Genetically Altered Complete Box Set

by Sarah Noffke

  What he longed for was the movie theater. The night he’d been abducted he’d gone to a late show. David never had anyone to go to the movies with, but he didn’t mind going alone. That was because David didn’t mind being alone. Most people know they’ll grow up and get married. David knew he’d grow up and be alone. He just preferred it that way. People were wonderful, but he couldn’t be himself around them, although he didn’t really know who he was. Just a guy who was complex in how simplistic he could make his life, his thoughts.

  Stretching out his long legs, he lay back on the sofa. A video game would be fantastic. Anything would be better than the local channels on the television and the stack of comics he’d read a hundred times.

  His eyes slipped shut and his heart immediately went into overdrive. It was always his reaction to the potential of falling asleep. David’s eyes sprung open as his throat sought to close up. He pushed to a sitting position, trying to take in a steady inhale. Lately the idea of sleep was a nightmare. It wasn’t that he had bad dreams anymore that bothered him, but rather real ones. The other night he fell asleep and dreamed he was in his sister’s house. When they were kids he used to put everything up high so she couldn’t reach it. In the dream he did that, thinking it was a fond memory worth reliving. The next day she stormed into the garage and convicted him of leaving the space, which she’d forbidden. He shook his head, telling her that he had been asleep in the garage all day. She then asked him who was responsible for putting an assortment of objects up high in her house. David didn’t have an answer to that. There were so many things lately that he didn’t have an answer for.

  Chapter Eleven

  “It is madness for sheep to talk peace with a wolf.”

  - Thomas Fuller

  “I’ll take a rum and a diet,” Malcolm Edwards said to the cocktail waitress, his eyes lingering on her cleavage perfectly nestled under the black and white ruffles of her shirt.

  The waitress pursed her lips and nodded, taking the empty tumbler from in front of him. She was probably thinking that he’d already had too many, but the waitress didn’t look like the critical thinking type so what did he care. The woman did look like she worked out, though, he noticed when she turned to walk off. Heart-shaped asses were even better than a nice set of boobs.

  The dealer spun the roulette wheel while bets continued to be placed. Malcolm was done betting. Now the fun began.

  “No more bets,” the dealer announced.

  That was Malcolm’s cue. He focused his attention on the little white ball rolling around the roulette wheel. With his intention it popped down, jumping over the numbers. He let the ball organically roll until the wheel slowed down enough so he could see the figures clearly. The ball popped into the one slot, then two, and then three, where it looked like it was going to settle. Malcolm narrowed his eyes at the ball and it jumped out of its resting place on the wheel, skimming over a few numbers before landing on thirteen.

  “The guy in the blue shirt is our big winner,” the dealer said, raking all the chips forward, leaving Malcolm’s chips sitting on the number thirteen. He’d only put ten dollars on that bet but at thirty-five to one payout, it was still a great win.

  Since utilizing his telekinesis to scam the roulette tables, he’d only betted conservatively. The last thing he needed was for the old goons to figure out he was back in the casinos. That’s why he wore the black fedora low over his head and kept his green eyes down. Thankfully, in Las Vegas, he blended in with the diverse crowds. Just another handsome black man, there to spend his hard-earned cash. He also stayed out of his old haunts, knowing the loan sharks still wanted to be paid back. They’d probably thought that he’d gone on the run after he’d been pressured to pay up his debt. He’d been “encouraged” by fists and a two-by-four. In actuality, Malcolm had stumbled out of the back of that casino and then everything went black. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or what when he woke up in that strange lab. But then the doctors did things to him, made him into a werewolf.

  The only good thing that had come of the strange experiment was that Malcolm could now move things with his mind. He’d first done it sitting in the back of a semi that he’d stowed away on. This was after he and those other men escaped from the sinister lab. Malcolm hadn’t hesitated in finding transportation back home, knowing he needed to return to Las Vegas. It was something in his blood that brought him home. But that didn’t make sense because there wasn’t anything to come home to. Malcolm didn’t have a family or many friends. Gamblers weren’t really the kind for social networks. He knew loan sharks and the names of the dealers and the bartenders who gave generous pours. However, those acquaintances were all on the nice part of the strip where he used to gamble. Now he settled for the run-down casinos. But the money was the same and the gambling, thanks to his telekinesis, was easy. Malcolm Edwards was able to scam the one game that no one thought could be cheated. He was the king of the roulette table.

  The waitress slid a cocktail napkin on the table along with Malcolm’s drink. He lifted it to his lips as the dealer raked the chips in his direction. Gambling used to be fun, an experience he could never get enough of. Now it was easy, one where he usually won. He turned to the blackjack table. What’s the point in an easy win on roulette without spending his winnings on a game that he couldn’t cheat?

  Chapter Twelve

  “The wolf, which hunts in a pack, has a greater chance of survival than the lion, which hunts alone.”

  - Christian Lous Lange

  “Hunter Smith,” Mika said, shaking his head. “He’s who they are calling the rabid wolf. The serial killer.”

  “He did have a prison record. I’m not surprised that he’s turned rabid,” Drake said, rocking forward on his heels and then back again.

  “If we didn’t convert a diverse group of personalities then we wouldn’t understand how the wolf genes affected the men. Each had a purpose,” Mika said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Drake, even from across the room, smelled worse today.

  “I think that Hunter’s proven he’d make the perfect assassin. He’s fulfilling that mission for you now,” Drake said with a slight laugh in his voice.

  “I didn’t assign him to murder women all over Los Angeles,” Mika said, his voice bordering on yelling. The last thing he needed was for Hunter to get picked up. It would all lead back to Olento Research. The ex-convict would definitely talk to keep the fire off of him.

  “Does Haiku have surveillance in Los Angeles? I’m certain the next attack will happen in a few days when the men shift into werewolves,” Drake said.

  “I don’t believe your job includes security, Alexander,” Mika said.

  At the mention of his first name the German scientist tensed, the crease between his eyes deepening. Alexander had been Drake’s father, a man he could not stand, which was why he went by his last name.

  “You’re hardly adequate at the job you are assigned to, so if I were you then I’d direct my full focus to that and forget about things that are none of your business,” Mika said.

  Due to his heightened senses Mika could hear Drake grind his teeth together. “Yes, sir,” Drake said, his eyes tapered behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Most might have found employees who were whole, but Mika preferred the important ones to be broken. That’s the way one controlled, they stabbed at the wounds. And he knew Drake could never live up to his father’s expectations, which was how Mika was able to push the scientist when his subordination flared.

  “I need you to meet with an employee at Parantaa Research,” Mika said, rising from his leather office seat and striding for the exit, knowing Drake would follow.

  “You want me at Parantaa Research? But you have your own scientists there,” Drake said.

  “Yes, and I don’t need any of them asking questions and wondering why I have special DNA testing being done on an employee,” Mika said, clearing the first hallway with his long strides and turning for the labs.

  “Oh, special DNA testing.
Yes, of course, I can help with that,” Drake said, now behaving.

  “I need you to secretly obtain a sample from an Abigail Post. Then you’re going to test it for Dream Traveler genes,” Mika said, pushing open the metal door, narrowing his eyes on a corner where Isha was seated, talking to a scientist in a lab coat.

  “You have a Dream Traveler working at Parantaa Research? But we screen for that to prevent it,” Drake said, following Mika across the room.

  “I do, but if my suspicions are correct then she’s a Dream Traveler and has beaten our test,” Mika said. He’d had his suspicions about Abigail from the beginning. It wasn’t the girl’s bad attitude or brazen nature that flagged her. It was quite simply that he’d tried to read her thoughts and had met a brick wall. He didn’t use his telepathy on everyone, all the time, because it was draining and usually unnecessary. However, he always trespassed into a new employee’s mind upon meeting them. Although Middlings could shield a telepath, it was rare and typically only something a Dream Traveler could do successfully.

  “But I created that test myself. It’s accurate and would be difficult to beat,” Drake said, now sounding unsure of this all.

  “But it can be beat?” Mika said, raising an eyebrow at the other man.

  Drake shrugged his fat shoulders. “Yes, in theory it could be beat, but it wouldn’t be easy,” he said.

  “How about for someone with mind control who told the tester what to report?” Mika said, his heightened hearing honing in on the conversation between the scientist and Isha, over the other sounds coming from the various cages.

  “Mind control?” Drake said, blowing out a breath, his eyes wide with interest. “You think this Abigail has the power of mind control?”

  “I think she’s a Lucidite and more importantly, I think she’s Ren Lewis’s daughter,” Mika said. Abigail met the description that Kris had given him and more importantly she had the motive to spy.

  “Which means she might have the information on how to teleport,” Drake said, patching it all together.

  “I know she does. Now I just have to determine if she’s Abigail Post and spying on Parantaa Research,” Mika said, turning and marching over to the corner where Isha sat. Behind her was a station they’d set up to provide sensory deprivation in order to enhance the potential for clairvoyant visions.

  “Sir, we have good news—” the employee beside Isha said, glancing at her page of notes.

  “I’ve already heard. She’s reporting on the cases we gave her. Now I want you to give her the information on Hunter Smith. Isha needs to find him next,” Mika said, his words directed at the employee but his eyes on the girl who nervously played with her thick braid lying over her shoulder.

  “But sir, she’s complaining of headaches and—”

  “I believe I already told you I heard your conversation. I’m aware of the headaches. Give her another dose of bufotoxin and have her report again,” Mika said, noting that this employee would be reprimanded for this later, possibly fired. For now he needed Isha briefed with information on Hunter Smith. That’s how she was able to have the last vision. Giving her information on one of the werewolves made it so Isha honed in on future events related to them.

  “I think she’s needs some rest and maybe the dosage of bufotoxin cut back,” the idiot employee said.

  “And I think that you’re not in charge. Do as I say,” Mika said, turning and finding Drake at his back, a curious look on his face.

  “Isha reported the whereabouts of one of the werewolves?” Drake said.

  “Yes, David Sanders,” Mika said, breezing by him and to the exit. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate due to the fact that he could hear so many things from a distance. And sometimes it just made things more efficient.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Careless shepherd make excellent dinner for wolf.”

  - Earl Derr Biggers

  Connor’s eyes hovered on Adelaide every few minutes, making her want to slap him. She’d been studying files for hours, only to take a break to send a message to the news reporting department and retrieve her book. The redhead knew she needed to bathe, eat, and sleep. However, meeting her personal needs was going to come second until she had a lead on the werewolf case. And strangely, Adelaide was relieved when she ran to her room to grab her book and found Connor still in the strategic department when she returned. She’d thought he’d drag himself to bed, or off to do whatever it was he did when he wasn’t stalking her with his eyes.

  “I was surprised when you showed up without that book,” Connor said, when she thumped it on the table beside her. “Actually, I was just surprised when you showed up here.”

  Adelaide grabbed a piece of her long red hair and absentmindedly stuck it in her mouth, rubbing the softness against her lips. “Yeah, I usually have it with me, but I’ve been more careful since it got stolen by the invisible woman,” she said.

  Connor tilted his head to the side. He had a pronounced chin, which was the only reason Adelaide could stand to look at him for any period of time. She didn’t like people with weak chins. It says so much about the person, she thought. “Don’t you think that this invisible woman ran back to Mika and told him about the Institute?” he said.

  “I know she did,” Adelaide said.

  “Well, why didn’t you grill her? Keep her here? Protect the Institute?” Connor said.

  “I did protect the Institute. She can’t get back in here. And anything a spy tells us is worthless. She was a risk as long as she was here, since she was invisible and all,” Adelaide said.

  He nodded, his eyes dropping. “The important thing is that you got the book back,” he said.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what I would have done if I lost it. My father would probably come back and haunt me, remind me what a bloody loser I’ve proven to be,” she said with a laugh.

  “Your father sounds about like mine, minus the whole Dream Traveler genius part,” Connor said, sharing a laugh with her. “He could be a real jerk to me.”

  Adelaide thumbed through the book, her eyes resting on a phrase, one that apparently was meant to find her just then. To find Connor too. To be spoken aloud. She cleared her throat.

  “People are crazy to the ones they love,” she said, reading from the book.

  Another laugh. “My dad doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love anyone but himself,” Connor said.

  Adelaide shut the book. The same couldn’t be said for her father. Only the once did he tell her that he loved her, and then he killed himself. “Ren once told me that caring about someone who doesn’t love themselves is emotional suicide,” she said.

  Connor’s eyes shifted slightly, like something was sinking into him. A slow dawning shifted his eyes as a look of understanding traced his face. “So why care about someone who doesn’t care about themselves…” he said, his voice trailing away. “Yeah, good point.”

  “Do you want to see something impressive?” Adelaide said, looking at the clock. It was late enough that no one would be coming to the strategic department until morning, most likely.

  “No, I don’t,” Connor said, his face neutral. “I’d prefer to keep sitting here rereading these files and not having any break in this case.”

  Adelaide pulled her eyes to the ceiling. “God, why do you make your people so annoying?” she asked.

  Connor tapped the table between them, earning her attention. “Yes, of course I want to see something impressive. Is it something from the book?” he asked.

  “It’s something I learned from the book. Working at Parantaa Research has given me evenings to practice since I don’t have all the work from the Institute to drain my time,” she said.

  “And you don’t have your kid to distract you while you’re gone,” Connor said.

  “Oh, like I ever watch that kid when I’m here. He’s Pops’s problem,” Adelaide said, trying to sound careless, but the bubble in her throat betrayed her act of indifference.

  “So something cool, show me,�
� Connor said.

  “Okay, but I can only do it in the dreamscape. I’m not strong enough to do it in the physical realm yet,” she said.

  “Can we dream travel from here?” he asked.

  Adelaide pulled the book close to her chest, securing it there. “If you don’t mind leaving your body here.”

  Connor slid his arms on the table, tucking his chin down on them and looking up at her. “I’m ready to dream travel. Just tell me where.”

  “It doesn’t really matter where. It just has to be in the dreamscape. I’ve only got one trick for now,” Adelaide said.

  “Okay, then how about…” Connor said, his eyes directed at the ceiling as he thought, “Tower Bridge, the north side.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Adelaide said, her jaw clenching.

  “That’s the worst joke ever, if I am,” Connor said.

  “That’s the first dream travel location my father ever took me to,” she said, realizing there was no way Connor could have known that.

  “Oh, I just picked it because you’re British,” Connor said, surprise on his face too.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Adelaide sighed. “Meet me there,” she said, laying her head down like Connor had his and closing her eyes. There was a strange connection to Connor, to her father, to her. But what in the bloody world could it be? Nothing made sense when it came to Connor, not that anything in her world made sense.

  She soared through the silver tunnels, wind, or something that felt just like it whipping her hair back. Adelaide didn’t understand quite how the elements worked in the dreamscape. They were there, and yet they weren’t. It was only her conscious makeup of how the world was supposed to behave that apparently made that impression. There was no physical aspect to the dreamscape, but still bodies could touch. There were no smells or weather, but still she sometimes felt the warmth of the sun when dream traveling. It was these strange aspects and varying potentials that made what she was about to show Connor possible. This was something she’d been practicing. Ren had mastered it in the physical realm, but she was doubtful she’d ever have that kind of success. That would be about like changing the rotation of the Earth. Or killing yourself and still living. Or randomly picking a location to meet that held an enormous amount of sentimentality. Ren’s voice rang in Adelaide’s head as her consciousness rode through the silver wormhole of sorts. Sentimentality is the knife that cuts away logic and reason.