There was blood everywhere—but still no bodies.
Franklin let out a surprised breath; when he inhaled, he nearly vomited. The smell of iron and decay was overwhelming, and he almost turned and left, but instead placed his forearm against his mouth and nose. Blinking rapidly, he walked forward, doing his best to avoid the puddles of gore. Some of his equipment had been destroyed during the battle with Morbius, but there was more than enough that could be salvaged. He wouldn’t be able to take all of it, but whatever he did manage would ensure that he would live a very, very comfortable life.
Some of the experiments down here had been absolutely groundbreaking.
He expected the floor to be slippery, but the blood was sticky, pulling at his shoes—which he found more disturbing. Crossing the room, Franklin took a seat at his desk, placed his hands on his computer keyboard, and closed his eyes for a moment. If he breathed through his mouth, it was almost as if time had reversed, like he was still working on his experiments for Catherine. Life had been so much simpler…
“Dr. Lattimer?”
The voice shocked Franklin out of his reverie. He opened his eyes and stood quickly, his legs banging unceremoniously against the bottom of his desk.
A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing a Demon-Fire robe with the hood pulled back. She looked even more terrified than Franklin felt, which caused him to immediately relax. She looked vaguely familiar.
“Do… do I know you?” he asked, stepping around the desk, his shoes making a unsettling sucking sound on the floor. He ignored it and kept his composure, unwilling to show any weakness in front of this stranger.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the woman answered, looking at the floor for a moment and then back up, locking eyes with Franklin. He noticed at that moment that she had a long scar on her face. It was faint but it was there, unmistakable. Beautiful.
“My name is Fiona,” she continued, “and I joined Demon-Fire a couple months ago. I’m… I majored in biology in college—before I dropped out. I’ve been watching you. Wait, sorry, that sounds creepy. Admiring you. Ugh. That’s worse. What I’m trying to say is—”
“Where are the bodies?”
Fiona’s eyes went wide at the question, and her gaze dropped to the floor again. After a moment, she looked up. Her features were harder now, more resolute.
“We… what’s left of us… dealt with them. It wasn’t pretty.”
Franklin nodded. There was something about this young woman that he found impressive.
“I understand,” he replied, then added, “You said ‘we.’ How many cult members are left?” Fiona bit down on her lip for a second and her forehead scrunched up, as if she were counting.
“News from the church massacre came in pretty quickly, and a lot of people ran as soon as they heard that Poison-Lark was dead.” A look of confusion crossed her face. “It was the most devout who fled. Those who stayed behind, like me, have been lost… unsure about our allegiance to the cult. I think we’ve had our eyes opened, but we still don’t know what to do.”
“Hm,” Franklin responded, looking around the lab. The damage was significant but not insurmountable. There was potential here.
“Fiona, would you do me a favor?”
“Of course, Dr. Lattimer.”
That was the second time she’d called him that. He wasn’t technically a doctor, but he chose not to correct her.
“While I clean up in here and take stock of what’s still operational, please gather the remaining acolytes in the arena. I’d like to speak with everyone about a way forward.”
“Of course,” she replied, the slightest wisp of a smile appearing on her face for a moment. “I’m on it.”
Franklin smiled back, and then she turned and was gone. He let out a long breath. He didn’t feel at all as confident as he had just sounded, but he was starting to.
* * *
FRANKLIN HAD never stood on the arena floor before.
It was much bigger than he’d realized from the few times he’d spent in the audience. The bright lights gleaming down were intimidating. He could still see splotches of different colored blood—and other fluids—spattered out across the packed dirt floor. He felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it away. What he planned to set in motion would more than balance the scales. At least so he hoped.
There were several dozen cult members in the audience, which surprised him, though only half of them were wearing the signature red robes. At its peak, this particular chapter boasted hundreds of members. Franklin wondered absently how many had perished at the hands of the living vampire.
While most of the remaining cultists were young, the group sitting above him in the “bleachers” had several older members and people of diverse backgrounds. Franklin smiled for a moment. If he could pull this off, he might be able to do something very important from deep within the bowels of the city. He opened his mouth, then stopped and swallowed nervously. Public speaking had never been his strong suit.
“Thank you for coming,” he finally choked out.
“Louder!” someone in the shadows above yelled.
Franklin looked down at his shoes. What am I doing? He was no leader. He had joined a cult because he was, fundamentally, weak. Had let both Catherine and Thaddeus manipulate him to do what they wanted. Had turned off his moral compass to please them, and had blood on his hands as a result.
No, Franklin knew he should turn around and walk out of the arena. Stop pretending to be anything other than what he was. A misfit.
He looked back up, ready to apologize and shuffle out of the arena, out of the underground hideout. But he made eye contact with Fiona, who was sitting in the front row of the audience, staring down at him with huge eyes. She gave him a slight smile, bigger than the one she’d flashed in his lab, a smile that seemed to have the slightest tinge of… something. At that moment, everything changed for him. He felt a renewed strength, stood up straighter, cleared his throat, and spoke. Loudly.
“Thank you for coming!” he shouted. Several cult members sat up as his voice boomed around the cavernous arena. “My name is Franklin Lattimer. As you may know, I worked closely with Sister Catherine and Brother Thaddeus. In my heart, I believed in the core of their mission, as misguided as it was.” Some of the audience murmured, but quieted when he continued. “They wished to rid the world of evil. I would like to do the same thing… but I think there is a better way to accomplish this.” He paused and took a deep breath. He had everyone’s attention now. He could feel it.
Franklin stepped closer to the group. Fiona was still smiling at him. He smiled back and even winked. He couldn’t believe it. Franklin Lattimer had never winked at anyone in his entire life.
“I would like to lead everyone here in a new venture. It will not be Demon-Fire. It won’t even be a cult. It will be… a collective. We will work together to better the world, doing so from the shadows. Using logic, and science, and yes—sometimes—violence. But only on those that themselves choose violence as a way of life.”
He took another deep breath. This was it. The moment of truth.
“Are you with me?!” he shouted, waiting to be answered with resounding silence.
Instead, the small group yelled “Yes!”, standing and clapping, led by Fiona in front. It was her turn to wink at him. He wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but he was pretty sure he was blushing as the shouts and clapping grew louder and spread through the crowd.
* * *
WEEKS PASSED.
Franklin, Fiona, and their loyal crew cleaned up the entire facility, wiping away all traces of Demon-Fire. At one point, Franklin read in a news story that Morbius had been spotted in Nevada and, despite everything that happened, he silently wished the living vampire the best. There was a noble soul trapped behind that twisted visage.
Fiona helped Franklin restore the underground laboratory to its full capabilities, and he found himself astonished by the way her mind worked. She approached scientific pr
oblems from wildly different angles, and seemed to love hearing about his experiences, taking his base of knowledge and building on it.
They were quickly becoming, in his opinion, the perfect team. Working on a new transformation formula—one that wouldn’t, in theory, cause as much physical torment in the test subjects. Once again they began with rats, and success came much quicker than before. Soon they completed their first successful experiment, yielding a living subject.
They also shared a gentle kiss.
It was Franklin’s first ever, and it was better than he had ever imagined. The way she looked at him afterward was almost better than the kiss itself.
“What’s next?” she whispered. It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about the experiments. He laughed at himself, and she laughed, too. She was still staring down into his eyes, and he fought to organize his thoughts, despite the fact that he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Next…?” he replied. “I think it’s time for a human subject, but we’re going to do it differently this time.” Franklin had come to regret his involvement in the torture of innocents. At the time, he’d believed that he was doing the right thing, that his advancements would benefit the world. But now, with the clarity of time and tragedy, he realized the price they had paid, and that there was a better way forward.
In a city of masked vigilantes, how would they be any different?
He outlined his plan, and she agreed that it was a good one.
They held interviews with each of the former cult members who were now loyal to their new leaders. Franklin and Fiona were looking for former police officers, military, security guards—anyone who had experience with physical confrontations. They put together a small squad of seven highly trained individuals, a mix of women and men, and people of varied ages and backgrounds. The interviews involved a battery of mental tests to make certain they were intellectually and emotionally equipped to handle anything they might encounter.
As they began training, the team gelled quickly. Franklin and Fiona perfected a new formula they would use to take down prey. At night, after long days of work in the lab and overseeing the training of the “Extractors,” as they began to call them, they would spend exhausted downtime together, revealing to each other their pasts and their plans for the future.
A few weeks into their rigorous routine, Franklin told Fiona that he loved her.
She admitted the same.
* * *
FINALLY THE Extractors were ready. The underground facility was running like a well-oiled machine, and their followers were ready for the arena to come to life again.
All they needed were the subjects.
Whereas Franklin had come to consider the arena a barbaric place, as costs piled up he realized what a valuable resource it had been. And when he remembered the wretched human beings who had patronized it, he found himself entirely willing to separate people like that from their wealth—all in the name of science.
Despite the fear that bubbled in his stomach, Franklin insisted on leading the first aboveground mission. Fiona kissed him goodbye with a fervor that shocked him, and told him to be careful. He nodded, afraid that if he spoke he might become inappropriately emotional. Then he turned and walked toward the exit that would lead him to the surface, followed by his mercenaries, each one stone-faced and silent.
Franklin felt oddly powerful as he emerged into the shadows of nighttime Manhattan, flanked by seven highly trained Extractors. They would do anything he said, follow any command.
They made their way to Chinatown, and patrolled the streets in a planned pattern. As they did, they must have looked like a particularly strange group of tourists, a small man flanked by seven larger individuals who constantly looked to him for confirmation. They paused in Columbus Park, he nodded to them, and then they dispersed in different directions. Franklin headed down a small dark street, smiling as he found himself engulfed in the darkness of this quiet corner of the city.
His relationship with the shadows had changed.
Franklin had done his research. He knew the nooks and crannies of the city. Franklin watched as two men emerged, their cruel smiles practically glowing in the gloom. He was vaguely impressed by the nature of their arrival; they hadn’t come from either end of the street—instead had appeared as if from thin air. There must have been an entrance hidden somewhere in the darkness.
They were big. Intimidating.
Clearly used to committing violence.
They were perfect.
“Can I help you?” Franklin said, a note of genuine fear injecting itself into his voice. He knew he would be okay, but these men looked fast. Maybe this was a mistake, a voice called out inside his mind. He clenched his jaw as the men stopped in front of him, those unnerving smiles plastered onto their faces.
“We were thinking we could help you,” one of them growled. He threw a punch so hard, so fast, that Franklin didn’t even see the fist approach and connect with his eye. He went down in a heap, tiny bursts of light dancing in his vision. He clung to consciousness and flipped onto his back, shuffling away from the two men, both of whom pulled out knives.
“Look at how tiny he is!” the taller one said with a strange giggle.
“Seriously,” the other laughed. “Like a little kid.”
“Gentlemen…” Franklin managed to say, placing his palm against his damaged eye. He could feel the skin puffing up, and he couldn’t open the eyelid on that side. “You’re only proving my decision to be the right one.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just give us your wallet,” the tall one said, “and we won’t cut you up too bad.”
They both stepped forward, and Franklin was certain they were going to “cut him up” whether or not he complied. As the knives came closer and closer to his face, he wondered again if he had miscalculated. Maybe his Extractors had decided to play him for the fool he really was.
He only wished he’d said more of a goodbye to Fiona.
As one of the blades slashed toward his face, Franklin closed his one good eye, but the knife never landed. Instead, there was a slamming sound, followed by a crack and a scream. Franklin opened his eye and saw that two of the Extractors had filled the space between their boss and his attackers. One of the criminals was supine at the base of the nearby wall. The other lay near Franklin’s feet, whimpering quietly, his arm jutting out at a weird angle from his body.
Franklin lurched to his feet and got into the face of the Extractor who was standing over the second mugger.
“I told you quite clearly—no broken bones!” he growled through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lattimer,” the huge man said, eyes downcast. The other five Extractors appeared from the shadows and began to bag the two criminals. Franklin sighed.
“It’s fine, Lawrence,” he said. “Just… don’t let it happen again. It makes our work that much harder.”
“Roger that, sir,” Lawrence answered, then he joined his comrades to help with the exfiltration. Franklin watched his team work. Despite the throbbing pain in his eye, he smiled.
Everything was going according to plan.
* * *
FRANKLIN AND Fiona watched with silent fascination as the two men transformed.
It had been several days since the Chinatown encounter, and while still black and blue, Franklin’s eye was healing nicely. Fiona told him she liked the way it looked, and he secretly liked it, too. The Extractors had tousled his hair on the way back from the mission, saying the black eye was proof that he was one of them. Though he didn’t say so, he liked that praise, too.
He and Fiona had spent the interim prepping their subjects and making sure the two men could withstand the transformation. The new formula was much improved. Fiona had noticed tiny flaws in the molecular structure of the original, and they had worked together to correct them. The creatures they created would be much more powerful, and easier to control.
Fiona wrapp
ed her fingers around Franklin’s as the two criminals thrashed against their restraints. The struggles were pointless. They had invested in the best equipment money could buy—or steal from corrupt companies.
The two criminals began to transform. One’s skin stretched, his limbs elongated, and tiny spikes erupted all across his flesh. All the hair fell from his body. The spikes on his knuckles grew longer than the rest, and his fingers sharpened into nasty-looking claws, while his face extended out like a melted plastic Halloween mask.
The other one, whose arm had been broken, screamed in pain as more of his bones began to crack and reform, emerging from his skin and creating what looked almost like a cage around him, with sharp edges at every single angle. Fiona inhaled a sharp, delighted breath and glanced to Franklin with a huge smile on her face, which he found to be slightly unnerving. She looked back at the men as the transformations entered their final phase.
He was shocked by her excitement. Franklin had witnessed many similar transformations, and it had taken him a long time to watch them without turning away, let alone getting excited. Still, he found her fortitude impressive. Attractive even. Fiona stood with her eyes locked on the writhing creatures, a look of absolute scientific euphoria written across her face.
As the creatures calmed down, she leaned forward and gave each an injection that would put them to sleep. Then she placed the syringe down and turned back to Franklin.
“Well… that was productive,” she said, the smile lingering on her face.
“Tonight, we celebrate,” Franklin responded. “Tomorrow, we arrange for the first show at our new and improved arena.”
“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Lattimer.”
Fiona leaned forward and they kissed, while the unconscious behemoths breathed quietly next to them.
* * *
MOST OF the seats were empty.
The fight between the two monsters had already begun, and it was quite a spectacle. The improved formula was working wonders. The creatures were incredibly fast and strong and pliant, and the battle was as impressive as any that had graced the arena during the time of Demon-Fire. In addition, the Extractors had captured several more criminals. Each creature was more impressive than the last. They had enough combatants to last for the next couple of weeks at least.
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