but primitive shower, at least. The mirror inside it was slightly warped, it being a polished metal --- instead of the usual glass --- affair so I couldn't break it and use the shards as a weapon, but it sufficed. The scar on my forehead looked as fresh as it had the last time I'd seen it. Since in a couple of days it wouldn't be there at all my clock wasn't too far off, then.
I had underestimated them. That hadn't proven fatal so far, but it had proven inconvenient.
On the other hand, I was in a bigger cell breathing fresher air, I had been given some nice clothing, and I wasn't back in Alpha Zulu's hands.
Yet.
I couldn't discount the possibility I was to be traded or given to them. Goddamn it.
All I could do was wait. Well, I could break out of here and find a hole to pull myself into, but waiting sounded more fun. If worse came to worst I could go with plan A.
In the meantime I was going to enjoy what I could. At least the food had to be better than what I'd been living on.
Though I wasn't going to eat any of it till I could prove it wasn't laced with more drugs. Come to think of it, that might be tricky if I wanted to eat.
I ran my fingers through my hair and was pleased when I couldn't find any scars or bumps that hadn't been there before my little trip down Narcotic Lane. After that my shirt came off and I inspected everything about it, followed by my pants, underwear, and sandals.
Interesting designer labels but no bugs or tracers that I could find. I didn't speak Portuguese so I couldn't read the labels, but it was obvious I was a long way from home.
I didn't have a window, I didn't have a TV, I didn't have a book to read, and the view out the cell door was about as interesting as a view of an adobe wall can be. Someone would probably be by soon with food. That's the way these things usually run. First the hospitality, then the crunch. I'd seen it done a few times with prisoners from successful smash-and-grab ops I'd run for my former employers. The results varied from subject to subject, and it often boiled down to how good a job the intel team had done picking the target. A few of them had been really tough nuts to crack. Only one had needed more persuasion than mild doping and good-cop-bad-cop could bring to bear.
She'd wound up as one of Kinsey's playthings. We'd gotten our information, he'd gotten his rocks off for over a week.
Win-win, right?
Yeah, there was no way I'd touch the food unless I'd prepped it myself.
The food was brought by a very attractive, dark-skinned woman who didn't speak a word of English. I tried politely to refuse it, but she was quite insistent that I take it. So I did. Once she was out of sight I flushed spicy-smelling soup down the toilet. The fried... somethings promptly followed suit. They smelled good, but they looked like someone had chunked an under-ripe banana, crushed the pieces, and then dunked them in a deep fryer. The plastic cup of what smelled like malty beer I poured down the sink just to break the monotony.
I washed the bowl and tray in my sink with the nicely-warm-but-not-hot-enough-to-scald water, rinsed the cup out, and stacked the whole beside the door. I didn't want to seem rude.
The woman hadn't seemed distressed, surprised, or even disappointed to see me in the cell. That gave me a clue, I just didn't know what to. Yet.
Always another yet. That's why I just wanted to be left alone. I was sick of always fearing tomorrow. Well, that and I hated Kinsey and what he stood for. I sometimes wondered if I'd been working for someone else if I'd ever chosen to leave. The answer I always came to was yes. Just not so soon.
"If y'all don't like the grub, just say so. Ain't no need to waste it," a voice boomed from behind me. I'd turned to look at my bunk to see if there was any way to make it more comfortable. Not that it was less so than many of the places I'd been sleeping since I'd taken to my heels, but comfort is an instinct we all have.
I turned to face the speaker and was greeted by a somewhat squat, powerfully built man with sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes, coarse features, and a haircut that cost more than a military-surplus handgun. His clothing was horribly expensive, similar enough in cut and cloth to mine that they probably came from the same store, and also in heat-safe colors. Probably custom-tailored, though the way the sweat had made them stick to his chest did nothing for the looks. It was hate at first sight and I could tell the feeling was mutual. I smiled.
"My apologies, but I don't eat food I haven't seen prepared."
He grunted. "Why the hell not?"
I looked him square in the eye and smiled. "I don't trust people who drug me and transport me against my will. It's a bad
habit of mine, I'm afraid."
He looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself with another grunt. "You ain't cookin' in there."
I shrugged. "I know how long I can go without food. Do you?"
He appeared to give his next words some thought. "Might be drugs in the water, ever think of that?"
I shrugged again. "You might be sneaking in while I'm asleep and injecting me or gassing me or who knows what. But trying to sneak in while I'm asleep risks me waking up and it's almost impossible to meter a proper dose through the plumbing of whatever you want to give me. Gassing me I have no way to avoid, but it's impractical. Net result is if you're trying to drug me it'll be in the food."
He grunted a third time. "I guess y'all've given this a lot of thought." With that he turned away without another word and stumped off. I had the impression I'd just talked to my jailer.
I wasn't surprised, though I was disappointed, when after a few hours no more food appeared. Nor did any books, magazines, or visitors. Apparently they either had never played this game before or they were playing by a different set of rules than I was used to. I used the time to explore my cell, finding one optical bug and two suspects. All three quickly met the flat side of my sandal heel and a watery grave in the toilet. If any survived the stamp and stuck around underwater I'm sure they got quite the show.
After double-checking everything to make sure I hadn't missed a bug, and closing my eyes so I could focus on any movement that wasn't me just in case they'd employed a roving bug, I found I'd killed about three hours.
I'd been excruciatingly thorough.
Maybe they were just planning on boring me to confession. Not that I had any frigging clue what they wanted from me. They already had Magda, so in all likelihood they had all the information she could give on Alpha Zulu. I had a better idea of their command structure and table of organization, since as far as I was aware Magda had known Kinsey only on a personal level, but that would only be as useful as it was dated --- which in this case was pretty bad.