 
Eons of Darkness Book #1

The Purging

By Reed Bosgoed

Copyright 2013 Reed Bosgoed

Smashwords Edition

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CHAPTER 1

From a blackened screen, an image slowly comes into view. A single man sits calm and cross legged on an ornate sofa. He is tremendous in stature, seven feet tall and heavily muscled, dressed in a finely tailored suit and wearing glistening gem encrusted jewelry on every finger. Flanked on both sides by flowing azure banners emblazoned with a red crest depicting what appears to be a naked human bowing before a massive gaping maw. No sound can be heard beyond the low hum of a single halogen bulb hanging overhead. After a brief moment, the figure leans forward into the light.

His visage is gnarled and twisted. The skin is a sickly pale white with an interconnected string of scars up and down the sides of both cheeks from the base of the chin to just beneath the eyes. The twin bottomless pits emit a faint crimson glow. They are hollow; without emotion, without pupils. What is left of the nose is nothing more than a crooked bump and a single nostril. He opens his mouth into a wide grin, revealing several rows of elongated and jagged teeth. A mass of long white hair is tied back in a neat ponytail. After a quick glance off frame, he nods and begins to speak.

"Greetings pitiful scum of the planet earth, my name is Kagan." He pauses for a moment to adjust his posture and look directly into the camera, "I have come before you today to address humanity, all of humanity. You see, I am the foremost member of a rival species. The word in your common parlance is vampire. We have lived along side you since the advent of your menial existence. We have been your kings, your masters; we have been your Gods. However, as of late mankind has unfortunately lost his reverence for his betters." The smile leaves Kagan's face and he begins to growl between sentences, "You have convinced yourselves that you are at the top of the food chain. You have grown beyond the means of this world to support you. Precious resources are wasted on an ever growing population of useless peons, drifting their way through short, meaningless lives. The oceans are poisoned, the skies are choking on the fumes of the nightmare you call progress. Your own scientists have warned you of the looming natural disasters you have created and still you sit idly by while the icecaps melt and the planet circles the proverbial drain.

There was a time when we relied on you as beasts of burden, as an easily accessible food source. There are cheaper and more efficient methods to nourish ourselves. It no longer amuses us to watch you quietly from the shadows. To put it bluntly: we're sick of you, and it's time for your civilization to come to an end."

He pauses and motions off camera with his right hand. A young girl is immediately pushed into frame. She is emaciated and dirty, wrapped in tattered rags, but appears for the most part to be unhurt. Kagan leans forward to meet the girl's gaze eye to eye. Terrified, she immediately slumps to the floor sobbing softly. Grabbing her by the hair, he lifts her off the ground and points her face toward the lens.

"Tell the nice people watching who you are and where you're from." Staring straight ahead and now crying uncontrollably, the girl sputters but can't form words. Infuriated at her weakness, Kagan strikes her in the chest, and drives her face first into the floor. She hits the cold tile with a sickening thud. After a few well placed kicks to the ribs he raises her up again, bloodied and spitting teeth.

"Speak!"

Between sobs and wheezes, the girl begins, "My name is... Kaley Angelista. I'm f-from London, England."

The smile returns to the monster's visage as he continues, "And your father is Archibald Angelista, CEO of the multinational Angelista Corporation, correct?"

"Yes, he is."

"For those of you watching who don't know, Angelista is primarily an oil concern and is singularly responsible for more ecological disasters than all of its competitors combined. Isn't that right, Kaley?" As he finishes the sentence, he turns her head so that they are face to face once again. Her eyes still gushing, a puzzled expression falls over her face.

"I...I'm not sure. Please, my father has a ton of money. You can have whatever you want, just please, please let me go." She stretches her hands out at her captor and pleads, "For God's sake, just name it! Tell me what you want!"

Rubbing his hands together and licking his lips the monster chuckles lightly, "You have nothing I want, insect. No amount of money or favours could ever make you more than a bag of meat in my eyes. However, there is something that I need." The girl's face lights up and she excitedly blurts:

"Of course, anything, anything you want!" Razor sharp fingernails wrap tightly around her neck, and Kagan lifts the girl off the ground, holding her aloft directly in front of the camera.

"What I need, you miserable wretch, is to set an example for the rest of your worthless species." With that, he squeezes and pulls, shredding the windpipe of the terrified girl. Shuddering like a leaf, she grasps at her neck trying desperately to stop the sudden rush of blood flowing from her freshly opened jugular vein. A waterfall of claret spilling out down her front, arterial splashing on the lens, Kaley desperately stretches out her hand off frame and mouths the words 'help me'.

Now standing above the quickly expiring human, Kagan rears back with his right hand, and plunges it through the back of her ribcage. A deafening crunch echoes in the room, as Kagan twists his arm back and forth inside her torso. Pulling his hand back out, he produces her heart, displaying it proudly to the camera. With a smile and a wink he shoves it between his lips. Mouth wide open, he chews the organ into paste and swallows it, twitching with delight the entire time. Having finished his refreshing snack, he licks his lips and fingers, displaying for the first time his long, thin forked tongue. It darts from digit to digit, cleaning them of any remnant of his kill.

Picking up the husk of his now expired meal, he tosses her backwards over his shoulder. Kaley's lifeless body bounces off the back wall and lands head first on the floor behind the sofa. The thunderous sound of her neck breaking brings back the pleased expression on Kagan's face. Surrounded by the gory tableau he has created, clothes and couch now drenched in blood, he returns to his announcement.

"We chose this decadent socialite as the first casualty for good reason. She is a shining example of all that so disgusts us about your world. Moreover, we want you all to realize that there are none among you who are safe. Regardless of how much you have, where you live, or who your daddy is, you are not safe. The kings in your midst will die just as readily as the paupers. There will be no peace talks, no negotiating, and absolutely no mercy. I am not here before you to declare war. That would imply you have some hope of survival. This is a courtesy. I am merely notifying you of your impending extinction."

He steps back and seats himself back down on the sofa, crossing his legs and cracking his knuckles, "I am however a sporting man. To take you by surprise would be the act of a coward. The attacks will commence a week hence. So ready your militaries and kiss your loved ones goodbye. Those of you who have unfinished business, now would be the time." His gaze shoots sharply to the right, eyes widening, "Oh yes, where are my manners? I'd completely forgotten. To our cousins of the other ancient tribes; your cooperation is appreciated but unnecessary. If you, like we, have the desire to see Homo Sapiens time on this earth come to an end, then by all means join us in our glorious cull. I will be available for parlay for the next few days if you'd like to coordinate with us. I must however caution you that any and all interference on your parts will be met with swift and decisive retaliation." He then stands up as tall as he can, takes a step forward and executes a theatrical, low bow. "I look forward to hearing from all of you. By the time this is over perhaps the world will return to way it used to be. To the way it was always meant to be. But for the time being, from me to all of you, human and otherwise, good night. And more importantly, good luck." He caps off his speech with a wink, and the screen fades to black.

After going online, the video receives few hits at first, but internet buzz quickly mounts. Major news outlets around the world feature it in nationwide broadcasts. Much of the audience treat it as a ridiculous hoax, a publicity stunt perpetrated by a bored little rich girl with a penchant for drugs and no respect for authority. In the media circus that follows, her father is sought after for comment but is nowhere to be found. Friends of the victim post numerous video responses claiming up and down that she disappeared from her bedroom two weeks prior and hasn't been seen since. As the hours pass by, the hits keep going up but the public consensus is not to worry about it.

Two days after the initial video is posted, a website appears, bloodwillflow.org. It features the original clip along with a host of new content, much of which are videos featuring other pale skinned and red eyed faces. Some are cataloguing firearms and sharpening knives, others calmly discussing the proper way to butcher or bleed out a human being. The page's principal draw is a clock, ticking down to seven days exactly after the posting of Kagan's blood soaked public address. As the timer grows closer to the zero hour, public reaction remains by and large benign. Isolated pockets of doomsday enthusiasts aside, humanity treats it as nothing more than a joke made in very poor taste.
CHAPTER 2

Benjamin Guitierrez, phone in hand, is visiting bloodwillflow for the seventh time today, watching a new post. This particular one appears to be of three supposed vampires giving a tutorial on skinning a human body. It involves butcher knives and an intricate system of pulleys. People kept telling him the videos were fakes. He knows better.

The average person can't tell the difference between film violence and the real thing. Ben is an enforcer for 'La eme', the Mexican Mafia. He's committed enough violent acts in his life to know real blood when he sees it. The videos on this website are either the work of a group of dead eyed psychos, or there really are vampires out there.

Not that he's too worried about it. Nobody he's run across yet has been able to kill him. Not for a lack of trying either. His rise through the ranks of the organization was anything but peaceful. That's how things go when you're the small guy. You've got to prove yourself twice as often, twice as brutally. He's done everything you might expect to earn his nickname. 'Body bag' doesn't play games; he goes in shooting and doesn't stop until the job is done. This current crisis will be no different. There's an armory of brand new guns sitting in his trunk if things jump off with any assholes, supernatural or not.

Halfway through the clip, he's interrupted by the familiar voice of his cousin Juanito, "Hey cuz, what are you doin' here? I thought I was the only guy comin' to make this pick up."

Juanito isn't the most useful soldier in the world. No matter how many times Ben tries to explain how to hold a gun properly, he goes right back to holding it sideways. A singular fondness for fried dough and cheeseburgers have given him a plump, soft physique. Maybe not the best gun hand in the world, but he's family. Ben has been letting Juanito ride on his coat tails ever since he came to America.

The two men exchange a brief embrace, "Good to see you, bro. I'm here because this package is an important one and I don't trust your pudgy ass not to fuck it up on your own." He punches Juanito in the shoulder and lets out a derisive laugh.

"Yeah, blow me bro. What are you watchin'? Don't tell me you're on that dumb ass website again. That shit is gonna rot your brain man." Quickly snatching the phone out of Ben's hand, he looks at the screen and breaks out in hysterical laughter. "HA! Man, just look at this nonsense! I mean for fuck's sake the special effects ain't even any good. At least they could have used somethin' other than ketchup for the blood. This shit ain't scary, it just makes me think about the hot dogs they sell at the Dodgers games." Tossing the phone back to Ben, he continues, "So which terminal are we meetin' our boy at Benny?"

"Number four. He should be on the eight PM flight from Tijuana. And for the record, we're not here to meet him, we're here to pick up one of his suitcases and that's it. If you see him, don't say shit to him, pretend he ain't even there." Ben grabs Juanito by the scruff of the neck and pulls him off to the side, out of the way of the crowd of weary travellers moving through the crowded corridors of LAX. "And as for this" he says, holding his phone still open to the infamous website up to Juanito's face, "That skinning vid might be bullshit, but have you seen the original?"

"Of course. Who hasn't? They showed that shit on the eleven o'clock news on Wednesday night. I think the news lady called it the 'most elaborate hoax in recent memory.'"

Ben responds with a swift slap up the side of his head. It's no time for jokes. The numerous hours he's spent surfing the site over the previous few days has him jumpy. It all seems way too real. He needs to make Juanito take the situation much more seriously, "In the original video, you remember the part where he cuts her throat, right?"

Juanito just shrugs at him, "Yeah, so?"

"Have you ever slashed somebody's throat Juanito?"

"Nah, I've shot a couple fools, but I've never been much for usin' blades. I like to keep a safe distance when I'm taking care of shit."

"Well, I have Juanito, more than once. The way the blood sprayed, the way it trickled down her front, it was too familiar. Not to mention the look on her face man. I know that look. I've seen that look. The fear, the shock, you don't ever forget that face." Noticing that their energetic conversation has attracted some undue attention from a nearby security guard, he loosens his grip on Juanito's collar. They resume walking toward their destination at a brisk pace, ignoring the guards repeated attempts to flag them down. Between the throngs of passers-by and the haste of their retreat, they manage to easily shake their pursuer.

At terminal four, Ben takes a seat by a window overlooking the tarmac and once again produces his phone. He cues up Kagan's first address and holds the phone out so Juanito can see its screen, "Pay close attention to when he slashes her bro, look into her eyes and tell me that ain't real terror."

Juanito pushes the phone aside, "OK, so say you're not on crack and this video is real. What happens when the ticker gets to zero Benny? Do thousands of creepy euro trash punks with bat wings swoop in and steal all our pasty and depressed teenage white bitches? Cause that don't seem too bad to me bro, white bitches are no fun anyhow." With a loud chuckle Juanito sits down in the chair across from his cousin.

"Look, I don't know what's gonna' go down exactly, alright?" He leans in close and lowers his voice, "But I'm sure that somethin' serious is gonna happen and when it does, I'm gonna be muthafuckin' ready! You should see the new hardware I got sittin' in the trunk of my ride bro. Anyone, vampire or otherwise that comes at me is gonna get a face full of buckshot spray."

Juanito's eyebrows raise and a sly smile materializes, "Nice. So how much time is left on that doomsday clock anyhow? We gonna be throwin' down with Dracula tonight?"

Ben glances down at his phone's screen. Doomsday is scheduled for the following evening, "Just over twenty four hours left. So we should be cool for the time being just focusing on what we came here for. We've got two bottles of liquid yayo and some new orders from the hefe down in Mexico to grab. It's gonna be in a grey suitcase labelled Steven Hollister. We grab it, we drop it all off back at the stash house and we call it a night." Truth be told, Ben doesn't quite understand why the package was so critical. They have an excess of drugs, so the cocaine was just a perk. There has to be something very sensitive in that suitcase that he wasn't told about.

A quick glance at his watch snaps him to attention. An infuriated expression plastered on his face, he says, "God damn it, it's already after eight o'clock. Let's check the board." They look over to the departure board and see that every single flight on the list is delayed. The entire crowd erupts with mumbling and complaints. A cue fifty people long files up at the customer service desk; dozens of disgusted commuters demanding answers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben notices that the security staff are talking into their radios much more than they logically should be. Juanito recognizes the concern in his face, "What's up Ben? Do you think we're made? Say the word and we'll bug out."

Ben drags him back to their seats, "No, I don't think so. But there's definitely somethin' not right goin' on here, keep your eyes open. I guess for now, we just gotta sit here and wait." Ben pulls his phone back out and attempts to go back online. However, the screen turns up only a 'no service' message. He tries again, and again, but every time receives the same error message. A number of others are complaining about the lack of cell phone service, dropped calls and no internet connectivity. The chattering of irritated passengers is interrupted sharply by the high pitched scream of a small girl standing not five feet from where Ben and Juanito are sitting.

All eyes in the room immediately shift to the petrified child. She stands frozen, pointing out the window, shrieking uncontrollably. Ben is the first to her side, and the first to see the cause of her horror. Sitting on the tarmac, is what can only be a human corpse. Though it is difficult to tell, considering that physically, it looks more like a puddle. It's a viscous red smear with the odd touch of bone protruding from its gelatinous mass. As Ben studies the blob further, he realizes that the body is wearing what looks like a united airlines pilot's uniform.

Another body hits the ground further down the runway, and another, and another. People all over the terminal begin shouting that they can see more coming down as well, but not all were landing with a splat. Some of them are landing safely on their feet.

Like the man who just touched down directly in front of Ben. The falling man slowly turns around to face the multitude of onlookers with an ear to ear grin. Smiling wide in order to bare his elongated teeth as prominently as possible, the stranger issues a casual wave to the dumbfounded people gazing out the window. The terminal explodes into a panic. The petrified masses begin running off wildly towards the nearest exits. Security staff do all they can to defuse the situation, only to be run over by the irrational stampeding crowd. Ben, however, is completely calm and his eyes remain glued to the vampire. It raises its gaze to the sky and points the index fingers of both hands straight upwards.

Above the vampire's head, Ben spots a jumbo jet hurtling towards the ground nose down. Others notice it at the same time and the panic among the crowd reaches a fever pitch. Juanito grabs him from behind and pulls him back, screaming, "Everybody get the hell away from the windows!" The plane collides with the tarmac. The shock wave from the crash shatters all of the terminal's windows. Shards fly off in all directions, striking numerous people, including the cousins. They both take several pieces to the backs of their heads, knocking them to the ground stunned. As they struggle to their feet, they hear a sequence of other explosions coming from all around. There is a cacophony flames, shrieking and shrapnel flying through the air no matter where they look.

Ben regains his bearings and attempts to join the crowd streaming towards the nearest escape route, a greyish blur streaks by right in front of his face. He turns his head in time to witness a vampire clamping down its jaws on the neck of an elderly woman. Several others are now leaping into the building through the shattered windows. Security guards open fire on the intruders, but to no avail. Darting back and forth so quick as to be barely visible, the assailants overwhelm the security force effortlessly. The rare bullet that makes contact seems to have no effect on the cackling creatures, who proceed to bite into the closest edible morsel.

The constant rush of frenzied people crashing towards the doors combined with the carnage breaking loose causes a bottleneck effect that the vampires happily take full advantage of. Ben's initial hesitation has caused them to wind up near the back end of the pack, and the rushing bloodsuckers are quickly dispatching every man, woman and child in between them. Desperate for a means to defend themselves from the advancing attackers, they pick up the closest chunk of broken glass they can get their hands on.

While Ben is bent over picking up his glass shard, a vampire hitches a ride on his back. Quickly spinning himself around, he slams his attacker's head into the nearest wall, momentarily stunning it. He takes full advantage, driving his shiv into its unprotected neck. Juanito follows suit, jamming his makeshift weapon deep into its left eye socket. The wounded animal stumbles a few steps and falls down coughing up blood.

The blood looks more like flowing black tar than the crimson stream surrounding them. It's a dank, foul smelling ooze that coagulates as soon as it hits the floor. Taking another piece of glass and slamming it into the vampire's heart finishes the job. It folds up, squealing and writhing in pain. Every other creature in the room snaps their attention towards it. They all toss aside whoever they're eating and converge on Ben.

He is drop kicked in the chest and sent hurtling into the wall, knocking the wind completely out of him. Juanito tries to intercede, only to be nailed with a chair to the side of the head. Badly hurt and struggling to breathe, Ben tries to regain his bearings. Through blurry eyes, he sees his attackers standing above him. Staring him down patiently, one begins to speak. It is draped head to toe in black leather and spiked jewelry. The face is covered in tattoos, most notably several swastikas around and between the eyes, "This blank is pretty tough, think we should recruit him?"

Another vampire jumps forward, "Hell no! He just killed Marco! I say we leave him alive for now, tie him up so we can finish him off real slow later. His shithead buddy here too."

The leader responds with a boisterous giggle, "That's why I love you man, you always have the best ideas, but I'll do you one better. See if they've got ID on them. I think I wanna pay their families a visit tonight too." The leader picks up Ben by the hair and sifts through his pockets, producing his wallet. He takes out his driver's license and looks it over. Another steps on Juanito's chest, pinning him to the floor and tosses his pockets as well. "Ah, there it is, home address. Oh, please, please tell me you have a family asshole. Wife maybe? Kids? Couple of cats, perhaps? Oh well, regardless, everyone in that house is dead, and I'm gonna make you watch. Tie him up." Dropping Ben back down to the floor the vampire notices the blood on his fingertips from Ben's shredded scalp. He brings his fingers to his nose and gives them a cursory whiff, "Hewwwwwww! What is that? I'd rather drain rats than drink that nasty shit. What is it that you spics eat that makes your blood so fucking foul?"

"I dunno, maybe it's the tacos, maybe the tequila, could be your mother's pussy. It's anybody's guess really." says Ben, raising his middle finger. In a flash, the finger is broken clean off and he's being kicked in the ribs by three enraged assailants. Twenty solid shots land before the ringleader breaks it up.

"Enough! You'll kill him way too soon. Tie them both up. We've wasted enough time on them for now. We need to get back to work. This attack has to be as bloody as possible. That's how the forebear wants it and I for one am not planning on disappointing him." With that, he goes back to expeditiously butchering the closest available victim. Another vamp approaches the cousins, producing a set of zip ties from its back pocket. It binds their feet and hands swiftly, and returns to the orgy of violence.

Everywhere Ben's eyes roam, all he can see is blood. A sanguine sea that is replete with floating cadavers envelops him. Piles of viscera stacked several feet high litter the floor. Just as the swirling torrent of slaughter begins to be too much for him to bear, one of the crashing planes slams right into the roof of the building. A hellish firestorm of ignited fuel and flying shrapnel tears through the room. Chunks of sizzling fuselage go careening into the back of a shocked vampire, knocking it to its knees.

Flames from the debris instantly jump onto its skin. In a fraction of a second, the whole of its body is ignited. Howling in agony and shaking like a leaf, it falls down in a face plant. The body crackles and sparks fly off it in all directions, spreading the already roaring fire. Much to Ben's surprise, the demeanour of the creatures shifts from joyfully sadistic to that of terrified children. The vampires recoil in horror from the oppressive heat, retreating from the area as fast as they can manage.

The cousins see their opportunity and grab the nearest glass to cut themselves free of their restraints. Scanning the immediate area, Ben spots a piece of flaming wreckage small enough to carry with him, and Juanito follows suit. On the other side of a wall of flame, they spot the de facto leader of the vampires staring right at them. Unable to resist, Ben begins to taunt him, "What's the matter, bitch? Big tough guy Nazi can't handle a little fire? Just goes to prove what I've always said, white people are pussies."

Flying into a rage, the vampire lets out a deafening howl, "Forget everything else! Bring me his fucking head!" The remaining vampires spring into action and rush Ben. Some, in their frenzy, move too close to the flames and are immolated on contact. Repeatedly swinging their flaming shields back and forth, the two desperate survivors manage to keep the rabid monsters at bay. One of the vamps breaks off and circles around behind them.

Juanito shouts, "Back to back!" Ben turns and slides up shoulder against shoulder with his cousin. Now surrounded on all sides by a cadre of hissing and screeching killing machines, they make their way towards the exit. The going is slow, due in large part to the number of defiled corpses littering the blood drenched floor. They only pause a second at a time to catch their breath and swat at their attackers.

A thick haze of acrid smoke hangs in the air. Juanito falls to one knee hacking and gasping for breath. One of the vampires tries to seize the opportunity to sink its teeth in, only to be intercepted by a sweeping strike from Ben's makeshift weapon. He pulls Juanito back up to his feet and urges him on.

"Keep moving god damn it, we're almost out! Just a little further and we're to the parking lot. We just need to get to my car."

Now rejoining the fracas, the lead vampire interrupts, "You just need to get to your car? Are you retarded? Do you honestly think that getting out of this building will help you at all? This attack is only the beginning. This entire city is going down, and it's one of a hundred places this is happening. But hey, if you think it'll help to lie to yourself, by all means go ahead." His words cause the entire group to burst out in raucous laughter. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Juanito hurls his burning slab of wreckage at the leader's face. He deftly avoids the incoming projectile just in the nick of time. The vampire standing behind him, however, is not so lucky.

Bursting into flames on contact, it convulses and squeals in pain as it collapses to the floor. Hitting the ground hard, its body explodes, spreading the fire to three others nearby, including the leader. The neo Nazi bloodsucker drops down and rolls back and forth furiously, while his underlings ignite in an ever growing daisy chain.

In the resulting confusion Ben grabs onto Juanito's arm and yells, "Now's our chance! Run!!!" They make a beeline for the parking lot as fast as their battered bodies can move. Legs pumping like pistons and sweat pouring from their brows, they manage to stay just ahead of the spreading inferno. At long last, they make it out of the building proper and both stumble to their knees, lungs frantically inhaling their first breath of clean air in several minutes. The parking lot is in no better shape than the terminal, with a slew of smashed vehicles littering the area.

On the horizon, they see that the destruction is not isolated to the airport. There is a veritable symphony of sirens, explosions and gunfire echoing from the landscape before them. Consumed by panic, Juanito exclaims, "What do we do? Jesus Christ Ben, what do we do?"

Ben grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him violently, "Stay calm bro, first thing we gotta do is get to my car. I'm not dealin' with any more of those fucks without my gear. C'mon, it's over this way."

"If your car is here then it's probably just as thrashed as the rest of this shit Ben."

"It's not the car we need. It's what's in the trunk!"

They make their way through the maze of shredded metal and shattered glass. Hearing loud banging noises and angry snarling in their periphery, they hasten their pace. Finally, Ben's Town Car comes into view. Despite broken windows and myriad dents, it is very much intact. Excitedly popping the trunk, Ben smiles at his cousin, "Take your pick." Juanito's eyes light up when he looks inside. Two semi automatic shotguns, an AK-47, a box of grenades and half a dozen handguns of varying calibre glisten in the moonlight. Juanito takes the AK in his hands and slides a forty four magnum into his waistband. Ben helps himself to a shotgun and a snub nosed thirty eight.

A familiar voice approaching from behind them sends shivers down their spines, "There they are! For fuck's sake! Somebody kill these mother fuckers!" As they turn to face him, they see the effects the flames have had on the vampire commander. His face is melted down to the bone. Chunks of skin and rendered tissue still drip from his scalded cheeks. From the neck down his clothing has been fused to his blackened flesh, and the right arm is missing below the elbow. Two of his cohorts run past him and lunge, fangs bared, eyes fixated on Juanito's jugular.

He opens fire with the AK-47, spraying the area in front of him. The clip is emptied in a matter of seconds, slowing the vampire's advance. It is just long enough for Ben to rush forward and fire a 12 gauge slug directly into the skull of one of the oncoming attackers. The wound leaves a cave where its face used to be, but to his surprise it doesn't fall down. As the beast lumbers forward sputtering and flailing its arms, Ben fires again. The second blast splinters the head into a fine pink mist, finishing the job. Turning his attention to its comrade too late, the shotgun is knocked out of Ben's hands before he can get a clean shot.

Throat grasped in one hand, it rears back the other, preparing to perform some elective cardiac surgery. Taking the opportunity to strike while it is distracted, Juanito produces the magnum from his waist and fires three shots. One round strikes in the ear, another in the creature's wrist, breaking its grip on Ben's windpipe. Ben draws his 38 and puts the barrel to the vampire's temple, emptying all six rounds point blank. With the vampire stunned, Ben dives for his shotgun, Juanito covering him with the last three 44 magnum rounds. Snatching up his weapon, Ben spins about and begins unloading shell after shell into the body of the remaining attacker, transforming its entire torso into a pulverized slab of raw meat.

As they sprint back to the trunk to reload their guns, they realize that the leader has abstained from the frontal assault. He hasn't even budged from his perch, some thirty yards away. Swelling with new found confidence and surging with adrenaline, Ben hurls more insults, "What's up, crispy? Don't got the balls to come at me yourself, huh? Gonna stand there with your dick in your hand while me and my cuz take out all your boys?"

Fangs coated with blood form a wicked grin, "Normally, I would kill you myself, but I have a much better idea. You see..." He pulls a small piece of flesh off of his own chest, scraping at it with his fingers to reveal a thin section of plastic. With a self satisfied giggle, he holds the plastic aloft, "I still have your home addresses." This vampire has no interest in a fair fight. Cowards of any species always prefer defenceless victims. These humans are tough, but one of them was bound to have family who will make an easier target. A barely perceptible blur streaks off towards their neighbourhood. Ben climbs into the driver's seat of his car. Juanito jumps into the passenger seat and they peel out of the parking lot into the chaos of the city.
CHAPTER 3

"Twenty four hours Ben! Twenty four fucking hours! That's how much time you said we had. You didn't say five minutes Ben, you said twenty four hours!" screams a frantic Juanito, banging violently on the dash board.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know? I wasn't the one who set up the website. That's not important now. Be cool Juanito, we'll survive this. I've got your back'" replies Ben, stepping hard on the gas and swerving to avoid a dead body lying in the middle of the road.

"Be cool? Be cool?! Who are you kidding? That mother fucker has our home addresses Ben. You might not have a family but I do! I've got Lita and the kids at home. He's gonna kill em' all!" With what they'd just witnessed at the airport, Juanito shudders to think of what the charred vampire they were chasing would do to those closest to him.

"That's only if he gets there before us Juanito and he won't. I promise." Turning a corner at breakneck speed, a vampire darts out in front of the car. Ben stomps down on the gas pedal and accelerates right into the growling bloodsucker. The car makes contact at full speed and the vampire's crushed body sticks like glue to the front bumper. The fleshy hood ornament takes multiple swings at the car's occupants from its perch. Juanito takes hold of his cousin's shotgun and fires a round into the creature's jaw. The unwelcome guest is dislodged by the blast. It's lifeless form now nothing more than a smear on the asphalt, vanishing in the rear view mirror.

Despite making great time, disaster strikes only a few blocks away from Juanito's house. An intersection has been completely blocked off by the twisted wreckage of a multiple car pileup.

"No, no, no!" Juanito's voice is hoarse with desperation. He punches the dashboard as hard as he can and turns to his cousin.

"We gotta grab the guns and ditch the car! We can go the rest of the way on foot." replies Ben, throwing open his door. He runs around to the trunk and hastily slides all the weapons and ammo he can fit into a duffle bag. Unable to wait, Juanito takes off on foot as fast as he can towards his house. Ben slings the bag over his shoulder and follows closely behind.

Cutting down an alley, Juanito runs across a vampire feeding on a pair of homeless men. The less than discriminating diner hears him coming, and tosses aside its meagre meal so that it can focus its attention on the new, much juicier target. It bounces back and forth off the walls of the alleyway, deftly dodging the bullets being sprayed from Juanito's AK-47. The distance between them is closed in seconds, and it lands hard with both feet directly on Juanito's chest, slamming him to the ground. With Juanito lying winded at its feet, the vampire goes straight for his pulsing jugular vein. Teeth just millimeters from their target, Ben rounds the corner and opens fire with his pistol. A bullet catches the vampire square in the nose, splitting the face down the middle and sending it skittering up the wall. The wounded monster scales the side of a building and retreats into the night.

Ben tries to raise his cousin back to his feet, but the damage from multiple attacks has taken its toll on Juanito's battered body. Blood bubbles out of his mouth and his right shoulder hangs limp and dislocated. Knees shaking, eyes welling up with tears, he looks at Ben and says, "I'm not gonna make it man. Just leave me here and go save my family."

Ben responds with rage and conviction, "Don't you fucking give up on me! Just pull it together and focus." One strong pull wrenches Juanito's shoulder back into the socket. Ben slides his arm around Juanito's waist and lifts him up. They continue on shoulder to shoulder down the alley. The weight of the duffle bag combined with his companion becomes too much to handle, and Ben has no choice but to toss the extra weapons aside.

Finally arriving on their block, they hurry to Juanito's home first. They run up to the front door, only to find it torn off its hinges. A sticky red hand print is on the wall to the left of the doorway. Panicked, they hurry inside, hearts beating holes through their chests. Neither one of them is prepared for the nightmare that they find within.

In the living room, they discover Lita first. She is stripped naked and crucified upside down. The red stains of her suffering paint a horrific picture across the white walls. Every knife from the kitchen has been driven into her tender flesh. The decimated torso is a canvas of clumsy slash marks and deep probing gouges. Her eyes have been shredded out and replaced with pennies in a grotesque attempt at ironic humour. A slit in the throat has created a massive pool of blood blanketing the hardwood floor. Juanito collapses, screaming at the top of his lungs and repeatedly slams his fists into the floor.

Ben puts his hand on his cousin's shoulder and tries to console him, "I don't see the kids, where are the kids?"

Juanito looks to Ben with tears pouring from his eyes, "Probably upstairs. They would have been in bed when it started. I can't go up there Ben. I can't see my babies this way." Nodding quietly to Juanito, he turns and heads up the stairs to the children's room.

Inside, he sees them both, resting immobile in their beds, almost as though they're sleeping. The pair of tiny angels lie frozen outside of time. Their bodies are arranged so that the massive holes in their necks would feature prominently to any who would happen upon them. Above their beds, the words 'Ye shall be as gods', are scribbled sloppily in blood across the walls. The area of skin around the bite marks is several shades paler than the rest of their bodies. Leaning in close, he sees that the pale area is expanding outwards. He flies downstairs to give his cousin the horrifying news.

"He infected your kids Juanito. The mother fucker bit them and left them out so that we would find em'. From the looks of it they don't have long before they change."

Still weeping on his knees, Juanito stammers through a response, "What?! No, not my babies. They can't come back as one of those things."

A thought occurs to Ben. Something needs to be done, something horrible, but necessary. He looks Juanito in his tear soaked eyes and says, "They don't have to change Juanito. But to make sure, we gotta burn the bodies."

Juanito stops crying and grabs Ben's shirt collar, screaming in his cousin's face, "Destroy their bodies? Do you even know what you're asking me to do? Those are my kids Ben. I can't do that to them. You could never understand. You never gave a fuck about anything other than yourself! You're the fucking reason that this happened in the first place. You just couldn't keep your mouth shut. You just had to talk shit to those things. You just had to give them a reason to go after my family. This is all on you!!!" He pulls his pistol and points it between his cousin's eyes, finger already twitching on the trigger, "My wife tortured to death, my kids turning into monsters, and it's all your fault. Give me one good reason not to drill you right fucking here."

It's a fair assessment of the situation as far as Ben is concerned. The same thought crossed his mind the very second he saw Lita stapled to the wall. With closed eyes and raised hands, he says, "You're right. You're absolutely right. This is my fault. If you really want to, then go ahead and pull the trigger. I deserve it." Grabbing a hold of the barrel, he pushes it against his own forehead, "Just do it!" They stand and stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. In the end, Juanito relinquishes his grip on the gun and slumps to the ground.

"I can't do it. You're a motherfucker Ben but I can't shoot you. You're the only family I've got left. But what are we supposed to do now? Listen to what's goin' on outside. The whole city is overrun."

Ben's entire life, it has always been the same story. Every time things started to go even slightly right, his attitude would creep in and ruin everything. Every relationship broken, every business deal fractured, and now, his family destroyed because he just can't keep his mouth shut. None of the consequences have ever mattered before.

Though he would never admit it, the twins meant everything to him. His immediate family had all been killed by a rival cartel before he left Mexico and he's never had his own children. The things that meant so much for so long; money, power, women, feel so insignificant now. Macho facade means nothing when you're staring at the flaming wreckage of your entire world. For the first time in his life, Benjamin Guitierrez sheds tears.

Juanito's question plays over and over in his mind. The answer is clear to him. There is only one thing to do, the one thing he's good at, payback. If Juanito isn't going to put him out of his misery, there are a thousand vampires outside who would be more than happy to oblige. He managed to take out a few at the airport. He could get at least a few more before they take him out. Maybe even track down the crispy one. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna make some Molotov cocktails out of what's in your liquor cabinet, and double back to get that bag of guns I dropped. Then I'm gonna hit the streets and kill as many of these things as I can."

Juanito looks back at him with solemn conviction, knowing that engaging the monsters outside will mean almost certain death, "Go down in a blaze of glory huh? Sounds like as good a plan as any. There's just a couple things I have to do first." Walking calmly upstairs into his children's room, Juanito tucks them in and gives each one last kiss on the forehead. From the closet of his bedroom he retrieves two hand held radios and a pump action shotgun. He returns downstairs and tosses a radio at Ben, "I grabbed these in case we get separated. Plus we can scan for police transmissions to figure out where the vamps are at."

Ben responds with a nod and holds up a grocery bag filled with Molotovs. They walk out the front door and back out into the city streets. Ben takes out a Molotov and looks at Juanito, "It's gotta be done. For their sakes." Juanito waves him on, so he lights the fuse and tosses the bomb through the upstairs window. Shattering glass gives way to the whooshing sound of spreading fire. The flames move quickly and in short order, the whole of the house is burning.

Through the waterfall of tears Juanito whispers, "Goodbye. I love you all." They stand side by side and watch the inferno for a few moments before doubling back to the alley to retrieve their collection of misplaced armaments. As Ben leans over to pick up the duffle bag, they hear a volley of gun fire in the distance. Guns fully loaded and primed for bloodshed, they head towards the source of the noise.
CHAPTER 4

Two blocks down the road, they come across a SWAT team trying to defend several civilians from a group of advancing vampires. Despite being heavily armed, the team appears to be able to do little but keep their pale faced antagonists at bay. Crouched behind the cover of a destroyed van, the vamps hurl a barrage of insults and rocks at the frustrated policemen. Running up beside the officers Ben lights a Molotov and lobs it into the fray. The resulting explosion sets two of the vamps alight. They stumble clumsily from behind their cover before popping like methane filled balloons. A roar of appreciation rings out from the crowd of onlookers. Ben holds out his bag of incendiary cocktails, "Gunfire only kills em' if you blow their heads clean off. You wanna take em' down right, you set those fuckers on fire."

The remainder of the Molotovs are quickly distributed amongst the group and Ben's spare handguns are handed over to the civilians. Covered by riflemen Ben advances with a primed bomb in his right hand. As he releases the alcoholic fireball, the last of the vampires beat a hasty retreat, narrowly avoiding the flash of flame. The SWAT team's squad sergeant approaches Ben and asks him, "Who the hell are you and how did you know that would work so well?"

One of the policemen jumps forward, gun drawn, "This sorry piece of shit is Benjamin Guitierrez and he's the local lieutenant for the Mexican Mafia. He's a scumbag sir. I'm willing to bet that every weapon they're carrying is illegal." This reaction comes as no surprise. The cousin's reputation often precedes them when dealing with police.

Ben walks right up eye to eye with the policeman, "I know how to kill em' because we were at the airport when this shit started goin' down and we saw firsthand what happens when they catch fire. To be honest, I think bleedin' em' out works pretty good too, but you gotta get real close if you wanna do it that way."

The sergeant makes his subordinate lower his weapon. He points down at the molotov in his hand, "As far as I'm concerned, we're in a state of emergency here, so I could care less about your affiliations right now. My primary concern is making more of these."

Juanito interjects, pointing a finger down the street, "There's a liquor store a couple blocks west that we could hit up for supplies. Might even be a couple guns under the counter too." After a few moments of discussion, the group sets out for the store. Ben takes point with the squad sergeant and the rest set up a perimeter around the panicked civilians.

The liquor store has been looted at least once before they arrived. All the front windows have been smashed to bits, and the broken glass is sprinkled all over the floor. There is a broad, wet smear of blood from the front door to behind the checkout counter. Spent shell casings and the lingering smell of gunpowder make it clear there was a firefight here not so long ago. Mercifully enough, if there were any vampires, they're long gone.

The group raids the shelves for what is left of the over-proof liquors first. Extraneous pieces of clothing are torn up and used to make fuses for the collection of makeshift explosives. When every person is loaded down with a sufficient number of bombs, the group convenes around the shop's counter. The SWAT sergeant says, "Alright, we don't know exactly how far this reaches. Communications are down and we don't have a clear idea of just how many of these things are out there. Our best bet is to get somewhere defensible and hunker down until this thing passes."

Ben shakes his head, "Juanito and I ran into a vamp at the airport who said that this was only the beginning and that a hundred other cities were gettin' taken down just the same way. We need to get the fuck out of LA as soon as possible." As he finishes speaking, the door to the back room swings open, producing the proprietor of the store, holding a large calibre pistol. The wounds to his body are grievous, with deep scratch marks on his face and chest. Every inch of his person is dyed red by the blood that is still seeping from the gaping wounds. Now with a dozen weapons trained on him, the man drops his gun and crashes on the tile floor. He attempts to speak, but can only muster a pained gurgle.

One of the civilians moves forward to offer the man help. Ben snags the woman by the wrist and pulls her back, "There's nothing you can do for him, look at the skin around his wounds, how the colour is changing. He's infected."

The civilian glares back at Ben and starts admonishing him sternly, "You don't know that. This man is hurt and he needs help. I took an oath to aid those who need it and I won't have some gang member with a crackpot theory prevent me from doing just that." She wrenches her arm free and moves to the wounded man's side, doing her best to console him. A member of the SWAT team tosses her a first aid kit and she begins treating the broken man's injuries.

Ben growls in frustration and says to the squad sergeant, "The longer we sit here jerkin' off, the more likely it is we're gonna get killed, so let's make a plan and get movin'." After a lengthy conversation, the group settles on acquiring sufficient transportation and getting on the highway. One of the police officers suggests going to the local elementary school to steal a bus. Despite Ben's repeated objections, the rest of the group insists on bringing the injured shop keeper along. They make their way to the school relatively unmolested by the invaders, only occasionally needing to take a pot shot at a vampire skulking in the distance.

While Juanito and Ben hot wire the bus, the police patrol the surrounding area. With midnight approaching the crescent moon is high and bright. For the first time that evening, they have come to a location that seems to have no blood or bodies. The cool night air is poisoned by the smells and sounds of a city in shambles. An uncomfortable calm in the seemingly empty parking lot makes light of the group's dire situation. No sooner than they have the bus started, they hear high pitched snarling coming from the shadows.

From within the silent void half a dozen vampires descend on the group. Two of the surprised police are dragged off into the night kicking and screaming before they can get off a single shot. They fire blindly into the blackness in a desperate bid to beat back the monsters, but not one bullet makes contact. Leaping into the middle of the crowd of terrified civilians, a vampire spins in a circle, splitting open several victims. In a panic, one of the civilians lights a Molotov cocktail; only to have it knocked out his hands by the frenzied attacker.

The firebomb explodes at the man's feet, setting his body alight. Flailing his limbs frantically, the man takes a running leap at the vampire that attacked him to spread the flames. It detonates immediately thereafter and the fire transfers to several other members of the crowd. Scrambling to extinguish the burning civilians in her midst, another police officer is taken unawares. She is decapitated instantly, and her body stumbles back and forth, spewing blood like a fountain. As they scatter at the sight of the headless cop, three more civilians are easy pickings for the famished creatures.

In the ensuing confusion, the police try to corral the few survivors onto the school bus. Juanito and Ben cover their retreat, firing on the vampires from the vehicle's windows. A tidal wave of buckshot stalls the monsters for the few precious seconds required. With the final survivor aboard the vehicle, the squad sergeant grabs the wheel and they take off. The vampires are not dissuaded and begin chasing down the speeding transport. Ben kicks open the back door and begins tossing bottle after bottle of flaming alcohol out at the pursuers, but it doesn't even slow them down.

Even at top speed, the bus is unable to outrun the remaining vampires. Streaking up to the sides of the vehicle, they smash the windows, throwing shards of splintered glass into the faces of the petrified passengers. Two of the horrified humans are pulled out of the windows and thrown under the wheels of the speeding bus. Ben and Juanito unload their shotguns point blank into the open mouths of the unwelcome guests, dislodging them from their perches. Tired and injured, the vampires fall ever further behind the bus until they fade completely from view.

Wending their way through the streets of Los Angeles, it is clear just how serious the situation has become. Dead bodies litter the city's streets, and the visible collateral damage is massive. Whether it is the vampires themselves or frantic looters taking advantage of the attack, the devastation is palpable no matter where they look. Everyone aboard agrees, they will not stop the bus, no matter what happens.

It seems totally hopeless, until there is a crackle over the public channel on the radio, "To anyone in the greater Los Angeles area, this is the United States military broadcasting," The passengers all snap to attention. Ben and Juanito turn up the volume on their radios so everyone can hear, "We are in the midst of a state of emergency. The United States is under attack by a terrorist organization. Regular communication channels are down and the power grid is offline. Do not panic. Stay indoors, barricade your entrances and windows. For those people who are out within the city proper or the surrounding area, stay out of wide open areas. If it is possible, make your way as fast as you can to the Los Alamitos Air Force base in Orange County. The army and navy are here in force to mount a rescue effort and counter attack. Stay strong, there is hope. And may God be with us all." With that, the message begins playing on a loop.

The squad sergeant turns and announces to the few people left, "Alright, it looks like we're headed south. Hang on everyone, we're gonna make it." They make their way down the interstate, with renewed hope and breathing a sigh of pensive relief. Twenty five minutes later they see a string of lights dotting the southern horizon, the end of the nightmare is just ahead. The driver excitedly accelerates towards their destination. As they cross the threshold of the military base, disaster rears its ugly head once again.

In the excitement of the ambush at the school, even Ben had forgotten about the infected liquor store clerk. Now fully transformed, the fledgling blood sucker lunges at the very doctor that had previously campaigned to allow his passage. It bites her dead center on the face first, tearing the nose clean off with a single chomp. Newly formed claws dig deep crevices into both cheeks. Chewing loudly on her proboscis, he smiles and spits it back in her shredded face, then clamps down giddily on her waiting oesophagus.

Juanito draws his magnum and points it at the shop keep, but before he can line up a shot, the bus hits a pothole. His weapon discharges instead at the bus' driver. The bullet makes contact with the back of the sergeant's head, splintering his skull and covering the windshield with a sticky cascade of crimson brain matter. Without a navigator and the windshield obscured, the coach goes careening off the road at full speed.

Ben grabs Juanito's shirt and screams, "Bail out!!!" He boots open the rear door and they leap out the back of the bus. Their hurried escape prevents the cousins from executing a proper tuck and roll. Landing hard on the asphalt at intense speed, bones buckle and skin shreds. The coach spins into a barrel roll and flips over multiple times before coming to a grinding halt in the muddy ditch. From within the wreckage, the newborn vampire can be heard gorging itself on the injured survivors.

The cousins rush to the debris with guns drawn as fast as their broken bodies will carry them. They spot the creature feeding through one of the windows and unload several bullets into its head and chest. It jumps toward them eagerly with outstretched claws, missing Ben by a hair's breadth. Juanito, however, is not so fortunate. His left shoulder is split wide open, and spews forth a cascade of claret. With his working arm, he unloads another few shots point blank into his attacker's neck.

The vampire sputters and falls to the ground coughing up buckets of blackened blood. The injury his cousin has sustained makes Ben's universe stand still for a moment. In the back of his mind, he assumed they wouldn't survive the night. But he was so sure he would go first. So sure he wouldn't have to watch anyone else he cared about leave him forever. Flashing back to the image of his niece and nephew lying lifeless in their beds, he clenches his jaw and rushes forward.

"No, no, no! You mother fucker!!" He goes berserk, pistol whipping the dying creature's head in rapid succession. Arm moving like lightning, up and down, he crumples the vampire's skull. Even after it's stopped moving, he keeps on swinging. In short order, what used to be a head looks more like a pile of bloody ground meat. In mid swing, Juanito catches him by the wrist.

"Stop Ben, just stop. It's OK bro." He releases Ben's hand, "I never intended to live through tonight. I could never go on without my family."

Ben shoots back in a pained tone, "But you do have family, you have me. Maybe you're not infected. We can....."

Juanito interrupts, smiling even as his eyes well up with tears, "No Ben, look at the wound. The infection is already spreading. It's too late. I've got a couple of bullets left and one of em' has my name written all over it. Don't waste energy worrying about me. The light at the end of the tunnel for you is right there." He gestures at the lights of the hangars down the road.

Producing a small flask from his front shirt pocket, Juanito sits down beside the road. Ben takes a seat next to him and wraps his arm around his cousin's neck. They share one last drink together in resigned silence. No words could ever express what either one of them is feeling. When the final drop in the flask is consumed, they both rise to their feet, no longer fighting back the tears.

As they exchange a single warm embrace, Juanito says, "Now get moving. I'm goin' to see my kids." Ben hangs his head and calmly walks away. He hears the bang a few seconds later, but resists the urge to turn around. It was his plan to die this night, to rush into battle and lay down his life. Things have changed. If he has to move mountains, if he has to drain every ocean on Earth, he will find the Nazi from the airport. Grasping his gun tightly in his hand, he mutters under his breath, "I will avenge you. I will find a way."

After an hour of walking, he arrives at his final destination. Inside, he sees that there is only one troop transport in the hanger, and what appears to be two very large tanks bearing the logo of the Angelista Corporation. He's always had a fascination with tanks, even read the odd book about them. These ones are unlike anything he's ever seen. For starters, most tanks don't float as far as he knows. The glowing barrels of their cannons are equally confounding. The only thing he knows for sure is that he definitely wants one.

While the lights are on and the vehicles are running, nobody is around. The eerie quiet reminds Ben of the school parking lot, and he clutches his gun tightly. Perhaps even the soldiers here did not survive. If he doesn't find medical help soon, he won't survive either. The weight of his injuries is catching up with him. He can feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, his vision fading to black. Just before he totally loses his faculties, he overhears part of a conversation.

"Another survivor ma'am... shit, he's pretty banged up."

"Is he contaminated?"

"No ma'am. I'm not seeing any signs of that."

"Are his internal organs intact?"

"I believe so."

"Perfect, put him in cold storage with the rest."
CHAPTER 5

After the triumph that was the opening attack on human civilization, Torrig Balder and some of his cohorts have returned to their forebear's fortress to make a report. Stepping off the helicopter at the base of the Zugspitze, the comfort of the freezing air delights the milling group of night kin. A welcome committee is waiting with adulation, handshakes and a choice selection of bound and gagged humans for those who are so inclined. The revelry is broken intermittently when each successive member of the group asks Torrig what the hell happened to his face. Some of his more clever cohorts have already taken to calling him 'lefty'.

Led through an ornately decorated ski chalet, the group fawns over the masterpieces on the walls and the priceless statuary standing in every corner. Taken past the swinging chandeliers in the dining hall and granite counter tops of the kitchen they come to a back staircase. Down the winding staircase there is a rustic cellar, filled with a veritable rainbow of wine, spirits, and rare bottled bloods. The whole of the chalet is a monument to the very height of ostentation. All of this compounds the shock when they are told to jump down into the sewer drain under the cellar.

Damp, murky and rank with the odour of effluvia and rotting flesh, the sewer seems to stretch on forever. Walking ever further down into the earth, they branch off into a sequence of moss covered tunnels. Deeper within, they come across a colourful sequence of cave paintings. Featured prominently are three particular images; the sun, a hand, and a cloud of flame pouring out of a volcano. Not one of them is completely sure what the symbols mean. Whatever it was couldn't be good, fire and vampires do not mix. To Torrig, it almost seemed like a representation of a possible vampire apocalypse. Not one they cause, but one they will suffer, or did suffer, a long time ago. Past the ancient artwork, in the coldest recesses of the tunnels, Kagan waits impatiently for their news.

Cross legged on the dirty ground munching angrily on a screaming human, Kagan takes no notice of his subordinates' arrival. He is all but naked, wearing only a pair of badly torn, heavily stained underwear. Dried blood covers his brawny torso from stem to stern and a heap of emaciated corpses are piled to the ceiling in the far corner. Finishing off his current repast and casting its empty shell aside, he grunts loudly, glaring up at his guests with cold, red eyes, "Oh... What!?!" The aggression in his voice knocks some of the crowd right off their feet. Shivering in the presence of their ancient ancestor, many are unable to form a simple sentence. None are capable of meeting his savage gaze. Not at all impressed by their inherent weakness, he challenges them to act, "Did I not just ask a question!?! Is there nothing but mice standing here before me? Did you lot come into my home to stare at your feet or to tell me how the attack fared? Behave like my generals or I will make you my food!" He means what he says. Kagan is hungry and vampire blood tastes just as good, if not better than human. Either his generals will impress him with their strength or they will nourish him with their insides.

Scorned into action, Torrig is the first to speak up, "A massive success master. Scores of the human filth line the streets of Los Angeles. I personally left at least one hundred in my wake. As was your command, I made sure to leave as many wounded as I killed. A legion of fledglings will rampage in the aftermath." He is all but certain he will be greatly rewarded for his victorious boasting.

The pleased expression that Torrig was intending to illicit in his mentor does not materialize. Instead, he sees only a face brimming with condescension and homicidal rage. The master was expecting a much more respectful audience. Those who come before the forebear are meant to pay their patron the homage he so richly deserved. He is a God after all, the eldest, greatest member of the most perfect species the world has ever known. Animi, tractatori, humans, and the rest are all just meat and slaves to serve the interests of his mighty cabal.

Kagan lunges forward seizing Torrig by the crown of his head and crushes him downward. Knees buckle and tibias snap as the charred vampire is brought down into a prostrative pose.

"Have you all forgotten yourselves? You approach me as equals? None of you have earned the right to stand in my presence! What are you waiting for? Kneel!" Kagan's thunderous command shakes moss from the walls. Every single vampire in the cavern is cow towed into a pose of complete obeisance. All eyes shift their gaze down to the cave floor in fear. Satisfied enough by the gesture, Kagan once again turns his attention to Torrig, "Massive success? I find that hard to believe coming from you at this point, Torrig. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall that the last time we crossed paths you had a face. A right arm as well, yes? Explain. Were there emissaries protecting the humans in Los Angeles? I was given assurances by Ra that such a thing would not occur." That was the deal. Kagan and his people are free to cull the human population without reprisal by the emissaries, so long as they leave one specific human to Ra and Ra alone. The emissary leader wasn't clear on exactly what Archibald Angelista has done, but it must have been something huge. The only information Ra would volunteer is that he has stolen something, though he would not say what. It matters little to Kagan, so long as it kept Ra's zealots off of his back.

Still wincing in agony from his devastated legs, Torrig sputters out an answer, "Yes master. They took us by surprise and..." Torrig's words are a fabrication. His master can hear it in the cracking of his voice. Kagan interrupts the lies with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head, sending Torrig flying into the cave wall. Half a dozen ribs buckle against the cold stone.

"Do not lie to me Torrig. I can see the dishonesty in your weak absorbed eyes. Again I ask. What happened to you?" Seeing he cannot baffle Kagan with bullshit, he resigns himself to telling the truth. The melted vampire prays that his forebear will make death swift and painless.

"I was overconfident master. While my forces were beginning the offensive at the airport, I let down my guard and two of the humans retaliated. A good number of my lower level followers were killed. I am however, elated to report that I killed one of their mates and assimilated his children. The greasy spic will regret ever meeting me."

Kagan lets out a snort and goes on degrading the broken man, "One of their mates? You took revenge on one of them?! Pitiful! The fact that you were bested by a human is enough, but you only properly punished one?" A true member of his clan would have wiped every trace of the offenders off the face of the Earth. Blood vengeance was one of the vampire's proudest traditions, and Kagan's personal favourite hobby. Some of Torrig's words are strange to the ancient. Kagan's expression shifts to mild puzzlement. "Tell me something Torrig..."

"Anything master..."

"What is a 'greasy spic'?" So detached from the world of humans, he has no understanding of his Nazi subordinate's love for racial epithets. Torrig's fondness for racial diatribe of all kinds dates back to his time as a human. He always found reasons to feel superior, to act superior. And he always finds ways to punish those who are beneath him.

"They are a sub race of humans. A filthy, stinking, lazy mess of a species. A pile of nothing among nothings."

Hate speech is something the old one thoroughly enjoys. Hate in general puts a smile on the forebear's face. Kagan's confusion is replaced by amusement, "A human sub species? That makes no sense." He shrugs the comment off, "They all smell the same to me."

Talking about Ben and Juanito is causing the melted man to seethe with anger. The memory of his scalded flesh dripping off is still fresh in his mind. Overcome with indignation, Torrig howls, "It was a momentary lapse in judgement and it will never happen again. With your permission master, I would like to lead the charge in our attack on Mexico. Their entire culture must fall beneath me. I will have my justice for this!"

Kagan is not moved in the slightest by Torrig's request, and responds with a simple, "No."

Torrig can't believe what he's hearing. He was so certain he could convince the old one to let him run rampant through Latin America. Now babbling almost incoherently, he pleads with Kagan, "Look at what they have done to me master. All of my beautiful swastikas have been burned off! The honour of my ancestors demands retribution for this!" At the end of his rope with the whining of his scorched subordinate, Kagan asserts himself once again. Grasping Torrig's jaw in his right hand, he squeezes it just enough to splinter the bones, silencing the jilted Norseman.

Any decisions that need to be made about who attacks where will be made by Kagan alone, "Your ancestors Torrig? I am your ancestor! I could care less if the scribbles you chose to cover yourself with are gone. As far as I'm concerned it is a just reward for your own weakness. In your future assignments, whatever I choose them to be; you had better perform more effectively Torrig. If you don't, I might just have to eat you. Now hush, you are not the only one who came to speak to me today." He drops Torrig to the floor and turns his attention to the rest of the group. A collection of silent, wide eyed vampires struggle to find enough courage to speak. Kagan has no time for their pathetic gawking, "Well, let's hear it. From the looks of things, the rest of you aren't going to disappoint me quite as much as our Viking friend here. At the very least, you all still have faces."

Arturo Mastrolianni, commander of the Italian block is the first to step forward. He is adorned in his usual cardinal's robes replete with red cap and multiple shining gold crucifixes. Garb that Kagan has repeatedly mocked him for in the past. Christianity was a phenomenon the forebear loathed more than most. Today was not a day for Arturo to debate the legitimacy of the creator with his ancestor, but to celebrate their mutual victory. Calmly brushing his hair away from his face and puffing out his chest, he boasts, "Proudly, this humble servant reports that the offensive in Milan was a resounding success. The death toll was truly excellent. I do however have a small question about the format of the attack. I would have asked before we moved but I was denied an audience."

Kagan reluctantly indulges him, while making a mental note to rip his head off if he dares to use the word God in his oration, "Speak your piece." The cardinal has more than one question. There are a great many things he wants to ask. A contingent of vampires has tasked him with being their representative at this meeting. Many of the vampires he represented had no interest in cooperating with Kagan's genocidal urges. Human society offers so many comforts, killing them all off made no sense.

Arturo clears his throat and proceeds, "Why were we instructed to attack the commercial centres and avoid the most heavily populated areas of the city? Furthermore, why have us cease just before daybreak? With proper clothing and head coverings the sun's effects would have been negligible. We could have made a much stronger statement if we had left no one alive in the city at all."

Nodding, Kagan replies, "The point Arturo, is quite simple. Fear. By laying waste to all in our path but leaving the rest alive, we have created witnesses. Millions of terrified, destabilized witnesses. Combine with that the new fledglings that will frantically run amok seeking fresh food in the aftermath and you have a wonderful little combination. When they managed to re-establish their communications, the first thing the rest of the world saw was chaos, utter Chaos. Not just a pile of bodies." Kagan's mouth extends into a broad, sinister smile, "The retreat before dawn was orchestrated as a means of giving them just enough hope to drive them to fight back. I want them to make it interesting for me. You see, had we simply cut a bloody swath straight through their population immediately, they would have broken mentally too soon. They would chomp at the bit to surrender, to beg for considerations, to deal. So let them believe that we still fear the coming of the sun. Let them believe all of their ridiculous legends. To be quite honest, I've always loved that puzzled expression they get when they throw holy water at me and it doesn't work."

The cardinal did not expect a cogent answer. Arturo assumed the primitive one's reply would have been something to the tune of 'Me feel like it'. It was his plan to talk Kagan into a corner and change his mind. Such a thing is not to be. Flustered by his master's response, Arturo counters, "Wait, what? I thought the point of this endeavour was to leash the humans to our service. Those humans that are under my auspice are underground awaiting the establishment of the new order. Quick and voluntary surrender by the humans is the best option for all of us. Are you now telling me that it is your intention to actually eradicate them completely?"

Kagan was devoted to the prospect of the war. He had been plotting this offensive for hundreds of years. The attack has already been moved up a day due to the impetuousness of his closest ally, the mongrel father Ahmu. Ahmu was meant to wait his turn, but he didn't like taking orders and was already making a move in Africa. Kagan, and only Kagan, is allowed to draw first blood.

Every other facet of the war has to go down exactly as he wants it. No amount of cajoling from the cardinal will change a single thing. Kagan's laughs echo throughout the cave, "Eradicate them completely? No, they are far too delicious for that, but the herd has to be culled Arturo. Their civilization needs to crumble and die. This gilded cage that we have allowed them to build for themselves while we sit in the shadows and pluck them away in the night must be torn asunder. Institutions such as 'economy' and especially that ridiculous cult you're so fond of will be crushed under foot. The earth will return to its roots, when they were livestock and cheap labour, not the kings of the world."

Arturo did not like the idea of the abolishing his beloved church. It has afforded him such a pleasurable existence for so many years. The comfort and safety of religious authority needs to remain firmly within his hands. Becoming more disgusted by Kagan's ideology by the moment, Arturo decides to go on the offensive, "But there are alternatives! I have already spoken to all of my contacts within the world of business and government. They are willing to make provisos to accommodate your concerns with regard to the poisoning of the planet and overpopulation. I'm certain that the others here have done the same. This does not need to proceed any further than it already has. They know our strength now and they will listen!"

Arturo is growing increasingly desperate. What he expected would be a simple task is proving to be frustratingly complicated. Kagan is nowhere near prepared to change his mind, "That is inconsequential. What the insects you choose to patron are willing to do is of no concern to me or our race as a whole. If you truly wish to give them aid, then by all means recruit them. We will not, however, stay our hands or change our course of action. Besides that, the environmental nonsense was more for the benefit of the emissaries than for us."

A rush of disapproving chatter rises up from the onlookers and Arturo sees his chance to make his point, "This is madness. The destruction of humanity's entire civilization is a fool's errand. You forget yourself relic! None among us would ever sacrifice the existence we have created alongside the humans for some antiquated idea of running wild pounding our chests and hlll..."

Before he can finish his tirade, Kagan's fingertips slide into the centre of his windpipe. Arturo has pushed too hard and is about to learn the price of arguing with the master. Narrowly missing the arteries in the cardinal's neck so as not to kill him outright, Kagan quips, "You know, Arturo, it is quite disconcerting to see a man who once was the driving force behind two crusades suddenly lose his taste for genocide." He grabs onto Arturo's lower jaw and unhinges it in a single savage jerking motion. It slides apart with a deafening series of pops and clicks. Immobilized in terror, all the clergyman can do is shriek as Kagan claws open his face.

"Need I remind you, the reason you were all given your positions of authority was how much you have contributed to war in your own respective eras. Torrig here, for example, did a wonderful job inciting World War II. Let me take this opportunity to impress upon all of you, that if you cannot handle your duties, you are utterly replaceable." Kagan plunges his left hand deep into Arturo's wide open mouth. Inside up to the shoulder, he begins rooting around as if searching for something he dropped. Gurgling up blood and twitching violently, the horrified man struggles to push Kagan away.

"I have had more than I care to take from those among you who pine for your former human lives. Weak kneed children who bemoan the gift of immortality and bloated aristocrats who leverage their inner strength to achieve wealth and pointless political favours. We rule by naked force, not back alley manipulations and corporate pandering. The chalet that lies above my lair is a perfect example of the decadent weakness I so despise." Lifting his argumentative advisor's shaking body above his head; the forebear commences pulling out internal organs, piece by bloody piece. Each successive chunk of meat pulled out is thrown in the faces of one of the stunned onlookers. Kagan knows just how to make his point.

"Take a good look at this!" He holds the rattling corpse of the cardinal aloft and tears it in half at the waist, drenching himself in its warm, wet liquid. A thick red torrent cascades across the floor of the cave. The limp severed halves of the body are pitched onto the corpse pile in the corner and land with a sticky squish. An invigorated Kagan bellows at the top of his lungs, "This is what we are! We are predators and the humans are prey! Nothing more! To deviate from this philosophy is to deny our basest existence. Any other dissenters will meet exactly the same fate as our dear departed Arturo." The display has its intended effect. Whether by fear, or an instinctual pleasure response to the bloodbath, all other vampires in attendance fall in line. A round of thunderous applause erupts among the attendees.

"Well, does anyone else have anything to contribute to the conversation? No? Good. I suggest then that the rest of you commence preparations for our assault on the eastern bloc. Do not presume this battle will be as easy as attacking the humans, your cousins will be ready and waiting for you. We move on Japan in two days. Be gone from my sight." Torrig and the remainder of the supplicants gather themselves and vacate the tunnel as quickly as they can.

Moments later, one of Kagan's many slaves stumbles into the room carrying the clothing he uses for his internet announcements, "The camera crew is waiting for you in the foyer upstairs master. Here are your vestments. What will you be posting today?"

Kagan snatches the suit and jewelry from the shivering human, "Oh, just to wish luck to an old friend of mine. Something very interesting will be starting in Africa today. It is critical that our allies know we do not intend to interfere in their affairs, lest they decide to move too far north and interfere in ours." While Ahmu's lack of patience had pushed up the attack, it was the better part of valour to wish him luck anyhow. The last thing Kagan wants is an influx of mongrels in his newly conquered Europe.

Befuddled by the concept that he would cooperate with anyone, the slave asks, "Allies master? What allies?" Kagan scoffs at the question and throws on his clothing in the blink of an eye.

"Oh, just a pack of rabid dogs. My favourite kind of dog as you might imagine." Nodding his head at the vague comment, the slave turns to leave. Kagan puts an outstretched hand on the man's shoulder, "There is one more thing I require of you, servant."

"Yes master?" Grinning with every row of teeth, he whispers into the slave's ear.

"I'm still quite hungry."
CHAPTER 6

Shouting is an all too common method of communication within the four walls of the United Nations Office at Nairobi. Subject matter varies from day to day, but what to do about a worldwide vampire attack has never before been the topic of discussion. Delegates from all corners of the continent bellow unintelligible accusations back and forth in a cacophony of dialects. Frazzled interpreters struggle valiantly to create some semblance of real communication amongst the insanity, while throngs of angry protestors outside hurl rocks and rhetoric filled slogans at the windows of the building.

Oppressive heat from the morning sun is doing nothing to ease the situation. Beads of sweat trickle down the brows of the panicked politicians. The air is thick with the potent reek of body odour. No amount of air conditioning or cold water could give relief from the overwhelming stress and temperature.

The emergency meeting was called at dawn as the reports began coming in from around the globe that what was thought to be a tawdry hoax was actually a brutal reality. Screens in the centre of the room display a cavalcade of haunting images. World news agencies estimate the death tolls in the millions. Streets painted red with stacks of bodies on every corner are the feature presentation. Paranoid survivors are turning on each other and relief personnel, leading to violent standoffs in many major cities. The only bright point appears to be that just before daybreak the monsters retreated. So at least for now, under the blistering Kenyan sun, they were safe.

As the initial shock wears off, the room quiets enough for individuals to be heard above the crowd. Most delegates are calling for a full scale mobilization of their respective militaries. The more paranoid in the room are claiming their rivals across the floor are in collusion with the creatures. A select few are optimists, pointing out that none of the previous night's attacks occurred in Africa. Inflammatory rhetoric and political posturing are interrupted by the doors to the chamber swinging wide open. All eyes turn to the pair of strangers calmly walking in.

Entering first is a short Hindi woman in a flowing, floor length golden gown. Delicate embroidery stretches from the plunging neckline down the front of her dress. She is a singular vision of immaculate beauty. Soft, supple lips painted in a ruby hue beckon to be kissed, with eyes of a magnificent ochre that sparkle in the fluorescent light. Shimmering ebony hair is tied up in an elaborate sequence of jewelled barrettes and topped with a diamond encrusted tiara. Her wrists and fingers are draped in a king's ransom worth of platinum and white gold. Curves that defy gravity and a bone structure that defines symmetry move with lyrical grace to the centre of the room. She is a blinding mixture of perfect aesthetics and metallic glimmer.

Walking just behind her is a striking figure of a very different kind. He is dressed in full camouflage fatigues and body armor bearing the flag of the Ivory Coast, an assault rifle slung over each shoulder. Six foot five and built like a tank, each step he takes reverberates in the chamber. A rough onyx complexion accentuates the intimidating nature of his visage. From the look on his face, you could swear somebody just killed his mother. Looking into his eyes feels like staring directly into a pair of hungry black holes. Low threatening growls rumble intermittently from his throat.

The stunned crowd fluctuates between ogling one and averting their gaze from the other. Upon reaching the middle of the room, he picks her up by the waist and perches her on top of the highest point he can reach. She crosses her legs casually and examines her fingernails for a moment before speaking, "Good morning. I'm certain you all have a great number of questions regarding what has been happening of late. I am here to help answer those questions."

A representative from Ethiopia is the first to respond to her, "Who are you exactly and what do you think you're doing? You can't just walk in here without a pass and commandeer the session. This is an emergency summit!" She answers him without bothering to meet his gaze.

"Yes, it is an emergency summit, one that I myself convened. I'm not commandeering it, I'm moving it forward. My name is Bashina Gautama and what I think I'm doing is informing you all of the great threat looming on the horizon." Though they did not know it, every resolution that has ever passed by this human assembly had to meet her personal approval. Bashina has been influencing nations and their policies for quite some time. There are a number of her followers planted in every major government on Earth. This summit is no exception to that rule.

The politician counters, "So does that mean you have some form of intelligence on the vampires? Are you one of them perhaps?"

It is a laughable suggestion. Bashina has despised vampires for a long time, all of her kind does. They call vampires muck leeches, bottom feeding filth that live in shadow and prey on the weak. She adjusts a few of her bracelets while explaining, "While I do have some information on the night children, I did not come here to discuss them specifically. In answer to your question; no, I'm not one of them. There is the much more imminent problem of the coming mongrels to attend to." Kagan will need to be handled much later. If she's lucky, the Asian vampire clan will step in and take care of Kagan for her.

Anxious musings come from the audience as another man jumps into the conversation, "Well, let's have this so called information then, but as a point of order I would like the Intel on the vampires first." Several of his colleagues stomp their feet fervently in agreement with his motion.

Bashina does her best to stifle her contempt for the human politicians. They're focusing on the wrong enemy and wasting valuable time. As a responsible regent, she has love enough for all of the peoples under her banner, humans included. Sometimes it exhausted her though. Bashina tends to look at ordinary humans much the same way that a human looks at a house cat. The urge to roll up a news paper and swat the delegate on the head crosses her mind more than once. She settles on simply rolling her eyes and answering the question in the most condescending tone she can manage, "The terrorist attacks that took place yesterday were the work of a group of vampires originating in Eastern Europe. It is nowhere near over. Their leader, whom I assume you are all familiar with from his ridiculous website, has no intention of stopping. Not before your race has returned him to the mantle of godhood he misses so much. He is ancient, powerful and relentless. His army is quite substantial and growing steadily as his followers assimilate the numerous humans sworn to their service. That being said, they are also completely disinterested in the continent of Africa. This territory has been claimed by another. Now if I could please get back to the real reason for this meeting."

She waves her hand at her hulking associate and he produces a thumb drive. Plugging the drive into a nearby computer, the images on the room's screens switch to a singular three dimensional representation. The image is of a biped covered in brown and white fur with dark spots. An elongated snout ends in a round wet black nose. A wide leathery tongue hangs from a mouth pouring buckets of drool. Viciously pointed incisors stick out of the animal's under bit jaw at awkward angles. Long slender arms taper into sets of razor sharp hook like claws. The creature is undeniably canine.

A woman seated near Bashina asks, "So the threat in Africa is werewolves? I assume you have some sort of proof besides the photograph."

Werewolves. A term that the empress has hated ever since humans started using it. The mere implication that wolves were somehow a unique species bothered her immensely. Were there time, she would have the woman flogged for using the word in her presence. Bashina crosses her arms and scolds the delegate, "I will thank you not to use racial slurs madam. My people are not were creatures. The actual term is animi. This particular breed you are looking at is not a wolf."

Stunned by the curt admission, the woman hesitantly queries, "So you're one of these animi, then? Have you come here to help or hinder us? Your companion seems like he's here to slaughter everyone in the room." This is a common problem in werewolves. His breed does have a rather significant issue with anger management, particularly those who suffer from his specific medical condition. Some refer to it as being afflicted with 'the hollow place', others call it being 'rage drunk'. Whatever name given to it, the symptoms ware always the same; hyper aggressiveness, the loss of compassion, and erectile dysfunction to name just a few. Given the situation, his less than friendly demeanor is not helping anything and it needs to be addressed.

Bashina shoots an annoyed look at her bodyguard and attempts to reassure her audience, "As I previously alluded to, I came here to warn you, not harm you. My guardian is merely excitable due to the imminent battle. We are not members of the horde. Their leader Ahmu has been odds with me personally for generations." More than generations, their feud has lasted thousands of years. Until recently, they have been coasting along in a nice comfortable stalemate. Kagan's recent ambitions provided a perfect excuse for Ahmu to go on a long overdue rampage.

She points at the screens and continues her lecture, "These are an extremely volatile subspecies. Their inner animal is a mixture of jackal and hyena. Picture, if you will, a herd of one million wild dogs infected with rabies. They have no direction, no agenda; just the overwhelming urge to eat, fornicate and kill, in no particular order. Negotiation is impossible because the only thing they truly want is carnage. Combine that with the fact that they can pass the affliction on by simply biting or scratching a human being one time and you have a recipe for a tidal wave of death. On top of the primary force of mongrels, they do have various members from other types, lower order felines and vermin mostly."

Her message comes across and the humans start to panic. The mild aroma of fear in the room is becoming a potent stench. She hopes the humans will embrace that fear and heed her warning. A Nigerian member asks Bashina bluntly, "Well, what kind of animals are you two then? Do you expect us to believe that you are the warm and cuddly type of man eating monster? I certainly hope you have more to offer us than a warning."

They are fair questions that she is more than happy to answer. None are prouder of their inner self than Bashina. Her breed is synonymous with the mantle of leadership and beauty. Sitting up tall and beaming with pride, she boasts, "My inner beast is a Bengali tiger, and my burly friend Jean Charles here is a wolf, as you can see."

She snaps her fingers at her subordinate and he nods assent. Letting out a pained grunt, Jean's body contorts and changes shape. His muscles expand exponentially while his head lengthens and he grows a full two feet taller. The sounds of bones cracking and grinding against one another fill the room. What stands before the congregation looks somewhat like the hominid on the screens, but substantially larger, with pure black fur, cleaner features and straighter teeth.

The crowd stirs in fear but Bashina does her best to relieve their stress, "Relax, everyone, he's not going to hurt you unless you give him a good reason. We are not here to harm anyone. What we came to offer is an opportunity for you to ally yourselves with us against our common enemy, and information on how to properly fight them."

The moment has come to give the humans some practical advice. Jean Charles steps up and speaks for the first time. His deep, booming voice fills the room, "The only proper way to kill an animi is massive trauma. Best options are destroying the brain or spinal column. This can be done a number of ways, but the simplest options are large calibre gunfire to the brain at close range, decapitation with a blade or if possible blowing them to bits. Attacking the organs in the chest cavity won't even slow one down, so don't even bother. Also avoid small firearms, as all animi regenerate and superficial wounds like bullet holes close in a matter of a few seconds. Any human who is scratched or bitten by a mongrel but does not die is to be considered a viable target. As harsh as it sounds, you must kill the wounded promptly, or risk them turning shortly thereafter." His last piece of advice is the most important. Bashina has invested hundreds of years and billions of dollars trying to find a way to cure or stop the transmission of the mongrel genes. There wis absolutely no way. The afflicted were doomed to be mongrels until the sweet release of death.

Another member of the crowd asks Jean a question, "Why wait until the last minute to tell us all this? Wouldn't it have been better to come out to the world when the vampires first posted the initial internet video?" If only the situation were that simple. Their own intelligence network barely managed to warn them about it. Many of their operatives died finding out what little they did know.

Bashina and her closest advisers were hoping to manage the situation without alerting any human authorities to their presence. When the scope of what's coming became clear, there was no alternative. It has been ages since the preternaturals have been known openly to the human race, but the time has come once again to sunder the veil. Jean's answer to the delegate is resigned and calm, "We had hoped that Kagan was bluffing, this level of open aggression has not been undertaken by a preternatural species in centuries. We ourselves were not aware that Ahmu was cooperating with him until we intercepted communications between the two of them twenty four hours ago. From what we could ascertain, the mongrels intend to commence their attack sometime today, at this exact location. There is precious little time here people. Those of you who have military contacts, call them now. The rest of you should evacuate as quickly as possible. All hell is about to break loose."

Overcome with disbelief, the Nigerian politician demands, "You expect us to believe that something as randomly violent as these 'mongrels' you describe have existed under the nose of humanity for years? Don't make me laugh!"

"Have you ever heard stories of the police death squads here in Kenya? Or Sudan? The Ton Ton Macoute of Haiti? Stories of human barbarity that defy all reason and logic. Savage rapes, torture and murders committed with no remorse. All witnesses butchered, limbs stapled to trees, intestines hung from clothes lines. Even your nation's famous Nigerian mafia is a haven for them. Ahmu and his chosen don't conceal themselves. The simple fact is every human who has ever seen one is either stone dead or has been brought into the fold. Choose to ignore us if you like, but don't come crying to me when your children are being barbequed in the street." The wolf is actually underselling it. The full scope of mongrel atrocities are beyond his ability to describe in words. To truly understand it, one would have to witness it first hand as he has.

Seeing the sincerity in Jean's obsidian eyes, the minister accepts it, "Alright then. So do you have a proper military to support us?"

Indeed she does. Millions strong and well armed. Her nearly unlimited assets affords her troops every available technological advantage. Bashina wastes no time in replying loudly to the question, "What kind of empress would I be if I didn't have an army? I'm sorry to say that not all of my warriors are with us just now. It will take at least a couple of days to rally them. My air force is ready to cover your respective escapes, but I cannot guarantee your safety if you choose to remain in Nairobi. This city is already lost." The politicians scramble for the nearest exit, many making panicked phone calls to their underlings or next of kin. A waiting fleet of helicopters ferries the majority of them out of the city. Some refuse to leave, unwilling to abandon their posts in a time of crisis. Jean Charles gets on his comms and tells all of his soldiers in the area to prepare themselves. The enemy is close by-he can already smell them.
CHAPTER 7

An uneasy silence has fallen over the UN assembly room since the departing of its human politicians. Jean Charles has spent the few moments since, organizing a perimeter out of the nearly one hundred wolves and felines of his regent's personal guard. All units reporting in have caught the scent of the approaching jackals, but none can pinpoint exactly where it's coming from. The local army, as well as a contingent of UN peacekeepers, are dispersing in the area to provide some support. Mounting tension is making even the most seasoned veterans among them jumpy.

Jean turns to Bashina, "There is no reason for you to be present for the battle. You should board your transport and get out of the area highness. If Ahmu is with the invasion force, his primary goal will be getting to you." Her safety is paramount to him. Every single human in the city meant nothing compared to the life of his queen. Bashina is not to be dissuaded. No one on Earth could hope to change her mind. She hops down from her perch to chastise him.

"I am well aware of the risk involved with remaining here, Jean. Unfortunately, if they do not key upon my scent and focus their efforts on this building, they will turn their immediate attention to the civilians in the area. You know as well as I do what kind of slaughter would follow. A true leader never abandons her subjects in a time of crisis. These people may not know my name, but they fall under the umbrella of my protection nonetheless. I can and will stay right here until I am satisfied the populace has been given ample time to evacuate." She has always taken her responsibility to her people with the utmost seriousness. The empress is no stranger to conflict. Never in her long life has she ever turned away from danger. Approaching Jean calmly, she touches her palm to the centre of his chest and looks him square in the eyes, "If the mongrel father is here Jean, I need your assurance that you will remain of sound mind. This is about saving as many lives as we can. It is not the staging ground for your own personal revenge. I know better than any other what you have lost to him, and the time for retribution will come, but not today. Delay their advance, occupy their forces, but do lose yourself in the carnage. You're too important to our cause, to me, to waste yourself in a battle we have no hope of winning."

They are like family. Circumstance have tied them closely together for more than two centuries. Bashina is the closest thing to a mother he's ever had. The fear of failing his matron terrifies him. He shrinks back from her touch and averts his eyes from her gaze. Stomping angrily away from her, he barks, "Do not ask me to make promises that you know I can't keep. If nothing else, you can use me as an effective distraction to cover your escape. The stink of them is too strong for him to not be here. Were he absent, his followers would not have been able to refrain from attacking already."

Looking out the window at the main grounds, he intently watches the peacekeepers attempting to disperse the crowd of protestors that have gathered outside the building. On close inspection, he notices several of the protestors covertly drawing syringes from their pockets and injecting themselves in the neck. He yells into his radio, "The protestors, it's the damn protestors! All units fire at will!" He shoots out the windows and leaps down into the fray, firing wild with both of his assault rifles. Several protestors' heads shred to ribbons and the crowd scatters. Those that have injected themselves, however, fly into a violent tremor, frothing at the mouth and squealing at a deafening volume. Backs sprout thick fur coats and jagged claws extend from knuckles.

Those in the throes of the psychotic fit pay no mind to Jean's advance or the crossfire from the peacekeepers and lunge headlong at the nearest soldiers. A collection of fur covered rubber balls bound from victim to victim indiscriminately tearing into flesh with tooth and claw. Numerous peacekeepers acquire minor injuries in just the first few seconds. Realizing the mongrel's initial goal is to spread their taint, Jean does what he can to keep them off the remainder of the soldiers. Two mongrels dive open mouthed at Jean, only to be intercepted mid flight by a stream of hot lead pouring from his machine guns.

He tracks down the nearest uninjured soldiers and explains as best he can, "We have to shoot all the wounded in the head as soon as possible." Looking back at Jean in utter disbelief, the soldiers shake their heads. In between bursts of cover fire he gestures at a man bleeding on the ground fifteen feet away. The poor unfortunate soul is rolling back and forth convulsing, howling at the top of his lungs. If agony has a face, then this is it. His body is contracting and expanding in pulsating waves. The sound of his bones crunching and shifting can be heard over the constant gunfire. With each passing moment, the man is showing more mongrel like traits, the snout is fully formed and fur is growing on all of his extremities. Bucking about wildly, he slams his head against the cement, creating several abrasions that close almost as soon as they open. When the writhing subsides, the man drags himself to his feet and bares his new teeth at Jean. One clear shot straight to the eyes and it drops to the ground dead.

Jean turns to the peacekeepers, "It has to be done. Leave the wounded alive and they will just become one of them." Both men nod and they begin summarily executing the nearby affected soldiers as Jean provides cover fire. It is impossible to prevent the change in all of the afflicted men. For every one they manage to put down, two are undergoing the full mutation. There is a brand new cadre of rabid jackals running wild throughout the complex. The mongrel taint is spreading to the defence forces at an exponential rate. In less than five minutes, the entire outer contingent of soldiers is either butchered or afflicted, save for the two flanking the wolf.

Jean pulls out his radio, "Perimeter is breached! All available units converge on the concourse. Evacuate the empress immediately; the enemy is already making its way into the building. Be advised, the mongrels are juicing. Repeat, they are juicing."

A jackal streaks by and slashes his human helpers open. He spins around to face them, guns drawn. Pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. They have to die. He incapacitates both men with the butt of his guns. One foot on each chest and a barrel to each forehead, he says, "Sorry gentlemen, nothing personal." He ends them mercifully before they have time to begin the painful transition into a new member of the horde. A quick rifle check yields unwelcome news, he's out of ammunition. As a temporary measure, he takes the guns of the corpses at his feet, and makes his way back towards the UN building.

Reaching the threshold of the door, he hears over the radio, "The Karura forest! Good god, look at the forest!" He turns on a dime and surveys the edge of the Karura adjacent to the UN building. What he sees is not a majestic green tree line, but an advancing wall of flying fur and gnashing teeth. The main force of the mongrels is bursting forth from within the recesses of the man made forest. Jackals, vermin, and rabid felines stream out in an almost endless supply. Half of the horde rushes towards the UN, while the rest break off and head out into the city.

Jean screams into his comms, "All RPGs and available gunships open fire on the group approaching the UN. Ground forces converge on my position. We make a stand for as long as possible, but transports must remain ready to evacuate at a moment's notice." Jean knows full well that the guns in his hands are woefully inadequate for the task at hand. Tossing the firearms aside he unzips his jacket and casts it aside. All the courage within him is called upon as he frees the beast within. Adrenaline surges and seething anger rips through his body as the wolf climbs to the surface. The remainder of Bashina's guard in the area appear to back Jean up, all donning their true faces as well.

Air support responds quickly, and two fighter jets swoop overhead, dropping a sizable payload of bombs at the centre of the horde. Hundreds of mongrels are blown apart on impact, body parts launched into the air all around. A volley of rocket propelled grenades from the upper floors of the building follows, splintering the horde's front line.

The scent of their allies cooked flesh in the air only serves to further excite the mass of lunatics. Many pick up the broken pieces of their fallen comrades to use as clubs, or simply stop to indulge in a cannibalistic snack. Nothing will deter them from their killing spree. Their father has called for slaughter, and that's exactly what they're going to give him.

Inside the UN assembly building, Bashina is being escorted to her transport on the roof. She is not moving with any sense of urgency, much to the displeasure of her private guard. They try valiantly to hasten her pace, but to no avail. Stopping at a window to observe what is transpiring outside, she shakes her head fervently. Not at all impressed by how the battle is going, she grumbles to herself.

"Failure, complete failure. We haven't even slowed them down. If this is the best we can do, this continent is doomed." Her ruminations are interrupted by two dozen newly turned jackals breaking down the door of a nearby service stairwell. They pile into the corridor, sniffing curiously about. Their intended target is nearby. Cackling and frothing at the mouth, they rush blindly ahead. Overwhelmed by numbers, her bodyguards are torn into pieces, leaving the ostentatious empress all alone. Standing over the bodies of her protectors, but entirely un-phased, she mutters, "Very well then children, who's first?"

An outstretched left arm backhands the closest target, firing it straight backwards like a rocket. Momentum carries the body through those standing behind and it slams into the wall at the end of the corridor with a bone curdling crunch. Another moves on her and is caught by the throat effortlessly. The empress tosses it upwards against the ceiling, snapping its neck like a brittle branch.

They move to surround her, jumping up and down. Pacing around her in small circles, they hiss and spit bile. Bashina pays them no mind and continues casually walking toward the exit to the roof. Any mongrel that steps within her arms reach is obliterated with a simple flick of the wrist. By the time she makes it to the rooftop, only two jackals remain. One hangs its head and runs for its life, whimpering like a wounded puppy. The final one makes a last ditch effort to bite at her femoral artery. Snagging its snout in her palm she twists the head counter clockwise, severing the spine at the base of its neck. After its limp husk hits the ground, she pushes one of her heels through the temple for good measure.

The empress saunters up to the helicopter and climbs inside, motioning for the pilot to take off. Once she's in the air the all retreat order is given. She tries to raise Jean over the comms, but he does not respond. With the horde overrunning the entire complex, there is no time to wait.

Flying over the city, it is clear that her plan to draw them away from the civilian areas has been an utter failure. A steady stream of the drooling masses has been snaking its way through the most heavily populated areas. By the end of the day, as many as half of the city's three million residents would be mongrels themselves.

Five minutes into the brutal melee on the ground, and Jean has had very little opportunity to let loose his anger upon the enemy. Much to his substantial frustration, they appear to be circling around him and focusing on the others in the area. Try as he might to slash and snap at his opponents, they go hopping by, yipping happily. Many stop to mock him with obscene gestures and vulgar insults.

The support troops he had are laid to waste on the ground. Morsels of their remains are being passed around so that all can savour the taste of victory. Growing ever closer to the tipping point with every passing moment, Jean tries desperately to get his hands on someone, anyone at all. Scores of jackals whip by laughing at his wasted efforts. Heart pounding a hole in his chest, he catches a distinctive scent in the air. It is a very familiar scent, an unmistakeable mixture of rotting corpses, tannin and dried blood. Stale death tinged with the odour of paralysing fear milked from a million victims. There is no denying it, the mongrel father Ahmu is nearby. One whiff is all it takes to send Jean's over revved mind screaming over the edge.

He lets out an ear piercing howl to the sky and runs full tilt at the source of the aroma. When the all retreat order comes, he pays it no mind. Bashina's cloying voice booming over the radio is summarily ignored. Nothing on earth will deter him from his set course. He will have his long awaited payback or he will die in the attempt.

Lowering his head, he charges madly at the enemy lines. Before he manages to make contact with them, they all hop out of the way like an army of hyperactive matadors. Hundreds of yards are cleared and he enters into the Karura forest at incredible speed. Just on the horizon, his quarry is waiting, arms outstretched and eager to embrace him.

When the net snaps out in front of him, there is no time to adjust. No teeth, or claw can rip a hole in the mesh enveloping him. At long last, the mongrels take an interest, swarming like a cloud of locusts. With the mob kicking and punching him relentlessly from all angles, he blacks out. Battered and unconscious, they drag him towards their expectant leader.
CHAPTER 8

Jean comes to in a muddled haze. Wounds have healed but his mind is still reeling from shock. Synapses swimming in endorphins and adrenaline have yet to adjust.

The chaos within the city can be heard off in the distance, but in the immediate area all is calm and green. A slight breeze and the shade of the canopy overhead provide a welcome break from the searing heat. While his body cools, the boiling rage that consumed him slowly subsides.

Ahmu's stench is still there, so pronounced that it stings his eyes. He does all he can to ignore it. Regaining control of himself, he attempts to get back to his feet. Any slight movement is met with an intense onrush of pain. Every inch of his frame has been wrapped up in a spool of barbed wire. Tiny beads of blood trickle out of a hundred different shallow slits in his skin.

Splayed out flat on his back with his arms out at his sides, he is fastened down on a makeshift cross fashioned out of traffic signs. A blurry head comes into his field of vision, "Good morning. Did you miss me my boy?" Ahmu's fetid breath assaults Jean's senses. Tinges of sulphur and half digested rotten flesh dominate the gastric bouquet. Jean fights the urge to vomit, but is consumed by a fit of dry heaves. The ensuing contortions dig the wire deeper into his mutilated torso. His tortured grunts illicit a wave of appreciation from the nearby mongrels.

"Brothers and sisters let me once again present to you all, my prodigal son. Once, he was a great and powerful wolf among our beautiful family. Now nothing more than a lap dog to the preening bitch from the north!" Howling and curses erupt from the twitching onlookers. Many throw chunks of mud and meat at Jean. "He was a real leader, once. A true, shining example of what it means to be an alpha."

Those days are long gone now. Bashina took him in and taught him to be decent again. Gave him back the human side he lost under Ahmu's control. The mongrel father leans down so he can look at Jean eye to eye, "Look at him now. Weak, spineless, and beaten. Nothing more than another meal for the family. So far has he fallen that he would pledge his allegiance to a cat! On that note, how is mommy... hmmm? Close by, yes? I can smell the tramp's cheap perfume all about you."

"She is gone from this place! By now she is out of the country. You'll never have her!" Provoking the monster is not a wise decision, but Jean simply can't help himself. With mongrels, torture is inevitable. He may as well get the ball rolling now.

Ahmu slaps him across the face and says with perfect aplomb, "No matter where she goes or how fast she runs I will always find her. Nothing in this world will keep me from my 'little shiny eyes'. Today was not about her. Today is about the family. Today is about you and me. It's been too long and you need to return to your rightful place. I have a special legion chosen just for you. You'll love them, they're quite efficient." Ahmu has coveted the return of his favourite alpha since the instant they parted ways. There will be a reckoning for keeping his boy away from him. 'Shiny eyes' would pay a dear price a thousand times over for interfering in family business.

"I will never again serve your desires. I have grown past the evil you forced into me. Kill me now. There is nothing you can do to sway me back to your side." The mongrel father chuckles and slaps him again.

"I have broken your will once before, Jean. I can just as easily do so again. I've been planning this for quite some time. The great feasting I've been looking forward to for so long has arrived. You will be a part of it, whether you like it or not." There were plans. Some were simple, others elaborate, but one of them would work. Ahmu would show his boy all the fun he'd been missing in his absence. Writhing helplessly under the wires, Jean remains indignant.

"When we first met, I was weak, a frightened puppy wandering the Serengeti. There is nothing left you can do to shock me." Raucous laughter rises out of Ahmu's children. A small group move forward to lift the cross up into a standing position and root it to the ground. They step back quickly and take turns licking up the blood that has pooled in the dirt where he was laid out. Now held upright, he manages to get a good look at his captor.

An aura of glowing green emanates from within the lowered hood that obscures his face. He is standing hunched over and adorned in a long double breasted over coat stitched out of flayed human skin. Seams run in a jigsaw pattern between a collage of severed faces on his chest. Intestines have been wrapped around his neck into a makeshift scarf, with digestive juices still dripping down his front. A rainbow of bodily fluids cover his twisted form. The slender curved claws topping his fingers are sticky with what's left of today's kill. Fingers jammed in Jean's chest, he goes back to his proselytizing.

"If what you say is true, then how were we able to trap you so easily today? I knew before we even began that you could never resist the urge to throw yourself at me. I simply sat and waited for you to come. All that rage and absolutely no self control. It's like you never left us at all. I'm so proud of you." He slowly slides back his hood and moves forward to licks Jean's face. Skin is peeled off in strips by the blistered sand papery tongue.

"Keep away from me, you disgusting monster. I swear I'll find a way to kill you. I will survive and I will find a way." Ahmu's reaction is jovial and enthusiastic; forcing the hate to the surface is exactly what he wants.

"You continue to show just how little you've changed. So cute you are." He presses his fingers hard against Jean's heart, "I am and always will be right here. I own you. So far as your intention to kill me, that's always been the quality in you that I admired the most." Removing his skin jacket, he tosses it casually aside. Greasy silver fur with black spots reflects sunlight about the area like a mirror. His body is covered in filthy mats and missing patches. Ahmu steps a few feet back from Jean, "I've never been one to turn down a challenge, Jean. While we're here, I may as well indulge your pathetic revenge fantasy." He waves to his nearby followers, "Go ahead and cut him down. Circle up kiddies, daddy is going to give you a show."

Some of the mongrels produce bolt cutters and snip Jean down from the cross. Each section of wire cut is a sigh of relief, and soon he is freed from his prison. While Jean's wounds close, Ahmu begins tossing an assortment of weapons at his feet. Guns, knives, and a variety of improvised bludgeons litter the ground.

"Take whatever you think will help, my boy. I'll even give you a few free shots, just to make it interesting. I recommend aiming here." He touches his fingers to his own temples and eye sockets, "Whenever you're ready, my son. Whenever you're ready."

Jean completely ignores the weapons. Instead, he charges forward swinging wildly with his bare claws. Rending flesh from his enemy's face and chest, he digs in as quickly and savagely as he can. Ahmu does not move, he does not even flinch. The more Jean strikes him, the louder he laughs, "Ha! Yes my boy! Very good! Again!" With each successive swing, Jean loses more steam. The ferocity within him as the attack began quickly dwindles into nothing. Every wound he inflicts disappears in the blink of an eye. Gathering what strength he has left, Jean swings downward with both paws, nearly cutting off Ahmu's left arm. It dangles precariously by a few miniscule threads of tissue.

Ahmu stumbles back, laughing hysterically, "Is that really it? This is all that you have for me? After all we've been through, I give you the best chance you will ever have, and all you can manage is one arm? If you set your mind to it you can do better. Here, eat this and try again." Ahmu grabs onto his left shoulder with his own right hand. He tears the arm clean off and lobs lazily it at Jean. The appendage lands with a splat in the mud at his feet. Disgusted by the display, Jean kicks the limb aside into the crowd.

"I would never taste your flesh, not even if my life depended on it."

What ensues is a full blown riot, as every mongrel in the area tries desperately to get a taste of their king's own flesh. Dozens are killed attempting to get so much as a single lick. The fallen are pounced on by their surviving brethren. Ahmu is titillated by what he sees, "Oh, look at that! It's dinner and a show now! Good old fashioned family fun time! Take my children, eat. Daddy can always grow more."

From the left shoulder socket, the beginnings of a bone start to protrude. In seconds, it has extended into a fully formed skeletal arm. Layers of muscle and sinew inflate around the skeleton like balloons. An intricate tapestry of veins and vessels spread through the new limb before it's wrapped up in a brand new set of skin and fur.

Ahmu grins at his replacement arm, "Ah, good as new. Are you sure you don't want any Jean?" He bites a gaping hole into his own wrist, "I can assure you that I'm delicious."

Jean is, for the first time in his four hundred years, completely at a loss for words. He was so certain that if he'd had ample opportunity that he could put Ahmu down. Here he was, given a free chance to do as he wanted with no retaliation, and nothing had been accomplished. The best he had was nowhere near good enough. A wave of hopelessness washes over him, and he falls to his knees.

"Yes, there it is my boy. Seeing just how futile your objections are? All of this humiliation can end if you simply accept who you were meant to be. Swear obedience to daddy again. We will kill our way across the planet together Jean. Take my hand, let it be so." Every memory of his time with the horde flashes before his eyes. Every torched village, every child passed around the feeding circle, all of it enters his consciousness at once. Resolved to die rather than serve, he goes back on the offensive, "Never again! I will die here on the ground before I ever commit another atrocity in your name! I am sworn to the service of her majesty."

Having lost patience with the endless objections of his former lieutenant, Ahmu decides to start taking their duel seriously. In a full forward roll he kicks as hard as he can with both heels, striking Jean in the gut and lifting him off his feet. In midair, Ahmu grabs a hold of his ankles and slams him into the ground in rapid succession. With each impact, the surrounding mongrels become increasingly excited. They're certain that prodigal wolf will be on the menu for the evening.

"You and my former concubine need to accept something Jean. Africa is mine. It has always been mine. It will still be mine millennia after both of you have perished from this earth. The sooner you clue in to reality, the easier it will be for all of us." He stomps down hard on the back of Jean's head, pressing his face deep in the dirt. Jean sputters and spits up clumps of soil.

"You have both forgotten your place, but that's OK. It will be a simple matter retraining you. Tie him back up as before, children." A new spool of barbed wire is slung around, binding him even tighter to the cross than before. Hoisted up on the shoulders of several mongrels, they carry him, following closely behind Ahmu. He points towards the UN building in the distance, "You will hang above the city Jean. You will see everything that happens to the people of Nairobi. They will suffer and die. They will scream for mercy. You will watch it all and you will remember who you truly are. Though you may be able to resist your true self at first, days and weeks on the cross will wear on you. The longer you hang, the hungrier you will be. One can only be tempted by the smell of good food for so long before he eats Jean. When starvation and fear take you over, you will call out to me, and we will be together again." Ahmu caresses his cheek and looks deep into his black eyes. Soon he would reclaim his prodigal son.

As much as he wished it were a lie, Jean can feel the truth in his enemy's words. Pangs of hunger are becoming a serious concern. Pain and exertion have stripped away what strength he had left. Feeding is becoming an internal obsession. Left out in the open in a city full of humans, it would not be long before he began consuming them. It has been decades since he feasted on a human being. He swore never to cross that line again, but his mouth is watering at the mere thought.

Plans of escape begin to form in his mind. Could there be a loose strand of wire? Perhaps he could domineer some of the weaker minded jackals into letting him go? There must be a way. Backup should come eventually, but when and how much?

A swarm of jets whizzes by overhead. The Karura forest is lit up like a Christmas tree with dozens of high explosive rounds making landfall all at once. Jean and his cross are flung into a tree by the concussive blast.

Startled mongrels try desperately to regain their bearings in the midst of a hellish firestorm. A pair of attack helicopters hover above the field and let loose with their mounted machine guns, thinning the crowd around where Jean has landed. Commandos repel down out of one helicopter and attach a cable to Jean's cross. The strike is surgically efficient, disrupting the horde just enough to facilitate the extraction.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Ahmu has not moved. He stands perfectly still at the epicentre of the explosions, basking in the pain. It's the most fun he's had in decades. The mongrel father lives for moments like these. If all goes to plan, every day from here on out will be just as chaotic. As the helicopter disappears into the distance, one of Ahmu's children comes forward to prostrate himself, "Daddy we lost the wolfie. No be mad daddy. We chase, we catch. Bring wolfie back to daddy."

Still laughing out loud, Ahmu pats it on the head, "Not to worry, little one. He can run if he wants. That just makes things more fun for me. Daddy loves to hunt. Chasing him isn't a priority right now. The prodigal will come back to the family eventually. What daddy needs now is a bigger family. Go now, and make lots of new brothers and sisters." It yips in excitement and rushes off to spread its taint to as many humans as it can find.
CHAPTER 9

Now that I'm actually here, I'm starting to have some doubts. I knew what it was that I signed on for, but do I really want to die for this? Is the point we're trying to make worth killing all these people? I've lived in England my whole life, blowing up London just seems like a huge waste. Shut up Clyde, you're second guessing yourself. Confidence Clyde, always confidence.

'Do what needs to be done.' That's what he told me. Then again he also told me he was a ten thousand year old sun god who speaks for the spirit of the planet. That part did seem odd, until he snapped his fingers and burned my brother's flat down.

It was a nice flat too. He could have just burned down a shed or something. He didn't have to wreck a whole building to make his point. All my Doctor Who DVDs were in there. Oh well, it's not like I'll need the DVDs where I'm going.

I mean, I get the whole 'humanity has gone too far' stuff. I've been saying all that myself for years. Activism has always been my passion, so maybe the jump to extremism was just a natural progression. I totally see the need for massive seismic world change, but is this really the answer?

I wonder if all suicide bombers go through this.

God damn, this itches. Not just a regular kind of itch either. If it just stuck to one place on my body, it wouldn't be such a big deal. But it runs all over. Head to toe, like a swarm of mosquitoes is buzzing around inside of me.

Kinda' cool though, got to admit it. Whod've thunk anybody could do this? I mean, I can make fire outta' thin air! It would have been nice if he'd warned me before he lit me up though. 'That's just the reality of passing on the gift' he said. 'Pain is a necessary part of accepting the mantle of the chosen' he said.

Funny bloody talker he was. Like somebody out of the bible, all 'prophecy of the coming' this, and 'the great one's eruption approaches' that. All he needed to say was 'We're taking down the Angelista Corporation Clyde, d'you want in?' I would've been on board in a minute. As it was, he stood there yelling at the sun like he was Jesus yelling at the bloody Romans.

OK, put on your game face Clyde, here's the first security check point. Just be cool, they don't know who you are or why you're here. You're just another refugee, here for food and emergency supplies. Smile and... wait, don't smile. Cry! Make up the best sob story you can think of and make it snappy. OK, here's the window, "G'day sir. I'll need your ID please." Be cool Clyde, be cool. Just hand him the ID. God damn hands! Stop shakin'!

"Here you are. So, is there food and water here, then? The lootin' in my neighbourhood didn't leave much in the way of supplies around." Oh, wonderful! My voice only cracked three times during that sentence. Maybe I'll be lucky and this guard will be a certified mental.

"Please pull ahead to the left, sir. We need to ask you a few questions." Fuck! Cunt stuffing' bollocks! Great work Clyde, great work. Not even past the first checkpoint and already busted. No! No! Stay positive. You can get past no problem. You haven't got anything illegal in the car.

It's not like they could know that you're the bomb.

Just relax. Take a breath and answer whatever questions they've got. You've got no pending legal issues at present, so it's not like your name will get any extra scrutiny. OK, we're parked. Let's see what they've got to say.

"Sir, do you have any illegal items in your car? Drugs, guns or the like?"

"No sir."

"Are you certain? You looked awfully shaky to the guard at the window and you're pouring sweat. We're going to do a sweep of your car now sir, so if there's anything in there, you need to tell us now." Go ahead idiot, if it gets too tense, I'll just pop off right here. See how you like being a pile of ash you bloody fascist. Hmmm... why is that one talking into his radio?

"There's nothing, please go ahead and look."

Ha! That's right piggly wiggly. Nothing. Not a single thing you could possibly get at me for. Now get your fat rent a cop asses out of my way and I'll get moving. Hold on. Who is this in the white coat coming over here?

"Excuse me, Mr. Simmons?" Oh, it's Mr. now, is it? Gestapo tactics don't work on old Clyde, so now we're trying diplomacy? All right, I'll play for now.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"I'm one of the refugee camp doctors. We just need to do a quick evaluation of your health to make sure you're free of infection. Just a precaution, you understand." Ah, right. Stupid of me to not predict this was gonna' happen.

"No problem. No vampires here." Co-operate Clyde. If it gets hairy, just go nuclear the way he told you to.

"Follow me please, Mr. Simmons."

A simple lot of tests really. Off with the clothes, followed by a quick 'turn your head and cough' and we're good to go. Didn't like the way he was looking at me though. He's probably a bummer. No worries, take it as a compliment. Back to work, "Hold on, Mr. Simmons." Shit! What now? "There's an anomaly with your temperature." Shit! Shit! Shit!

"What kind of anomaly?" Real convincing Clyde, real convincing. I am so fucked.

"Well, you appear to be running a significant fever. As a matter of fact, I dare say, any other person I've seen with a fever like this was at death's door." Play it off. Act casual. Even if you did say, 'I'm stuffed to the brim with fireballs', he wouldn't believe you. He'd just think you're mental.

"I feel fine doctor, totally fine. Maybe a bit hungry, but otherwise fine." Oh, just buy the act, I've got work to do.

"That's the anomaly Mr. Simmons. You should be tits up with a temperature like this, but all of your other vitals appear to be perfectly fine. No elevated heart rate, no apparent deficits in cognitive function. It's the damndest thing. Have you recently been ill with the flu?" Hmmm... should I lie about that? If I say yes, maybe he'll quarantine me. That would really throw a wrench in the plan. He's staring Clyde, say something.

"Well, I did have a little something a week or so back, but it wasn't anything significant."

"I see. As a precautionary measure, I'm going to need you to wear gloves and a mask when you're inside the camp. Don't want an outbreak of the flu on top of everything else going on."

A mask and gloves? Ha! I look almost like a super hero now. 'The mad bomber'? No, that's not good enough. 'Bomberman'? No, that's copyrighted isn't it? I'll think of a good one. Something punchy, with a tinge of heroism implied in the name.

Here we are, finally. The refugee camp. Damn, there's even more people here than I thought. Heard they shipped in people from all around, not just London. Damn, it smells, dirty too.

Well, I might as well have me a last meal while I'm here. Wonder what passes for food in this place? If somebody tries to pass a pot noodle off on me, I swear I'll blow myself up on the spot. Ah, there we are, let's see what we've got. All vacuum sealed, freeze dried crap, figures. The wealthy elite sit in their god forsaken safe houses eating steak and chips, while the ordinary man sits in the muck eating bloody TV dinners.

What's this now? A family is waving me over. Should I? It's not quite time yet, so I suppose I'll be social. They look like a nice enough bunch. One more group of unfortunate sheep herded here by the military industrial complex to wither away. Just be civil Clyde, you are about to kill these people, so the least you can do is be polite.

"Hello. How are you?" Doesn't look like the dad took too kindly to that.

"Ow' am I? Ow' the fuck am I? Ow' the fuck does it look like I am, you git!?! I'm sittin' in the fuckin' mud, surrounded by strangers in a refugee camp. I'm eatin' cold beans from a fuckin' tin! In an hour, I'll have to go wait in line for two more hours, just to take a bloody shit! Oh, I'm tops mate! Just fuckin' fantastic! Ow' the fuck are you, then?" Oh, how I do love a good cockney. Such a colourful lot they are. I'll have to make sure this arsehole is standing right next to me when I blow up. Wife's not bad to look at though.

"Paul, don't be so rude. It's not his fault. Please, pay him no mind, love. He's just a little scared on account of what's happened. Vampires killed some of his mates two nights ago. He barely got out alive." She's Irish too. Always did love that ye olde Irish brogue coming out of a woman. If the situation were different, maybe I'd have a go at her.

"I am not afraid Brigid! I'm afraid of fuckin' nothin'. Those fanged freaks better be afraid of me." Yeah, right arsehole. Not to worry mate, in twenty minutes or so you won't ever have to be afraid of anything ever again. Your buddy Clyde will take care of that for you.

"What about you, then? Did you lose anyone in the attacks?" Well, I've been saving this chestnut up all day, might as well seize the opportunity.

"My wife and I were at home watching the news when it started. The sounds were so terrifying. The sirens, the screaming, were so intense." That's right Clyde, lay it on thick, "When they kicked down our door, we tried to run, but Sarah, bless her heart. She just wasn't fast enough. She'd always had asthma issues and she just couldn't keep up." OK, you've got em' hooked Clyde, now force a tear or two to really sell it, "The last thing she said was that she loved me. Right before they tore out her throat. Oh, my Sarah! I know it sounds horrible, but the fear was too much, I couldn't help myself. I just left her there." Brilliant Clyde, Brilliant. Missed my calling, should have been an actor, not a terrorist. Being an actor certainly has a better retirement plan. It looks like they bought the story, she's even crying too. Damn, but I'm good. She's even offering me a tissue to wipe up, how sweet.

"I'm sorry to hear that, love. Don't beat yourself up. There was nothing you could have done. All this craziness took the whole world by surprise." If you thought the vampires were surprising, my little Irish rose, just wait until you see what your new friend Clyde is about to do. Bloody hell, come to think of it, I really should have had me a last hurrah before doing this. Even one of those crazy cat ladies that wrote me in prison would've been better than nothing. Now the husband's staring at me. Maybe he can hear my thoughts? Ha! Right! This arsehole probably can't even hear his own.

"Oy, don't I know you from somewhere, mate? You look kinda' familiar." Do I know this arsehole? Don't recognize him.

"No, I don't think so. I have a good memory for faces and I can't place yours, I'm afraid." Fuck off cockney, I've got more important things to do than wax idiotic with the missing evolutionary link.

"Do me a favour and just move the mask aside a sec mate. I'm sure I recognize you from somewhere." Alright, I may as well indulge the prick. Now he's laughing at me. What the hell?

"I do know you. You're that idiot from Cambridge what's got caught tryin' to break all those monkeys out of that medical testin' lab last year. I remember you from the news. One of the monkeys knocked im' out an left im' face down on the road. A right bloody good job on that one mate."

Yes.

That.

Damned ungrateful primate got me arrested. Couldn't believe it. Six months in lock down for trying to do the right bloody thing.

"OK, you got me. I used to be sort of an animal rights crusader. Didn't help me or the animals one bit though. That's the way the world works nowadays. Corporations do whatever they please, and we little people so much as argue, and we're thrown in a cell to rot." Like that bastard Angelista. I may have caught the raw end after the lab, but this time Clyde is gonna make you pay, rich man. To hell with the small talk, I've got to get into position, "I wish I could stay and chat longer, but I'm sort of on a schedule here. You all have a wonderful day." She's giving me another hug, lovely. Perhaps now, I'll die a little happier.

"I'll be praying for you and your wife, love." What a lovely woman, it's a shame she's about to die. Just thinking of the lab has got my blood boiling. Damn you Angelista. Half the problems this world is facing are all due to you. Oil spills, radiation leaks and the like. The world is dying around us and that man is right at the bloody centre of it. I'll wager the son of a bitch knew the vampires were coming down on us and never told a soul. Him and his wealthy elitist buddies are all laughing their bloated arses off somewhere, I'll bet.

To think, all of this started with that slag of a daughter of his getting butchered on the internet. The bastard didn't even go on the telly to respond to it. Even now, he's nowhere to be bloody found. I'll bet he thinks by letting the government use this facility for a refugee camp, he's somehow making a contribution, helping the greater good. As if that old git has any idea what the greater good is.

I wish I could see the look on his face when he hears that his precious corporate headquarters in dear old London town is nothing more than a smoking crater. Oh, what I'd pay to see that. If I had a single pound note to my name that is. I certainly hope that what they told me was true. If they don't give my brother that money, he's gonna be right screwed. Relax Clyde, they will. Fine upstandin' environmentalists like that don't lie to people.

Now, whereabouts would the geographic centre of the area be? I guess if you measure between the fences it'd be somewhere over there next to that line of tents. What time is it? Almost six AM. Close to zero hour already, is it? Mr. Ra did say to do it just as the sun rises, there will be more emotional impact that way. Maybe he's right, but I really don't think that blowing up an entire city is going to be any more crushing based on the time of day. God, I feel hot! Ignore it Clyde, it's just nerves. You can do this.

God, now what is that over there? Is that a bunch of kids playing football? Oh wonderful, now God's got it in for me too. Is that a sign? Some sort of clue that I shouldn't do this? No, I made a commitment to get this done and I'm going to carry it through. For once in my life, I Clyde Simmons will follow through on something. This won't be just like college or any of my three marriages. People won't think I'm nothing after this. My contribution to the cause will be the stuff of legend. I will be remembered for generations...

Even if it is for committing a horrible atrocity. Jesus! What am I doing? What would mum say if she knew? What would Tony say if he knew I got him the money he needed by killing a city full of people?

No! Don't second guess now Clyde! You're doing this first and foremost for the planet! Everything else is secondary to mother Earth, Clyde! You have to do this. Just like Mr. Ra told you, some need to die now so that future generations can flourish. Gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelet. That's reasonable, right?

Or is it complete bollocks? Shit! Better make up your mind quick, Clyde, the sun is starting to come up! God, what do I do? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

What the hell is going on with the security staff? Why are they all scrambling around like that? Shit! They're all headed right towards me! Why do I feel so hot! Oh Jesus! I'm on fire! I'm actually on fire! I didn't mean to light up yet. It must be all the stress.

Gotta calm down. Play it off like you were playing with matches or something! Give up and maybe they won't shoot. For their own sakes, they'd better not. Mr. Ra said if I die, I'll explode immediately. They've got extinguishers out, not guns. Thank God.

"Remain calm, sir! Try not to move around too much." That's right people, put the fire out for old Clyde. Come on people, put it out!

"Good God! It's getting hotter. How the hell is that possible?"

"Wait, look at his hands. The fire is coming out of his hands!" Oh God, now they're pointing guns at me. I don't want to be a part of this nonsense anymore. Do you hear me God? I give up. No need to kill old Clyde. Lesson learned, God. Can you hear me?

Stop this now, please. Surrender Clyde. Shit! The ones close to me are cooking where they stand. This is not good.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I can explain! Please don't sh-"
CHAPTER 10

"So this has gotta be like a momentous day for you, right sergeant? Coming back home after being away for so long?" Seal team ten's newest member is by far its most talkative, much to the dismay of his commanding officer.

"I haven't considered Detroit my home for a long time Ramirez. This city is a cesspool of crime, corruption and poverty. I haven't given it a second thought since I left for basic training. This is just another sortie. Now cut the chatter, we need to go over some important things before we touch down."

This homecoming is more of an imposition than a boon. He hoped to never come back to this city. He has nothing but ugly memories of the eighteen years he lived in Detroit. Sergeant Mohammed Rasheed takes a deep breath and addresses his team, "From what Intel we do have, the situation is critical. The city is overrun with vampires. Civilians are panicked and many of those we run into could already be infected. It is of critical importance to remember, we are here to extract VIPs. We are not here to engage in a stand up fight, and we are not here to round up all the survivors we can find. We land, we find our two VIPs, and we get out. We're on a strict time frame here so combat is to be avoided if possible." His second in command is less than impressed with the last revelation.

"Too bad, I was really hoping to get some use out of this thing." Corporal Blanchette holds up her brand new flamethrower, calmly stroking the barrel, "So, who are the VIPs? Have we got a fix on their location? Or are we just supposed to walk around blind hoping to stumble across them?"

"The VIPs are Vice President Mitchell and the Governor of Michigan. They are currently holed up in a bunker underneath the city. We're going to touch down just a couple blocks away from the entrance. If we move quickly and don't get sidetracked, this should be an easy hop. If we run across any vampire resistance, we lay down suppressing fire with the flame units and keep moving."

All six members are in agreement. They've been to hell and back together tons of times before. If they all play their parts, it'll go off without a hitch. After a final set of weapons checks are done, Rasheed gives one last piece of advice, "Everybody stay close. No hero stuff. If someone gets separated or infected by the vampires, we leave them behind or shoot them where they stand. There can't be any hesitation this time. What happened in Chicago can't happen again." If one of them got infected this time out, they had to pull the trigger immediately. The events of the previous evening made that very clear to all of them.

Private Ramirez is quick to reassure him, "It won't happen again sir. None of us were prepared for what we were dropped into the middle of last night. Nobody blames you for what happened with Ricky."

Ricky had seemed fine until they got him back to the base. The bite was on his wrist. Nobody saw his skin changing. Mo sent him to the infirmary to have what they thought were superficial wounds looked at. Five minutes later every doctor and nurse in the building was dead. Having to gun down one of his closest friends was an experience Mo would not soon forget. Blanchette backs Ramirez up.

"Exactly. Besides sir, we didn't have the proper equipment last time out. If we get ambushed this time, we'll be ready." Mohammed says one last prayer internally and kisses his crescent moon pendant as the helicopter touches down. He needs Allah's protection now more than ever. Piling out in tight formation, Sergeant Rasheed barks orders, "Blanchette, Ramirez, and Tate come with me. Everybody else, stay here and cover the bird. We meet back here in twenty minutes. Shoot anything that doesn't look human."

The city streets are a mess. Abandoned vehicles dot the landscape as far as the eye can see. Signs of looting are everywhere. Still smouldering fires billow smoke into the early morning air. While there are no people in the immediate area, the team is overcome by the feeling they are being watched. Rasheed and his strike team move quickly along their designated path to the safe house entrance.

At the bottom of the staircase, they are shocked to find that the blast door has been pried right off the hinges. There is a sequence of small divots in the center of the door. Whoever tore this ripped this door down, did it with their bare hands. Steeling themselves for combat, they rush into the room guns drawn. What they find inside is not a fight, but the aftermath of one. Three vampires lie dead in a heap on the tile floor. Their bodies are torn wide open at the neck and the chest cavities have been emptied of all organs. From the looks of it, they barely crossed the threshold of the doorway before they were cut down.

"God damn Sarge. What the fuck happened here?"

"I don't know Ramirez. Does anyone see our VIPs?" They toss the room in a fury, but find no sign of the politicians they came to rescue. The only blood in the room belongs to the vampires on the floor. Their VIPs must be around somewhere. A faint rustling comes from the back room. The soldiers get into a tight formation and move to investigate.

Bursting in, they find their two VIPs crouched in the corner of the room behind an overturned desk. Both are wearing tattered and shredded clothing, caked in moist bloodstains. Despite the mess, they seem to be entirely unharmed. Hands shooting straight up into the air at the sight of the loaded guns, the Vice President begs, "Don't shoot. Don't shoot. We're friendlies!" Mo flashes back to what occurred with his former friend in Chicago. Images of young nurses split open at the neck dominate his mind. The pressure of command compels him to act. He decides the better part of valour is to liquidate the potential threat.

"VIPs are infected. Scenario has changed, torch them."

Blanchette and Ramirez let loose with their weapons, blanketing the VIPs in a gout of flame. The politicians waste no time in tearing off their flaming shirts to stomp them out. They hastily extinguish the red hot flames on their extremities and faces. Burns on the skin quickly dissipate. Vice president Mitchell pleads, "Damn it! Don't shoot. We're not vampires. We're on your side. I know what this looks like but you have to listen to me." Not vampires maybe, but they couldn't be human.

The realization makes Mo's finger itchy on the trigger, "Then go ahead and explain it to me. You can start with what happened to the vampires in the other room. Don't play me for a fool, you're clearly not human."

The governor takes a deep breath and steps forward, "No we're not human. We're animi. In layman's terms you could call us werewolves. They broke in an hour ago and we fought them off. Now can we please just get the hell out of here? It's nearly dawn!" The governor's admission only solidifies Mo's resolve; he knows how to kill animi too.

"Aim for the head!" Rasheed and Tate fire a burst of assault rifle ammunition, hitting the Governor right between the eyes. The Vice President narrowly avoids the volley. He ducks under their line of fire and runs forward, grabbing a hold of Blanchette's neck. She is disarmed with ease and lifted off the ground.

"Fucking jar heads! You were sent here to extract us, not kill us! What's wrong with you?" \

Doing his best to acquire a line of sight at Mitchell's head, Mo scoffs, "Do you think we're not up to date on what's going on in Africa? Humanity is at war with your kind too. Stop hiding behind a hostage and let's get this over with." Mitchell rolls his eyes and makes sure to keep his head safely concealed behind Blanchette's torso. The soldiers were misinformed and he had precious little time to change their minds.

"Not all of us are part of the same group, you idiot. Think for a second about human Geo politics. It's not all run by the same people towards the same ends, is it? Do the interests of the United States always coincide with those of Iran or China? No! I'm not your enemy. If you don't believe me, just call your superiors and ask them." Rasheed knows that backed into a corner a person will say anything to save their own ass. Mitchell's story was ridiculous and unlikely. If it were true, command would have warned him.

"How do I know that you aren't an impostor? How could one of you manage to make it all the way to such high office undetected?" The Vice President looks at Mo in disbelief. Why would Bashina send in these humans to extract him? He had to convince them to let it go quickly. If he didn't he would end up as dead as his eldest son; who was still bleeding out on the floor.

"Undetected? You really are phenomenally stupid. The government brass is entirely aware of who and what I am. The fact that the general population wasn't aware of us until recently doesn't mean we've been living under rocks. Those like me who live in the world of politics have been vital to our remaining incognito in recent years. Again I say, call your superiors and ask! And do it quickly, we're running out of time here!"

A panicked Blanchette blurts out, "Don't listen to him Mo! Just shoot!" Losing patience with the standoff, Mo orders Ramirez to call in to command and get some answers.

"This is Tango Foxtrot ten. We are at the bunker. Vice President and Governor are not human, repeat they are not human. Requesting permission to terminate the subjects." The ten seconds that they wait for a reply feel like an eternity. Sweat pours from the brows of human and animi alike, neither side giving an inch.

"This is central command. Do not fire people! We are well aware of the species status of both VIPs. Your original orders stand. You are to extract them, not shoot them." Shock washes over the human soldiers. Why would their government cooperate with monsters? An infuriated Mo grabs the radio out of Ramirez's hands.

"Why weren't we notified of this before we were sent in?"

"The Vice President's vital information was strictly on a need to know basis. You did not need to know. Just do your job soldier. The Vice President is in possession of important information relating to the war effort." Mo waves off his unit and shoulders his weapon. Orders were orders, but the whole situation didn't sit well with him. Cooperation with monsters that were in the process of wiping out humanity flew in the face of everything he believed in. What would Allah say about Mo escorting a demon out of a war zone?

"Do anything that I don't like and you die." Mitchell nods and releases his hold on Blanchette's neck. If they're going to live, they needed to work together.

"I'm sorry about that, but we need to move! We've wasted far too much time here already. The sun will be up soon." In the mission brief a few hours prior, there had been no mention of leaving before sunrise.

"What do you mean? Dawn is when the vampires pull back; shouldn't it be safer after dawn?"

Vampires were not the pertinent issue. Mitchell had killed his fair share of those. The oncoming emergency was something very different. The channels are coming. He rummages angrily through a set of shelves along the wall, "There's about to be a large scale terrorist attack in dozens of major industrialized cities around the world. Detroit is one of them. The destruction is going to be nuclear in scope and it's going down at dawn." Producing a manila envelope from the shelves, he hands it to the Sergeant. Mo slides it into his jacket.

"Guard this with your life, it could make or break the war effort in the days to come. Now let's get the hell out of here." They set out full speed to get back to the helicopter.

The once empty streets are once again showing signs of life as civilians make their way out of their hiding places and into the daylight. Stress mounts among the group as the sun creeps slowly closer on the horizon. If what Mitchell says is true, tens of thousands of lives are about to be extinguished. Blanchette asks, "Shouldn't we be evacuating these people?"

Mitchell's response is pained but blunt, "No time! Even if we'd known before today we couldn't have done anything. With all the communication interference and the continued vampire presence in the city evacuation would have been impossible."

Back at the helicopter, they find the crew they left behind is missing. There are no bodies, but blood is splattered about inside the cockpit and their weapons are strewn around the area. Piles of spent shell casings are everywhere. Mo says with a sigh, "At least it looks like they put up a fight. Alright people, I'm driving, let's go." Everybody jumps aboard and the helicopter slowly spins up.

The sun finally peeks through on the eastern horizon, spreading warm orange light over the entire city. Just as they take off Ramirez points off to the north, hands shaking, "Mr. Vice President? Is, uh... Is th-this attack you were talking about... d-does it look like that?"

A kilometre away, a pillar of crackling white light is extending directly upwards into the sky. Crashes of deafening thunder shake the city to its foundation. Every intact window in the area shatters simultaneously, covering the streets in a blanket of splintered glass. The dawn sky shifts from a dreamy orange to a deep, dark shade of blue. Clouds swirl around the light pillar in wide sweeping circles. With each passing moment, the pillar grows steadily brighter, to the point where looking upon it burns the eyes.

Mo tries to turn the helicopter south and fly out of the area but the controls won't respond. Every instrument shuts down at once and the helicopter spins out of control. He yells out to his companions as loud as he can, "It's goddamn EMP! All electronic systems out! We're going down!" Mo tries his best to right it on the way down but barely manages to slow their descent. Mitchell grabs Mo by the collar and jumps out, landing safely on his feet on the street below.

All they can do is watch in horror as the helicopter collides with the asphalt and explodes into a thousand pieces. Concussive force from the crash knocks them down hard. Blanchette, Tate, and Ramirez are consumed in the swirling torrent of flame and shrapnel.

Before they can regain their bearings, the beam of light in the distance lets out a last flicker and detonates. The pillar becomes a wall of sparkling illumination spreading out over the entire city. Buildings are toppled like houses of cards. Vehicles caught in the wave explode on contact. Even running as fast as they can, the wall catches up with them in no time. Mo's body shakes like a leaf, his arms and legs vibrating uncontrollably. He can feel his insides liquefying as his awareness of his surroundings fades away.
CHAPTER 11

The destruction from the blast is catastrophic. A three mile radius has been ripped to shreds by the crackling wall of electrical energy. Every living thing caught in the bomb's area of effect has been flash fried in place; everything with the singular exception of Sergeant Mohammed Rasheed. Considering what he was enduring however, death would have been a welcome alternative.

Laid out on the street, curled up in the fetal position, he convulses perpetually. Waves of current surge endlessly throughout him. Every inch of his body feels like a single pulsating raw nerve. It is as if his heart had been replaced by a kettle drum that was being beaten relentlessly by a hundred men at once. As much as he wanted to scream, his jaw felt welded shut, forcing him to suffer in tortured silence. What little of his brain function that remains is being used to pray to Allah to make it all stop.

Skies above churn and clouds slide apart. The dark blue tint above has returned, and each successive jolt he feels inside seems to darken it just that much more. Claps of thunder boom overhead and flashes of lightning stream across the horizon.

Bolts of lightning collide with Mo's body, one after another, after another. Each bolt makes him feel more himself, and the torture gradually subsides, giving way to a sensation of serene inner strength. Mo can't bring to mind a single moment in all of his life when he felt like this.

Any excitement he feels is squashed the moment he tries to inhale. A thick cloud of dust is falling over Detroit in the explosion's aftermath. Visibility is almost zero and trying to breathe in at all is a hazard to his health. Choking and sputtering, he crawls along the ground doing the best he can to cover his mouth. He is bound and determined to find his companions. A few feet away he stumbles over what's left of Vice President Mitchell.

The torso has been melted to the point of being totally unrecognizable. Were it not for the oversized canine teeth in the mouth, he would not have been able to identify it. Its eyes are gone, replaced by hollow scorched pits. His VIP is stone dead.

For the first time in his long military career, he'd failed completely. He curses at the top of his lungs and pounds his fist down on the ruined body. On contact, sparks flicker from his fingertips, causing the corpse to flop about like a fish on dry land. Mo pulls back quickly and studies his hand up close.

It is emitting a sustained low frequency hum and a faint halo of white light dances around it. Each digit seems to be resonating on a uniquely discernible wavelength. The veins in his palm are all clearly visible beneath the skin. He gazes mesmerized at an intricate web of incandescent lines that travel all the way up his arm. Intermittent sparks dance back and forth between his glowing fingertips.

Fascination gives way to panic as he feels his lungs rapidly filling to the brim with dust particles. He gets up and takes off running south, in an attempt to get out of the blast radius and hopefully, out of the cloud.

As he runs, he picks up momentum exponentially. It is almost as though he is moving forward without effort. He weaves between buildings and down side streets at incredible speed. His reaction time has become impossibly quick. The world stands still as he races past. In no time, Mo has cleared the cloud. He comes to a stop in an instant, sending a massive sonic boom ripping through the nearby structures.

Turning about, the sheer scope of the attack finally dawns on him. All that remains of what used to be the Motor City is a stack of crumbling edifices. The roaring fires across the skyline can barely be seen through the murky haze obscuring the horizon. He falls to his knees and pounds his fist into the street, shattering the pavement.

What was he supposed to do now? Why did Allah do this to his friends and his country? How the hell did he manage to survive the blast? Most importantly, what was happening to him? People aren't supposed to shoot sparks from their fingers. None of what had happened over the past three days was possible. His ruminations are interrupted by a sequence of terrified shrieks.

A small contingent of people standing in the doorway of a nearby apartment complex have witnessed his arrival. The few that were armed were now slowly advancing on him, weapons trained on his head. Mo puts his hands above his head and prostrates himself, "Don't fire I'm with the marines. I'm not here to hurt you."

Signs of life. This was good. A dishevelled man at the front of the group answers him, "We see a huge ball of lightning flatten Detroit. Then you show up, not twenty minutes later, lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, punching holes in the sidewalk. I don't know who or what you are, but you need to get out of here right now."

Mo knows that the situation could be volatile, but he asks anyway, "Just relax. I'm not a threat. I need to get access to some kind of communications device. A radio, or maybe a satellite phone. Do you have anything like that?" The request does little to allay the fears of the petrified humans. Most run back into the perceived safety of the building. A host of new faces and new guns begin appearing in the windows above them. Angry murmurs pass back and forth within the crowd.

"Even if we did have one, we'd never help someone who just killed a million people. Last warning man, get out of here or we will shoot you." Civilians in that frame of mind can't be reasoned with, so he flees the scene as quickly as he arrived. Mo makes sure to put a good amount of distance between himself and the agitated humans before coming to a stop in a secluded alley. Getting evac would be much harder than he'd originally surmised.

"Idiots. Goddamn, now I know how Mitchell must have felt when I drew down on him." Leaned up against the wall to catch a breather, the mass of dust in his lungs comes back to haunt him. The hacking fit that ensues causes arcs of lightning to jump from Mo's body to every metal object in the alley. Dumpsters melt and awnings sizzle as waves of electricity rip through them. It takes him a few minutes to properly right himself. Slumping to the ground wheezing, he holds his hand over his heart. The sound of papers crumpling snaps him to full attention.

In the confusion caused by the explosion, he had completely forgotten the envelope that Mitchell had given him at the bunker. Producing it from within his jacket he opens it up to take a look, "Let's see what my friends died for." A folder marked 'CIA' with a large red classified stamp across the front slides out.

The primary subject matter inside is a personality and professional profile of one Esteban Medina. A name Mo recognizes from his previous work in black ops. Esteban is a notorious South American drug lord, with worldwide connections to the highest echelons of organized crime. The United States and the rest of the civilized world had been after him for years.

Charges would never stick despite how blatantly reckless he was. No matter how much evidence was brought against him; witnesses, video footage, DNA, no judge anywhere would convict. Assassination attempts failed every single time and his operation seemed totally bulletproof.

This specific file seemed to be focused on dealings with a particular associate of Medina in Nigeria. Next to Esteban's picture was a photo of an animi with bright green eyes and silver fur. Ledgers detail massive deliveries that have been made to African territories in the past few weeks. A sheet of paper with a strange chemical formula Mo doesn't understand and a list of illicit narcotics under the heading 'happy juice' is at the bottom of the pile.

Geographic coordinates are scribbled on scraps of paper mixed into the stack. The most intriguing part of the personality file is a warning in large print directly underneath his medical data. ' _DO NOT APPROACH. CLASS 1 TRACTATORI. ALL PHYSICAL CONTACT IS TO BE AVOIDED.'_

The relevant data is committed to memory and the papers are slid back into the envelope. In the distance, the sounds of approaching military units can be heard. Mo decides his best bet is to try and rendezvous with them. Looking down as he walks, he catches his reflection in a murky puddle.

The ordeal has left more visible effects on him than he originally thought. His eye sockets had become just as hollowed out as those of the scorched Vice President. Mo's hollows, however, were pulsing and flickering shades of white and blue. His precious crescent moon and star pendant has fused directly into his chest, its chain melted around his neck.

All around his body there was a tangible halo of soft light. It would be more difficult for him to deal with the arriving military units looking as inhuman as he does now. Staring down into the muddy water, Mo wonders just how he'll live with whatever it was that he's becoming.

A quick assessment of the approaching soldiers just leads to more bad news. The ringleader of the civilians from earlier on has already made contact with them. Twelve heavily armed infantry total and an APC with mounted rocket turrets make up the unit. It is clear that they are indeed already aware of his presence in the area. If it turns ugly, Mo knows he won't last long.

He decides the best course of action is to approach from the front and give his self up. The military brass can decide what to do with him. Frayed nerves are calmed and Mo lifts his hands above his head.

"Don't fire. I surrender. I am not a hostile. My name is Mohammed Rasheed. I'm a sergeant with the navy seals." Loaded guns train on him from all angles. Gears grind as the APC turret adjusts to meet him. The fresh memory of the blast has put revenge on the minds of the soldiers. Their desire to shoot first and ask questions later is palpable. Calmly and methodically he gets down into a kneeling position, placing his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles. The haggard civilian does nothing to help ease the tension.

"That's the one. He came out of the cloud right after the explosion! Look at his eyes for God's sake!"

Mo taciturnly reiterates, "I surrender. Don't shoot! I am in possession of vital intelligence. I am not resisting. Just take me prisoner." The unit commander orders one of the soldiers to bind the shining nightmare's hands. Moving forward slowly, the man circles around behind Mo's back while his squad mates cover him. The instant skin on skin contact is made, the man is sent flying into the air by a surge of electricity beyond Mo's control. Current jumps back and forth between every single metal object on his person. He lands face down meters away, dead body twitching. Every one of the enraged witnesses immediately opens fire. Mo swings his hands out in front of himself, "No wait!"

Hundreds of rounds spray out at Mo. Not one of them make it anywhere close to their intended target. The shimmering halo around his new body has expanded and brightened considerably. Each individual round creates a tiny spark as it collides with the buzzing ephemeral veil. A thousand miniature azure fireworks crackle in the early morning air. When every magazine is spent, an unscathed Mo says, "Stand down! I don't want to hurt you."

His pleading falls on deaf ears. The APC's rocket launcher is primed and ready to unload, it's do or die. Self preservation instinct kicks in and a rush of adrenaline lights up Mo's synapses. Waves of expanding energy swell inside. The aura enveloping him shifts from a translucent film to a fierce electrical storm.

Hands vibrating with power are aimed towards the APC. A massive surge of energy flows out of his fingertips. Lightning bolts tear through every inch of the vehicle, blowing it to smithereens. Concussive impact and shrapnel from the explosion flatten half of the infantry. Those that can still stand make a break for it, unwilling to find out just what else the monster in their midst is capable of.

The amount of energy expended takes its toll on Mo. Overcome by a powerful sensation of hunger, he keels over in agonizing pain. He feels as if his internal organs have been replaced by an endless void that is crying out to be filled. The vacuum within him pulls relentlessly at the backs of his eyes. He produces an emergency ration from within his jacket and devours it whole. Every morsel consumed is wretched back up. Eating the ration only serves to make the pangs of hunger more pronounced. This was not a hunger for food. His new body was craving something else.

The only answer he can come up with is to fuel his self with what his body had been expelling. A nearby set of power lines could provide what he so sorely needs. He scales a pole with a transformer, raises his right hand and takes a deep breath, "Here goes nothing." A gingerly first touch yields a warm sensation, relieving some of his discomfort. The longer he maintains contact, the better he feels and before long his hunger is sated. Now calm and fully recovered, he jumps back down from the pole.

What to do now? Options seemed limited, since from this point on every military unit he came across would view him as a dangerous hostile. Somehow he had to get the information in his pocket back to command. The first logical step was to get off the street. He finds the closest sewer access, tosses the grate aside and jumps down.

Plugging his nose does little to protect against the rancid stench. Not of raw sewage, but of carrion. A cursory glance would indicate that the population had been using the sewers as a dumping ground for their dead. A collection of human and vampire bodies have been left to rot in the underground tunnels. From somewhere nearby, Mo can hear voices. Despite the circumstances, the voices seem to be in extremely good spirits. Mo creeps closer as quietly as he can, and listens in, "How many did you get?"

"Seven. You should've heard the one guy squeal while I pulled his guts out. Like a little piggy on the business end of a skewer." The speakers had to be vampires.

"This pulling back at dawn shit is boring. You just start having fun and then the night is over."

"Don't be stupid Tommy. If we hadn't pulled back the explosion that 'channel' caused would have killed us just like the humans." Channel? Is that what he'd become? Mo makes a mental note to kill that vampire last. Maybe a little shock therapy would yield the answers he sought.

"We got new orders from Torrig yet?" Orders? If they were getting orders they had to have some form of communications. Things are looking up.

"Didn't you hear? Torrig got demoted. Apparently, while they were hitting LA some human lit him up. North America officially has no elder now. I'm thinking of making a move for the position once all this guerrilla tactic shit ends. Maybe I'll have the humans call me supreme overlord or something."

"So, do you know what sort of human got at Torrig? It'd be hilarious if it were a Jew."

"That wouldn't be hilarious Tommy. Can you imagine the bug he'd have up his ass if it had been a Jew? He already goes way overboard on that master race shit. If he got mangled by a Hebrew, we'd never hear the fucking end of it."

"Whatever. I'm going to grab another stiff to snack on. You want one?"

"No way. I don't know how you can feed off of corpses. For me, it's fresh squeezed or nothing."

Mo takes refuge in a nearby alcove and lies in wait for his target. The vampire comes loping by casually and begins rooting through a pile of dead bodies. Evidently, he is a very discriminating diner, "No, too ugly. Too fat. Too skinny." While the connoisseur is busy making his decision, Mo sneaks up behind him. He grabs a hold of its head with both hands, fricasseeing its skull. Head still sizzling, he pushes it onto the top of the corpse pile. The scent of his comrade's melted flesh alerts the other and he rushes to help. Mo's glowing aura hanging over the body stops him dead in his tracks.

Fangs and claws retract as the vampire speaks, "Wow. What's all this? You forget about the truce my friend? I thought you people got used up when you go boom. Then again I've never met one of you before, so that's all hearsay." Mo gives him a first jolt, knocking him off his feet.

"You mean channels, right? That's what you call this? I want answers. How did this happen to me?" The vampire raises an eyebrow and begins to laugh derisively at Mo.

"Oh, I get it. You're not the one who set off the explosion. You're a human who got caught in the blast and survived, aren't you? Well, you lucky prick. How does it feel to be a newborn God, my friend? I remember the day I got turned vividly. Good times." A newborn God? Mo did like the sound of that. It's certainly how he felt, but right now there were more important matters to attend to.

"I heard you talking to your friend here about getting orders. Where is your radio?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." In no mood to waste time, Mo assaults it with several more shocks. Smoke rises from the vamps ears and it spits up a river of blood. The power is beginning to feel incredibly good. With each successive expulsion of energy it becomes smoother, easier to control.

"Tell me what I want to know or I'll toast you like your little friend here." Fear falls over the vampire's visage. It has to cooperate, killing Mo would only create another explosion and fleeing was no option either. Crawling along on its belly, it leads him to a satellite phone in the adjoining room.

"There, just do what you need to do and get out of here. I don't get paid enough for this type of shit." With a firm grip on its collar, Mo produces a small scrap of paper from his pocket.

"Dial this number and put me on speaker phone. Now." The injured creature obliges. Mo explains all the events of the morning to his superiors, the explosion, the death of the VIPs, everything. Command orders him to sit tight and leave the phone on, an evacuation team is on its way.

His new found abilities interested them and they were sending him to Seattle for a critical debriefing. Special modifications would need to be made to a bird to accommodate his burgeoning power. So in the interim, Mo had a little time to get some answers, "Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about channels. Be specific."

"Not much I'm afraid. Elemental energy beings, there's a few different kinds. Mostly lightning and fire manipulators as I understand it."

"There's got to be more to it than that. You're holding out on me. Why did they bomb the city?" Mo brandishes a fist crackling with electricity just above the vampire's groin. It smiles awkwardly back at him and explains.

"Look, channels are secretive, alright? I only know what I heard second hand about the explosions. My superiors seemed to think it was directed at damaging the interests of somebody who pissed the channels off. Besides, I'm a vampire-our species don't exactly have a great relationship. Goes all the way back to ancient times. Fact is our people haven't ever cooperated before. If you want to know more you're going to have to track down some of your own kind."

"Where would I go about doing that?"

"The only one I'm sure about has a temple he hangs out at in El Zotz, Guatemala. Ra doesn't take kindly to visitors though, even if they're kindred. If I were you, I'd give him a wide berth."

"Fair enough. Now, let's talk about what you vampires are planning next." It looks him square in the eyes and spits blood.

"Go fuck yourself." He opens his clenched fist, shooting thousands of volts down into the vampire's crotch. It writhes on the floor and winces in pain.

"You know at Guantanamo they taught me to do this with a car battery. I've never done it this way before, but I think it's working nicely, don't you? I ask you again. What are you planning next?"

"You drive a mighty hard bargain, Sparky, but my people will do shit to me that makes this look like a kiss on the cheek if I talk. So let's just get this over with, shall we?"

"Suits me fine. Goodbye." With no further use for his pasty hostage, Mo lets loose one last intense volley of energy, vaporizing the vampire on contact.

Re-emerging from the sewer, he covertly finds his way to the roof of the nearest available building to wait for transport. When a navy helicopter appears on the horizon, he sends up a flash of light to get its attention. Once he's safely aboard the docking bay, the ramp slides shut behind him. The mods were successful, as his presence doesn't damage the helicopter's systems. Mo breathes a much needed sigh of relief, for now the ordeal was over and they headed west.
CHAPTER 12

Finally recuperated after his painful ordeal in Kenya, Jean Charles is summoned to Bashina's throne room. The visit promises to be entirely unpleasant. His empress does not take too kindly to being defied, and his antics in Nairobi were anything but obedient. Echoes of her infuriated growls can be heard in all corners of the palace. Striding up to the throne room doors, he runs across Bashina's youngest son, Sanjit. Less than pleased to see Jean still breathing, Sanjit steps in his way, "I see sleeping beauty has decided to rise from her slumber and rejoin the fun. Shall I tell mother you're here or would you prefer to run headlong into the door howling at the top of your lungs?" As charming as ever, Jean thinks to himself. If the situation were different he'd teach the spoiled brat some manners but he could ill afford to further aggravate his benefactor:

"Spare me your petty antics Sanjit and open the doors. I have important things to discuss with your mother."

The young tiger crosses his arms and goes on the offensive, "Oh yes, things to discuss like your knack for screwing up a simple job? Or maybe how you managed to get every single member of mother's personal guard killed in a single day? Those would both be excellent topics of conversation. I had friends on that squad wolf, several in fact. If you could keep you head straight in a crisis everything would be different." The little rat was right for once. Waves of guilt assaulted Jean's senses. His fists clench so tightly that his palms trickle blood. It takes all the self control he has not to kill the boy for bringing it up.

"I was their commander. I feel their loss more than anyone else. I don't need you to remind me it was my fault. If you think you can do better as field commander, then feel free to replace me. I'll take over for you as the palace bellboy. Now quit wasting my time and open the door." Sanjit steps forward so he is face to face with Jean.

"No. Mother is talking to a representative from the eastern block of night kin right now. She doesn't want you in there until they're done negotiating terms of an alliance. So you can just sit down and wait for your turn." The hairs on the back of Jean's neck rise at the thought of a muck leech in the empress' chambers. A sniff at the door yields a profoundly unfortunate fact. He knows the vampire envoy, and he does not have fond memories of her. Sanjit smiles and lets out a self satisfied titter.

"That's right wolf. Your personal favourite vampire is here. Try not to froth at the mouth while you wait, alright?" Pacing furiously for what seems like hours, he replays the events from Nairobi in his mind. He can't decide if it was a failure of strategy or entirely his own lack of poise. How was it that Ahmu was able to so effectively direct the movements of the mongrels? They should have simply run wild and attacked anything that moved, but they were calculated and coordinated. There was a strategy to what they did, a method to their madness. Mongrels hadn't had focus like that since he was in command. Ahmu must have found some new, powerful alphas to use as proxies.

"Alright, they're ready for you. Behave yourself dog." A dozen cats some streaming from behind the opening doors, hissing and swatting at Jean's feet. The sweet aromas of white plum blossoms and cinnamon hang in the air. Hand woven Persian rugs are spread out across the marble floors, and golden idols in a multitude of animals shapes are arranged about the room. Bashina and her visitor stand in front of a gigantic golden throne.

Natsuko Masamura is exactly as he remembers her from a century ago. Long black hair, tied into one tightly wound braid ending just above the waist. Still donning the same dark overcoat with armour plating woven into the shoulders, chest bearing the insignia of her father's clan. The scent of her perfume hits him again. White plums. Why would such a bitter person surround herself with such a sweet smell?

The twin katana strapped up across her back send shivers down Jean's spine. Just looking at the blades brings back unpleasant memories. He makes sure to stand a few feet outside the effective reach of her swing. Natsuko turns about to greet him, "Ah, Fido. There you are. Mommy dearest was just regaling me with tales of your exploits in Africa. Sounds an awful lot like what happened when you and your mongrels tried to invade my territory. A whole lot of growling and jumping up and down, but absolutely no forethought." He would dearly love to make her pay for the comment, that would only result in Bashina tearing him in half. Jean would have to wait for another venue to maul the fanged bitch. Biting down on his lip, he remains polite.

"Yes, indeed." There must be a way to get out of this. Being in the same room with Masamura was not going to help his already volatile state of mind. He looks to Bashina., "Why am I present at a negotiation? I'm a military commander not a diplomat. Shouldn't Mitchell be handling this?" The empress' eyes well up with tears. She puts her hand on his shoulder.

"Aaron didn't make it out of Detroit, neither did my son. The human soldiers that were sent to rescue them decided to murder them instead." This is grim news indeed, particularly to the empress herself. Mitchell was the more than just a politician in her court. Bashina loved him. She had loved him for the last three hundred years. Of the many mates she'd had in her time on this Earth, none were more dear to her than he was. What he'd accomplished for their people in the new world was nothing short of astonishing. Now he was gone forever.

Jean can hear her heart breaking into pieces as she speaks, "Once again, I must suffer the indignity of outliving my own husband and child. The information that they had compiled on Ahmu's South American allies was lost along with them. We're back to square one as far as tracking down where they're producing the juice." They knew that the tractatori were brewing it for Ahmu, but they didn't know where. The last time Bashina had spoken to Mitchell, he said they had found it. To stop the mongrels they had to cut off their supply.

Masamura sees the opportunity to get some of the answers she came for, "Just what is this juice? We are aware of its existence, but know very little about it beyond that mongrels rely on it." This information has been closely guarded by the empire. Though juice is far too volatile to be used by vampires, there was an ever present fear that if they were to get their hands on the formula, they could adjust it for their own use. Were circumstances any different, Bashina would not tell Masamura a single thing about it. The empress waves her hand at Jean and he explains.

"It's a collection of several potent narcotics that are mixed with an enzyme complex. The narcotics function to fuel the blood frenzy that their leader is so fond of seeing in his horde. Powerful hallucinogens and stimulants dull pain and cause extreme fits of aggression, but the enzyme is the key component. It is a massive metabolic enhancer. Standard animi regenerative capabilities are drastically increased by its effects. Also, any human wounded by a mongrel that is using the drug will turn a great deal quicker." This news troubles Natsuko greatly. Killing animi was no easy task. Her past scuffles with the wolf in her midst was evidence enough of that. Their natural ability to regenerate made them intolerably tough to kill, and this drug augments that trait? Fighting animi who had a head full of juice sounded like nothing short of a nightmare.

"How much quicker is the transformation when humans are afflicted? Does it take hours instead of days?"

"Try minutes. Those turned will also be hyper aggressive as soon as the change takes place. Standard transformations usually result in somewhat erratic behaviours, running into the woods, howling at the moon and the like, but not overt violence. Capping it all off, the use of the drug is extremely addictive, usually resulting in dependence after one or two doses. It functions as a leash around the necks of Ahmu's followers. Up until recently, they did not have access to vast amounts of the drug, but that has changed. Every single mongrel will be carrying syringes with them now-making the horde considerably more dangerous." Visions of a sea of mongrels covering the entire globe run through Natsuko's head. No wonder the empress had contacted her to initiate the alliance. Ahmu would be a threat to every living thing on Earth now, not just humanity.

"If this drug increases the speed of transmission then they must multiply exponentially. How long before the whole of Africa is afflicted? How are we to contend with a billion of these things? If they spread that fast we'll need to employ nuclear deterrents to deal with them." Natsuko is prepared for that eventuality. She has been stockpiling weapons ever since America dropped bombs on Japan during World War II. One phone call is all it would take to turn the African continent into an irradiated wasteland. Bashina is quick to shoot down the idea.

"Nuclear strikes are not an option. I will not allow such an aberration to take place. Such a thing will poison the land itself. Not to mention that acting in such a way will put us at odds with the channels. We can beat the mongrels in open conflict if we cut off their supply of the drug and exercise proper military tactic." After the rash of bombings the channels had let loose that morning, the last thing Bashina wanted was to further agitate them. There had to be a better way to deal with the mongrels. There just had to be. She had always gotten on well with Ra, all the way back to their mutual glory days in Egypt. Their personal history may be the only reason Mumbai was not destroyed along with so many other major cities. Inciting the sun god would do no one any good.

"How exactly do you use tactics against a billion psychotic animi? My entire military is no more than a few hundred thousand. We could never hold out against a force that size." Bashina excuses herself from the conversation and takes a seat. She waves on Jean and begins fiddling with a console in the arm of her throne. He is the expert when it comes to how mongrels operate. He had been one of them for over a century, after all.

"They will never grow to that size. Ahmu distributes orders to his followers through the use of alpha proxies. He collects a small group of about ten strong willed alphas that serve as makeshift commanders for his legions. Ahmu dominates the wills of the alphas and the alphas control the masses. There is, however, a limit to how many mongrels a given proxy can control effectively."

"So what is the upper limit as far as numbers?"

"Roughly three to four million total. If their numbers ever swell to more than he can effectively control, Ahmu calls for a cull."

"I don't see the sense in that. Ahmu is supposed to be all about causing as much chaos as possible. I see no reason he wouldn't love the idea of roving bands of mongrels terrorizing the countryside." Jean knows from firsthand experience. When Ahmu used him as a proxy it was cardinal rule that you never acquire more chattel than you can personally domineer. Ahmu liked tightly knit packs of rabid dogs, not stray ones. All of the turned needed to be part of the family or food for its members.

"The cull is an important custom for Ahmu. He's been doing it for eons. During my time with the horde, the cull was Ahmu's favourite activity. It is his way of cutting out the dead weight from the group. The most worthy members survive and the cycle begins again. His primary concern is not spreading out as fast as possible, but enjoying every possible moment of the rampage. A far more serious issue is how organized they were in Nairobi.

They should have keyed on Bashina's scent and attacked the UN building but they didn't. When I tried to engage them in close quarters they avoided me. That's a level of self control they don't ordinarily have. I'm the only proxy Ahmu ever had that could exert such complete control over a legion. In Nairobi, all of them seemed focused and well prepared. There must be a brand new group of proxies under Ahmu's control."

The empress knows why. She knew the instant the battle began. Over the past twenty four hours she found her proof, "I have some thoughts on that Jean." She presses a few buttons on her console and the east wall slides away, revealing a screen with an aerial photograph from the battle in Nairobi. In the centre of a large group of mongrels is what appears to be a vampire directing traffic. The image confirms what Bashina's nose had already told her the previous day.

Natsuko is dumbfounded that any vampire would align themselves with the lowest of the low. She knew Kagan was evil, but had no idea he would collude with such bottom feeding filth. Her alliance with Bashina just became even more crucial, "So, Ahmu is using my people as proxies now. That would explain the increased organization. Vampires are much less prone to becoming slaves to their emotions under duress. Kagan must have lent Ahmu some of his lieutenants." Mitsuru would need to hear of this. If anyone could formulate a plan to deal with this new development it was Natsuko's precious wife. Mitsuru always knew what to do. She prayed that this would be no exception to that rule. The empress responds.

"Yes, it would appear that their association has extended into sharing troops. I would not be surprised if Kagan's armed forces had mongrel contingents now as well." Bashina brings up a map of Africa on the screen, "Right now the horde is spreading throughout Kenya in all directions. As soon as they have sufficiently bolstered their numbers they will move outwards into the rest of Africa. We have to decide now where we intend to head them off."

Jean hesitantly informs her, "I know where you're going with this majesty, but we have to accept that there is no way to keep him out of Egypt. He is just as attached to it as you are, if not more." Bashina hated hearing it, but it was true. Ahmu coveted Egypt like no other. He had built an empire there in the ancient world. Bashina and Ra had brought an end to his domination and the jackal would hate them both until the end of time for it.

"I'm well aware of that. Let him lay among the dead in the crypts of Thebes as is his wont. We can, however, keep him out of Alexandria. He's already desecrated my effigy at Giza. He cannot be allowed to violate my most sacred temple as well."

Natsuko has some suggestions of her own. Mitsuru had already drafted a laundry list of various ideas with how to stem the tide of mongrel expansion, "My wife recommended focusing your defence forces in Mogadishu and Kampala to begin with. I would use the Kinshasa region as a staging area for your operations. With respect your majesty, I would like to return to the matter that brought me here."

"Yes dear, certainly. The offer that I made to you is still on the table, though I would have preferred if your father had come here to discuss it with me. Have you heard from him recently?" Natsuko's demeanour shifts to a much less affable state. Her relationship with Va'in had deteriorated in recent history and it was wearing on her. She needed his help and he was completely incommunicado.

Furrowing her brow and grinding her teeth, she answers, "No one has heard from him since he returned to his mountaintop some two hundred years ago. I have dispatched envoys to Hiei to seek his council but have not heard back from them. It is unfortunately likely that he doesn't care about the current state of affairs. If time permitted I would visit him personally but circumstances demand my presence elsewhere." Soon enough, she would go to Hiei herself. It would change everything if he were involved. No one else could take on Kagan in open combat. Only Va'in was potent enough to stand a chance. It baffles her that he chooses to abstain. No being on Earth despises Kagan more than her father.

"Yes... I see. As I said, we are willing to cooperate with you to the best of our abilities. Provided that both sides are willing to accept that our territorial lines will remain steadfast regardless of how this war plays out. I'm sure my commander agrees, don't you Jean?" Jean swallows his pride and extends his hand to his former nemesis. After a few seconds of pensive staring, Natsuko follows suit. Neither one feels the least bit right about it. Both are still plotting the slow painful death of the other in the backs of their minds. Their day would come, but not until after the current crisis.

"Yes, majesty. If the horde has joined together with Kagan's army then we have little recourse but to find allies as well. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as it were. Shall we begin discussing how to coordinate our militaries?" Natsuko has no time. Years ago her father had told her the location of Kagan's codex. A treasure trove of information on the western clan awaits her. Hopefully, she could decipher some of Kagan's plans with what was there. The jet is fuelled and waiting to depart for Diyarbakir.

"I've already given all the relevant data to Bashina. I'm afraid I can't stay and chat much longer. I'm on my way to Turkey for a critical reconnaissance mission. I need Jean to go to Japan and assist in the defence of our principle stronghold. My chief military adviser is housed there and we can't have her falling into enemy hands. If captured, the information she is in possession of could ruin us."

Jean can't help but react to the admission. He remembers Mitsuru from his last visit to Japan. She was the only vampire he's ever met that was actually more full of herself than Natsuko. A military leader who refuses to pick up a weapon is one who isn't worthy of respect, "An adviser who might give away secrets under interrogation is of no use at all. Surprising that you would place trust in one who you know will crack under pressure."

There is no way she would allow anyone to speak ill of her beloved, least of all the wolf in front of her. She places a hand to the hilt of each blade and hisses, "Mitsuru is a strategist, not a warrior. Who the hell are you to judge anyone's ability to handle pressure, dog? Already forgotten your little performance from yesterday morning? One mind of her calibre is worth a million grunts like you. Never forget that."

Feeling the mood shifting to confrontation rather than cooperation, Bashina steps in between them. The deal had only just been struck. She could not allow the tenuous peace to be shattered so soon, "That's just about enough from both of you. Anyone resorting to violence in my sanctuary will have to answer to me personally. Neither one of you is adequately prepared for that. If we could please return to the matter at hand. We still have yet to discuss the very serious problem of what to do about the channels. Does your strategist have any ideas what to do about them Natsuko?"

The vampire relaxes her stance and walks towards the doors, pausing momentarily to blurt over her shoulder, "Have the puppy ask her himself when he gets to Japan. I've already spent enough time here. Thank you for your time your highness, I will take my leave." Natsuko strides out of the room proudly and gives Jean one last wink before the doors shut behind her.

He growls under his breath and stomps a foot down hard, "I don't trust her. If we let our guard down for a single second, they'll be kicking down the door. The way she deflected the question about the channels was suspicious, she knows something she's not telling us."

"For the time being, working with them is our best option. Of course she is withholding information. There are a number of things I neglected to tell her. Before you head for Japan Jean, you and I need to have a serious discussion." It is time to remind him of his responsibility to her. If there is one thing Bashina detests, it is dissent in her ranks. She treated him like a son and he had openly defied a direct order. This needs to be addressed.

"Yes, highness. Go ahead."

"I have been more than understanding of your mental state up until this point. That ends today. If you ever defy one of my edicts again the way you did in Nairobi, I will have you neutered. Hopefully, you will perform better while in Japan. I don't care if we're family or not, I can't afford to have a liability in a position of command. Do you understand?"

He hesitates to answer. There is no logical defence for his behaviour but he decides to try anyway, "Yes, if you'll let me expl-"

She puts her hand over his mouth, "Hush. I don't need your excuses. Only that you listen to me for once. Your hate and anger are what drew Ahmu to you in the first place, the more you give in to it, the more you are his. You have to find a way to some kind of inner peace, whether by meditation, drugs or whatever. I don't care how you do it-just make it happen. For now, keeping you out of his proximity will have to suffice, but at some point you may have no choice but to face him down. I may not be able to save you next time."

"I will do everything I can to make you believe in me again. Was there anything else you needed?"

She turns away from him and waves her hand dismissively, "No. There is a plane fuelled and ready at the airfield. I suggest you round up some warriors and get in the air immediately."
CHAPTER 13

Incense fills the air of the Turkish bazaar. Locals have emerged from their nightly hiding places and into the streets hoping to make a little profit. The economy of war is as ever, a lucrative one. Myriad shouting voices offer bargains on fantastic items and delicious foods. Natsuko did not come here to purchase trinkets however, she came to buy information. The noonday sun beats down on her body, but the cloak she wears is keeping her discomfort to a minimum. Blending into the throngs of busy shoppers has been easier than she had initially thought, and she slides into her contact's tent without arousing suspicion.

A pudgy, aged Roma woman greets her from behind a worn plywood desk, "May I help you? Palm readings are twenty lira. Tea leaves are thirty. Séances are negotiated on a case by case basis." The crone is not who she came to visit. If she wanted to see her old friend, money would need to change hands.

Natsuko drops ten thousand lira on the table, "I'm here to talk to your grandmother." Snatching the wad of bills off the table, the woman counts it and takes a step back.

"One moment please." Natsuko sits down as the Roma leaves the tent. Shortly thereafter, a deceptively younger looking woman steps inside. She is tall, slender and wearing a finely ornamented belly dancing outfit. Natsuko is intimately familiar with the curves of that body. Sadly, there wasn't time to revisit those memories just now.

The dancer brushes her fiery red hair aside and says, "Make it quick Nati, I've got four more performances today. I'm assuming it's something related to the recent chain of events, yes?" Her tone is more confrontational than Natsuko expected. This war had everyone on edge.

"I want to know about Kagan's troop movements. I'm also interested in the guard rotation and the layout of the inside of the prison. I need to get access to the lower levels. Any insight you may have on what led Kagan to incite this war would be appreciated as well."

The flame haired seductress looks back at her dumbfounded, "You want information that would get me killed for a measly ten thousand lira? You'll have to do much better than that." Natsuko drops another hundred thousand on the table.

"I've got the financial backing of the animi empress, Illyana. If this isn't enough, just name your price and you'll have it. Now spill it." No amount was too much when it came to Bashina's riches. She could buy a nation with the change in her pockets.

Illyana grins and begins fanning herself with her newfound fortune, "Another ten million should cover it. I'll send the bill to Mumbai. If you're lying to me about big momma footing the bill and I get killed over it, I will come back to haunt you. Right now, most of the western block is tied up invading various targets in North America and East Asia. Knocking down your front door, as I heard it. Frankly, I'm blown away you're here. If I were you, I'd be back home protecting my own, not breaking into my enemy's library." Natsuko is well aware of the threat on her doorstep. Hopefully, the trust she had put in the wolf was not misplaced. Not that she would tell Illyana about that alliance. Great care needed to be taken in what information you gave her. Unless of course, you wanted the whole world to know your business.

"I have faith my clan can hold the line. Now about the guards. How many are there? When is shift change?"

"There are about a hundred in total. They always move in groups of at least two, but most of them are indentured humans, not vampires, so they should be no problem for you. Make sure you approach the compound at night. If the alarm gets sounded, you'll have to deal with hundreds of Kagan's real soldiers, so rushing in half-cocked will be a bad idea. Play it cool and stay out of sight and you should make it to the library door no problem. Getting past the door I can't help you with. It has a keypad with a numerical code and the code changes every day." It sounds easy enough. Infiltration has always been her speciality. Human guards just make her job that much simpler. If any vampires show up, there are always contingency plans. Not the least of which are the few compact incendiary devices concealed on her overcoat.

"I'm sure there will be someone inside who can help me with the code. If I ask the right way." Extracting information is not her specialty, more of an innate gift. Over the years she had honed that gift. Almost consistent conflict with Kagan's cabal and various animi factions afforded her plenty of opportunity for practice. Natsuko leans forward and whispers, "So what caused all this? My sensei said Kagan hasn't openly attacked humans like this in hundreds of years. What changed?"

Illyana shrugs and starts arranging her money into neat ten thousand lira stacks, "No idea. He's been obsessing about the death of the countess a little more than usual lately, but there was nothing that hinted at the makings of genocide. One day last month he just crawled out of his cave and said 'we're annihilating human civilization'. Nobody is sure why this started. Nobody is happy about it either, particularly the fact that we're cooperating with the mongrels. From what I heard, Kagan has started killing some of his own generals to keep the rest in line."

It's not what she wanted to hear. Illyana usually knew everything about the goings on within the western block. Kagan must be playing things very close to the chest indeed. "That's disappointing, I was hoping you knew more. For an information broker, you don't have much information do you." Natsuko gets up to leave the tent, but Illyana grabs hold of her arm and pulls her back to the table.

"There was one thing. I heard a group of tractatori visited Kagan in Germany recently. They dropped off a bunch of crates while they were there too. Whatever was in them must have been toxic, since they had to be unloaded by men in full hazmat gear from what I heard." This is surprising. Kagan hates the tractatori. Eating them suited him fine, but he would never deal with one.

Unless, "Maybe they were selling him juice. Do vampires here use it too?"

"Not to my knowledge. It's tailor made for animi usage. Vampire metabolism wouldn't be able to handle the strain. My guess is he has some mongrels around somewhere that he needs it for." The old crone returns to the tent holding a blue print of the prison and hands it over. Illyana releases her grip and passes on the map to her former lover. "If you survive, come back and see me again sometime Nati."

She would be back. An invitation to visit Illyana was something she'd never turn down, so long as her wife didn't hear about it. For now, she needed to study that map. Every nook and cranny of the prison needed to be committed to memory for her plan to succeed.

After nightfall, Natsuko makes her way to the outskirts of Diyarbakir prison. The perimeter is monitored by guard towers with spotlights and surrounded by a tall electrified chain link fence. From the cover of the shadows, she darts back and forth between the search lights until she is standing just beneath one of the towers. Climbing inside the tower as quietly as a whisper, she finds herself behind a pair of human guards.

Hours spent out in the light of day have taken their toll on her. The veins in their necks call out to be bitten. Fangs throb in her mouth at the thought of sinking them into fresh prey. She must suppress her desires or risk giving away her position too soon. Denying herself nourishment is harrowing, but she manages to flip over the fence and into the compound before succumbing to the thirst. By sticking tightly to the walls of the building, she manages to remain out of sight of the roving patrols. She ascends the wall and enters the prison through a darkened third floor window. As she listens in on a discussion between two guards, it is clear that no one is yet aware of her.

As they walk by her hiding place, she slides out behind them. Just inches away, but making no sound, she shadows their movements perfectly as they make their way down the corridor. If they turn, she turns with them. When they pause, she pauses. Every time they pass a security camera she keeps the guard's bodies in between, masking her presence. Relieving the guards of their keys and security passes without their knowledge is a simple task. At all times she is just outside their perceptions, a silent spectre that they pay no mind. At the stairwell down, she breaks off and continues into the lower levels.

The basement corridors are rife with the reek of stale blood and human effluvia. Off in the distance, the sounds of whirring power tools mix with muffled screams. Natsuko passes by a number of prisoners who are too emaciated and diseased to even lift their heads. All of them show signs they have been used as blood bags. Patchworks of tiny needle marks cover their necks and arms.

Guard patrols have disappeared from sight and she is approaching the entrance to Kagan's underground codex. A door swings open down the hallway to the east, sending Natsuko diving into the shadows to conceal herself. An obese, disgusting man wearing a blood soaked apron comes loping out into the darkness. Crooked, rotten fangs drip with fresh, sticky plasma. In his left hand is a rusty hatchet, in his right, a band saw. He squints his eyes while sniffing at his surroundings, saying, "What have we here? An intruder perhaps? I may not be able to see you but I can sure as hell smell you. What kind of idiot comes to a place like this wearing such a potent fragrance? Come on out and play little one."

She forgot to wash off her perfume, a fatal error on her part. There were ways to turn this into an opportunity, though. The pig might know the security code to the codex. Maybe if she asked nicely, he'd tell her.

"So, there are some vampires in here, then? I was beginning to think this was all too easy. And you're the prison interrogator by the look of it. How quaint. It just so happens I've got a few questions for you." She draws her wakizashi from her waistband and steps out into the hallway's dim light. Listening closely to her surroundings, there are no stomping footsteps in the distance, no alarm siren wailing. The torturer has not informed the rest of the prison of her whereabouts.

"My, my, you're Japanese aren't you? A follower of the great one's meagre brother no doubt. Oh, I am going to have fun cutting into you. Yes I am. Huhuhu!" She takes advantage of her opponent's overconfident musing and bolts forward swinging her blade. A few well placed strokes and both of the interrogator's arms are chopped off at the elbow. Another sweeping strike at knee level drops the porcine beast to the ground. Natsuko drags its squirming body back into the torture chamber and collects all four of its severed limbs.

Inside the room is a sadist's wet dream. All manner of fiendish devices hang from the walls of the chamber, from the most traditional whips to modern power tools. Every single item shows signs of frequent use. The interrogator's most current guest lies still bleeding out on a rack in the centre of the room.

Makeshift tourniquets fashioned out of a cat of nine tails are slapped on the torturer's stumps to prevent him from dying before Natsuko can get her answers. A rusty serrated knife is twirled in his face as she speaks, "You know what I've never quite understood about western culture?" She taps he blade lightly on his cheek, "You people waste so much time and effort on being flashy. Look at these implements. A whole lot of bullshit for intimidation purposes." She drops the weapon and produces a small black package from within her jacket, "It just creates a huge unnecessary mess. When will you people learn that inflicting pain, much like combat, is more a matter of precision than force."

The package unfurls to reveal a series of shiny needles. As she rolls one back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, she makes her demands, "I'm a little short on time right now, so I'll be brief. I want access to the codex under this prison, and any information you have on Kagan's operations."

The torturer is not the least bit concerned. Pain was his business. It didn't frighten him, he loved it. He mocks her attempt at intimidation, "You're going to torture me? That's hilarious. Do your worst little girl." The first needle goes straight into his left cornea, "That tickles. Try again." One more is stuck behind the right ear, "Painful, but ultimately unconvincing. Are you sure you don't want to try some of my toys? I recommend some pliers, or maybe a nice flagellation."

"You misunderstand, pig. This doesn't get interesting until the toxin on the needles takes effect." For the next few minutes, she turns his body into a living pincushion, sticking needles in all of his nerve clusters from multiple angles. When the toxin finally takes hold of him, his sense of humour disintegrates.

"Alright, alright. I get the message. The pass code to the library is one-zero-ninefour. Make it stop."

Professional torturer or not, everyone cracks eventually. She pushes him for more info, "What is Kagan planning next? Answer me and I will release you."

"All I know is he's planning on solidifying his power base by killing off all the remaining dissenters among his followers. Whatever he's doing he's doing soon. Please... just let it be over."

"As you wish." With a simple stroke of her blade she decapitates the interrogator and goes on her way. The pass code he gave is accurate, and the codex door swings open for her.

What lies before her is a massive open cavern hidden beneath the prison of Diyarbakir. Walls covered in myriad paintings depicting the history of Kagan's clan surround her. Decaying tapestries hang from the stalactites on the cave ceiling. Some of the scenes are familiar to her, but others are entirely new. The most striking tableaus consist of a ring of archaic symbols surrounding a blue circle.

A sequence of paintings also catches her eye. It shows a black cloud hovering over an open plain littered with dead bodies. Standing amid the dead are tiny green people surrounded by halos of white light that intertwine with the cloud that hovers above them. She takes numerous photographs of every item in the area and proceeds deeper into the cave.

Passing under an ornate stone archway covered in pictographs, she finds a reliquary. Stone furnishings with the same images carved into their faces as the archway are everywhere. Clay pots painted in dozens of dead languages rest on finely chiseled granite columns. Common motifs among all the items seem to be clouds, erupting volcanoes and withered trees.

A nearby stone bench is blanketed in a pile of scribbled notes. The parts she can decipher point towards the items in the room being related to something called 'the emissary of the enemy'. There are also a number of mathematical calculations and a treatise pertaining to tracking geothermal energy flow. The exact meaning of any of it is a complete mystery to her. Stuffing the notes into her jacket, she continues taking pictures. As interesting as her discoveries thus far have been, she hoped for something more substantial. There had to be some sort of computer around here. A central hub for information was the whole reason she had made the trip and she wasn't planning on leaving until she found it.

Following the low hum of a generator she finally locates her primary target. Stacked to the ceiling in a huge chamber is a series of giant mainframes. It would take her a lifetime to sort through all the information contained on just one of them. Thankfully, all she had to do was plug in a thumb drive that uploads a worm to the server and walk away. Analysts back home could disseminate whatever information the worm extracts. With her primary objective completed, she goes back to the reliquary to further study the collection of antiquities.

Curiosity would have to remain unsatisfied for the time being. A guard has stumbled upon the corpse of the interrogator upstairs and the alarm siren is wailing full blast. The thunderous thumping of a dozen sets of combat boots are rushing in her direction. In seconds, she would be overwhelmed by a contingent of Kagan's loyalist soldiers. Not humans either, these were definitely vampires, she could smell the blood on their breath from where she stood. Since options were limited and time was running out, she resorts to her last ditch contingency.

She produces the emergency incendiary device from within her overcoat, sets the timer for two minutes and drops it on the reliquary floor. Natsuko is well aware in a stand up fight she would have no chance, so she latches onto the ceiling and conceals herself just above the archway entrance. It is the ideal perch for an effective ambush.

Guards pile into the room two by two. She drops a handful of smoke bombs right at their feet, engulfing them in an acrid foul smelling cloud. While the hacking soldiers attempt to regain their assaulted senses, she cuts her way through their lines and darts for the exit.

Running like a madwoman, she is up the stairs and out of the library in no time. After she slams the door shut behind her, she breaks the keypad lock to seal it tight. On her way down the hall she tosses a pilfered key ring to a prisoner and says, "Care to join the jailbreak, buddy?" Waves of boisterous appreciation erupt from the prisoners and they file out of their cells into the corridor. A savage riot breaks out in her wake, occupying the human guards and covering her hasty retreat. Detonation in the basement shakes the building to its foundation.

Any humans unfortunate enough to cross her path on the way out of the complex are cut to ribbons. She bounds up to the roof of the prison and collects her bearings for one last push. Gathering momentum with a running start, she leaps clear over the perimeter fence and disappears into the night.
CHAPTER 14

To say that Jean Charles' welcome when he arrived in Japan was inhospitable would be the understatement of the century. Weapons of all sizes and shapes have remained trained on his brain from the instant his plane touched down on Okinawa. Bared fangs and hissing voices were certainly the type of greeting he was accustomed to in East Asia, but this time he had actually come to help instead of hurt. Miraculously, he manages to keep his cool and attempts to diffuse the volatile attitudes of the locals, "I'm not here to make trouble. I'm looking for Mitsuru Masamura. She's expecting me. I'm here to help. Believe me nobody is more shocked to hear me say that than I am." The polite admission does nothing to improve the situation.

A quick sniff of the aggressors yields an interesting fact. These vampires are young, surprisingly young. Not a single one could be older than a century. Paranoia and desperation hang in the ozone. Contempt rises within him and the urge to teach the fledglings some respect comes to the forefront. The irritated wolf bares his true face at them, "Alright, enough coddling. Get out of my way, or so help me God I will eat every single one of you." Guns cock and safeties switch off. Paranoia gives way to panic and the young blood drinkers take aim between his eyes.

Before anyone can make a move, Jean's intended contact appears behind her troops and chides them, "Yes, quite impressive. Everyone has really big swollen testicles swinging betwixt their legs. Here's a thought. Why doesn't everyone just stow the testosterone for five seconds so we can fortify the base for the actual attack that's coming. Or if you geniuses prefer, you can just kill each other now and ruin any chance we had of living through today." Both sides relax and weapons are holstered for the time being. She glares at Jean, "Please refrain from antagonizing my troops any more than you absolutely have to. Everybody here is already on edge and the last thing we need is you storming through slaughtering the new recruits. Try to remember you are here as part of an attempted alliance between our respective organizations. It would be quite counterproductive to all involved if we turned on each other so soon." Just as cold and callous as he remembers her, perhaps more so. Still wearing the same silk kimono and zoris she used to as well. Jean has to remind himself not to stare at her lazy eye, lest she become even more obstinate.

"Why do you have so many younglings around here? I feel like I'm walking through a preschool right now. There are more seasoned combatants as well, I hope?"

Mitsuru raises an eyebrow and scoffs, "Obviously there are. These are just our perimeter guard. All of our more experienced soldiers are inside the base. We've been incorporating as many of our indentured humans as possible in order to increase the size of our army. Kagan and his enclave will be attacking soon and their numbers have at least doubled in recent history." Numbers would be an issue. Mitsuru and Jean both knew that. Kagan and his ilk are indiscriminate in who they brought into the fold. They had to stoop to these tactics as well to avoid being overwhelmed. Even if they had to recruit homeless people, bodies were bodies.

"Yes, I know about the attack. Plus, it is likely that Ahmu is sharing troops with Kagan now as well. When you take all of this into consideration, how can you justify having a crowd of jumpy children as your first line of defence?" Mitsuru steps into his path so she can lean in close and whisper directly into his ear. The new recruits didn't need to hear what she really thought of them.

"They are the first line because they are completely expendable. When the battle starts, anyone outside the base will stand no chance of surviving. Why waste our best and brightest in a fool's errand when there are thousands of status seeking social climbers who will gladly throw their lives away for a fleeting chance at immortality?" She was most certainly heartless, but not at all stupid. Depending on circumstances, the fledglings could at the very least buy them time to escape if things got too heated.

Jean is taken aback by the extreme cold inside the base. Shivers shoot through him from head to toe and his breath seems to freeze midair. An extended stay within could easily result in his death and that of his troops.

"Sometimes I forget how much you people like the cold. If we're going to be any use to you in the coming battle, you're going to need to raise the temperature in here." Mitsuru has no interest in making accommodations for him, but feigns concern to shut him up. In her mind, if Jean freezes to death, it's just one less enemy to worry about.

"I'll see what I can do Colonel. For the time being, I suggest you wear your fur. Please follow me to the war room."

They descend several floors and arrive at the nerve centre of Mitsuru's operation. Dozens of occupied workstations are lit up and analysts are sifting through intelligence data all around them. Walls full of screens display security footage of every inch of the base, within and without. Heads with eyes wide open turn to greet Jean and his cohorts. There is a strong sense that the staff are less than happy to see a group of animi within their base. Jean takes a seat at a huge mahogany table, "So what troops and defences does this base have? Do we have any idea what type of attack to expect?"

Mitsuru brings up a layout of the base on a view screen, "The outer walls are equipped with large yield turrets loaded with high explosive shells. There are two of them on every corner of the building. Reinforced blast doors are prepared to seal off every section inside. Sealed sections can be flooded with nerve toxin or flammable gases on command. In the event that we are overrun, there is an emergency destruct function and two escape rockets that will hold one hundred people each.

Our main force is roughly two thousand strong with infantry units and heavy weapons. To be honest, we were hoping Bashina would send more than just you and a few soldiers. So far as what to expect-we have no idea really, besides the fact that it will be a substantial assault. I would like your team to man the cannons on the walls. With successive firing they tend to overheat and my people may not be able to sustain their use for long. An animi could utilize them indefinitely with no risk." It is a sensible idea. His soldiers would have no trouble using the weapons. Bashina's palace had similar turrets to repel possible vampire attacks.

"Agreed." He turns to his followers, "Half of you spread out among the turrets, the rest remain here with me. Natsuko informed me that the principle point of my being here was to prevent her chief strategist from being captured. I guess that makes me your personal bodyguard, doesn't it Mitsuru?"

Having any werewolf around at all did not appeal to her, one standing right next to her even less so. The smell of their kind alone was enough to make her want to vomit, "Does it now? Look Colonel, my wife is a great warrior. That often leads her to being a touch over protective. So much so, that she convinces one of her greatest rivals to help defend my home. Contrary to what she might have told you, I am not defenceless."

"Be that as it may, I was given a direct order to protect you and I will not deviate from it. You just acquired a shadow. Deal with it. While I have your ear, there was something I wanted to discuss with you." While he has one of the world's best minds around, he may as well pick at it. Anything she knew would be better than nothing.

"Go ahead Colonel."

"Natsuko seemed to think you had some sort of insight into what it was the channels were up to. I'd like to hear it."

Mitsuru's eyes light up like Christmas trees. Any opportunity to flaunt her knowledge made her ecstatic, "I have a theory, yes. As I'm sure you're aware, for millennia channels have been the most benign race in relation to the humans and in many cases they have in fact aligned themselves with the human race in opposition to other preternaturals. For example, Ra led an uprising of slaves against Ahmu in ancient Egypt. One of the primary things that kept Kagan from running wild all these years is fear of reprisal by the channels. Vampires do their best not to cross creatures who can throw fire."

All of this he already knew, what he didn't understand was, "But now they're collaborating with them."

"Precisely. It makes little sense considering channels have a history of protecting humans from predatory species. Unless of course, this war on the human race was initiated by them." She brings up Kagan's original internet address on the monitors overhead, "Listen to what he's saying about pollution and overpopulation. He makes several statements related to the environment and ecology. I know Kagan. I've sat as close to him as you are to me right now. I've spent days at a time negotiating cease fires and prisoner exchanges. The man doesn't give a rat's ass about the environment. I once heard him joke that oil spills are comical because filthy animals are more fun than clean ones. From his standpoint overpopulation is a positive thing. It just means more selection for his dinner table.

Channels on the other hand, are deeply connected to the Earth. Some legends imply that they speak to the planet and it gives them commands. The way the world has changed in recent years would be like the holocaust to them if these things are true. Look at all the targets for the suicide bombings yesterday. Each city was a major polluter. Oil refineries, industrial production facilities, major transportation hubs and the like were all on the list. They're smashing modern infrastructure. If we're lucky, the bombings from yesterday will be a onetime strike." An interesting theory, but not in keeping with the information he has. Kagan was supposed to be the primary aggressor.

"Bashina is quite convinced this all started because Kagan wants to return himself to God status."

Mitsuru detested when people tried to argue with her. Even more so, when the person contradicting her was a filthy savage. She has concrete evidence, "Your matriarch's centuries on the pedestal would give her insight into having an addiction to worshippers, but I disagree with her analysis. I'll show you why." Freezing a frame in the video where Kagan's eyes wander from the lens, she zooms in close on his face, "Look at him. He's being told what to say by another."

A sideways glance is not enough to sway Jean. He counters forcefully, "So what? Bashina employs speech writers, as does every other politician on the planet. Kagan could have similar servants."

She shakes her head fervently. Slowing down her speech in an attempt to cater to his inferior intellect, she explains, "As I said. I know the man. He is most definitely not a politician. A killer, a warrior and certainly a textbook megalomaniac, but he's no politician. Any of Kagan's followers who has the audacity to even make the attempt to tell him what to do or say, gets eaten on the spot. He'll kill anyone who so much as looks him in the eye. There is someone off frame here giving him direction...

And he's actually listening. It could only be Ra. I can't bring to mind any other being who could make Kagan do anything against his will." Jean ignores her condescending tone. If she answers the question, her arrogance could go on uncontested. If she pushed his buttons too much, there was always the possibility she could be an 'unfortunate casualty' of the upcoming battle.

"Did Ra approach your clan for support as well?"

"Not to my knowledge. Though there are some dealings in the clan that I am not privy to. If he had, we would have declined. We liked the status quo. Living around humans, but apart from them, suited us fine." She hates admitting it, but it's true. Natsuko has secret meetings with Va'in regularly, and the old one has sworn her wife to secrecy. There could be a whole host of things she didn't hear about. Va'in could have been working with Ra from the beginning for all she knew.

"Do you have any idea how big Ra's army could be? Can we expect the whole race to suicide themselves for their cause?"

"That's another major issue. Until recently it was thought that their species is basically extinct. They don't pass on their gift to humans nearly as actively as a vampire or animi. Those who cross their paths usually don't live through it. With so few of them left, the rash of bombings yesterday would likely wipe out all that remained. At least, I thought that until I saw this." The screens change to a grainy video of a man standing in front of a series of tents, pacing back and forth talking to himself. A few seconds into the clip, his hands and face light on fire. Soldiers rush to him with fire extinguishers but cannot prevent the flames from spreading. Numerous by standers are set alight and one of the soldiers fires a single shot into the man's head. The video then abruptly ends.

"This video was taken in London at six AM yesterday. The man you see on fire is named Clyde Simmons. A small time Eco-terrorist and full time loser with a few minor arrests. Mostly for trespassing and break and enter. Never got a serious jail sentence because, as one arresting officer put it, 'He's harmless as a fly'. Yet here he is blowing London off the face of the Earth. After having some of my people look into him further; it turns out he's got a younger brother who owes a rather sizable chunk of cash to some less than reputable people. Two million pounds magically appeared in that same brother's bank account a week ago. That money came straight out of a dummy company we know is run by Kagan's clan." An archetypal story Jean had heard a hundred times before. Terrorist groups did it all the time.

"Seems like standard suicide bomber etiquette. Find a desperate man with the right politics and you can pretty much convince him to do anything. So they could conceivably have created a host of expendable human bombs then."

"Yes, as a matter of fact we did some data collection and found a disturbing trend. It seems a number of Eco-terrorists have been 'escaping' from prisons around the world over the past couple of months. Members of Greenpeace, Earth first, and even an ex president of PETA have gone missing. None of them have been found. Ra may have enough firepower to level the known world several times over." This theory of hers was making more sense by the second.

"And in the aftermath, Kagan and Ahmu have ample opportunity to pick over the remains of human civilization to their hearts content."

"Correct. Unless we can do something to stop them this really will be the end of the world. I know that we have had our differences in the past. You and my wife in particular may not like this alliance. We will have to learn to work together. United we stand a chance. If we let petty squabbles from the past cloud our judgement, we all die."

Mitsuru did know what she was talking about. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill her after all, "I concur. I will do all I can to ensure my men abide by the truce. I've never fought a channel before. How do you kill one?"

"Not sure. Never needed to. I've actually never even met one personally. Most of what I know I learned second hand from Va'in. I'm sorry to say he's been absolutely no help with this particular situation thus far." Or any situation ever. Sat idle on his mountaintop and passed judgement, usually on Mitsuru. She hates the old man. Every time her opinion was in opposition to his, Natsuko took his side and it drove her crazy. The mere mention of the old one's name made her skin crawl.

"Ah, yes. Natsuko's mercurial father. She did mention that there had been unsuccessful attempts to reach him. Is it true what I've heard about him and Kagan being indoctrinated by the same vampire?"

"No, it is not. Neither one of them was turned by anyone. They are members of the original natural strain, biological half brothers who share the same mother."

"Really? How old are they then?"

"Not entirely sure. What I do know is that they predate recorded history by at least a few thousand years."

A soldier at a nearby workstation turns to face Mitsuru, "Masamura sama, A battalion of enemy aircraft are approaching on the western horizon. Your orders?"

"All units to defensive positions. Non combat personnel retreat to the bunker. Activate the perimeter cannons and prepare to engage."
CHAPTER 15

Five large troop transport planes surrounded by two squadrons of fighter jets are barrelling down on the base at full speed. Dozens of troops have already begun diving out of the transports onto the ground below. The bulk of the force is made up of mongrels who rush onward blindly into a hail of gun fire from the vampire defenders. For every one that is cut down there are two that survive to face off with the terrified fledglings along the perimeter. Guns have to be abandoned in favour of close quarters weapons.

The incendiary cannons lob a volley of rounds at the approaching aircraft, managing to down three transports quickly. Burning mongrels pour out of the planes as they go careening into the earth. The remaining two circle about and continue dropping their fuzzy payload of troops. Crates of supplies are being parachuted down en masse. Enemy troops draw weapons and packets of juice from within. Fighter jets wheel and bank their way through the onslaught and launch a series of missile attacks that punch holes in the walls of the complex and blast apart dozens of infantry units. Any fighter that sustains even minor damage immediately changes directions, and kamikazes itself into the building.

The outer defence forces thin quickly. Many of the young ones lose their nerve and try desperately to escape their attackers, only to be run down and devoured by the raging mass of jackals. Ground forces are outnumbered and out classed by the psychotic animi warriors. Mitsuru senses the situation deteriorating, "We have to thin their forces on the ground. All western cannons forget firing on the aircraft for now and focus on the mongrels."

One of the animi manning the cannons strongly objects, "Your own people are down there in the thick of it lady. These weapons will kill them as well." She pounds her fist into the table in front of her and screams back at him. There was only one person here who was allowed to make judgement calls and it sure as hell wasn't a dog.

"They are expendable assets. Just do as you're told." The soldier obeys her and turns his turret on the melee beneath him. Bodies burst and limbs scatter into the air with every shot. Much to the delight of the mongrels, who dance about in the firestorm, laughing and playing with the entrails of their fallen comrades. While aggressive and dangerous, their lack of self control and tenuous grip on sanity makes them easy targets. Pleas from the vampire fledglings for the shelling to stop are ignored. The field is cleared of combatants in no time, but a second wave of mongrels is already coming.

Emptied of their contents, the two remaining transport jets have come about and are headed straight for the building at maximum velocity. Turrets can only manage to shoot down one in time to prevent contact. The other slams into the north side of the base, causing massive damage and disabling all of the turrets on the northern walls. All remaining fighters in the sky follow its example, crashing into the few intact turrets. Fires rip through the building's corridors, igniting the vampires within. Animi begin streaming into the building in droves gibbering at the top of their lungs.

Mitsuru yells over the comms, "Any troops outside the base, get back inside immediately. Once everyone is safely inside the building, begin evacuation procedures. I want a point by point update of what parts of the base they've managed to infiltrate. Give me a visual of the north corridors." What shows up on her view screen is an orgy of violence. The few vampires who were not consumed in the flames of the recent explosions are being torn apart by the invaders. Pieces of their dismembered bodies are being gleefully munched on. A figure steps to the forefront of the frame. All of the mongrels drop what they're doing to stare at the newcomer. A charred visage looks into the camera lens and waves.

"Helloooooo... anybody home? Those of you who are interested in living through today, I offer you a deal. We came here for your leader. Bring her to me willingly and I will consider mercy. If not, I will let my new pets run free throughout this base to their little heart's content." Mitsuru does not recognize the melted face, but the voice is very familiar. Not since the mid forties has she had the distinct displeasure of Balder's company.

She activates the PA system to respond, "My people are loyal to me Torrig. Not a single one of them would consider joining up with a disgusting Nazi like you. They would rather die with honour than live under the yoke of you and your master. Love the new look by the way, it's a big improvement on the scribbled mess you used to call a face. Your outside finally matches your inside."

Torrig had almost forgotten how much he hates the Japanese. He smashes the camera to bits and shrieks at the top of his lungs, "You fucking nips never learn! All right bitch, if that's how you want it." Raising his hands above his head, he hisses at the surrounding mongrels and stomps his feet. They stampede off down the hallway yipping, in search of more enemies to mangle. Torrig barks into his radio, "Send in the girls. Let's really get this party going."

Two small slender Latina women are carried in by Torrig's subordinates. The vampires place the girls gingerly on the ground and then run for their lives. The ladies speak to Torrig in harmonic unison, "What is it you need, vampire? Shall we en thrall the masses or incite them?"

Torrig produces a breathing apparatus from his jacket and puts it on. He can't risk being caught in the influence of the tractatori, "En thrall them. I want the lazy eyed bitch and her followers compliant for the time being. For some reason, Kagan wants her alive."

They bow slightly to him, "As you wish." Standing back to back, the girls begin hyperventilating in tandem. Drool pours from their mouths and pools on the floor at their feet. Cloaks of a thick, shimmering mist waft out of them, obscuring the girls from view. A sickly sweet scent dominates the air as the cloud spreads out into the hallway. Vampires caught in the cloud fall into a pleasant intoxicated stupor and lose all desire to fight back against the advancing horde.

With no resistance, the mongrels are free to take their time butchering every living thing they come across. Numerous victims are flayed and eaten still alive, laughing as loudly as their killers while it happens. They feel the pain, they smell their own blood, but are compelled to enjoy it. Enjoy it to the point of total sexual elation. The screams that echo through the base are a disturbing symphony of torturous agony and orgasmic delight.

The carnage has a profound impact on Mitsuru. Her troops are losing ground and mongrels are still pouring in, "God damn it! They've got succubi with them too? Is the whole fucking world coming down on us at once? Close all the internal partitions. We have to try and contain the vapour."

Jean can smell the panic beginning to overtake Mitsuru. She paces back and forth through the war room biting her nails and muttering under her breath. A profound realization materializes in his mind, "Look at yourself. You've never been present at a battle before have you? Being on the front lines is quite far removed from sitting in a tent twenty miles away sipping sake isn't it?"

Holding her head in her hands, she sobs, "Yes. Natsuko was always there to handle the role of field commander. Now of all times she chooses to go gallivanting off on some wild goose chase and leaves me here with a flea bitten dog for a bodyguard. We're all going to die-I just know it."

He slaps her across the face and looks her in the eyes, "Stop your blubbering woman. Listen to me. If the partitions are closed, for now the mongrels can't go any further. You said earlier you could vent nerve gas into the hallways. Saturate the hallways with the gas." The press of a button and the deed is done. Gas floods the corridors and the twin smoke machines drop to the ground gasping for air. Bloody tears stream down their faces like a crimson waterfall. A few painful twitches later, both girls have expired. With the succubi lying dead, their mist ceases spreading. The damage is done and those affected will take time to recover. Time is something they do not have.

Banging noises begin to ring out from all corners of the base, rhythmic and steady every few seconds. Mongrels are taking turns throwing themselves full speed into the partitions. The dividers are thick and sturdy but dents begin to form with each successive jolt. No matter how much nerve gas is pumped into the area, they show no signs of slowing down. The mongrels seem to be almost enjoying it, intentionally taking in huge inhales and blowing out smoke rings.

Torrig once again shows his face on camera, now flanked by two more short thin women, both also wearing re-breathers, "Nerve gas, eh? How cute. I would have gone with something more classic, like a nice Zyklon B. Then again, I'm just a purist. You know you can't hide from me forever, right? My pets may look and smell like shit, but they sure are persistent, aren't they? Come on ladies. Let's go make some new friends."

Several partitions have already broken under the weight of dozens of frenzied mongrels. The banging noises are drawing ever closer to the control room. Mitsuru and her staff seemed to be buckling under the pressure. For any of them to make it out alive, Jean had to take over command, "This situation has become untenable. Everyone who is able has to get into the evacuation transports and get out now. If Torrig gets down here with those succubi, Mitsuru is as good as captured."

Jean turns to the small group of wolves he has with him. The succubi's power would not affect him. Their pull played upon emotions he had lost long ago. Jean was an alpha. He could force his wolves to ignore the succubi as well, "We must cover our host's escape. Listen closely to what I say. It is possible to resist the influence of the tractatori if you are adequately prepared. They will attempt to prey upon your desires of the flesh. Force those thoughts from your consciousness." His true face comes snarling to the surface. The hulking black wolf grunts further instructions, "Trust the beast inside you. Feel the hate, the unrestrained aggression. Reach deep down inside yourselves and know that nothing can shake your resolve, nothing can stop you. Then you kill. You kill until you die."

Never in his life did he think he would be teaching the core beliefs of Ahmu's personal philosophy to his own recruits. There is no alternative. If he had any, he might even have given all of them a dose of juice, anything to accomplish the mission. Mongrels are beating down the door. It's time to up the ante.

The wolves form a circle around Jean. Grunting gives way to growling. They grow consistently louder. Before long, they are howling like it's a full moon. Unable to contain themselves, they begin taking swipes at one another. Jean wholeheartedly encourages it, "Yes! Good! Embrace the beast. Let it consume you. Kill until you die!"

When the door bursts open and the mongrels pour in, they are greeted by a lupine hurricane. Bodies pile up as both sides tear into one another with reckless abandon. Mist from the succubi fills the control room but has no observable effect on the combatants. The only thing the animi care about is shedding the blood of their enemies.

Mitsuru is another story entirely. Traces of the succubi's smoke reach her before she can make it to the escape hatch. Eyes glaze over and muscles relax as the siren's song takes hold. She turns about and walks back towards the object of her immeasurable desires. So dulled are her senses that she pays no mind to the slaughter taking place all around her. The only thing that matters is giving herself over to whatever is making that wonderful smell. Jean catches wind of her just before she wanders into the waiting arms of the succubi. Lunging across the room, he spear tackles her and drags the thralled vampire away from them.

"Idiot! I told you to get out of here. If you don't escape then our sacrifice will be wasted." She looks up at him with an empty stare.

"But I don't want to leave. Can't you smell it? It's like cotton candy mixed with virgin's blood and rose petals. It's so beautiful." He knows that since they have her under their power, she will fight tooth and nail to feel their embrace. To get her out, the tractatori had to die first. A few powerful swipes of his paws is all it takes to decapitate both of the miniature temptresses.

Mitsuru stands mesmerized in place staring at their severed heads on the floor. Every time he tries to move her towards the exit, she pulls away to go back to her slack jawed gazing. Jean quickly loses patience and slams the vampire face first into the floor, knocking her unconscious. It is a superfluously satisfying experience, "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

He tosses her over his shoulder and sprints toward the exit. Crossing the threshold into the escape ship, he yells to the pilot, "Take off now!" Thrusters kick in and the rocket takes off. Jean binds Mitsuru's hands and straps her into a seat, "Take us to Mumbai. Contact Natsuko and tell her to meet us there. We have some serious issues to discuss."

Mitsuru comes to and gazes long and hard at Jean's face. She mumbles drunkenly while pawing at his chest, "You know you're pretty handsome... for a man anyhow." Terminally short on patience with her intoxicated musing, he knocks her out again.

On the ground, the last of the werewolf defenders have been dispatched by Torrig's minions. Searching the premises for their intended quarry turns up nothing. The realization that she is gone sends Torrig into a frenzied panic. With his one remaining hand, he bashes in the brains of the closest available mongrels.

"Worthless animals. Capturing that woman was vital to plotting our next move. Kagan is going to kill all of us."

A single jackal slinks forward with its head down and tries to explain, "Not our fault, no, no, no. Wolfies weren't supposed to be here. If they no here, attack work perfect. Spy not tell us wolfies were coming. Kagan blame spy not us. Yes?" Bile rises in Torrig's throat at the gall of the creature questioning his assessment of the situation.

He orders its cohorts, "Eat this maggot. Then scour this place for anything useful. There must be something here I can use to keep myself off Kagan's dinner menu."
CHAPTER 16

The atmosphere is electric inside Kagan's crowded ski chalet. Celebrations began hours ago and show no signs of stopping any time soon. All manner of delectation is being indulged in by the cadre of revellers. Pale faces conceal themselves behind a kaleidoscopic array of finely detailed masks. Humans of all shapes and sizes are passed around so that all in attendance may partake. The guest of honour, however, is not enjoying the festivities. Kagan sits quietly in the corner, grinding his teeth and glaring furiously at the ridiculous frivolity before him.

Two blood drunk vampire nobles take notice of his demeanor and wander up to chide him, "Why so glum? We've won haven't we? Every human government in Europe has already surrendered to us. Asia won't be far behind. We own the humans once again. Just because you didn't get to wipe them out like you wanted to is no reason to waste a good party." Evidently, the example he tried to set with the cardinal a few days prior was insufficient in getting his message across. That will soon be rectified.

"Yes, old one. Have a drink with us. I'm sure there is a virgin or two left around somewhere. Sitting here moping is unbecoming of one of us. You're just lucky you chose to bow to public opinion. After what you did with Arturo we should have just deposed you." He clenches his fists and resists the urge to maul them. Their reckoning is coming.

"Oh, don't mind me gentlemen. I'm just waiting for some special party guests to arrive before I join the festivities. It would be rude of me to start without them." The nobles meander back into the crowd and resume imbibing en masse. If they only knew what he did. Their assault in Asia did not yield its intended result. Masamura had slipped through Torrig's fingers and escaped. The eastern bloc would be able to regroup. In time, they would counterattack. To properly beat them back, his side would need to be united under his rule. The petulant children in his midst would need to be broken.

Torrig would need to be adequately punished. After his lacklustre performance in Los Angeles, he'd begged for a second chance to prove his worth. A full scale invasion force of freshly turned mongrels with the support of succubi and still he failed miserably. Death would not be the answer; that would be too quick and merciful. Under normal circumstances he would have him mutilated and burned, but a lowly human had already taken care of that. He would need to come up with something elegant, yet cruel.

A far more serious issue is the apparent absence of his brother in the midst of all this. Kagan was certain that in the event of open conflict Va'in would have no choice but to come down off his pedestal. The yearning to once again cross paths with a truly worthy adversary consumes him. Killing meant little when the victim had no means of fighting back.

It has been a number of centuries since they had last drawn each other's blood. Not since the death of their only sister. How he missed her. If Dahaka were still at his side, she would dive head first into the slaughter he has set in motion. The countess would bathe in the blood of upstarts milling about his home. Thinking of her only serves to fuel the burning hatred swelling inside him. However, his ruminations will have to wait; his special guests have finally arrived.

Strutting through the wide open front doors of the chalet comes Ahmu, with a handful of his furry followers in tow. Gap mouthed vampires around the room gawk in abject shock at the new arrivals. Several wretch and shield their noses from the overpowering reek of rotting death that spreads out into the room. The ancient jackal simply grins back at them.

"So, this is what you people call a party, is it? I see liquor, I see drugs." He lifts his nose in the air and takes a big curious sniff, "Do I smell an orgy? Excellent. But where to begin? Where to begin?" Gaze passing from body to body, licking his lips, Ahmu spins in a slow circle. With so much selection, he would have to think a while on which to choose. Female? Male? Inanimate object? His mind did back flips mulling over the possibilities.

A female vampire hides her face behind a fan and voices her utter disgust with him, "You foul despicable animal. No self respecting vampire would ever lower themselves to touch one of your kind, let alone have sex with one. Collect your rabble and be gone from this place." Her attitude does little more than encourage him.

"OOOO! Arrogant, rude and unwilling. Perfect. This bitch gets it first!" Bravado leaves the startled woman and she retreats hastily to the back of the crowd. Ahmu stares lecherously and flicks his tongue at her, "Go ahead and hide sweetie. Daddy loves a challenge. But perhaps a snack first, to get my strength up." A human woman is snatched up and pinned to the floor under his foot. Claws dig into her cheek and he rears back, peeling off her face. The noise of his sloppy munching echoes amid the stunned silence of his audience.

"Mmmm. Very fresh. Kagan you always did know where to find the most succulent virgins. Does anyone else want a piece? She really is top notch." Holding her aloft in his right hand, he offers his leftovers to the crowd. They shrink away from him, all unwilling to touch anything his disease ridden fingers have polluted. He shrugs matter of factly and tosses the body over his shoulder, "Suit yourselves, just means more for us. Look kiddies, daddy has a treat for you. Dig in." The woman is shredded and devoured by Ahmu's children. They chomp excitedly away at the body, much to the chagrin of Kagan's underlings.

An enraged duke steps forward to protest, "That's enough of this nonsense. Kagan, what are these putrid animals doing here in the first place? This was to be a celebration of our recent achievements. You are already on thin ice with us for murdering one of the nobility. Bringing these uncivilized dogs into our midst is the last straw. I demand they leave at once and I move that we oust Kagan from the throne."

Applause breaks out from the crowd as the nobles rally behind the duke. This is the moment the ancient one has been waiting for. The time has at last come to settle accounts. Kagan jumps up off the sofa and responds in a low rumbling voice, "There are a number of important things wrong with what you just said, insect. I'll start at the top. You say we are here to celebrate our accomplishments. What, pray tell, have you done to contribute to the war effort hmmm? Nothing whatsoever."

The duke shoots back, proudly raising his glass to his contemporaries, "I volunteered my troops and resources as did everyone here." More bouts of cheering and applause echo through the great hall. The bureaucrats believe they're about to stage a coup. Nothing could be further from the truth. Kagan lets out a savage roar that freezes the masses in fear.

"I am the master, fools. They are and always have been my troops, my resources. The political power you wield is nothing but an illusion you cling to. You have done nothing besides sit on your asses and sip blood. Have you taken the life of any human warriors? No, you have not. These 'putrid animals' as you call them have been on the front lines of the conflict, butchering our enemies like the scum they are. You and your worthless ilk have accomplished nothing. Unless of course, being a waste of space can be considered an accomplishment."

He puts his arm around Ahmu's shoulder and they snarl viciously at the nobles in concert, "You call my friend here uncivilized as though that is supposed to be an insult. Civilization is entirely the problem. So long as you live your lives according to the precepts of human civilization, you are no better than them. Human leaders succumbing to our authority is not enough. The entire world must be restructured into something more suited to our true nature. That restructuring begins tonight, right here."

He tears off his smoking jacket and rips it to shreds. Ahmu and Kagan rampage around the room, shattering furniture and punching holes in the walls. The chalet rattles under the strain of their immense power, "You presume that you can 'oust me' from leadership, do you? At what point did you convince yourselves this was a democracy? I am the only authority our race has ever had, the only one we could ever need. When I killed Arturo, I assumed that the rest of you would take the hint. Since you did not, I arranged this little soirée to get all of you in the same place, so that I could deal with you in a single stroke."

Disbelieving gasps pour out from the crowd as the reality of the situation dawns on them. Many turn tail and run for the exit. Kagan and Ahmu simply let them go. There is no escaping their fate. The chalet is surrounded by a massive combined force of Kagan's loyalist warriors and thousands of mongrels. A million glowing eyes illuminate the landscape spread out before the terrified nobles. No amount of begging or bartering can save them. The army descends upon them like a school of ravenous piranhas. Kagan watches in satisfied silence as the usurpers are eaten alive.

With the deed done, he turns to Ahmu, "Now that we've taken care of that business, we should discuss our future plans. Shall we commence preparations for a full scale assault on Mumbai?" Kagan has long dreamt of taking the empress down a peg, but avoided her out of respect for his old friend. Now that they were side by side, he wants to make it happen as soon as possible.

"Not yet, Kagan. We must have patience in that regard. I want to have a foothold in my precious Egypt before I take steps to put a leash back around 'shiny eyes' neck once again. I want her to remember what it is to fear me. It is the slow knife that cuts the deepest, and I will settle for nothing less when it comes to her. Where is your brother's little strategist? I'd like a turn torturing her if I may." He wants to torture anyone. The pained screams of the nobles were not enough. There could never be enough suffering to satisfy the mongrel father.

"She escaped. The supposed spy you have in Bashina's court failed to mention that they had lent Mitsuru a set of werewolf bodyguards. They held out just long enough to extract her. I'm still waffling over how to punish my general for his repeated failures."

Ahmu gasps and giddily volunteers, "You could lend him to me for a while. Most of my current toys have grown too accustomed to my tastes. I would be more than happy to have some fresh meat to break in." Kagan is elated at the suggestion and pats Ahmu on the back. Nothing Kagan could dream up would ever compare with the absolute depravity his companion would have in store.

"Done and done. Torrig is on his way here as we speak. Feel free to begin his education as soon as he arrives. When was the last time you spoke to Esteban? Has he provided a sufficient amount of juice for our mutual needs? The shipment he left with me wasn't much more than a sample. I will need a substantial supply in the coming days." Ahmu licks his lips and rubs his hands together. Just talking about his precious juice makes him feel so good. Pleasant blurry memories of slaughters past dance about in his head.

"Oh, yes indeed. There are ships docking in Morocco as we speak. Your share will be sent wherever you see fit. The shipments will continue as long as we need them. If Esteban wants to keep my children away from his shores, he will continue to give us exactly what we want." Secretly, Ahmu wanted Esteban Medina to defy him. Any excuse to kill and feed. He has always loved the taste of tractatori flesh. It is so tender, so squishy and sweet.

"Excellent news. Then it will be a simple process to finish our campaign and bring the humans to their knees." The vampire opens a cabinet just inside the front door and begins sorting through a collection of various bludgeons. He wants something extra special for the rest of the night's festivities. Settling on a Nordic war hammer, he turns back to Ahmu.

"You may be mistaken, Kagan. Some of my servants in North America are reporting a human resistance faction that is gaining ground on the western seaboard. They carry weapons that we have never seen before. You may be interested to note that they appear to be rallying behind a human you are familiar with, one Archibald Angelista. As I understand it, he has stated quite publicly he will be the one to destroy you for what you did to his daughter."

Kagan grunts at him dismissively and takes a few practice swings with the hammer, "The industrialist has come out of his hiding place, has he? That was expected. Let him rage at me if he wants. I'm the least of his worries."

"So, we are not going to attack then? If we could take control of his weapons, we would be unstoppable. What aren't you telling me?"

Knowing full well what he is about to say will infuriate his ally, Kagan takes several steps back. He tightens his grip around the hammer and steadies himself, "Ra insisted we allow him to deal with Angelista personally. Apparently, his corporation has taken possession of something that belongs to the emissaries."

Ahmu froths at the mouth and flails about in a psychotic fit. The mongrels all around follow suit. A bloody battle is imminent. Fur standing straight up on end, he howls in Kagan's face, "You collude with Ra? What would possess you to do this? I offered my family for your plans of conquest so that things could be like they were when we first met vampire. Not so you could play kissy face with my sworn enemy. That worthless fucking slave stole Egypt from me and placed it in the hands of my concubine! Give me one reason not to eat you right here and now!"

Kagan grinds his teeth and stays his hand. For the time being, he still needed the mongrels to cooperate. Killing Ahmu now would not serve his purposes, "I only work with him because his goals coincide with mine right now. You know full well that I have no more love for him than you do. At his full strength, he is too much for me, but I have a plan in motion, a plan that will allow us to be rid of him and all of his kind forever. But I need time to prepare."

Ahmu relaxes his posture and steps back slowly. His stare never strays from Kagan's eyes, "You must explain this plan to me Kagan. If there is a way to destroy Ra, I must be there when it happens. I want to look into his eyes when death takes him."

"In time, old friend, I will explain everything. Let's get the real party underway." They walk out into the wide open area where all of the warriors in attendance can see them clearly. Holding the hammer above his head Kagan addresses the crowd first, "Dearest brothers and sisters. We stand here, on the precipice of a seismic world change. The humans run wrecked. Their cities burn, their leaders dead or hiding from our combined strength."

Grunts and cheers rise from the warriors as Ahmu chimes in, "The new world we will build in the ashes will be a harsh one. The soft and cowardly will be nothing more than food for the worthy." Fights have already broken out among the crowd. Mongrel and vampire alike nip and scratch at each other randomly.

"Tonight, in this place, we will revisit an ancient tradition. A proud tradition that has tied our great races together since the dawn of time." The army spreads out into two groups on opposing sides of the valley. Deafening howls and bloodthirsty growling ring out all around.

"Take your weapons in hand. No one here is your ally. You are a predator and they are prey. Show no mercy, you will receive none."

The ancients speak their final commands in unison, "The strong will feast! The weak will die! Let the cull begin!"
CHAPTER 17

"Open your eyes please, number one forty seven." The shrill nasal voice reverberating in his head is unfamiliar. Ben struggles to open his eyes and survey his surroundings. Everywhere he looks, all he can see is the same pale shade of white. A halogen spotlight is shining down from the ceiling directly into his eyes. Squinting through the brightness, Ben attempts to respond, but finds that he cannot open his mouth. "Ah, there you go, I was starting to think that we had another brain death situation. Beginning preliminary testing protocols."

The light moves aside and the ceiling above him opens up. A long mechanical arm descends from the opening and hangs just overhead. The tip of the arm begins steadily blinking red, "Follow the red dot with your eyes." Waving to and fro slowly at first, the arm then drastically increases its pace, until it is zooming across Ben's field of vision at an incredible speed. Much to Ben's surprise, he has absolutely no trouble tracking the dot's movement. After two minutes of steady motion, the arm stops waving, and retreats back into the ceiling. "Alright, everything looks good with the optics, no issues with cognitive interference. How do you feel, number one forty seven?"

Ben feels like his jaw is on fire. With a sickening crunching noise, his mouth begins to move of its own accord, "What the fuck is going on here? Where am I?" Ben recognizes immediately that the voice he's producing is not his own. It sounds more like a telephone operator talking through a megaphone.

The stranger in his head responds snidely, "Pretty sure I asked how you were feeling. I, however, did not ask you to yell at an empty room. So, to reiterate, how are you feeling, number one forty seven?"

He groans in frustration and does his best to answer the question, "I feel like I've got a wicked hangover and I can't move. So to reiterate, what the fuck is going on here and where am I?"

The voice chortles slightly, "OK, much better. Where you are is Seattle, sort of. A research facility underneath what used to be Seattle to be more specific. What's going on is a hardware testing trial."

"What kind of hardware are you testing on me?"

"Testing on you? No, no. We're testing you. You are the hardware. Oh, on that note do me a favour and brace yourself for a sec." Ben's entire body shakes in a brutal tremor, sending waves of pain from head to toe. It passes quickly, however, and he is delighted to discover that he once again has control of his own body. That is to say, if it were his body.

Ben Guitierrez is no longer a man flesh and blood, but a walking mass of metal and wires. Arms and legs shimmering in the bright lights of the chamber, he holds his hands out in front of himself to get a clearer look. The voice once again butts in, "Pretty sweet, right? To truly appreciate it you have to take in the whole package at once."

One of the walls opens up and a full length mirror slides out. Ben approaches it hesitantly and takes a good long look at his new self. Gone is the toned physique he spent years sculpting, replaced by an intricate tapestry of interwoven metal plates. Where his face should be, there is nothing more than a shapeless surface with two seemingly bottomless black pits for eyes. A mass of wires runs from the back of his head into the shoulder blades and down the centre of his spine.

Looking down at his groin, Ben notices that a piece of him is suspiciously absent, "What the fuck happened to me? I never agreed to any of this!"

"Your agreement wasn't necessary, you were a valid candidate and subjects one through one forty six were failures for various reasons, so here you are. Hold your arms out at shoulder height please."

Ben grumbles loudly and screams back at his invisible tormentor, "Now hold on a fuckin' minute here! I'm an American citizen ass hole! You can't just kidnap me and perform a bunch of experiments! I've got rights!" The voice breaks out in uproarious laughter, which seems to go on for minutes. Just as Ben starts to believe the mocking guffaws will never end, the voice speaks again.

"Jesus, sometimes I forget that you subjects have been out of commission for a while. With all your 'you can't do this to me' and your 'I'm a human being'. God, where to begin..." A small LCD screen slides from the wall. On the screen is a young man. He is quite thin and fair skinned, sitting at a keyboard, and surrounded by a pile of empty energy drink cans. Hood eyed and tilting his head slightly to the left with one raised eyebrow, he looks Ben up and down, "It'll be easier to have this part of the conversation 'face to face' so to speak."

The young man smirks at him through the monitor, "You are not an American citizen, as there is no longer an America. The United States government and infrastructure were completely destroyed during The Purging. Second, you have zero human rights, for a variety of reasons. First off; you're dead and corpses don't really have rights. And secondly, just look in the mirror dummy. Does that look like a human to you? Because to me, it looks more like a robot."

Ben looks back at the screen puzzled, "I'm not dead. I'm standing right here, and what's The Purging?"

The man on the screen rolls his eyes and begins talking in a much more condescending tone of voice, "Some days I just hate my job. Look, The Purging was a seven day war between humanity and the preternatural species. Sufficed to say, we lost... big time. Four point seven billion people dead inside one week. Your former self, one Benjamin Gustavo Gutierrez, died in California on day one of the war; we called that day 'Nightfall'."

Ben lets out an angry snort, "Nightfall? That sounds ridiculous. I'm assuming by preternatural species you mean vampires, right? Is that why I'm still alive? Did one of them bite me or something?"

Again the man bursts out in hysterics and struggles to formulate a cogent reply, "Uh... no. If you had been contaminated by the vampires, we would not have been able to use you for experimentation. Infected tissue rejects implants almost instantly. For the record, I've never liked 'Nightfall' either. I personally suggested 'Twilight', but some asshole had it trademarked. You're reanimated due to some top notch electro plastilical surgery performed by a colleague of mine." He gives the wink and the gun to an unseen person off frame, "Furthermore, there are a number of preternatural species besides vampires, number one forty seven. There's the animi, the channels, the tractatori, and that's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg really. When they all moved on us at once, we didn't have a hope in hell. If only the tech that created the new you had been prepped and ready two months ago, maybe we would have stood a chance."

Patience dwindling with each passing second, Ben begins yelling into the screen, "Stop calling me number one forty seven! My name is Ben mother fucker!"

Smiling arrogantly back at Ben from the tiny screen, the stranger continues, "As I just told you, Ben Gutierrez died of the injuries he sustained two months ago. You are a cyborg created using his discarded organ tissue and spinal column, combined with mechanical parts that were designed and built by yours truly. My name is Theodore Haniawa by the way, though if you prefer to call me motherfucker, that's fine too. God knows I would. Can we please return to the matter at hand? Just hold your arms out parallel at your shoulders so we can move on with the testing protocols." Exasperated with the conversation, Ben obliges and holds out his arms, "Say 'Hull blades' please."

Following his directive, Ben utters the phrase. His arms spread apart and reveal a set of multiple glistening curved blades. Each arm has one long weapon extending directly out from the centre of the knuckles, as well as two protruding at ninety degree angles from the sides of the wrists. An impressed Ben barks emphatically, "Oooooo! Fancy!"

Beaming with pride, Theo chuckles, "I know right?! I'm a genius and you're a work of art, one forty seven. OK, moving right along, retract the blades and say 'cannons' please." Simply thinking of retracting the blades causes them to return to within his arms. He again follows directions, and this time mounted firearms present themselves from the tops of his shoulder blades.

"The left is a flame unit, the right is solid munitions. Could you step up to the firing range please?" The west wall of the room collapses and a series of multicoloured targets drop down into Ben's field of vision, "Use flame rounds on the red targets, solid on the green, and don't shoot the blue. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." The targets begin to move around, darting back and forth in random directions. Ben's field of vision segments into two distinct sides. From his left eye all he can see is red, on the right only green. The cannons high powered rounds pulverize the targets. For thirty seconds, his aim is pinpoint accurate, but he begins to feel an incredible amount of pressure behind his eyes. Blurry vision soon gives way to a distorted mishmash of unintelligible visual data. The overload of confusion and pain becomes too much and Ben suffers multiple convulsions.

"Whoa there cowboy, let's take a breather from target practice for a minute. Oh well, you did much better than most of the other subjects thus far. Maybe Jackie's postulation that the human brain has a limited capacity for visual data regardless of the quality of the implant was correct. Fascinating. Was that experience painful, one forty seven?"

Perceptions skewed and mind reeling, Ben responds forcefully, "Yes it fucking hurt! What the fuck!!! I swear to God when I get a hold of you I'm gonna' make you regret the day you were born."

Theo crosses his arms, attitude shifting from fascinated to facetious, "And how do you propose you're going to track me down huh? Am I in the room with you? Or is that perhaps an electronic image on a screen? For all you know, I might not even be on the same continent as you, you moron. Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you one forty seven. You are not in control of this situation, I am. I am not impressed, or intimidated by you." He sits up as tall as he can, wagging a finger at Ben, "If I say jump, you say how high. Got it? If your new found existence isn't good enough for you, then I would be more than happy to flood the chamber with nerve gas, strip the important parts from you, and throw your biological remains into the protein bank, OK? Subject one forty eight is just sitting in cold storage, waiting patiently to replace you."

The firing range closes up and a series of vents open in the ceiling, "Dr. Stein, subject is combative and unresponsive to verbal direction, requesting permission to liquidate asset..."

Voice cracking slightly, Ben mumbles, "You wouldn't."

"Yes, yes I would. Copy that, Dr. Stein, commencing venting protocols in 3,2..." Life as somebody's appliance isn't something Ben would ever have agreed to if given a choice. From the age of fifteen he's always been the shot caller. For the first time, he's backed into a corner with no way out other than submission.

"Wait!"

The countdown stops and the vents retreat back into the ceiling. Theo goes back to speaking in his most serious tone, "For your sake, I hope that you only push my buttons once. I couldn't give a damn whether or not you're the perfect potential subject. If you threaten me again, I'm done with you. I know in your former life you were some kind of big shot. Head scumbag of the neighbourhood, right? Well, that life is over. You are Angelista Corporation property now. Behave yourself and you might just have a longer shelf life."

Ben snaps to attention when he hears the name, "Angelista Corporation? Now I remember. The hangar at the military base I ran to. There were tanks with that logo on em'. You people were just waiting there for survivors to use for this?"

Theo breaks for a moment to chug another energy drink, "Well... yeah. The likelihood that anybody was actually going to survive the attack and make it all the way to Los Alamitos intact was quite slim. It made for a convenient and effective selection process for potential candidates. Truth be told, you arrived in much better shape than most."

Adjusting his tone as a matter of self preservation, Ben asks a question, "Is how I handled the situation in LA the reason you call me a perfect subject?"

The LCD screen switches from an image of Theo to a detailed personality profile of Benjamin's former life and his performance in LA. Every statistic is 100% accurate and painstakingly researched. Angelista Corporation was watching him long before the war began.

"It's more than just how you handled the vampires. Though I must say, you were the highest scoring killer we picked up. Your personality pathology was also a big factor. Diminished fear responses, a documented history of violence, homicidal tendencies, an almost complete lack of empathy for victims. I've read some of your court transcripts. You were a nasty piece of work buddy. Simply put, you're a psychopath and that fits the bill for this project to a T."

"Hey, I've done some ill shit in my life but I had no choice. You do what you gotta do where I'm from. That doesn't make me a psycho."

Unimpressed with the excuses, Theo highlights the violent episodes in the profile. The list of former murder and assault victims is a mile long. Half of the names, Ben doesn't even recognize.

"Don't bullshit me. I've seen your high school aptitude scores buddy. They were almost as good as mine and I've got two PhDs. You could have been an astronaut. You chose to be a crack dealing murderer. Don't take it personal, there's no judgement here. I'm a quack scientist who reanimates the dead to force them into morally bankrupt military hardware testing. If you survive the testing process I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Speaking of which, it's time for you to move on to the live fire test course." With that, the east wall slides away, revealing a long corridor with track lighting that leads downward further into the complex, "Follow the lights big guy." With a sigh and a shrug, Ben collects his bearings and presses on.
CHAPTER 18

At the end of the corridor, he finds a huge reinforced steel door. It is covered in sequence of hazard symbols, including radioactivity, electricity, bio hazard and a few he doesn't quite understand. One is an image of approximately a dozen tiny triangles, the second is a bull's head and the final one looks somewhat like a hockey mask. Two large pneumatic tubes protrude from the walls on either side of the door, "What should I expect on this test course?" Asks Ben hesitantly.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Some combat analogues, a couple of critical thinking tests. Hold still for a second, would you?" The tubes burst forth with a rush of thick, red liquid. Every inch of Ben's titanium shell is drenched in the putrid mixture.

"What was that about? Did you just hose me down with blood?"

"Mostly, there's also some pheromones mixed in there for effect. Since you don't technically have blood anymore, we need to douse you so that the critters on the course have something to key off of."

Unable to hold back his sarcasm, Ben fires back, "Oh, that's fucking great news. It's sounding like this is gonna' be a fun day. I'm assuming that these 'critters' are vamps right?"

"Well... most of them are... sort of. Stand by please. Beginning live fire course in 3,2,1..." A blaring siren begins to echo throughout the hall as the door slides open. Tentatively, Ben crosses the threshold into the testing area, "Good luck, one forty seven, and don't worry, I'll be with you every step of the way."

"You know, somehow, I don't think that's going to be very helpful." Once inside, Ben's olfactory senses are assaulted by the rankest odour he has ever encountered. The stench is so potent it sends him reeling backwards, "Jesus, what the hell is that? Is this place full of dead bodies stuffed with shit?"

"Pretty much, we dump a couple of bodies from up topside in there every so often for the creatures to feed on and we don't exactly ventilate the area. C'mon tough guy, you're two feet in and already complaining? Think of the smell as one more part of the test." Doing all he can to ignore the monstrous aroma, Ben cautiously moves forward. The chamber he finds himself in is enormous, stretching out for what looks like miles in every direction. He cannot see the ceiling above him, only a deep and foreboding blackness. A sequence of florescent light posts stick up from the floor every few feet.

"Beginning scenario one." All of the light posts in the immediate vicinity retreat through the floor and Ben is enveloped by darkness. New walls shoot up and he is fenced in on all sides. For a moment he gropes around blindly in the dark. The disorientation subsides when his vision shifts unexpectedly to the ultraviolet spectrum.

The only path left available is a narrow hallway directly in front of him. He makes his way down the corridor until he comes to an intersection. Ben bellows in abject frustration, "Are we seriously doing the old 'rat in a maze' thing?"

Theo's response does little to curb his irritation, "You'd be surprised just how excellent a test of mental agility a simple maze can be. Quit your bitching and just do it." Finding his way through the corridors of the maze proves to be maddening. He goes back and forth, up and down, only to find himself stuck at the same intersection again, and again. After thirty minutes of pointless meandering, he punches the nearest wall in a bout of frustration. It crumbles to bits as if it were made of paper mache. A few angry swings later, he's broken free of the enclosure.

"See, one forty seven? Not so complicated really. In case you're curious, there is also a legitimate solution to the maze, but whatever. The 'smashy, smashy' method is just fine by me. Moving on to scenario number two." Two large holes appear in the floor a hundred yards in front of Ben. A familiar snarl can be heard emanating from within. Swelling with confidence, Ben moves forward with his cannons primed and ready.

What comes scrambling out of the hole, however, is not quite what he is expecting. Their yellow skin is dry and cracked, a flaky jigsaw puzzle covering the entire body. Arms and legs that seem more suited to a praying mantis than to the body of a biped flail wildly. Gaping mouths without lips prominently display jaws full of blackened, serrated teeth. They nip at each other like rabid dogs before the scent of the blood covering Ben's exoskeleton catches their attention. Chittering at a deafening decibel level, the warped vampires turn and rush directly at him with reckless abandon.

The cyborg takes aim with his incendiary cannon and fires a burst into the crowd. On contact, they flash fry into piles of smoking ash. In contrast to those he's fought before, they do not explode. The fire from one does not spread to another. Most importantly, the sight of the fire appears to have absolutely no effect on their aggression level. Even blasting away as fast as his weapon is capable, they gallop onward without fear. He is forced to make a hasty retreat from open combat or risk being overrun. A seemingly endless stream of the creatures spills out of the opening behind him.

He quickly finds himself stuck, with a wall in front and an ocean of teeth charging up from behind. Desperate and hemmed in, he comes to the conclusion that the only way out is up. With his hull blades drawn, he goes hand over hand, straight up the wall. He halts a hundred feet up and turns to fire a salvo down at his pursuers. An 'ammunition depleted' message flashes within his field of vision. Worse yet, following him up the wall is not proving the least bit difficult for the now dozens of mutated vampires chasing him.

Accepting what now seems like an inevitability, Ben lets go of his lofty perch and dives headfirst at the vampires with his hull blades. It is a whirlwind of glimmering metal and severed limbs as he hacks his way blindly through the crowd. Those that do not fall victim to his blades turn their attention to their wounded counterparts. Ben takes advantage of the situation and butchers the distracted creatures like hogs. Lopped off body parts float in a lake of sticky black blood at his feet.

When the last one is lying in pieces, Ben inquires of Theo, "OK, what were those? They seemed like vampires. What the fuck was wrong with them?"

"Those were 'snaggleteeth'. They're vampires who have been exposed to massive amounts of UV and starved of blood for an extended period of time. It messes them up pretty bad, mentally and physically. Great fodder for target practice though. Shame you wasted so much ammo on them, you really could have used some for later. Step onto the platform and we'll move on to scenario three." A square of floor nearby raises up and Ben climbs aboard. The platform floats upwards, carrying him to a new area.

He finds himself standing alone in a small room, no more than thirty feet by thirty. This room is sufficiently lit and his vision returns to the normal spectrum. On the north wall, there is a blast door, bearing the familiar bull's head insignia from earlier. Sirens blare as the door slides open revealing the next challenge.

What comes slumping out of the recess is huge. A ten foot tall mass of muscle and sinew, arms like steel girders, and shoulders nearly as wide as the creature is tall. Its tree trunk legs are capped with a pair of jet black cloven hooves. The pointed horns protruding from its skull are in stark contrast to the soft innocent nature of its pale blue eyes. Surveying its surroundings, it takes a look at Ben, "Oh, please no, not again." The voice is soft and sad. It raises its hands to the sky and begs with tears welling up in its eyes, "Don't make me do this. I've done nothing to you."

A confounded Ben asks Theo, "What's going on here? This doesn't seem right."

Theo's response is flat and monotone, "I already told you, its scenario three." The scientist flips a single switch and Ben's eyes begin emitting a bright red pulse. The creature shrinks away from him, doing everything it can to avoid meeting his gaze. Scratching at its eyes and shuddering in fear, it tries to retreat back into its alcove but the door has shut behind it. The bull buckles the door immediately, only to have a flash of red light stream right into its face from within. With a deafening roar, it spins around to face Ben, mouth pouring out foam. Formally pale blue eyes have shifted to a glistening onyx.

It charges at him full speed with its head down, a barrelling errant locomotive. Ben slides between the beast's legs, causing it to slam horns first into the wall. He jumps up behind it and sticks one of his blades deep into its liver. It swings backwards with its right arm, launching him clear across the room. As he gathers his bearings, Ben witnesses the fresh wound in its abdomen close up. Jerking its head violently upwards, the bull snaps off the tips of its horns and spins to face Ben, drool falling from its open mouth.

Ben unloads with a barrage of his solid munitions. A hailstorm of lead spews out at his gigantic opponent, creating a myriad of tiny holes in its body, but not slowing it for a single second. It runs straight through the onslaught unfazed and palms the robot's head. Rearing back its arm, the behemoth slams his skull into the floor repeatedly. Each impact sends shock waves shooting through his cybernetic body. Rapidly slipping into unconsciousness, he makes a desperate swing with both of his blades, severing the beast's left hand.

With the giant focused on its lost appendage, Ben sees his opportunity to strike. Running at it full speed, he once again slides between its legs, this time with his blades outstretched at ninety degree angles from his torso. Both legs are severed just above the hoof, and it falls forward onto its snout. The creature's blood curdling roars are replaced by soft whimpers and intermittent groans of pain. On close inspection of its face, Ben sees that its eyes have returned to their original pale blue.

"Good job. Now finish it, one forty seven."

"Why? I won. Let's move on. It didn't even want to fight, for fuck's sake. You made it attack me. This is wrong." Ben's voice cracks as he looks down at the suffering colossus. Deviation from the testing protocols is not permitted. Theo has a hand on the nerve gas switch as he answers.

"Need I remind you that humanity is at war with these things? You don't have the option of mercy here. You're supposed to be the ultimate weapon, one forty seven. If you can't do it, then I've always got the nerve gas ready to go."

Death suits Ben fine. The only reasons he had to live are all gone. He'll be with his family soon. Before the gas starts flowing, Ben's unwilling opponent intercedes, "Please, please just do it. Make it stop. End it. If you don't they'll just make me do this another hundred times. Set me free." There is sincerity in its soft blue eyes. How long had these people been making it fight? How long would they make him fight?

Ben acknowledges it with a solemn nod. He steps over to just next to its ear and whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't choose this either." It nods at him knowingly then closes its eyes. Ben hesitantly raises his right arm and cuts off its head with a single, swift stroke. The instant he decapitates the massive ox, it begins to change shape. It shrinks quickly to a mere fraction of its original size. Ben is stunned by just how horrible an atrocity he has been forced to commit. Staring up at him from the freshly severed head with cold dead eyes is the visage of a young boy, no older than fourteen. The sight hits him like a sledgehammer to the skull.

"Congratulations one forty seven, you're the only subject who managed to take out the Brahman. If you'll just hold still, we'll set up the final testing protocol."

"What the hell is wrong with you people?! He was just a kid! He didn't even want to fight!"

"What he was, number one forty seven, was a pure blood member of one of the most dangerous breeds of animi on the planet. You did the entire human race a favour. Now stop whining like a bitch and get ready for the final test."

At the centre of the room, the floor gives way. Out of the hole comes a large metal pod, with a prominent radioactivity symbol. The pod opens with a creak and a thick green gas spreads out into the atmosphere. A figure not so unfamiliar to Ben steps out of the pod. It appears to be a mirror image of his new self, identical in every way, with the exception of the yellowish green glow emanating from the chest cavity.

"One forty seven, meet twelve. Twelve, meet one forty seven. It's like a tearful family reunion, isn't it?"

Twelve steps forward and methodically looks Ben over. It raises its right hand and points at him, wagging its index finger up and down. Then it seems to lose interest in Ben entirely and wanders off into the corner of the room, banging its head against the wall and making a variety of low pitched groaning noises.

Dumbfounded at what he is witnessing Ben asks, "What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he doing that?"

"Well... the initial weapons we specked for the project were radioactive plasma launchers. Experimental, you understand? As it turns out, having radioactive materials that close to the human brain causes a rather substantial amount of damage. I was hoping instinct would take over and you two would have a climactic battle to the death. Buuuuuuuuut it looks like she's more interested in head butting inanimate objects soooooooo..." Theo hits a single button and number twelve ceases her head banging, "Assuming manual control. OK one forty seven, let's get this over with." Twelve's wrists split apart and restructure into a pair of wide mouthed cannons. Barrels are an incandescent shade of green, acrid smoke billowing from the ends. It turns to Ben and unleashes a round of its superheated payload. Cybernetically enhanced reflexes barely give him the split second he needs to dive to safety. On contact with the wall, the plasma detonates in a swirling vortex, vaporizing everything within the area of effect.

Attempting to return fire, Ben makes the grim discovery he has no munitions left for either of his weapons. Theo twists the knife, "I told you you'd regret wasting all your ammo, one forty seven."

What follows is a whirlwind of nuclear devastation. Sequences of explosions completely obliterate the testing chamber. Ben manages to stay just ahead of Twelve's reticule, but as time wears on the bursts come gradually closer to making contact. He resigns himself to one last ditch effort at success. Unsheathing his hull blades, Ben begins running full tilt in a circle around the room. On every revolution, he draws just slightly closer to his rampaging doppelganger.

At last within reach of his prey, he ducks low, extends both arms and spins like a top, bifurcating number twelve. Its torso twitches on the floor for a few seconds before Ben skewers its skull directly through the brain. A sudden rush of canned applause begins playing in his head, accompanied by very real applause coming from Theo.

"Well done, one forty seven, well done. I'm proud to announce we have our first successful candidate. If you'll just climb into your storage pod, we'll get you into stasis."

A large clear tube drops down from the ceiling and opens up in front of Ben. Exhausted, battered and indignant, Ben lashes out at his invisible tormentor once again, "No! I don't want to be a part of this! Go ahead and vent the fucking nerve gas. I'm done."

For the first time, Theo's answer is sincere and apologetic, "I know the testing process is stressful, OK? I didn't design the protocols, I just follow them. You and I have a real opportunity to do something significant for humanity here. You're the best weapon we've got against the preternaturals."

"I don't want to be a weapon. I'm a person. Vent the gas." The front of the storage pod lights up and a face very familiar to Ben appears, a face with elongated incisors and covered in swastikas.

"Recognize anyone, one forty seven?" This changes everything. He'd almost forgotten about the promise he made when Juanito died. Perhaps being made into a living weapon was the best possible outcome. If he tracked the vampire down now, he'd have a real advantage. Suicidal depression gives way to homicidal aggression.

"Yes! That's the vampire who killed my cousin's family! At least, that's what he looked like before my cousin melted off his face."

"His name is Torrig Balder. He's one of our primary targets in the vampire hierarchy. You want payback, right? Step into the tube and I guarantee you'll get a chance to finish what you started. I can't just liquidate you now, nobody else has made it this far before." Theo's change in attitude gives Ben an idea. He's clearly more than just another sack of organs for recycling. These scientists need him.

"I'll do it if you drop the attitude and stop calling me one forty seven. My name is Ben and I'm a human being. If I'm gonna do this, I better get the respect I'm due."

Theo mulls over his options. On the one hand, Ben is by far the most effective test subject he's ever had. On the other, Ben's propensity towards independent thinking and defiant behaviour will complicate the conditioning phase of the process. If his superiors witnessed the testing protocols today, it would take a lot of explaining to keep the project moving forward. It would be worth it. There is no denying the potential of the project and Theo has no interest in returning to square one.

"Alright, done. Please step into the tube and we'll get you into stasis... Ben. FYI big guy, when we wake you up, it'll most likely be a crisis situation, so be prepared. On top of that, I might be cool with treating you like a person, management will most definitely not. If anybody else calls you one forty seven, don't hold it against your old buddy Theo. Management doesn't consider me a person either, trust me on that."

"Trust you? Not a chance. I still haven't decided if I'm gonna kill you. If you can get me a shot at this Torrig guy, then I'm in for now." With that said, Ben steps into the stasis tube and lies back. Maybe rest would help clear his mind of what he'd just done.

"Sweet dreams." Ben's extremities feel cold and a rush of cryogenic gas floods the tube. Memories of his family will have to keep him warm while he waits for his chance at revenge.
CHAPTER 19

"Do you think this human can really offer what he claims?" Natsuko asks casually of Jean as she stares out the window of their speeding aircraft. The offer was inviting; High end military weaponry and previously unknown information on channels in exchange for a contingent of vampire and animi troops to help defend humanity's interests. Both sides have troops to spare and the stories about the weapons the humans were using sounded almost impossible. If there really were mortars that can vaporize a building in one shell, Natsuko doesn't want to be the only one without one.

"It doesn't matter what I think, Bashina already said that we need to cooperate with him. For what it's worth, I agree. With what we're up against, we need all the help we can get." This fact is inexorably true. In the recent weeks, the combined forces of Ahmu and Kagan have been nearly unstoppable. Any human resistance they ran across is annihilated or absorbed into their ever growing army.

Even with Natsuko's clan working in tandem with Bashina's empire, all they've managed to do is delay their enemies' advance. Most of eastern Africa has degraded into a nightmarish hunting ground for the mongrel horde. Ahmu was making rapid progress towards conquering his beloved Egypt. Repeated attempts by human diplomats to initiate negotiations with him always result in the same thing. Pieces of the diplomatic envoy are mailed back to their leadership with a 'thank you for dinner' note nailed to their skulls.

Europe has fared no better. Governments and commerce on the continent have collapsed. The human population has become nothing more than a livestock commodity being bought and sold in the street. Scores of newly leashed slaves are forced to demolish cities and build a series of new temples to Kagan in their place. Perhaps the only bright point is that Ra has not yet initiated a second series of suicide attacks.

"I was surprised to see you along for this mission, Natsuko. There could be days of negotiating ahead. I was sure Mitsuru would be here. God knows there are a hundred different places I would rather be right now. Our most accomplished diplomat is dead and Bashina has other obligations." Natsuko's gaze drops from the window to her own feet. Mitsuru would not be participating in anything public for some time. In a hushed tone, she pensively responds, "After what happened in Okinawa she has been mentally unstable. To some extent she has been able to perform her duties as an adviser, but she refuses to leave the safety of the bunker we've concealed her in."

"Unstable how?"

A single tear appears in the corner of her eye, watching her love suffer was more traumatic than any battle she's ever fought, "Nightmares, for the most part. Wakes up screaming every time she tries to get any rest. It's the memories of what she saw that day. She's orchestrated countless campaigns in her time. She'd never been in the thick of it like that before. Watching people get torn to pieces for the first time isn't easy for anyone. Add to that the fact that the battle was a complete failure. Mitsuru has never failed at anything." Jean can hear her stop. The unflappable bravado that Masamura is known for is gone. He believed that Mitsuru was nothing more to her than a subordinate, a political marriage of convenience. What he's seeing isn't professional concern, it's pain, real pain. There may just be a soul in there after all.

"I apologize if what she saw has damaged her. My men and I only did what was necessary to save her life. None of us were adequately prepared for what we were facing at the time."

She wipes the tear from her cheek, "You don't need to apologize to me. From what she told me, you're the only reason she got out alive. You could have easily let them take her if you'd wanted; but you didn't." Her gaze shifts from her shoes to Jean, "When we first entered into this alliance, I was unsure if we could trust you. I officially have my answer. I must say I was shocked when my lieutenants told me my old adversary had risked his life to save that which is most dear to me. Honestly, I expected to hear that you killed her as soon as you arrived in Japan."

"Bashina made sure to impress upon me the importance of maintaining our alliance. I was merely following my orders." Excepting of course, the fact that killing Mitsu was 'plan b'.

"Be that as it may, I wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you." Putting her hands together, she executes a low bow.

"You are welcome. It looks like we're almost there." Out of the windows, the decimated skyline of what used to be Seattle comes into view. Crumbled buildings are spread out as far as the eye can see. Fires still smoulder in the city's streets and sounds of open combat can be heard in the distance. Walls of debris are piled in a circle around the only section of the city that is not levelled.

"We're going to be negotiating in the middle of a hot zone. Wonderful." The plane touches down on a makeshift landing strip set up on a bombed out road. Human security forces wait patiently to receive them. While disembarking, they get a firsthand look at the weaponry their potential allies have to offer.

The body armour the soldiers wear is constructed of a dark metallic material that Jean has never seen or smelled before. In their hands, are what appear to be assault rifles that emit a low buzzing noise. Foul smelling green smoke rises out of the barrels. Jean points at the weapon, "Fancy gear you've got there. I've got to say, the fumes smell incredibly toxic. Is it safe for a human to be carrying that around?" The soldier does not say a word. He simply points his finger towards a heavily guarded door a few hundred yards away. "What? Is that the way to the meeting then?"

The soldier nods and points at the door once again. Natsuko is unsettled by the situation, death threats would have been better than the silent treatment, "Sparkling personalities these guys have, huh? You'd think the welcoming committee would be a little bit more welcoming."

The soldiers lead them to a large service elevator. Their mute, vacant eyed escorts prod them along with their rifles and herd them towards it. Despite several polite attempts to dissuade them, the soldiers remain suspiciously aggressive and whisper quiet.

Natsuko loses patience with the lack of courtesy and disarms one of the soldiers, knocking him out with the butt of his own gun. Jean follows her lead and drops two more with his bare hands. All soldiers in the vicinity load their guns and take aim. Natsuko puts the rifle barrel against the temple of the soldier at her feet, "We were invited here as guests not prisoners. This Gestapo tactic shit needs to end right now or I'm going to start killing you little shits."

Jean frees his wolf and picks up a soldier to use as a human shield, "Those fancy toys won't do you much good if we decide to turn on you. Put the guns down and summon your superiors. Now." Their assailants do not answer, they do not move. They stand frozen in place and seemingly unfazed by the two supernatural beings in their midst. The standoff goes on for minutes, with neither side budging.

A high pitched tone screams through the crowded corridor. All of the soldiers lower their weapons and sling them over their shoulders in perfect unison. A man's voice speaks over the PA in a neutral British accent, "Hostilities are unnecessary. My security personnel were merely attempting to follow their assigned directives. Return the rifle to its rightful owner Mrs. Masamura." Natsuko knows the voice. It's Archibald Angelista. The previous evening, they'd spoken at length. The conversation was so unpleasant that she'd contemplated killing him if they ever met in person.

Their host's less than sympathetic attitude does little to lighten the mood. Natsuko breaks the rifle over her knee and tosses it into the soldier's face, "Well, we've been threatened with high tech weapons, treated like animals and now some faceless ass hole out there thinks he can give me orders. These negotiations are off to a great start. Jean, I strongly suggest we get back on the plane and get the hell out of here. This whole situation feels wrong." They cautiously move towards the exit side by side, keeping a close eye on the statue like guards. It seems as though the soldiers aren't even watching them anymore. They stare blankly straight ahead and bat nary an eyelash as the interlopers pass by.

A new voice begins speaking, this one female and much more friendly, "Please don't leave folks. This situation is a bit of a misunderstanding. If you'll please just step into the elevator and come down to talk this out, I'm certain I can smooth this over."

The elevator doors slide open and the guards step hastily aside. Jean answers, "I have been ordered by my empress to do all I can to ensure the success of this alliance. Be advised, however, the next soldier who points a gun at me will regret it."

"Yes, of course. I'm quite sorry. I promise this will all make sense to you very soon. Just step into the elevator." They decide to risk it and step into the lift. It shoots down like a bullet deep into the earth. The trip takes several minutes, wherever they're headed, it's miles underground.

What lays spread out before them is monumental in scope, and most certainly created with technologies neither one of them is familiar with. A massive open cavern surrounds them. A platform hovering at the elevator's threshold seems to be suspended above the huge open pit below them without any supports or wires. The platform itself is comprised of a translucent crystalline material that seems to vibrate when they reach down to touch it. Several dozen openings are cut into the walls of the cavern, but it is unclear how they might make their way to them. Searching the platform for some sort of controls, they find nothing.

The friendly voice returns from deep within the cave, "Hang on folks. I'll be up in just a quick sec." Another platform rises from below, carrying two humans dressed in matching lab coats bearing the Angelista company logo. Sliding up right next to them, the platform comes to a stop and the female waves them on in the same kindly tone, "Climb aboard folks, it's perfectly safe. It's nice to meet you both in person. I've read so much about each of you."

In a foul mood from their less than warm welcome, Natsuko responds with a snarl, "And just who the hell are you that you know so much about us, little Miss Chipper?"

The tiny woman adjusts her bifocals and begins twirling her curly greying hair between her fingers. Her gaze does not rise to meet her guests, "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Jakoba Stein. I'm the research lead here at 'The Core'. This is my associate Dr. Haniawa." Fear; Jean can smell it wafting off of the woman in waves. She is wearing a brave face, but she is clearly terrified.

The male, however, appears to be summarily ignoring them, enamoured instead with the tablet in his hands. Muttering to himself incoherently, the scientist looks up for just long enough to mumble, "Sup?" Theo wants nothing to do with the negotiation process. As far as he is concerned, there is no reason to collaborate with these people. What they need to do is get him more suitable subjects for his program. One forty seven needs some squad mates.

Stein slams an elbow into his ribs and smiles awkwardly at Jean, "They came halfway around the world Theo don't be so rude."

The tablet is lowered from in front of his face. He can at least give them the welcome they deserve, "Wowie folks, it is just so super that you're here. Because I'm totally not in the middle of a critical phase of experimentation with something that might turn the tide of the war. Nope. Not at all. I've got plenty of time to babysit dignitaries." He taps the screen on his tablet and the platform descends into the blackness. Dozens of openings in the cave wall whiz by. Crowds of lower level employees stand along the edges, all trying to get a look at the dangerous visitors.

Theo's ignorant bravado helps to settle Natsuko's mood. She chuckles softy and pats him on the shoulder, "Now this guy, I understand. Got better things to do, eh? Like what? You building yourself a girlfriend egghead?"

Before Theo can answer her, Dr. Stein interrupts, "We'll have plenty of time to discuss Dr. Haniawa's research later. For right now, I'd like to explain just what went wrong outside." The platform drops them off just outside a set of huge blast doors bearing a large bio hazard symbol. Dr. Stein hands out protective eye wear to everyone, "When we're inside the lab, please don't touch anything, for your own safety."

Dozens of half naked humans are contained within glass tubes along the walls inside the laboratory. The air is crisp and one hundred percent sterile. Try as he might, all Jean can smell is antiseptic. A team of doctors are performing surgery in a nearby theatre. Their patient's skull has been shucked open and they are inserting a series of circuit boards into the brain tissue. Security personnel stand guard silently in a ring around the surgery.

Disgusted by what he's seeing, Jean shields his eyes, "What the hell is going on here? Why are these people being stored this way?"

Rapid thumping begins in Stein's chest. The question he just asked is clearly on a subject she is not comfortable discussing, "They're being prepped for the installation of a neural hub device. All members of our security detail have one implanted."

Natsuko looks closely into the eyes of a guard. It takes no notice of her presence and stares straight ahead. She waves her hands in front of its face, "Is that hub device the reason these guys are so spaced out? It's like they're on another planet or something. Can they even talk?"

Theo looks up from his tablet, "Not exactly. They can communicate with the parent hub and one another but they lose the ability to speak in the traditional sense. The neural hub re purposes several brain functions to increase combat effectiveness."

Natsuko ceases trying to get the guard's attention and turns her gaze to the surgery. The doctors have finished installing the implant and are stapling their patient's skull back together. She stares in grim fascination at the procedure, "Do people actually volunteer to have this done to them or do you use forced test subjects?"

Theo responds with perfect aplomb, "Little bit of column A, little bit of column B. Some volunteered for whatever reason and others we acquired from the prison and asylum populations." There were a lot more names in column B. The ratio at this point was around ten to one.

Jean is not impressed by what he's seeing, and even less impressed that they still have yet to explain why the soldiers up above were so hostile, "These hubs are what led your guards to attack us on the surface? Or were those their orders?"

Dr. Stein attempts to answer, only to have Theo talk over her, "What happened to you earlier today is a prime example of a huge system flaw I've been trying to point out to Jackie for weeks. While the drones can be issued commands, they will often misinterpret or misunderstand the context. For example, today their directive was 'escort the visitors to the elevator'. The phrase 'prod them in the backs with your firearms' was not in there, but neither was 'do not prod them with your firearms.' Being jacked into the network destroys their ability to make rational human decisions. As long as their directives are satisfied, they can go about it any way available.

Their hubs were designed as war tech, the general programming protocols are written so the first solution to any problem is usually violence. During the preliminary testing phase; I once sent a battalion of them to 'isolate and contain' a small contingent of vampires within the city limits. The drones killed every human in the area and set a two square block section of the city on fire in order to 'isolate' the vampires."

Jean stares gape mouthed at Theo in stunned silence. He is certain that Theo must be exaggerating, or at least he hopes so, "Tell me that was a very bad joke. If that's true, why continue to use something with such a tremendous design flaw?"

"You're preaching to the choir man. I've been trying to get Jackie to abandon this tech from day one so we can focus on my research but she just won't let the idea die."

Dr. Stein's face turns beet red and she begins hyperventilating. The attitude of her young cohort has long been an issue for Jakoba. If it were up to her, the abrasive jackass would be out of a job. Angelista wouldn't hear of it. She turns to Theo and wags her finger in his face, "It's not my tech and you know it. They have always been Mr. Angelista's pet project. The drones were the most effective tech we had available when the war started. You didn't even bother to explain all the positive things the hub gives. Improved reflexes, concentration, and the ability to completely ignore pain. Plus, the link between them provides a degree of organization in combat that no ordinary humans could ever have. The drones are the only reason we managed to hold out as long as we have. Your project is still in its infancy Theo. How many successful candidates thus far? Last I heard, it was just the two and one of them was so deteriorated mentally she couldn't even function."

Jean has plenty of experience with fearless hive minded creatures who ignore all pain. He called them mongrels. These drones seem to be nothing more than a mechanical analogue. Every piece of information about them the humans has given made the drones seem like a tragically bad idea.

Natsuko jumps into the conversation to ask Theo a question, "What is your area of research, Dr. Wise ass?"

Theo flips around his tablet so she can see what he's working on. An image of a robotic frame under the heading 'number one forty seven' features prominently on the screen. Theo is in the process of tweaking the optical targeting systems, "Full cybernetic reconstruction of specially selected candidates complete with high grade pre-installed weaponry. Unlike the drone program, the brain is not manipulated in any significant way. Subject one forty seven still has his own mind, his own personality. Admittedly, it is a profoundly frustrating, operationally defiant personality."

The more the cocky scientist speaks the more Natsuko likes him. Sarcastic and blunt suited her much better than the pained affability spewing out of Dr. Stein, "Frustrating and defiant you say? Sounds like my kind of guy. We'd like to meet this one forty seven. Is it around here somewhere?"

"He's in stasis down in my lab right now. We'll make our way down there as part of the tour. Right now we need to get to Dr. Stein's main lab. I was told the primary reason for your visit was to share Intel. There's somebody downstairs I think you'd like to meet."

They leave behind the drone production lab and return to the transport platform. A few more keystrokes on Theo's computer and they descend even deeper into the sprawling installation. It is as though the shaft has no bottom. Jean's curiosity is peaked, "How big is this place? This cavern seems to go on forever. For that matter, how did you manage to build it?" Theo produces a three dimensional schematic on his tablet and shows it to Jean. The tunnels that make up the various labs stretch out for miles in multiple directions.

Dr. Stein explains, "This only shows the non classified portions of The Core. I'm not entirely sure when and how it was built. I've worked for the company for almost twenty years. The Core was here and completely operational when I started. I asked Mr. Angelista once and he just said 'It built it'. To this day, I still have no idea what he meant."
CHAPTER 20

The channel research lab is more reminiscent of a warehouse than a laboratory. Thousands of square feet of open space lie spread out in front of them. A thick red line is painted onto the floor in the centre of the room. Besides a series of terminals along the west wall and the technicians running them it, looks completely deserted.

Something about the technicians catches Natsuko's eye. There are metallic protrusions on the sides of their heads that connect to sets of wrap around visors obscuring their faces. Much like the guards in the lab up above, they take no notice of the new arrivals and continue with their work. Natsuko asks Stein, "More neural hubs I take it?"

"Not quite. I'll show you." Stein calls over one of the technicians. He walks up casually and takes a knee at her feet. She taps him gently on the temple and the back of his skull slides apart. The contents are almost exclusively technological. A mesh of wires and circuits is woven into what remains of the brain tissue, "While there is a hub in there, our technicians have a great deal more installed. Not the least of which is a high end processing unit I personally designed. One of these guys is worth a hundred ordinary data analysts. You didn't come here to be told about my technicians. You came here to learn what we know about channels, right?" Closing the man's head back up, Stein cordially helps him back to his feet. He goes back to his workstation and quietly returns to his duties. Stein approaches a terminal of her own and begins clicking away. She turns to her guests, "Please keep back from the red line please."

The floors split apart and a huge translucent box rises. Twenty foot tall Tesla coils flank the box on all sides. Within the box sits a single man, surrounded by a sparkling halo of white light. Every few seconds an arc of electricity jumps from the coils and collides with him. The jolts don't seem to phase the stranger. He sits perfectly still, with a sour scowl that seems burnt onto his face, "Colonel Otibe, Mrs. Masamura I'd like you to meet Sergeant Mohammed Rasheed of the United States marines."

Mo stands up and steps up to the glass between them. The visitors jump several feet back from the enclosure and instinctively take defensive positions. He lets out a sigh, "For God's sake, what are they doing, Jackie? I thought you said these people were here to talk."

Stein waves them to come forward. She places a hand on the outside of the cage, "It's perfectly safe you two. Mo is no threat to you. As a matter of fact, you'll most likely be working together in the coming days."

They do their best to relax their frazzled nerves. Jean approaches the glass, "How was it that these humans managed to capture one like you? I just assumed since your kind can blow yourselves up at will that capture would be impossible."

Mo nods knowingly, "I wasn't captured by them. I came here voluntarily because those were my orders. I've only been a channel since Third Dawn. I came here straight from Detroit after the explosion. Most of what Jackie has learned while I've been here has been news to me too."

While his time in the core had gleaned some important information, Mo did not expect to be locked in a makeshift prison miles underground as soon as he arrived. The battery of tests he's undergone in the interim have run from the relatively benign to painful and excruciating. Life in the Core felt like being left to rot in a POW camp. Were it not for the gentle bedside manner of Dr. Stein, he may have gone over the edge. Jackie was a good, God fearing person. They'd spent hours discussing scripture and praying together. He had come to consider her a friend.

Jean asks Mo, "You don't have any information on Ra, then?" The prospect of coming all this way to go home empty handed does not sit well with Jean.

Mo answers with resignation, "No, I've never met the man personally. I do, however, know where to find him. He's holed up in an ancient temple in Central America."

"Are you certain of this? Do you have some kind of proof?" asks Natsuko, moving closer to the glass. She studies Mo closely, taking special note of his eye sockets. They fascinate her. There was nothing there but flickering pits and somehow it seems like his vision tracks perfectly well.

Jackie answers her, "We checked on Mo's information with our surveillance satellites. There is definitely channel activity in El Zotz. They appear to be housing a number of prisoners there as well." Knowing where Ra is meant nothing if they had no idea how to kill him without catastrophic collateral damage.

"Have you figured out a way to kill a channel without causing it to explode?"

"The explosion that occurs upon death is relative to how much energy they have stored inside of them. Killing one without causing the explosion is next to impossible. Unless of course, they happen to be at their zero point."

"Zero point? What is that?"

"Think of a channel like a rechargeable battery. They absorb ambient energy and convert it into whatever they expel. In Mo's case, it's converted into electrical current. When the channel has nothing left to expel, their bodies enter into a starvation type state. We call that state the 'zero point'. Mo, if you could please demonstrate."

Stein types away at her workstation. The Tesla coils around Mo's makeshift prison stop producing electricity. Mo begins nervously pacing inside his cage. He looks to Stein and says in a pained tone of voice, "Seriously, Jackie? Can't they just take your word for it?" Zero pointing is not something he wants to repeat. His first experience with it back in Detroit was plenty. The zero point is more like having a thousand daggers stabbing their way out of you than hunger pangs.

"Please. They need to see what it looks like." He obliges. Raising his hands in the air, Mo discharges wave after wave of electricity into the coils. Bolts of white and blue lightning cascade around the room. After thirty seconds of successive expulsion, Mo has expended every last drop of his internal reserves. As the last few volts jump out of his fingers, he collapses to the floor.

The familiar sensation of the void within comes flooding back. A never ending vacuum once again pulls relentlessly from behind his eyes. Every part of Mo's body lights up in agonizing pain. The audience watches in abject horror as various parts of his body become increasingly translucent. His once blinding white aura has vanished from view. The sparks within his eye sockets dissipate and Mo writhes on the ground screaming.

Natsuko comments, "What the hell? It's like he's fading away." The longer they watch, the less visible Mo's body becomes. If they leave him much longer, he'll be gone forever. Natsuko has seen enough, "We get the point. Help him for God's sake."

Tesla coils reactivate and release a series of life saving shocks into the channel's fading form. Reinvigorated and reconstituted, Mo drags himself into a standing position. After shaking out the cobwebs, he says, "Hope you people got a good look because I'm not doing that again."

As enlightening as the demonstration is, Jean is sceptical of its usefulness. The amount of energy Mo let loose before collapsing was substantial. It was enough to destroy a great many opponents with ease, even if those opponents happen to be supernatural. He turns to Stein, "How are we supposed to force them to waste all of their energy without getting flash fried? Besides that, what's to stop them from recharging mid battle?" Stein has been working on something to deal with precisely that issue. But Mr. Angelista also told her not to give away too much information about the special projects division to outsiders. Never one to disobey the old man's orders, he steers the conversation towards another demonstration.

"Excellent question. Forcing a channel to zero point to kill them is a dangerous and inadvisable course of action. That's why killing them outright isn't the best choice, Colonel. Incapacitating them is a much better option. Watch this." A cloud of gas fills Mo's enclosure. After taking a single inhale, he goes limp and falls over. Laying flat on his back and snoring like a bear, he appears unhurt. Astonished at how easily the gas put him under, the wheels start turning in Natsuko's head.

"Damn. That did work well. We can gas them to put them to sleep and maybe take them out into the middle of nowhere to detonate them."

After minutes of standing in the background in utter silence, Theo begins screaming at the top of his lungs, "Oh shit! Not good! Not good at all!" Red lights flash at him from the screen of his tablet. Sweat begins pouring from his brow and Jean catches the mild scent of panic. Theo's stoic bravado had vanished in an instant; something is very wrong indeed. Stein tries her best to calm him down, "What the hell are you talking about Theo? Mo is fine, he's just unconscious." He dismisses her and moves for the door.

"I'm not talking about Mo. I have to leave. I'll meet back up with you later Jackie. I've got an emergency to deal with right now." Something has gone awry with subject one forty seven. At first glance, it would appear to be a grand mal seizure. That couldn't be. The subject was heavily sedated. Theo doped him to the point that there should be almost zero brain activity. He hurries out of the test facility and heads for his own lab. If what transpired with number twelve occurs again, he'll lose every cent of his funding.

Stein is more than happy to see him leave. Theo's attitude would not have been the least bit helpful with what comes next, "Well, alright then. I suppose we'll catch up with Theo later on. In the interim perhaps we should discuss terms."

"Discuss the terms of what?" asks Jean.

"Of our future association, of course. Now that you've seen some of what we have to offer we should discuss what it is that we need from both of you."

Natsuko assumed that Stein was simply a frightened tour guide. She has been waiting patiently for Angelista to show his face, "Shouldn't your boss be here to negotiate terms?" Stein takes a deep breath and tries to settle her nerves. This is the moment she's been dreading since the visitors arrived. Angelista wasn't going to meet with them. He didn't meet with anyone who wasn't on the company payroll and when he did meet with employees, it was generally just to reprimand them.

It has been that way since the day he found out for certain his daughter was dead. Cajoling him out of his office for anything but a research update was nigh on to impossible. He seemed particularly excited at the prospect of meeting with the animi empress and the eastern vampire patriarch. When they decided to send their underlings to negotiate, he ordered Jackie to take care of things. 'Send an employee to deal with an employee' he said.

No matter how many times she tried to explain she was a scientist and not a diplomat he insisted. Now here she was. Face to face with a pair of trained killers about to tell them something they definitely did not want to hear. Every inch of her body was dripping sweat, her heart racing a thousand beats a second.

Jakoba did consider lying to them. Play it off like he had some sort of important meeting he needed to be at. She decided against it when Theo informed her that a werewolf's senses can detect dishonesty better than any polygraph test. A large, visibly disgruntled lycanthrope has been sniffing her suspiciously for several minutes now. Lying to him would not be conducive to her continued existence. She takes the risk and tells them the truth, "He assumed that his invitation was going to be responded to by your respective superiors. When he realized that it was the two of you who were sent here he deputized me to participate in the process."

Natsuko responds, smirking sarcastically, "He's too good talk to us, is he? How positively charming. He is aware that my father has had no official authority in our clan for a couple hundred years?"

Stein does her best to placate her guests. She knows how much is resting on the negotiations, "I can assure you both that I have the executive authority to make the pertinent decisions in this matter. Any offers I make will be honoured by the company."

Behind the conversation, a groggy Mo is recovering from the temporary effects of the neuralyptic gas. Through the muddled haze, he jumps to Stein's defence, "You're better off talking to her anyway, believe me. Angelista is a thoroughly unpleasant man. You can trust Jackie." He means what he says. Jackie did what she could to make his stay at the core feel more like important research and less like a trip to Dr. Mengele's torture chamber.

Angelista is another story entirely. Any time that man made his way down to the lab Mo knew he was in for something invasive and painful. The old man did things without any concern for the adverse effects to Mo's welfare. It was almost like Angelista was enjoying making him suffer.

Jean is indifferent to who does the talking, so long as something gets accomplished, "It would appear we haven't been given much of a choice. What is it exactly you people want from us? As I understood it you want troops to protect your company's interests. Am I correct?"

"Not just troops. What we are suggesting is full-fledged cooperation. Troops, intelligence, technology, everything. We have access to everything you have and you get access to everything we have." This is much more than Jean was expecting. Bashina's empire has more to offer than any other group at the table. Her resources are vast. Army, navy, air force all fully equipped. Assets both liquid and otherwise far in excess of anything Angelista could reciprocate with.

The so called superior tech they're offering seemed like abysmally bad ideas for the most part. Toxin spewing assault rifles, poorly programmed drones with no free will and cyborg soldiers that were most likely no more effective than the legions of animi warriors he already has at his disposal. Angelista was trying to take advantage of them.

Jean makes his point succinct and forceful, "Out of the question."

Natsuko weighs her options and comes to a different conclusion, "Let's not jump the gun here. What we've seen so far has been pretty impressive. We haven't even seen all of this base yet. My people have no quarrel with the human race or your company doctor. If you're fighting Kagan and his allies, we're with you. Bearing in mind of course, that if it becomes apparent to us that you are no longer useful, our association will abruptly end."

Stein smiles widely and executes a formal low bow to Natsuko, "Thank you, Mrs. Masamura. You're making the right decision."

Jean has already made his choice and is making his way to the exit. He gives one last parting shot over his shoulder, "You ask too much. I can't in good conscience agree to this kind of deal. Goodbye."

Stein sees her opportunity to use her ace in the hole. An offer that the animi could not possibly refuse, "Don't you want to know where the juice is getting manufactured?"

Jean spins on a dime and charges up to Stein. Contempt overtakes him at the human's utter audacity. He wraps a paw around her windpipe and lifts her five feet off the ground. Clamping down tightly on her neck, he barks in her face, "What did you say? Tell me what you know. Now!"

Stein struggles to stutter out a coherent response. She points a finger at her channel companion, "You'll have to ask Mo. He's the one who has that information." The channel shakes his head at Jean. All of the room's Tesla coils ark in unison. If the wolf leaves a single mark on the only friend Mo has left, he's eating a hundred thousand volts.

"Put her down or I'm not telling you anything. Violence among those who should be standing side by side is no way for the world to move forward. Don't make me hurt you."

The scientist is dropped and Jean storms up to the partition separating him from Mo. Mohammed Rasheed brings to mind all of his heroes. Dr. King, Malcolm X, Ghandi, Churchill. All those great orators whose words had gotten through to people without resorting to violence or cruelty. He reaches deep down into himself and does his best to convince the ornery wolf to get with the program, "This isn't just about the human race anymore. That war is over. Or about your queen's feud with this so called 'mongrel father'. This is about the purest struggle between what's right and wrong. A coalition of the most evil beings on the planet is running wild out there. This is bigger than any one of us or the groups we represent. To stop them, we need to be unified. God himself has put all of us in this situation together because he knows that together we can do this. This is about truth, justice and..."

Jean cuts the lecture on morality short. Whether through sheer frustration or swaying emotions, the wolf falls in line, "Alright, alright, you've made your point. We'll cooperate. I want to know where the manufacturing complex is and I want to know right now."
CHAPTER 21

Complete darkness surrounds him. Blinded, he wanders through the endless abyss with no identifiable direction to speak of. For most, this would be a metaphor. For Ben, from the very moment he stepped into the stasis tube, this has been reality. Desperation and fear have led him to pray more than once to a God that he has never believed in.

For the first time since he accepted the offer of the abrasive scientist speaking in his head, he sees light in front of him. A faint glimmer in the distance is set apart from the endless sea of night. Moving steadily towards it, he has no idea what to expect, but anything is better than the hopeless void he has been floating in for what seems like forever. Pensively, he draws closer and closer to the shimmering speck on the horizon. When he finally penetrates the halo, what he hoped would be a twinkling respite, is really a Technicolour nightmare.

What lies before him is a familiar setting, though it could not be what it appears. Juanito's backyard patio is exactly as he remembers it. From the swing set to the barbeque, everything is precisely where it should be, including his family. The picnic table is set just like it was every Saturday afternoon. Plates, silverware and condiments are all in their appropriate spots.

"You gonna sit down or just stand there and stare? You look like an asshole." Juanito's voice hasn't changed. His smile, his eyes, and his clothes are all exactly the same. The top of his head has undergone some rather significant changes. There's much less of it there for starters, due in large part to the gaping hole at the crown of his skull. Blood runs like a faucet from the wound underneath his chin.

Lita on the other hand, looks exactly like she did as the last time he saw her. Every knife is still stuck just where her murderer left it. Her empty eye sockets and slashed neck are still dripping, creating a makeshift Jackson Pollack painting all over the deck. She welcomes him with a wispy voice, "Hope you're hungry Ben, we made plenty. Take the chair next to Juanito." She places a large serving tray in the centre of the table and smiles widely at Ben. Gesturing at the children playing in the yard to come closer, she yells, "Lunch is served!"

The kids leap clear across the yard and land on opposite sides of the table. They turn to face Ben with toothy grins, proudly bearing their brand new fangs. Their bodies have become pallid and emaciated. Running around him at blinding speed, they examine his metallic body closely, taking the odd sniff with curiosity twinkling in their eyes. Little Mauricio can't hold back his fascination, "Did it hurt when they made you a robot, Uncle Benny? Cause it hurt when I got made into a vampire."

It couldn't be real. None of it could. He tells himself over and over that he must be dead or dreaming, "This is totally wrong, you're all dead and gone. This is just some kind of bullshit nightmare. I need to wake up."

With a puzzled expression on her tiny face, Lupe throws in her two cents, "But aren't you dead too? Isn't that what the science man said? Aren't you happy to see us Uncle Benny?" Tears stream from the miniature vampire's face as her lips begin to quiver ever so slightly.

"Come on bro. You too good to have lunch with your family? Look at how you're upsetting Lupe. We may be dead but we still have feelings, you know? Besides, where else do you got to be? Back out into nothing?" As Juanito gestures out into the void beyond, Ben decides it is the better part of valour to join his family. He slides out the chair next to his cousin and grabs the nearest plate.

"What are we havin'? Steak, burgers, maybe a little pulled pork?" Before Lita can answer Mauricio jumps across the table and latches onto his mother.

"I'm having mommy!" He hangs on her chest and licks the open wound on her neck. Lapping up her blood like a thirsty dog at a watering hole, he smacks his lips and exclaims happily, "Mmmmm. Mommy is delicious." Lita's desiccated visage twists into an awkward grin and she pats her son on his head lovingly. Lupe settles on a different meal and hops up onto her father's shoulders. Reaching down into his open skull, she commences pulling out small chunks of grey matter and eagerly tossing them in her mouth. Elatedly munching away, Lupe offers Ben a piece of Juanito's brain.

"Want some Uncle Benny? Daddy's insides are real tasty."

He waves her off, wondering to himself if it's possible for a cyborg to vomit. In the interim, Juanito answers for him, "Stop that Lupe. Uncle Ben is gonna share with me and mommy. We made something special just for him today."

Lita grabs the lid of the serving tray, "It took some extra time to cook because I've never made it before, but it sure smells good." Lita is quite right, the smell emanating from the tray is quite appetizing to Ben, whatever it is. What is sitting on the tray looks significantly less delicious than it smells. The head staring back at Ben is hauntingly familiar, its innocent pale blue eyes just as vacant as the instant he separated it from its shoulders.

"What part do you want Ben? I've got dibs on the left cheek, it looks good and meaty. Hopefully this Brahman thing is just as good as regular cow." Lita slides one of the knives out of her stomach and slices a thick piece off of the bull's cheek. She puts the slab of meat on a plate and slides it to her husband.

Pointing the tip of the knife at Ben, she pounds on the table, "You are gonna eat some, aren't you Ben? I mean, you killed the kid, you might as well eat him too. Some snout maybe?" Overcome with guilt, he succumbs to Lita's morbid logic and accepts a slice of the Brahman's seared flesh. She sets it down in front of him and hands him a fork. He no longer has a mouth to eat with, so he sits in silence, gaze drifting between the head on the table and the tattered remains of his family slowly devouring it.

"This is insane! I know this isn't real! Why can't I wake up?!?"

Mauricio interrupts him with another poignant question, "Uncle Benny, why did you set me and Lupe on fire? Is it cause you don't like us anymore? We never did nothing to you Uncle Benny." With, his body lights up. Roaring red flames decorate his soft blanched skin. Lupe hops down from her father's shoulders and hurries to her brother's side. The flames leap onto her as well, enveloping her tiny frame in a swirling torrent.

"I wanted to help you. I didn't want you to turn into monsters."

Without skipping a beat, the kids shoot back in tandem, "You mean a monster like you?" They step forward hand in hand and tap away playfully on his metallic frame.

"I didn't have a choice in what those people did to me. Just like you had no choice in what that vampire did to you. Believe me, I only wanted to spare you the pain of becoming killers. I would never hurt you for no reason."

Juanito chuckles lightly under his breath, "Oh come on, don't be a hypocrite bro. Why would you of all people want to keep anyone from being a killer? Should I remind you who taught me how to shoot a gun? You were a monster long before that Theo guy strapped swords to your arms."

"All of that shit was just business. If we'd let the kids turn into vamps they would have been a part of things like what happened at the airport."

A new voice enters the fray from behind Ben, "I would definitely argue that point ass hole. How the fuck would you justify what you did to me?" Ben spins around and finds himself face to face with someone he hasn't seen in a number of years. Standing not five feet away is Louis Dejarlais, the first person that Ben ever murdered. His crumpled head just as obliterated as the night that Ben pulverized him with a tire iron. Chunks of spilling cerebrum and gushing blood attract the children, who once again eagerly dig in. Louis takes no notice of them and goes on a tirade, "What part of your business was I involved in? I was just some kid you knew from school. You made my life a living hell for no reason, and the one time I stood up to you, you fucking killed me! Do you remember how you laughed? Do you remember how you joked about how you were going to fuck my sister in my bed? Maybe how you let me suffer for a few minutes on the ground while you smoked a joint before finishing me off? Any of that ringing a bell?"

Ben chokes on every word as he responds, "I was just a kid. I reacted in the moment. It was nothing. You would've killed me if you'd had the balls to." The spectre moves up close to Ben so that his one remaining eye is looking straight into the twin abysses on the cyborg's artificial face.

"If I had killed you, it would have been an act of desperate revenge. You killed me for fun. You made me suffer-for fun. The fact that you don't see the difference is just further proof of what the scientist said. You're nothing more than a psychopath. It's all you'll ever be. And I'm not the only one who thinks so."

The massacred visage nods casually towards the yard. Standing on the freshly cut grass is a veritable parade of Ben's past sins. Shoulder to shoulder is every single person and creature that Ben has ever killed. Every drug deal gone bad, every snitch that needed extermination, every girlfriend who cheated and every vampire he's dusted.

They mill about in an ocean of blood, chatting each other up, comparing notes on where, how and why he put them in the ground. The general consensus on motivation seems to be 'he felt like it'. Members of the crowd take turns flipping Ben off and shouting obscenities. A few of the more ambitious ones toss beer bottles and clumps of dirt at him.

As the barbeque begins to look more like a war zone another familiar guest enters the fray, "Ha! Look at all of them. That's quite a collection of victims. You know if we had met under different circumstances you and I would have been good buddies. Well, if I were willing to associate with a filthy wet back, that is." Torrig Balder struts up to the picnic table and takes a seat directly across from Ben. Melted flesh still dangles loosely from his mangled face.

"So good to see you again. Love the new look. Very 'terminator chic'. Did you miss me?" Unrestrained hate pools inside him and Ben lunges across the table, blades outstretched. Missing by a wide margin, he lands face down in a heap. "Nice try you dickless beaner. A little on the slow side though. You'll have to be waaaayyyyy more precise if you ever expect to take me down. Now, how are my little ones doing?"

Arms open wide in an expectant pose Torrig winks at Lupe and Mauricio. They both bound eagerly into his waiting embrace, hugging him as tight as their tiny limbs will allow, "I really don't understand why you set the poor things on fire, tin man. I was doing them a favour by turning them. Why would you cheat these little darlings out of immortality? You got some kind of problem with eternal youth? Or were you just punishing poor unfortunate Juanito for having the kids your sorry impotent ass wasn't capable of creating?" Torrig finishes his abusive rant, and the crowd swarming in the yard erupts with insults and curses. It is a verbal hailstorm assaulting Ben's consciousness, "Fuck you!"

"Murderer!"

"Psycho!"

"Worthless scumbag!" His senses are soon overwhelmed by the amount of hate and recrimination flying at him. The curses pour out in waves, each one louder than the last. This isn't a dream. It's hell, his own personal hell.

Torrig giggles, "Come on animal. React the only way you know how. Kill, Benjamin. Kill everyone! Do what you were born for!" It seems there is no other option than that offered by his sworn enemy. If he's in hell, he may as well at the part. He jumps headlong into the crowd in the yard thrashing violently. Skulls split, viscera spills, and his victims scream and scatter. But then the backyard vanishes, swallowed in a blinding flash of light.

Still wildly swinging his limbs around him, it dons on Ben that he is once again back to reality. The walls of his containment tube are cracked all over and about to buckle. Wheezing heavily, he surveys his immediate surroundings. Computer equipment and monitors fill the room. Blinding bright spotlights shine down from the vaulted ceiling. Theo stands several yards away, tapping away on his tablet and staring with wide expectant eyes.

Directly to Theo's right is a face that is brand new to Ben. It is a dishevelled man with elongated fingernails and huge bags under his eyes. The scraggly beard and mussed, greasy black hair give the impression that it has been quite some time since he bathed. Archibald Angelista speaks to Theo in a concerned tone, "I thought you said that there was no brain damage. Why was the subject convulsing in such a way? Though I am impressed it was able to damage its container to such a degree. The new design is as powerful as you described."

Theo responds in a tone Ben hasn't heard before. Gone is the sarcastic, arrogant tinge, replaced by a sheepish tone usually used by small children who've been caught writing on the wall, "There is no damage sir. I'm reviewing the data right now. It would appear that there was some unprecedented activity while he was sedated. As you can see he's righted himself now that we've woken him. One moment sir, I'll ask him. Ben? What happened? Why were you freaking out like that man?"

"Him? He? Man? What have I told you about anthropomorphizing the equipment? It is an item Theodore. Refer to it as such or you will complicate the program by endorsing ego integrity." Theo complies without argument, "Is there an explanation for the malfunction, one forty seven?" Ben categorically recounts the events of the ethereal barbeque to the fascinated observers.

"This is unacceptable Theodore. The subjects are not intended to dream while in stasis. As I previously told you, the allotment of sedatives you have prescribed is wholly insufficient. Double it. If this problem persists, I will personally liquidate this asset. I am already less than impressed at how it performed in the test trials. It hesitated. In the field it cannot hesitate. Not ever Theodore. The fate of our entire race depends on the functionality of the weapons we develop here. It had better perform in a satisfactory fashion during the field testing." With that, Archibald turns around and walks briskly out of the room. Theo breathes a quiet sigh of relief. His project lives on, at least for now.

"Lemme guess, Theo. That was the management you were telling me about. He's a real fuckin' peach. He's got sort of a strung out meth head vibe goin' on there. I can already tell we're gonna be the best of fuckin' friends. But I gotta say, I like his idea about more sedatives. I don't ever wanna have a nightmare like that again."

Theo nods in agreement and reassures him, "Yup, that was the head of the entire corporation. Take him as seriously as you possibly can. He's kind of a dick and he will have both of us killed without a second thought. Don't worry, I'll definitely increase the sedatives for you bud." Theo enters a sequence of commands on his tablet, "For the time being, we've got something for you to do upstairs. If you do have any more dreams while you're in stasis, make sure you only talk to me about them." The enclosure around Ben opens up and a crystalline walkway forms in front of him. Body still shaky from the effects of the nightmare; he stumbles slightly walking down the catwalk. He catches hold of the railing just in time. The holding cell is suspended above a seemingly bottomless pit. Falling off the walkway would almost certainly have meant his end. He takes the last few steps much more deliberately.

"Something to do upstairs? Like what? Is yours truly saving the world today?"

Theo smirks back at Ben and gestures for him to follow, "There are some people that would like to meet you. You might have to kill some of them one day. We're not sure which ones yet, so for now, try to be polite. Come with me."
CHAPTER 22

Deliberations between Dr. Stein and the preternatural representatives go on for hours. Weapons are traded, troops are shuffled around and an endless discussion begins on which of their monstrous enemies needs to be dealt with first. Natsuko is hell bent on focusing all of their combined forces to topple Kagan's operations in Europe and Jean's trademark tunnel vision regarding Ahmu is still in full effect. The debate has escalated from diplomatic discourse to something more resembling a bar room brawl. A conference table placed in the room has just been smashed against the wall. Jean and Natsuko's previously made deal to be polite has disintegrated. Long ignored hatreds are once again bubbling to the surface. Jean snarls at her across the room, "This is so like your arrogant ilk. You assume that killing one man will end an entire war. There are so many more factors at play here than just Kagan."

Contempt for the wolf's lack of reasoning skills consumes Natsuko. Once again, he is allowing his dismorphic emotions to cloud better judgement, "It's an old and simple adage wolf. Cut off the head and the body dies. It's as easy as that. It's a much better plan than throwing ourselves blindly at an endless supply of mongrels." If they kill Kagan, Jean is certain that another vampire will simply rise up to take control of his territory. Perhaps even Natsuko herself. All vampires were slaves to their ambitions. Bashina had taught him that lesson years ago.

"They would not be endless if we could cut off their supply chain. Separate them from their juice."

Mo has been quiet up until this point. The endless circular bickering has worn him out. He knows from personal experience that there was something far more important than personal vendettas, "Those are both ordinary military incursion scenarios that can be delayed and dealt with later. Ra could let loose with thermonuclear grade devastation at any moment. We should be focusing on him."

Before anyone can make a counter point to his assertion, Theo bursts through the door with his cyborg creation in tow. All eyes shift to them and for the first time in hours, there is silence. Theo dives right into the lively debate, "You're all wrong. The first target should be simple. We need to focus on Esteban Medina."

Natsuko is relieved to have a neutral party present at the table. Perhaps he can shed some necessary light on events. She sits back in her chair and looks at Theo, "Why is that Dr. Wise ass?"

"Simple. There is of course, the issue of the juice as the Colonel previous alluded to. Second, if we could manage to recruit some incubi and succubi to our side we could use them to pacify various other species, not the least of which are the channels. You saw how easily the knockout gas put Mo down. Succubi can produce effects similar to that naturally. Furthermore, their military is by far the weakest, and if we send in contingents of drones with their olfactory senses removed then tractatori pheromone abilities would be essentially a moot point."

Ben expected to be the guest of honour at this meeting. His grand entrance had amounted to little more than a sideways glance from everyone. The last thing he would ever allow people to do is ignore him. He does his best to disrupt the conversation, "Ahem."

Theo sighs slightly and walks up next to his creation. With all the fanfare of a pro wrestling announcer, Theo introduces the cyborg, "I was getting to you man. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my friend and yours, Ben Guitierrez AKA subject one forty seven."

Ben sashays up to Jean and extends his right arm into a fist at chest level, "Wassup' big poppa. Glad to be on the team. Pound that shit." Jean does not reciprocate. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at the peculiar metal man. Studying Ben's exoskeleton up and down methodically, the Colonel lets out a snort and turns away without a word. A little offended but no worse for wear, Ben plays it off with a joke, "What, no bump? Lassie here is as cold as ice. I thought I was supposed to be the fuckin' robot."

Mo can already tell the newcomer is not someone he wants around. That pattern of speech. Those mannerisms. He's known a hundred men just like him, and they get innocent people killed. If growing up in Detroit taught him anything, it was don't trust gang members, "Oh, he's so wonderfully ghetto. Nothing better than a man who seeks out to perpetuate a zeitgeist that holds back an entire race through tacit endorsement of gang violence and the suppression of true cultural identity. If this is your so called 'perfect test subject' Theodore, your entire project is doomed to be a hideous failure."

Ben senses the indignation in his voice and can't help but push his buttons a little bit, "Hold up with all them fifty dolla' words bro. Save that funny talk for the sciency types like T here. Benny ain't havin it."

The jibe only serves to further agitate Mo. Random arcs of lighting bounce around inside his enclosure, "What's the issue homeboy? You never met a brother who could enunciate before?" Ben appears lost in thought for a moment. He scratches the top of his head and strokes away at his chin. It seems several times as though he's about to speak but nothing comes out.

After a minute of quiet internal deliberation, he blurts, "Uh... nope, can't say that I have. Wait! Is that why you're in a cage, bro? Did they like splice you with 'Uncle Tom' genes and grow you in a lab or somethin'? You're like, some kind of petri dish negro right?"

Stein stops the argument before it escalates an further, "I hate to interrupt this charming free exchange of ideas, but I've just received a report of some suspicious activity topside. Some of our drones are missing from their posts and we can't reach them through conventional means. Do we have any volunteers to look into it?"

Theo sees a golden opportunity to prove the worth of his pet project. Any excuse to find out how well his first successful subject can perform in a real world situation, "You ready for a field test big guy?"

Ben is more than ready. His entire body begins vibrating with excitement at the prospect of getting out of the base for a while. The nightmare he just woke up from has put violence at the forefront of his mind. His weapons are fully loaded and he's primed to tear into some hostiles. Any old hostiles would do. At this point, he'd blow up a bus full of nuns to let off steam.

"About fuckin' time T! So who's with me?"

Exasperated with the pointless discussion taking place, Jean decides to volunteer. A chance to get away from Natsuko and do something constructive suits him fine, "I will participate. I'm interested to see how this... thing performs in combat."

Stein hands him a radio, "Good luck you two. You'll be in constant radio contact with Theo if you run into any trouble." Corralled into an elevator by another group of pushy drones, they are shot straight up to the surface.

Their destination it is deserted. The guard post appears to be completely undisturbed. Guns are left sitting idle on a table in the corner and none of them show sign of having recently been fired. Not a single piece of furniture is the slightest bit out of place. Ben and Jean toss the entire room looking for clues and come up with nothing.

"No blood, no bodies. No signs of a struggle. It looks like they just put their guns down and walked away. I was told these drones don't do anything without being ordered to." The werewolf begins sniffing around the room and catches wind of a hauntingly familiar odour. Something that takes him back to his experiences defending the vampire stronghold in Okinawa, "I smell something. Distinctive. It's definitely a succubus." He takes another deep inhale, "Just one, fairly young and potent too. She must have enthralled the drones and led them this way."

Following Jean's nose, they walk the city streets. The citizens of Seattle have been busy rebuilding in the aftermath of the seven day war. Makeshift tenements and businesses have been cobbled together to create a rudimentary civilian district. Amongst the harshest of eventualities mankind has managed to persevere. Every building they stop to investigate is just as empty as the guard post. All they manage to find within them is the saturated scent of the tractatori.

The succubi has been collecting every human in the area for some reason. Paranoid thoughts assail Jean's mind. Tractatori have a well documented reputation for human trafficking. They may be too late to stop the thralls from being shipped around the world for use as slaves. He quickens his pace; the source of the smell is drawing closer.

On the horizon, a sequence of multicoloured flashing lights flicker intermittently in the sky. The sounds of upbeat drum and bass music thump throughout the area. Dozens of half empty liquor bottles have been left lying in the street. Ben starts bobbing his head to the beat, "Sounds like one hell of a party is goin' on up there."

Jean eyes him quizzically. The cyborg's jovial mannerisms are a very bad sign. Spores in the air could already have done their work. If he fell victim to the thrall, Jean wasn't sure he could jolt him out of it. He didn't know if the strength of his alpha influence transferred over to domineering cyborgs. He grabs Ben by the shoulders and gives it his best shot, "Stay focused, one forty seven. These things thrive on weak willed people with no self control."

Not a single word registers. Body now bobbing and weaving with the music, Ben dances down the road towards the succubus. Humming a few bars under his breath, he says"Man something smells fuckin' good bro. Like way too good. Jamaican weed mixed with Blue Agave tequila and fresh young pussy."

Jean comes to recognize he can't get through to the mechanical man and contacts Theo over the comms for assistance, "Doctor Haniawa, something is wrong with one forty seven. He has become affected by a succubus. Can you shut him down or counteract the effects of the pheromones?" Theo frantically tries to assume manual control, but to no avail. Every key command he enters yields zero results. Repeated attempts to make contact with Ben meet with dead air. Brain scan feedback indicates a massive flood of dopamine and the hypothalamus is in a state of hyper activation.

"Uh... no. The pleasure centres of his brain are on total overload and it's fucking up his software. I've got no control of his systems right now. He's flying solo. Hold on. Why aren't you affected?"

Disgusted, Jean yells back at him, "Because I'm immune to this type of spore. Do any of the technologies you people use function the way they're supposed to doctor? Send me some back up now. And make sure they're wearing hazmat suits with breathing apparatuses. What this succubus excretes is beyond potent."

Natsuko grabs her swords and a re-breather. She rushes for the elevator, "I'm en route, Colonel. Do not engage the tractatori before I arrive."

Jean follows closely behind Ben as he stumbles his way towards the source of his joyous stupor. They begin passing by groups of revellers swilling alcohol and fornicating in the middle of the road. She is definitely close by. The source of the lights and music is just at the end of the block. A re purposed pre-war night club with a huge sign on the front bearing the Greek symbol 'Omega'. Ben kicks open the doors to reveal a high energy rave in full swing.

The dance floor is overflowing with all the missing civilians. Young and old writhe against one another in a hyperactive frenzy. Lasers of a myriad colours fly around the room and clouds of smoke form a stinging haze in the air. The music pumping from stacks of speakers is ear splitting. Shock waves of sound rattle the internal organs of all in attendance. The crowd of dancing thralls is loving every second of it. To Jean's heightened senses, it is a bombardment of searing agony. Then they see her.

On an elevated stage at the head of the room, a series of spotlights are all trained on a single woman. Blond, tall and buxom she gyrates in succession with the throngs of people drooling in a circle around her. Some tug and grab at the fishnet stockings on her arms and legs as she twirls about between them. Skin tight tank top and matching skirt both bear the words 'rock star' in the appropriate places. A number of flowers are tied into the rainbow coloured extensions in her hair. All Ben can do is snigger and point, "God damn bro! Check that bitch out."

A cursory sniff is all Jean needs to confirm what the stoned robot has already pointed out, "That's definitely the target." The succubi calls for the attention of the crowd and every eye in the house becomes glued to her. She begins dancing in a specific pattern. Ben goes right along with her. Every person in the room except Jean is popping and locking in perfect unison with the manipulative bombshell.

She orders the crowd, "Just everybody on the left." Half the room freezes and the rest go on mimicking her movements. She laughs hysterically and picks up a bottle of wine, slugging it back in a single gulp. Wiping her chin of excess, she chirps, "Now everybody on the right." The humans do as they're told and continue their obedient mimicry. This time, instead of a bottle, she grabs a hold of the nearest available person. A huge spiked tongue comes snaking out of her mouth. Four feet long and covered in tiny razor sharp barbs, it coils and snaps like a whip in front of her. She stuffs the spiky anaconda into the woman's open mouth and up into her brain. The succubus greedily drains out every drop of her cerebrospinal fluid with the fleshy straw.

Witnesses cheer and clap at the public feeding. The drained woman's husk is dropped to the grime covered floor and the satiated succubus flies into a giggle fit. She mumbles unintelligible nonsense while swaying back and forth completely separated from reality. Righting herself for just an instant, she bellows at the crowd, "All together now!" The audience resumes its raucous partying, taking no notice of the dead body lying on the floor of the stage.

Ben walks towards the succubus, "She sure does know how to move that ass, doesn't she? I think I'll get in on this action." When she lays eyes on him, the DJ is ordered to cut the sound off. The room goes quiet and everybody in attendance stops on a dime. Twirling her hair in her finger tips, she studies the new arrivals intently. All listen intently to what the sweaty vixen has to say.

"Look at this everybody, new friends. Pretty cute ones too. Is that one a robot? Fucking sweet deals. I've never had a robot before. Welcome to the party boys."

She licks her fingers and blows them both a sticky, wet kiss. Trails of mist sail across the room into their faces. On contact with the swirling vapour, Ben twitches in ecstasy. Every fibre of his being compels him to run to the succubi's side. He yells to Jean, "What are you waitin' for, bro? Join the party."

There is no possible way that's going to happen. Even bathed in pheromones from stem to stern, Jean feels nothing but contempt for the girl. No matter how hard she tries to push, there is no way to sway his emotions. The part of a person that she preys upon no longer exists for him. It would be a cold day in hell before he so much as cracked a smile.

Lunatic binging such as this is why he's always been disgusted by tractatori. The power to own the hearts and minds of others on a whim. The desire to do nothing but hedonistically waste time. To some, they were a pleasant diversion. To Jean, they were a frustrating nuisance. In the back of his mind, he hopes that the girl would put up a fight, so there would be ample excuse to kill her. He stomps forward hurling bystanders out of the way. Summoning his most authoritative voice, the infuriated wolf commands her, "Stop what you're doing and release these people immediately." He barks over the comms, "Doctor, have you figured out what to do with the cyborg yet?"

Jean jumps onto the stage and grabs a hold of the succubi's arm. Theo answers in an exasperated tone, "There's nothing I can do with him Colonel, he's completely enthralled."

The frightened woman thrashes about in an attempt to break free of Jean's grasp. Yet another mess of spores is spat into his face, "Let me go ass hole!" It does nothing to change her lot. The wolf is far beyond the limits of her meagre control. He tightens his grip on her wrist and lets out a low, rumbling growl.

"Enough of this nonsense. You can't win."

The girl panics. She only has one last card to play before she'd have to give in to the furred hulk in front of her. She calls out to her thralls, "Hey, everybody. This guy is trying to kill our buzz. Are we gonna take that from him?" A thousand angry stares fixate on Jean. He ignores them. The whole lot could be cleared out with one hand tied behind his back. However, the fully loaded cannons Ben has pointed at his temple from three feet away are a major concern.

"Oh, shit!" Is all Jean can blurt out before he dives for cover. He narrowly avoids gouts of flame and a river of hot lead as he bounds from table to table around the club. Dozens of the enthralled civilians become caught in the crossfire while they swing drunkenly at his passing. It is an unavoidable consequence of the situation. If he tried to help them, Ben would shred him like paper. Charging full speed into a wall, Jean breaks out of the building and back into the city streets.

Ben pursues, firing wildly from both barrels. A cadre of civilians and drones follow them, arming themselves with broken bottles and the few rifles security forces left on the ground outside the club. The cyborg and his fellow thralls are led on a wild chase through the bombed out streets of Seattle. Recently refurbished buildings are again reduced to rubble as the entranced pursue their single minded directive to 'eradicate the buzz kill'.

Taking a wrong turn into a secluded alley, Jean is pinned down in a dead end. Ben and a pair of armed drones hem him in and take aim. As they're about to pull the trigger and finish the job, a greyish blur drops from the sky above. In a blinding flurry, the drones are dissected into piles of bloody chunks. Natsuko stands face to face with Ben, her twin katana intertwined with his glistening hull blades. She turns her head away from the stalemate and orders Jean, "I can't hold him off forever Fido. Go get the god damn succubus!"

He leaps over the duel and rushes back towards the club, slamming through any resistance like a runaway freight train. Inside the club, the succubus has already restarted the party and is back centre stage, dancing up a storm. The entire room is cleared in a single jump and he lands right on top of her. Claws knuckle deep in her chest, he gives her one last chance at survival, "Last warning. Release these people or I will pull you in half. You have three seconds to comply."

For a brief moment, she glares at him furiously, but ultimately gives in, "Oh, all right. Fuck. I was just trying to have a little fun for fuck's sake. Just cause' the apocalypse happened nobody wants to enjoy themselves anymore." She pushes out a strong exhale, and a cloud of brownish mist spreads throughout the club. Another breath and the antigen wafts out into the city, "You satisfied, tough guy? That'll take care of everything. You can take your disgusting fingers the fuck out of my chest now, k? Jesus Christ, you're filthy. I can't believe this shit. Seattle was supposed to be a fun town."

Napalm burns and bullet holes in his back ache like mad. The instinct to rip off her head and eat her insides is intense, but the possibility of extracting information from her cannot be ignored. A single head butt puts her out and he drags her out of the bar feet first. He says over the comms, "Tractatori is captured. The affected civilians and drones should be back in complete control of their mental faculties shortly. We're going to need an air tight cell to house the succubus where she'll have no physical contact with anyone. Understood?"

Dr. Stein gets back to him. She sounds giddy as a school girl, "There's already a holding cell prepped and waiting for her Colonel. We've been hoping to acquire a tractatori specimen for some time. We will begin her interrogation as soon as you get her back to The Core. Well done, well done indeed."
CHAPTER 23

Esteban Medina is in the foulest of moods. If there's one thing he hates above all else, it's working with the old ones, particularly channels. Ancients are always bothersome company, none more so than the one he has come to see. Yet here he stands inside Ra's Diablo temple in Guatemala, amid the pictograms and elegant stucco masks carved into its walls. The architecture of the old world baffles him. Were these masks supposed to be scary? To him, they just look like some asshole with a badly broken nose. He'll take the modern design of his Bogota mansion any day.

All of the dust in the air is wreaking havoc on his new hairdo. They're called frosted tips, not dusted ones. It will take an hour of solid scrubbing to get his head clean. If he knew it was this dirty here, he would have brought one of his thralls to clean up a bit, or at the very least worn a less expensive suit. When he arrived, it was a black and white pin stripe, now it looks more like desert camouflage. He makes a mental note to call his tailor and have something new custom made. A double breasted blue seer sucker would be nice, with matching stingray boots.

Out of the deepest recesses of the temple comes Ra. The smell of brimstone coming from his mouth brings tears to Esteban's eyes, "You're late Esteban. I was expecting you days ago." One sentence into the conversation and Esteban is already sick of him. As if Ra's desires somehow take priority over his own. The elder species' leaders always addressed him as such. It's an experience he's grown sick of.

"You're fortunate I decided to show up at all. I have more going on than just our little arrangement." Running an international drug cartel is busy work. The demand for narcotics didn't go down in war time. If anything, the business became even more profitable. War has afforded him some unique opportunities. In the opening days of the conflict, he managed to eliminate all of his competitors. The less time he spent placating Ra, the more time he could spend peddling his wares around the world.

The channel puffs out his glowing red chest and raises a smoking right hand to the sky in a dramatic pose. He chastises his guest, wagging a finger in Esteban's face, "The propagation of the holy one's will supersedes all other endeavours, Esteban. The work we do here is critical. We are preparing the way for the new world." Melodramatic nonsense as per usual, always the melodrama. Esteban once told some of his employees that talking to Ra was like having someone read you Shakespeare with a rusty knife lodged in the cognitive centre of their brain. He has no time for the mumblings of the fire starter. Esteban is on a schedule.

"Yeah, that's fantastic. Let's just get this over with so I can get back home. I've got a shit ton of juice to get shipped out." A shipment of juice that Ahmu and Kagan had been clamouring for. Every second more they waited is another foot closer they were to showing up on his doorstep.

"The concerns of your paltry cartel are drops of water in the ocean of time. Absolutely nothing in the grand design of the most high. It is what comes after the cataclysm that will shape what is to come."

Ra kept mentioning those two things every time Esteban came to see him. The 'cataclysm' and the 'most high'. He wasn't clear on exactly what either of them meant. For now, he ignores it and tries to explain his situation, "If I miss a shipment to those slobbering looney tune mother fuckers, then the concerns of my cartel will matter to you. Because if they cross the pond and come for me, I won't be able to do this shit for you anymore." While Esteban has a loyal following of other tractatori and human thralls, Ahmu's horde would rip straight through them in hours, even without juice.

Ra is not quite so concerned with them, "Neither the mindless consumers, nor the night kin would dare come to this continent for fear of me. You would do well to follow their example Esteban." Ra raises his right hand once again. An aura of intense flame surrounds his form sending waves of oppressive heat sweeping through the corridor. Esteban's body temperature shoots up several degrees and sweat pours out of him like a river. The organs in his chest begin to cook. Even at death's door, the incubus remains indignant.

"You start the day with your pseudo biblical mumbling, now you're threatening me? It's always a pleasure when I come to visit Ra." The sun god lowers his arm. For now, his point has been made. Slowly but steadily, the ambient heat dissipates.

Ra continues his eschatological raving, "Those that came before shape what comes after. It was ordained long ago. All will become ash as it has so many times before and from the ashes the new world shall rise."

Skin scalded and losing more patience by the second, Esteban lashes out, "For fuck's sake, you never stop, do you? Enough with all the cryptic nonsense. Just show me where they are."

Ra points back down into the temple, "I have sequestered the chosen deeper inside. You will make them understand their calling Esteban. Make them know the glory they have been selected for." Ra needs as many willing participants as possible for his holy work. The first group of specially selected candidates performed so well for the most part. Only a few needed Esteban's special brand of coercion. The new batch is different, so many refused to accept their calling.

"Yeah, yeah. Brainwash your suicide bombers just like the last time. I know the drill. Just give me the relevant information and take me to them."

Arriving at the inner sanctum, Ra stops in his tracks. He motions at the next room over, "The chosen lie beyond this threshold. The flickering demon device right here contains the information you seek."

A single dusty laptop sits idle in a recess within the temple wall. Esteban snaps it up, "You mean the computer, idiot? Yeah, thanks. I guess I'll start now." He shakes his head at the ancient's superstitious musings. Ra referred to most technology this way. It would make Esteban laugh if he didn't find it so pathetic.

Across the threshold, Esteban sees the sheer scope of what the channel is planning. More than a hundred various men and women sit strapped to chairs all over the massive chamber. Bound and gagged, the terrified captives struggle against their restraints and beg incoherently for Esteban to release them, "Holy shit! I thought it would be the same as the last time. There's at least three times the amount of people in here than there was before. This could take me fucking weeks." Properly breaking the will of a single person was no joke. The prospect of doing it to all of the people in front of him sent his mind reeling.

"Then I suggest you make haste Esteban. I require at least fifty more prepared to accept the mantle of the chosen by the end of the week."

"You're dreaming. At best, I can give you ten in that time. Turning an unwilling participant into a suicidal extremist takes time and focus. I have to get to know them so I know what buttons to push. It's more than just pheromone saturation. The pheromones wear off, the conditioning is what sticks."

Ra was expecting immediate and absolute obedience. Most would not dare even imply deviation from his edicts. His previous display of power had not frightened the incubus as much as he originally assumed, "You will expedite the process or pay the consequences incubus. The will of the holy shall be obeyed. Your laziness will not impede the new age." Molten insides boil over. Scorch marks appear under the soles of Ra's calloused feet. The entire temple's structure acts as a giant heat conductor. A cloak of flame spreads out over the sun god's form as the temperature climbs ever higher.

After all the threats and intimidation he's been party to over the past few months, Esteban is at his wits end. Vampires, animi, and now channels all thinking they can tell him what to do. Enough is enough. Esteban Medina will be nobody's bitch, "Let me make something abundantly clear to you. While a vampire or animi may cower in fear from you, I will not." The veins in his body push up against the skin as muscles flex. Pheromone glands engorge and inflate the neck like a bullfrog. Sweat pouring from his body shifts from translucent liquid to a viscous, sickly green sludge. His barbed tongue swings back and forth dripping a waterfall of sticky fluid onto the floor, "You see, the apex predators rely on actually touching their prey to harm it. Scratching, biting and all that shit. I do not. I only have to breathe on you to make my fucking point."

Any ordinary incubus can influence most basic emotions and sensations with their pheromone spores. Rage and arousal being the gold standards. Esteban Medina is anything but ordinary. From the most acute paranoid delusions, to suicidal depression, he could do it all. What he is planning for Ra fell somewhere in the neighbourhood of total schizophrenic dementia. To flood the mind with so much serotonin and dopamine in a single burst that it could never again make sense of a single shred of data. An endless cacophony of nightmarish hallucinations coupled with permanently frayed nerves.

"You're no more than a few feet away from me, Ra. One strong exhale and I could reduce you to a gibbering vegetable."

Noxious fumes paralyse Ra from the neck down. The first stage of the reaction is already taking place. Twinges of pain creep their way up his spine. Ra reaches out at Esteban, voice cracking, "You would not dare attack your God."

"God? You know, I remember when my people used to believe that. Built temples the size of mountains in your honour. Cut out the hearts of our enemies at dawn to appease you. For what? Because you can make a few measly fireworks? What was it they called you back then? Tonatiuh wasn't it?" Gods. All of the elder immortals are so fond of calling themselves that. Each one has steered one culture or another over the course of history under such false pretences. Esteban didn't care for godhood. He doesn't need a church in his honour to make people worship him. All he has to do is breathe.

"I cooperate with you because your bombings are helping keep Kagan and Ahmu from making a move on South America. Not to mention how much fun I have making the puppets dance. Don't for a second assume that I owe you anything, because I don't. I know full well just how much of a 'god' you are. Ten thousand years ago you got lucky and inherited some power. Kudos. You're the supernatural equivalent of a trust fund brat. I earned my empire. You're just keeping yours warm."

Esteban loosens his hold on Ra's nervous system. Shivering on the ground, Ra hisses, "You dare!"

"Yes, I do. Like it or not, you need me. Not the other way around. Now piss off old man. I've got some brains to wash." Ra stumbles away and leaves Esteban to his work.

Starting up the computer, Esteban searches for a particular type of personality profile, someone simple, someone vulnerable. Start with the ripest plum as it were. He needs another Clyde Simmons. The third profile he reads yields exactly what he's looking for.

Single white male, forty two years old. Never married, only one living relative. Mother. Documented history of drug addiction and chronic unemployment. Twice arrested for terrorist related activities. Name: Micheal Segdewick.

He finds the man among the crowd and removes his gag, "Look, I know what you guys want, OK? I'm not gonna do it. That glowing freak already tried to talk me into this and I'm not playing. I'm a decent person, not a mass murderer." The man was defiant to start, for certain. All the better. Manipulation makes him feel that much more powerful when they try to resist. Esteban walks around the man in slow circles and begins the work.

"Says here in your file that you did kill a few people once. You blew up an oil pipeline and a handful of the workers died. Sounds like murder to me."

"That was unexpected collateral damage. I would never harm another human being willfully." Hands clasped around the man's face, Esteban says, "You will Micheal. You will." The sweat from his palms soaks into the human's temples. In seconds, the spores have made their way to the brain. A warm itch travels to the tip of every extremity, followed by a potent surge of adrenaline.

"What was that? I feel so... angry." The stage is set.

"Yes, I know. Just like when your mother died of cancer." The fuse is lit.

"She didn't. She lives in Pasadena. She just visited me in prison a couple months ago." All he needs to do is tell the man a story, then sit back and watch the memories change.

"No, Micheal. She died. From exposure to asbestos. Filthy, filthy asbestos. Do you remember how horrible she looked in the hospital, Micheal? The tubes? The wires?" Fuzzy images begin to appear in the man's mind. Had she really died? He wasn't sure of anything. Not even his own name.

"I...don't.I..." Perception is bent and contorted. The elderly woman's emaciated face is everywhere he looks.

"The way she coughed? The way she shook like a leaf while the life left her body." The illusion is complete. Tears fall from Micheal's eyes as he feels his mother's loss a dozen times over.

"Yes, I remember. She was all I had." Esteban further builds the mythology around the forced delusion.

"And that corporation. Didn't pay a dime in restitution, did they Micheal? Laughed you right out of court. It's a crying shame what Angelista thinks he can get away with, isn't it?" Give a human being an enemy and watch the hate take over.

"That bastard! I remember him. Laughed right in my face that day." The delusion takes on a life all its own. Nothing left but to turn the enemy into a viable target.

"I know, I know. You're not the only one he's hurt, Micheal. He's hurting the whole world. But there's something we can do. Something you can do."

Micheal looks up at Esteban with sad but hopeful eyes. He asks sheepishly, "Really? Like what?" It was almost too easy. Ra would have his first willing candidate in no time. Hopefully, the rest would fall in line just as readily.

"We have so much to discuss. I know you're hurt and confused. I can help you make sense of it all. I can give you purpose again." Their little chat goes on for several hours. Plenty of time for Esteban to reinforce every part of the man's brand new 'holy mission'. Where, when and why he will explode. All of humanity's various and sundry failures that lead to the necessity of the attack, every aspect in vivid detail, exactly to Ra's specifications.

He brings the new Micheal Sedgewick before the sun god, "So you've made progress with the chosen incubus?"

Esteban pats the man on his back and announces proudly, "Why don't you ask Micheal yourself?"

"Are you prepared to accept the mantle Micheal? Can we count you among those glorious martyrs who will usher in the new age?"

Ra holds out a flaming hand to the hypnotized human. Without hesitation, he steps forward and accepts the offer, "I stand ready to strike out against the enemy of all that is good and right. The tyrant Angelista will shudder in terror at the coming of the chosen." The fire creeps up Micheal's arm and envelops his entire form. When the flames subside, he will be a channel himself. One brand new man bomb, ready and willing to commit genocide in the name of the most high.

A smug sense of self satisfaction fills Esteban to bursting. It is truly one of his best mind reassignments ever. Nothing left between the ears of the victim but what he placed there, "Do you like how I even convinced this one to talk like you? We can make a new video for Kagan's website using this one here. Really send a message. Have him film himself giving some kind of 'the end is nigh' speech into the camera before he goes boom. What do you think?"

"Impressive, incubus. We will employ this one in our message to the devil himself. You may continue with the rest of them now. I require more martyrs as soon as possible."
CHAPTER 24

Pacing back and forth inside her vacant white cell, the girl begins to panic. It isn't the first time she's been arrested in her life, but this situation feels different. No bars, no concrete and no visible guards, just the four simple walls surrounding her. As some small mercy, there is at least a toilet. A pane of two way glass in front of her implies that an interrogation is coming, possibly from the gigantic werewolf who crashed her party.

Yvette is not in any shape for an interrogation. The buzz from the previous night has worn off completely, to be replaced by powerful withdrawals. Shaking hands and cold sweats are not making her incarceration any easier. She hasn't been sober in weeks, not since leaving home to come to North America. If she doesn't get a fix of something soon, hallucinations might take over.

As the minutes tick by, her state of mind becomes increasingly volatile. Isolation is giving way to intense bouts of paranoid delusion. Tapping hyper actively on the glass, she begs for attention, "Hello? Helllloooooo?!??!" Her reflection in the mirror is pallid and drawn out. Deep bags under her eyes belie the exhaustion plaguing her body. Clammy hands scratch at invisible bugs crawling everywhere. The claw wounds in her chest were treated when she arrived, but she still feels them bleeding beneath the bandages. Without sustenance, proper regeneration won't happen for days. She pleads with her invisible jailers, "Can I at least get some food, or what?"

Jean, Natsuko and Dr. Stein have been watching the twitchy succubus climb the walls and mutter to herself all night. They have been waiting patiently for the perfect moment to begin their questioning. Begging for food is a convenient opening. Natsuko asks the first question, "We'll see about getting you something to eat in a bit. State your name for the camera please."

Yvette has heard about how the law is supposed to work in America. Proper representation might help her situation. Maybe she can get one of those 'public defenders' she's heard so much about, "Where's my lawyer?" Natsuko and Stein roll their eyes at each other. Clearly the girl didn't quite understand the severity of what she's done. There will be no lawyer. But, if warranted, there would be an executioner. Injuries sustained holding off a crazed cyborg the previous evening have Natsuko on edge. She would be more than happy to finish off the strung out succubus.

"You don't get one. There's no due process for the laundry list of crimes you committed yesterday. Not to mention the matter of what you are. State your name." For now, it appears cooperation is an imperative. Stalling too much might result in the return of the werewolf who tore her open. Yvette will have to bide her time and perhaps find her way out later. One viable thrall is all she needs. After that, it's just a matter of time before she's in the wind.

"My name is Yvette Stolnyc."

"Where are you from? South America? Italy?" Yvette is confused. The question was so pointed it's like they expect it has to be one of the two. She's never even visited either of those places.

"No. I'm from Bratislava." She wishes she never left home now. The west coast of America was supposed to be a land of opportunity. A zone far removed from the creatures decimating the landscape back in Eastern Europe. Yet it only took her three days of being here to get thrown in a cell miles underground.

"See how easy that was? I ask questions and you answer. What were you doing at the Omega last night?" It's a stupid question as far as Yvette is concerned. What else does one do at a bar on a Friday?

"What the fuck did it look like? I was partying. So was everybody else before you people showed up to ruin it." Celebrating her new life in a new town, like she did every time she moved. Not a particularly memorable party either. Yvette has done much better before. Once in Prague, she started a shaker that disrupted the whole city for two solid days. The newspapers explained that one away as a biological weapons attack that blacked out the populace. In a way, they were right.

All the drinking and dancing in the world didn't mean a thing to Natsuko. It's the casualties she's concerned with, "You call the deaths of five people a party?" Yvette struggles to recall events. There is the blurry recollection of feeding on some humans. But how many? She's certain of at least three. It must have been that robot. It shot the place up pretty bad after she sent it after the wolf. Maybe she can pass the buck on at least a few bodies.

"Those were all unfortunate accidents. Caught in the crossfire that your wolf friend started. I was playing nice and he went fucking postal on me. That guy's got issues." Considering the collateral damage to the city, Natsuko did not believe the story. An entire district has been torn apart.

"You enthralled hundreds of people, including an entire security detail just to throw a party?" Yvette shrugs, "I'm new in town. I felt like mingling." The casual nature of her responses is off putting to the interrogators. Either this girl was a very smooth and dangerous spy, or she was telling the truth.

"There was no malevolent component to your actions?" Yvette stands idle with a quizzical expression on her face. She doesn't even know what the word malevolent meant. All she was doing was trying to have a little fun.

"Ma-le-vo-lent? Uhhhh... No. I don't think so." What originally looked like a promising chance to glean some information on a dangerous enemy is becoming more of a farce. This girl doesn't seem to know anything about anything. No signs of remorse or forethought. Did she really incite a full blown riot just for the hell of it? Pushing those thoughts aside, Natsuko goes on.

"Do you work for Esteban Medina or his associates?" Yvette is offended at the mere suggestion that she would take orders from another. The only person who can tell Yvette what to do is Yvette.

"Esteban Who? Honey, I don't work for anyone. I don't work, period. Got better things to do. And I'd like to go do em'. Soooo..."

Natsuko turns off the microphone sitting in front of her. She looks over her shoulder at Jean, "You'd be the expert. Is she lying?" He has been standing quietly aside for the tenure of the interview. Listened intently to the succubi's heartbeat and gauged the timbre and pitch of her voice. Close attention to the dilation of pupils and her many physical ticks told him enough to know whether or not she was being honest. The girl is tweaking, but truthful.

"She's not lying as far as I can tell, but I'm not letting her out of my sight for now. It'll be a cold day in hell before I trust a tractatori." Security was Jean's main concern. Roaming free, the girl could cause a great deal of damage.

Stein was much more interested in conducting her research. This is her first chance to closely study a succubus. From watching the girl's behaviour overnight, she's already come up with several testable theories. She is especially interested in why Yvette looks so unhealthy. Tractatori ware supposed to be hardy creatures, but this one is looking worse by the minute, "Yvette, my name is Dr. Jakoba Stein. I'm going to need some blood, saliva and hair samples. The necessary vials are in the alcove behind you." A slot in the cell wall opens up and produces a DNA kit complete with mouth swabs, syringes and a set of glass vials. Yvette glares at them for a moment. She hates using needles with a passion. Her preference is to make humans inject things, then feed on them after the fact. Sticking sharp objects into herself makes her cringe. Though she hates the idea, there is little choice in the matter.

"I'm guessing this is not a request."

"No, it isn't a request. It's for your own good. You're sick. The samples will help me treat you." Begrudgingly, she complies. The samples are whisked away by a lab tech for processing. Maybe it is time she sought help. These withdrawals are an experience that she could do without. If this doctor could do something about it, all the better.

"Now what, doc?"

"Hold still." Soft blue light fills the cell as Dr. Stein scans every part of the succubus' body, inside and out. Initial diagnoses are not good. The liver is swollen and inflamed, heart enlarged and overextended, surrounded by encrusted valves. Yvette's insides are coming apart at the seams. If she keeps living the way she has, death is in her near future. Stein is distressed at the thought of her first succubus subject dying before she can collect sufficient data for her work.

"Good God, young lady, what have you been eating?"

What has she been eating? Yvette can scarcely remember. Recently, she has been busier than usual. There was an airline hostess, a customs agent, some party goers and a few homeless thrown in for flavour.

She's particularly fond of feeding on mentally unstable street dwellers. The more unstable the neurochemistry of the meal, the more pronounced her reaction will be. A heroin addicted schizophrenic brain sends her on a roller coaster ride that lasts hours. Though this isn't a habit she'll freely admit to.

"I eat whatever I feel like. It's none of your business."

"You're badly malnourished. At a glance, I would say you're in the early stages of multiple organ failure. Some of the humans that you've been feeding on must have been ill." This assumption is quite accurate, as she often eats sick humans. But Yvette shrugs it off.

"I didn't think it mattered what I ate."

"I'm a doctor and I'm telling you. It matters. Nutrition is just as critical for your species as it is for humans. I'll have some supplements sent to your temporary quarters." With the preliminary testing done, Stein decides to let Yvette out of the makeshift prison. The door to the cell opens up and Stein cordially says, "Please enjoy your stay."

"What? I'm not a prisoner anymore?" Yvette's eyes light up in excitement. The moment she's been patiently waiting for has arrived. They clearly weren't going to just release her. But if there was some time to plan, a daring escape is an inevitability.

"Not exactly a prisoner, no." Jean Charles comes striding around the corner and blocks the exit. The wolf frowns and points off down the hallway, "The Colonel will escort you to your room." Her heart sinks at the sight of him. Any immediate attempts at extricating herself from the situation will have to wait. Going another round with a disgruntled werewolf was a recipe for disaster.

She grumbles under her breath, "Awesome."

Wagging a finger at eye level, Jean warns her, "Don't even try using your spores on me. It won't work. If I catch a whiff of even the slightest bit of pheromones, I'll finish what I started last night."

Never before has Yvette run across anyone who can so easily resist her charms. One sniff of her is usually all it takes to assume total control. She needs to know, "What is it about you? Why are you immune?"

Jean looks down at the floor as a morose expression dominates his face. Speaking of the ailment that changed the course of his life forever is not so easy, "What you do is manipulate sentiment, twist desire into obedience. My kind are prone to a certain affliction. We call it becoming a 'hollow one'. You lose your sentiment, desire, libido and so forth. I am immune to you because the emotions you attempt to illicit no longer exist for me."

The sadness in his reply affects her. She could swear mentioning it almost brought him to tears. Unable to resist the urge to pry, Yvette goes on, "Sounds like fun. In a totally not fun kind of way. How do you catch it? Is it an STD or something?"

Jean turns his head and growls. The true reason behind his condition was not a matter for discussion, "None of your business."

"OK, that's a yes." The wolf cuffs her upside the head. Clearly, it was time to stop pushing. For the remainder of the walk, Yvette remains whisper quiet. At her temporary quarters, Jean opens the door and pushes the girl inside.

"You'll stay here until we can decide what to do with you."

There is not much to the room. At best, it could be described as a cheap studio apartment. Plain white walls and squeaky tile floors belie the inevitable boredom that will come with being housed here. A military cot is neatly folded up next to a small coffee table in the corner. A sink and toilet sit along the opposite wall.

Atop the coffee table is a collection of small vials of a viscous bluish gel marked 'enriched animal CSF'; the nutritional supplements that Dr. Stein has prepared. Desperate and starving, Yvette snatches one up and pours its contents down her throat. The taste is foul and offensive, like swallowing a sticky mass of liquid death. As disgusting as it tastes, its physical benefits are immediate. Chest wounds pinch closed and the fog in her brain fades away. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turns her attention back to the wolf staring her down from the doorway, "You can't feel love or desire, but you can feel other emotions, right? I'm pretty sure last night you had rage down."

Other emotions could be experienced by a hollow one, but by and large, only the most primitive and violent. That went double for one who has spent time in Ahmu's horde as he had. He answers in a somber tone as the door shuts behind him, "Yes. Anger is something I'll never be free from."

Unadulterated and unabashed anger were at the forefront of Jean's consciousness at all times. Particularly today, seeing as he'd dug at least a hundred rounds of ammunition out of his back over the last few hours. Now that his babysitting duties are taken care of, the time has come to voice his very distinct displeasure to Theo. Bursting through the door of the cybernetics lab, he finds Natsuko already there, screaming in Theo's face, "I want that thing decommissioned. It nearly fucking killed me."

The unflappable scientist barely reacts to her presence. He is too enamoured with the information flying across the screens around the room. Since Ben been returned to the lab, Theo has been sifting through an almost endless amount of combat data. His creation has gone toe to toe with a four hundred year old werewolf and a five hundred year old vampire and come home relatively unscathed. It's almost enough to make Theo explode with pride, "It wasn't his fault. We never could have predicted how he'd react to succubus pheromones. Or sword combat with a vampire." Cluing in to how angry his guests actually are, he tries to play off the hostility with a little flattery, "You two were awe inspiring last night, by the way. It was quite enlightening to finally see both of you in action."

Greasing the wheels does not dissuade the irate immortals. Jean says bluntly, "I agree with Natsuko. Get rid of it." There is no way Theo will do that. Not now that subject one forty seven has proven beyond a shadow of doubt he's everything Theo intended him to be. There are few on the planet who could pose more of a threat than those in his midst and Ben performed so well. Especially considering the intoxicated state his mind was in when the fight began. Perhaps a few platitudes will convince them to drop it.

"Adjustments can be made. The data we've collected will..."

Natsuko cuts him off. Fangs bared and fingers wrapped around Theo's throat, she hisses, "To hell with your data. Get rid of it."

He slaps her hands off his collar and turns back to his work. Again he does his best to deflect their protests, "It's not up to me. If you really want one forty seven dismantled then you're going to have to talk to Mr. Angelista. Good luck with that folks. If you don't mind... I'm kinda busy here."

With Theo paying no heed to what they have to say about the cyborg, Natsuko changes the subject, "We should get rid of that succubus too. Having a tractatori around for anything but recreational purposes is not a good idea. Holding them captive can present serious problems."

Jean answers her, "We might find some use for her if we can keep her in line. For now I will be responsible for watching her."

No amount of supervision could change Theo's mind regarding the succubus. He wants her gone as soon as possible. The mere thought of having a tractatori close by sickens him. Every achievement in his life has been brought into being through the use of his mind. Anything that could tamper with his livelihood is not acceptable, "Keep her the hell away from me. If that chick is free to walk the halls, I'm locking myself in my lab. You can't trust them. You can't even trust yourself when they're around. Their spores get into everything."

Sudden cracks in the lab rat's bravado take Jean by surprise. Apprehension pours off Theo when he speaks of the succubus. Curiosity peaked, Jean asks, "Don't you think you're being a little paranoid? She's just a kid after all."

"No, you watch. That one is going to be trouble. Now get out, both of you. I've got shit to do."
CHAPTER 25

After a long day of joyous slaughter, Ahmu's many children rest under the evening sun. Old veterans and newly turned alike lie one on top of the other in a dozy pile, soaking in the last of the day's light. Sweet dreams of disfigured corpses and victims fleeing in fear dance about inside their heads.

The spiralling pyramid of fur stretches out for miles around. Nestled into the middle of the pile at the very apex of the heap is a single scorched vampire. Curled up in the fetal position, Torrig remains as still as he possibly can. If he remains motionless, it's less likely the mongrels will start using him as a chew toy again. They could do much worse than that, and have been doing so regularly since he was handed over to Ahmu as punishment for failing his former master. Hellish visions of recent experiences will haunt his broken psyche for years to come.

When he's satisfied that all the mongrels around him are safely off in dreamland, an umpteenth attempt at escape is made. Soft, careful steps are taken towards precious freedom. He's certain that in a footrace, he can outrun the mongrels but a nice, big head start will help. Every second passes like an eternity as he draws closer and closer to the edge of the pile. What few fingers he has left are chewed down to the bone by the anxious vampire.

A single jackal's slumber is disturbed as Torrig passes by. It pounces onto his back, grinding and gyrating its pelvis. Being dry humped by one of the horde is just as repulsive to Torrig the hundredth time as it was the first. Between the mongrel's excited bouts of fevered grunting, he struggles to wrestle himself free. His objections do not rise above a whisper so as not to waken any others, "Get off me you fucking rat." Reaching back with his one good arm the jackal is dislodged with an elbow to the snout. A swift flick of the wrist spins its head around backwards. Its corpse falls to the ground with an audible thud. There is stirring among the mongrels in the vicinity, but none rise to their feet.

Regaining his bearings, Torrig continues tip toeing along on his set course. Finally clear of the fuzzy cuddle puddle, he pauses to get the lay of the land. Sand dunes stretch out as far as the eye can see. It's definitely Africa, that much is certain, but where in Africa? Memory and concentration feel far out of reach. So much of recent events is a blur of agony and degradation, "How long have I been here? For fuck's sake! Where is here?" Without any particular destination in mind besides freedom, he sets off due north. Unfortunately for Torrig, escape is not in the cards. A combination of weeks spent out in the daylight and a steady diet of the horde's desiccated leftovers have rendered his body weak and useless. Barely two kilometres are covered before exhaustion overwhelms and the conscious world melts away. The voice that intrudes upon his rest is one that he'd hoped to never hear again.

"There you are. When daddy says stay, he means stay, little one." Ahmu stares down at Torrig with disdain in his glowing green eyes. Tremors of fear rip through his body. The last time he attempted escape, Ahmu decided to invent a whole new type of 'game' to play. Torture and humiliation are much more fun to Torrig when they weren't happening to him. Begging for mercy might save him some suffering. Ahmu so enjoys a little begging.

"I was just..." A greasy paw is crammed into Torrig's open mouth. Claws dig into his palate and he is lifted into a standing position. Blood and spittle stick to the back of his throat.

"Daddy doesn't care to hear your excuses. Someone is here for you. Rise and shine little one." Ahmu lobs the simpering slave over his shoulder with intense force. Torrig's body skips across the sand and skids to a stop at the feet of his visitor. The boots parallel to his eyes are familiar. In fact he's spent the better part of the last four hundred years licking them. His old master has come back to claim him after all.

"Kagan! Kagan! You came for me." The old one looks down in disgust at his disgraced subordinate. It was Kagan's original intention to leave Torrig under the yoke of the horde for the rest of his life, but circumstance have changed things.

"In a way, Torrig. There's something I need from you." The charred husk of a man is elated, anything to get away from Ahmu and his children. Twitching fingers wrap up Kagan's boots in a vice grip. Crispy flakes of burnt skin are rubbed off as Torrig nuzzles neck against shin.

"Yes? What can I do to for you, master?" Seeing a vampire behave like an animal fills the ancient with seething rage. A swift kick to his jaw sends the broken man flying backwards.

"Don't grovel, you halfwit. I'm not Ahmu. Don't touch me." The jolt does much to remind Torrig of who he really is. Night kin do not grovel and beg. They were warriors. Conquerors. The master race. If he is going to get out of his current predicament and back to his rightful place, pride must be rediscovered. The first step was the proper pose of obedience to the forebear.

Assuming the kneeling bow that is Kagan's preference, he asks again, "Apologies master. What do you need of me?"

Kagan smiles and says quite flippantly, "I've got a lovely little suicide mission for you Torrig." Dreams of returning to a glorious place of authority disintegrate. The far flung hopes of freedom and revenge float away like leaves in the wind. Disbelief makes it almost impossible to form a coherent response. The injustices never seem to end.

"I've paid my pain debt. I deserve to retake my place as the North American elder." Protests are pointless. There is nothing Torrig can say to dissuade the forebear. Ra recently came to visit and the newest batch of bombs was finally ready. The first attack of the next wave is to be particularly theatrical, much to Kagan's delight. One more puzzle piece is needed-a sacrificial lamb to buy the bomber time to make his point as eloquently as possible.

"Oh, you are being given this duty explicitly because you are the North American elder. It's the only place the humans had the ability to fight back without support from an ancient tribe. That was your responsibility. Your failure."

The Norseman looks up at his leader and tries to bargain. Certainly he can do something other than die to regain favour, "I can make up for all of it master."

"Yes, you can. By dying in Seattle. Your end will be your final penance to me and your clan."

The forebear's glib manner cuts like a knife. Jamming his crooked fingers into Kagan's chest, he says defiantly, "After all I have done for you; I couldn't possibly be so expendable." Kagan reciprocates by pushing his index and middle fingers straight through the burnt man's solar plexus. The crispy husk shudders in pain and crumbles to the ground.

"You are exactly that expendable. Why else would I be here?" Righteous fury fills Torrig's heart. He snarls and throws a handful of sand at Kagan.

"I won't die for the ambitions of one who considers me worthless." Kagan did not expect such resistance. After so many weeks serving Ahmu, Torrig's will should have been completely broken. No man could possibly maintain a strong identity serving the mongrel father. Thinking on this gives Kagan an excellent idea.

"Suit yourself. Ahmu, you can keep him." Glowing green globes light up. The great jackal was so concerned his favourite toy boy would be leaving him. Clapping his hands, Ahmu lets out an elated howl.

"Wonderful news! My birthday came early this year. I feel like celebrating." Tongue wagging fervently, he points a hooked finger at the re-gifted slave, "Daddy wants to play some games! Assume the position bitch!" In a single moment, Torrig relives all of the various games Ahmu likes to play inside his head. Death suddenly seems like a welcome reprieve from a long life as entertainment for the horde. The decision becomes quite clear.

"I'll do it." Kagan walks away and motions for him to follow.

"That's what I thought. Get your shit together Torrig, we're leaving immediately." Ahmu waves frantically at the departing vampires.

"Daddy will miss you, little one. Come back and visit anytime, I'll even set a ball gag aside for you." Torrig quickens his pace. No feet on Earth could carry him away from the horde fast enough. The ordeal is over and he will never look back as long as he lives, even if that life only lasts a couple of days.

After the night kin fade from view, a single mongrel slinks up and says, "Daddy, other visitor is here for you." Standing next to it is a noticeably flustered Sanjit Gautama. Stress and sleep deprivation are written all over his face. Sanjit has spent the entire night periodically slapping away jackal muzzles to discourage their harassing barrage of far too friendly sniffs. It is enough to drive the ambitious prince to distraction. He keeps telling himself that superior men always suffered to achieve greatness.

The presence of any mongrels disgusted the young tiger but it had to be done. To depose the empress, colluding with the inferior breed was a necessity. Ahmu is the only one his mother fears, the only one who can most certainly kill her. His first personal meeting with the mongrel father is stressful enough without worrying about a swarm of horny bottom feeders poking their noses into his private parts. Ahmu cranes his neck and bares his teeth at the youngling, "Surprising you would show up here after how you have repeatedly failed me boy."

The prince retorts resentfully, "Have I not given you everything you need to get the upper hand in nearly every skirmish since the beginning of the war?" There is truth to the statement. Sanjit has done an admirable job scuttling his mother's war efforts. Sabotaged equipment and phony intelligence have worked wonders. In short order, Ahmu's horde has moved to all corners of Africa. Soon enough, the last push for Egypt will begin, but Ahmu was focused on other concerns.

"I still do not have possession of my precious prodigal son and Kagan does not have his little strategist." Jean. It always comes back to Jean. Whether sitting in Bashina's court or dealing with her enemies, all anyone wants to talk about is the wolf and it makes Sanjit crazy. It feels like there's nothing he can do to step out of the lupine's ever growing shadow. The throne is his birthright and he'll be damned if a canine is going to steal that away.

"I practically handed Jean to you in Nairobi. I could not have foreseen the lengths the empress would go to rescue him from you."

The reek of pure jealousy hits Ahmu's nostrils. Snickering at the entitled brat, he proceeds to twist the knife, "Yes. It would appear that few things in this world are more dear to the empress than the wolf. That is why I must take him away from her again."

The boy turns up his nose at the jibe and continues his report, "As for Mitsuru Masamura, they hid her after Kagan's failed raid in Japan. I have just learned her location." Ahmu rubs his hands together happily. It's exactly the development he's been waiting for. Kagan has been whining incessantly about missing his opportunity to torture information out of the woman. This news should serve to shut the vampire up.

"Excellent. Perhaps I won't kill you then. What rock is the lazy eyed bitch hiding under?" Sanjit is impetuous but not foolish. Revealing information that valuable off hand will almost certainly result in summary execution. Besides, there's already a plan set in motion to capture the strategist.

"I will retrieve the vampire and bring her to you personally."

Ahmu shrugs and answers unenthusiastically, "Fine, do that then. Whatever. Daddy is bored. You can fuck off now, tigger." He points at his nearby servant, "You there! Bring me my toy boy."

The jackal looks back at Ahmu with a fear stricken countenance. Ears fold down and eyes seek an escape route as it whispers a reply, "You just gave your toy boy back to Kagan, daddy." Ahmu spends a moment in quiet contemplation. Shall he run down Torrig for one last ride? Should he use Sanjit instead? After carefully weighing his options, he settles on the path of least resistance. He grabs a hold of his subordinate's neck.

"Oh, well. No worries little one. You can be daddy's new toy boy!"
CHAPTER 26

Theo comes careening into Dr. Stein's lab with a terrified look on his face. He slams his laptop down in front of her, "I think we have a serious problem. Look at this." While doing his daily review of the postings on bloodwillflow.org, he's come across a brand new video. One under the banner 'Judgement falls upon the Angelista Corporation'.

"When was this video posted?"

He points to an icon in the upper right hand corner, "It's a live feed."

A single man stands hunched over in the centre of the frame. His flowing white robe obscures most of him from view. The few parts of him that are visible flicker softly with a faint orange light. In the background, a crowd of heavily armed mongrels and vampires brandish their weapons at the camera. A voice from behind the lens says, "We're on. Do your thing, weirdo."

The man slides his hood back to reveal a pair of smouldering red eyes. Smoke billows from his mouth as he begins to speak, "I am Micheal. Like the archangel that is my holy namesake, I bring the flames of judgement upon mankind. Today, that judgement falls on Archibald Angelista. The cowardly usurper who believes that he has the right to challenge the will of God shall be brought to account."

The camera moves in a slow circle around him. The landscape behind the speaker is all very familiar to Jakoba, "They're clearly in Seattle. Get me a fix on their position."

Theo works feverishly away at a computer trying to get an idea of where the transmission is coming from. Extrapolating how high the video is being shot from, combined with the surrounding structures yields quick results, "It's Two Union square. They're on the roof. Think we should dispatch drones to intercept?" Stein shudders to think of what will occur if the drones are sent in. Their standard hyper aggressive tendencies would almost certainly result in the destruction on Seattle.

"No! Have them set up a perimeter but do not let them engage. If they fire on the channel, he'll explode. Occupy them holding back the foot soldiers. Sound the full alert." Alarms wail at deafening volume throughout the base. Hundreds of drones are mobilized to set up a two block perimeter around Two Union square. At the very least, the mongrels would not be allowed to roam free in the city. All available units are called to the lab and Theo pulls Ben out of stasis.

Jean and Natsuko burst into the room seconds later. Jean cracks his knuckles "What do we have?"

Theo brings the image up on the main view screens, "Take a look."

Natsuko recognizes someone on screen immediately, "In the background, look who it is directing the soldiers. It's Balder."

The video feed has been streamed right to Ben from the instant he regained consciousness. He assumed it would take time and effort to seek out his revenge, but his enemy has done him the favour of showing up on his doorstep. Number one forty seven is desperate for payback. He screams at Theo over the comms, "Get me to the fucking surface! NOW!"

"Don't be stupid Ben. We can't just rush in blind here. We need some kind of plan. Our primary concern has to be finding a way to deal with the channel."

Stein has a contingency plan already in place for such an occasion. Send a channel to deal with a channel. Mo might be able to buy time so civilians can evacuate. She calls down to the research lab, "Mo, this is what we've been preparing for."

With calm resignation, Mo responds, "I know. Let me out of this cage and I'll see what I can do." The enclosure surrounding him falls away and the Tesla coils shut down. For the first time since he arrived, the safety protocols are off. No more buffers. A solemn prayer is uttered quietly before setting out into the city proper. He needs the guidance of Allah now more than ever.

A seething Ben yells at his maker, "God damn it, Theo! You can't just make me sit here while that mother fucker runs wild through the streets."

Natsuko has a score of her own to settle with Balder and nobody is going to tell her to wait, "He's absolutely right. We'll get more accomplished up there than we will spinning on our thumbs down here."

Against his better judgement, Theo decides to call them an elevator. Much to their surprise, Jean does not join them. Instead, he turns around and walks out of the lab. Theo yells after him impatiently, "Where the fuck are you going? The elevator is leaving."

"If the Sergeant can't stop that channel, we need a back-up plan. I'm going to get our back up plan."

Travelling across the city at full speed, Mo reaches Two Union Square in no time. He splits the defensive line of mongrels effortlessly and flies right up the side of the building. Coming to a screeching halt on the roof, he yells at Micheal, "Stop right now! You don't have to do this!"

Torrig jumps out in front of him, "Hey there! You not hear the news, asshole? Your boss is the one who set this shit up. Step aside and let Micheal here do his thing." The light radiating from Mo's eyes grows blindingly bright. He has no time to waste on the ignorant blood sucker.

"I don't work for Ra and I'm not here to talk to you. Although, I've got some friends who would love a moment of your time. They're on their way here right now. Say hello to them for me." A bolt of lightning snaps from Mo's right hand, catching Torrig square in the chest. The vampire is blasted clear of the roof but manages to right himself just enough to land safely on the street below. A handful of mongrels try to rush at Mo, only to run face first into his crackling energy halo. The singed jackals beat a hasty retreat squealing in pain.

A stunned Micheal stares at Mo, "You are one of the chosen. Why would you stand in the way of the will of God?"

Mo looks into Micheal's flaming eyes and says in his most authoritative voice, "The man who sent you here is not God, Micheal. He's a man. A man like any other, with faults and imperfections. Ra has been feeding you lies."

"Lord Ra is not God, you fool. How can one of the chosen not know this? He is her messenger. Her favoured son." In all the debriefings Mo attended about the channel power structure, no one had mentioned there was one who outranked Ra.

"Really? I had not been informed of this. Please enlighten me about God, Micheal. Tell me everything." The fire starter is unmoved by the interloper's queries. All of the chosen knew of God. Her coming was imminent, Micheal's detonation is one of many meant to awaken the holy one.

"You are an infidel defiler. You are unworthy of God's wisdom!" Searing heat wafts off of Micheal's form, scorching the asphalt of the rooftop and scattering the nearby mongrels. This is an eventuality Jackie spent weeks preparing him for. He can still hear her words. 'It's all just energy. Use it. Make it yours.' Micheal slings a massive ball of fire directly at Mo's face. At the last possible second, Mo raises his hands and absorbs the flames. Slowly but surely, he walks forward drawing in all the ambient heat coming off the young man.

"Stay calm Micheal. I'm your friend. Just stay calm. We can work this out."

Back at the base, Jean has made his way to the captured succubus' quarters. Yvette is laying on her cot naked, save for the pair of oversized headphones attached to her mp3 player. She appears completely oblivious to the state of emergency on the surface. He picks up a wet towel off the floor and tosses it at her, "Get up and get dressed right now."

She pulls off the headphones and rolls her eyes at him, "No way. I'm busy. Can you not see that I just painted my nails? You tell Jackie that we can reschedule whatever tests she's got planned for another time."

"This is not about tests Yvette. This is an emergency. There is something we need you to do."

"Is there now? How interesting. Like what?" It takes a few minutes to properly explain the scope of the situation to her. When Yvette hears what Jean expects her to do, she has a mild heart attack, "No fucking way. Absolutely, positively, no fucking way. Even if I were willing, which I'm not, I've never even tried to talk down a suicide bomber before. I'm a party girl not a hostage negotiator."

In no mood to negotiate, he snags her by the wrist and pulls her forcefully towards the door, "I'm not giving you a choice. Let's move."

Wiggling like a worm, she breaks free of his grasp, "Uh... no. I don't think so. If my help is as crucial as you say, I want some things in return. A bigger room, better food, less isolation, and I want free run of the base without you breathing down my neck all day."

"I can't promise any of that."

Theo's impatient voice interrupts over the intercom, "Done! All done! For fuck's sake you can have a chalet on the moon if you want. Just get out there and get it done. There are three million civilians in the city."

Yvette chuckles as she slides into her clothes, "At least someone here is willing to see reason. Thanks Theo."

They jump into an elevator and make their way topside. Jean howls at the moon and makes the full change. The gigantic black wolf gets down on all fours in front of Yvette, "Alright. Get on."

Her eyes fill with child like wonder, "Really?"

"We need to get there as fast as possible." The succubus enthusiastically climbs aboard with a boisterous 'Yee-haw!' and they take off like a shot towards the fight.

On the street beside Two Union Square, Torrig has managed to regain his senses. He looks up at the rooftop to see intermittent flashes of red and blue lighting up the night sky, "What the fuck was that about? Channels are insane. What was that guy talking about anyway?" A series of shrieks erupt from the mongrels defending the building. Torrig turns about and sees a torrent of violence. Someone is cutting a bloody swath right through his pets, "Who the fuck is that?"

With a mongrel skewered on both blades, Natsuko screams to the sky, "Torrig! Where are you? If I have to kill every mongrel on the planet to get to you, I will."

He walks towards her casually, chuckling all the while, "Well, well. Masamura. Surprised to see you here. Collaborating with the blank scum, are we? You nips always were bottom feeding pieces of shit."

Pulling her blades out of the jackals, she swiftly finishes them off and points the tips of her swords at Torrig, "There you are. I've been waiting for this moment for some time. You're going to suffer for everything you've done." A battle suits him just fine. Torrig would much rather go down fighting than in the inevitable explosion that's coming. The metallic cohort backing Natsuko up, however, is quite fascinating to him.

Closely examining the new arrival, he says, "Whatever, bitch. Good luck with that. Interesting tag along you've got there. Where did you buy it? Sharper image, maybe?"

Ben steps forward and extends his hull blades, "Don't recognize me, huh? I suppose we both look a little different than the first time we met. The airport in LA, remember? My cousin and I gave you that pretty new face."

Torrig's eyes widen in total amazement, "No, you couldn't be." The tainted memory of his life's most abysmal failure hits Torrig like a semi, "You! The spics that lit me up at the airport! You're one of them. Everything that's gone wrong for me, it's all your fault! I would still be at Kagan's side if it weren't for you."

"I'm not done yet. You got away the first time we met. Ran from me and went after kids like the little bitch you are. This time you don't get to run away. You are going to pay for everything you did to my family. Today you fuckin' die!"

Torrig calls out to his followers, "Alright my pets, new plan. Kill the shiny one first."

A platoon of shrieking mongrels fall on Ben and Natsuko. They tear into the furry crowd with reckless abandon. With each successive swipe of their weapons, corpses pile higher in the city streets. Their enemies just keep on coming in seemingly endless waves. Between swings, Natsuko calls out, "Hold the line for me, tin man. I'll be right back." She leaps clear of the pack and disappears into the darkness.

"What? Where the fuck are you going?"

A delighted Torrig mocks Ben's predicament, "Uh, oh. Somebody's all alone now, huh? What a shame."

The mongrels circle Ben slowly, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. More gather with each passing second, pouring out of the building and the sewers below the city. Just as they are poised to lunge in and finish the job, a hulking black blur comes barrelling into the heap, bowling over every jackal in its path. Now with a clear line of sight at his quarry, Ben produces the cannons concealed in his shoulders, "I prefer to think that now I have you all to myself." A volley of ammunition spews out, but Torrig moves too quickly. He manages to evade each round just by the skin of his teeth. The rampaging cyborg follows him on a merry chase around the building with a pack of mongrels in hot pursuit.

On the rooftop of Two Union Square, the channels continue their roundabout conversation. Micheal says, "Why do you protect the empty vessels? As if they had some claim to this world. Their passing will be felt no more than any other in the annals of time."

Before Mo can respond, the wolf and his succubus passenger skid to a stop in between both channels. Yvette blows the strongest concentration of spores that she can into Micheal's face and jumps down from her mount. The wolf turns tail and leaps down into the street to join in the fracas. Yvette cautiously approaches Micheal with her hands raised, "Stop."

Micheal looks back at the newcomer puzzled. He rubs his temples fervently trying to clear the cobwebs she has forced into his consciousness. Struggling to speak, he mumbles, "What?"

She does her best to settle his nerves, "Don't blow yourself up. There are much better ways to get back at your parents. Have you tried joining a band?" Even with the saturation of pheromones she has loosed on him, Micheal's programming is far too potent. It will take much more to undo the work of Esteban Medina.

"Your manner is offensive to me witch. Stay back. God's will must be done."

Mo can feel there is less conviction in Micheal's speech. While not wholly effective, Yvette has caused some cracks to form in the illusion. He tries to keep the roll going, "No God would ever approve of genocide. What you are doing is wrong."

Micheal stops in his tracks. The infidel is almost beginning to make sense, "Wrong how?"

"Think about it. You're about to kill millions of people for no reason. No benevolent creator would ever desire what you're doing here. That's something only the devil would do." He remembers learning about the devil when he was young. A vile and horrible being who deceived and destroyed, the enemy of all that is right. But Micheal was the embodiment of justice, he wouldn't do the devil's work, would he?

"The devil? No... I'm here for a holy mission. To save the world."

Mo steps ever closer, switching his tone from desperate shouting to a sincere whisper, "You're not saving the world Micheal. You're destroying it."

Yvette can feel a familiar give in the countenance of the fire channel. The first telltale signs of sweet surrender. Micheal's resolve is rapidly dwindling. She encourages Mo while pouring on even more pheromones, "Keep talking, I think you're getting through to him. I can feel him letting up."

Mo moves close enough so that his energy halo intertwines with Micheal's. The auras hum and snap as the blend into a deep purple hue, "Think about all the families out there in the city. You don't want to hurt them. Do you have a family Micheal?"

"I had a mother once. Or..." The implanted delusions in Micheal's mind begin to dissolve. Was his mother dead? Did he even have one? A hundred separate potentialities slam into his brain all at once. The mental discord blanketing his face gives Mo the opening he needs.

"Yes, tell me about your mother Micheal."

A smiling face surrounded by rose bushes flashes into Micheal's perceptions, "She loved flowers. Always in the garden for one reason or another." Esteban's conditioning pushes the happy thoughts away. The visions of a drawn out skeleton come flooding back, "Then she died in misery."

Mo does his best to relate to the terminally confused man, "That's a shame. My mother is gone too. How did she die Micheal?"

"From asbestos poisoning in her house... I think. But she..." The fog on his mind is almost completely cleared, just one more tiny push.

"She what, Micheal?"

In a single catalysing moment the message hits home. Delusions shatter and the troubled man comes to his senses, "She isn't dead! It's lies! It's all lies!"

"Yes, good Micheal. Come back to reality."

The traumatized elemental weeps tears of pure molten lava. Shivering uncontrollably, he begs forgiveness, "I'm so sorry. I couldn't control myself. They put thoughts in my head. I... I feel funny."

Yvette lets out one last exhale of spores for good measure, "It's alright, sweetie. Just relax and you'll be fine."

The defused man bomb turns to Yvette and says in a sleepy voice, "Hey, you're really pretty."

She breathes a sigh of relief, "Yeah. I know." Micheal passes out in a pleasant stupor. The Core has already dispatched a specially outfitted helicopter to collect him. He will be whisked away into the deepest recesses of the base. For now, the threat of a detonation in Seattle is over.

Back on the ground, the fight has not been going nearly as well. Without back up, Ben has been overwhelmed by the mob of rabid jackals. His cannons have been ripped off of his shoulders and a group of mongrels have a firm grip on all four of his limbs. Torrig stands over him taunting, "Even with your shiny new body and all that fancy hardware, you still can't take me out. You really are a pitiful piece of trash. Make him suffer boys and girls."

The mongrels oblige and tug even harder on Ben's extremities. In no time, he'll be drawn and quartered. Swelling with confidence, Torrig moves closer and continues his self aggrandizing speech, "I thought being sent on this mission was the final insult in a long line of injustices in my life. Now that I'm here, I can see what a blessing this is. One last glorious act of ethnic cleansing before I am set loose from this existence. I will enjoy every second of..."

The vampire's ramblings are halted by a blade sliding into the back of his neck. So enamoured with tormenting Ben, he took no notice of someone creeping up silently behind him. Another wakizashi is pushed crosswise into the ribcage. Natsuko whispers delicately into his ear, "You know what, Torrig? You talk too god damn much."

She twists the blades. Bones buckle and sinew splits as she wrestles his twitching body to the pavement. The once cocky vampire is reduced to a sputtering, paralysed mess. Energized at the sight of his enemy's pain, Ben struggles against his attackers, "Get off of me, you fucking animals!" The mongrels obey his command; immediately releasing their death grip. Taking several steps back, they hang their heads and emit a series of pitiful whines. With their leader lying beaten, their aggression has dissolved into confusion and fear.

Ben runs forward and dives at Torrig with both blades outstretched, only to be knocked off course mid lunge by a flying black wrecking ball. Jean snags the cyborg in a headlock and holds him down. The wolf pleads with him, "Stop it Ben. We can't just kill him outright. We can use him."

He tries desperately to thrash his way free of the werewolf's grasp, "Get the fuck out of my way! You don't know what he's taken from me. He has to die!"

Natsuko does what she can to make one forty seven understand the situation. She wants Torrig dead every bit as much as Ben does, "Listen to me. We need him alive. I know how you feel. He's hurt someone I love too. Torrig has done untold damage to countless people in his lifetime. But he has inside information on Kagan and his cabal."

"I won't give up my chance at revenge." Theo has been monitoring every second of the fight and he knows what he has to do. With a few simple keystrokes he shuts down all of Ben's offensive capabilities.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to live with it Ben."

Blades fold themselves back into Ben's arms against his will. Trying like mad to once again unsheathe his weapons, he loses control. His target is limp and prone right in front of him, and there is nothing he can do but scream.

"Noooooooooo!" The dozen jackals that are close by follow his example and howl painfully at the top of their lungs. His outpouring of raw emotions appears to have impacted them profoundly. They mimic his every motion and sound.

Natsuko is shocked by the display, "What the hell are the mongrels doing?"

Jean has seen this kind of thing before, "It looks like they're keying off of Ben. Almost like they're waiting for orders. I think he may have somehow become their new alpha."

Theo is fascinated by what he's seeing. This development opens up a whole host of new research opportunities. If a human cyborg is this potent, what if he could adapt the technology for animi usage? "Try giving them some kind of orders Ben. Something simple."

Still reeling emotionally, the only thing Ben can think to say is, "Stay the fuck away from me!" The jibbering mounds of fuzz follow the directive and maintain their distance. They perk up their ears and wait expectantly for another command from their new master. Theo is tickled pink by the prospect of studying a group of tamed jackals.

"Check it out! It worked! Bring them back to the lab if you can. I've got some theories to test."

Jean is taken aback by the recklessness of the suggestion, "That's a bad idea. We should just finish them all off. Nothing good can come from leaving them alive."

"That's not your call, Colonel. Jackie and I are in agreement on this. If they can be convinced to return with you to the base, then they come."

For the umpteenth time since Jean met the human scientists, they have ignored sound advice. He grits his teeth and growls, "This is a decision you will all end up regretting."

Theo has made up his mind, but tries to placate Jean anyhow, "Objection noted, Colonel. For now everybody head back to base. The drones can clean up."

A battered but victorious team makes their way back to the Core with Ben's new entourage slinking along closely behind. Torrig's pulverized person is slung over Jean's shoulder and carried. The interrogation process promises to be long and painful. What untamed jackals that remain retreat into the sewers or hide in nearby buildings. Battalions of drones will spend the rest of the night scouring the city for stragglers.
CHAPTER 27

It's the very moment Ben has been waiting for since that fateful night at LAX. Just on the other side of the door in front of him is Torrig Balder, the man who ruined his life. Every fibre of his being is compelling him to break through the door and tear the vampire apart. If only he were capable of it. Unfortunately for Ben, such a thing appears to be physically impossible.

Each time he reaches out a hand to turn the doorknob, an 'Access Denied' message flashes into his field of vision and his arm automatically pulls back. Over and over he tries, over and over he fails. He will not be deterred. If it takes until the end of time, he will find a way to get that door open. So utterly consumed with his hopeless mission; Ben takes no notice of Jean walking up beside him.

"You're not supposed to be here, one forty seven." Ignoring the wolf, Ben takes another grab at the knob. All he can think about is making Balder pay for his crimes. Jean puts a consoling hand onto the cyborg's shoulder, "Leave it be. We need him alive."

Ben slaps away his hand and spins about, "Don't fuckin touch me! That piece of shit doesn't deserve to live. You don't know what he's done."

"Yes, I do. In fact, I know a great deal more about this man than you do." Jean has been around for a long time and in that time he's heard all manner of stories about Balder's infamous exploits. If there was ethnic cleansing being done anywhere in the world over the past two hundred years, you can bet Torrig had some hand in it. Ben's family is only a recent blip in several lifetimes worth of wanton carnage.

"Then why let him live? We should put this worthless fuck down right now."

Jean would dearly love to oblige him, but can't, "Torrig is, or at least was, an elder member of Kagan's enclave. He knows everything about their operations. He may even know where to find Kagan. An advantage like that can't be given up for your personal vendetta."

"And if he doesn't talk? What then?"

"Oh, he will talk. Between the succubus and Masamura I'm certain the interrogation will yield results. I know from firsthand experience that Natsuko has a singular talent for extracting information." It isn't just a talent with acupuncture needles either. Natsuko taught him a thing or two about mental torture back then as well. If Jean couldn't resist her, Torrig doesn't have a hope in hell.

"When the time comes, I wanna be the one who pulls the trigger. He took everything away from me. Killed my entire family, even the kids. That monster erased my whole world in a single night." Leaning back against the wall, he slides down to the floor. Head in hand he goes on with his rant, "What am I saying this to you for? As if you could somehow understand. That kinda thing is just an ordinary part of your world, isn't it? You've probably done the same thing a few times yourself."

The hairs on the back of Jean's neck stand on end. Under normal circumstances, he'd destroy the cyborg for making such an accusation. He settles for a low rumbling growl and a threatening glare, "I've never killed a child. Not ever." It is fact. Even in Ahmu's service, he never took the life of the young. A witness to the act a thousand times over for certain, but never the perpetrator. Through all the evil he'd been a party to, he always took pride in never having crossed that line.

"Bullshit. Theo told me about how you used to run with the mongrels way back when. Way I hear it, they don't leave anyone alive when they roll through so..."

Jean cuffs the metal man upside the head, "Shut up and listen to me, alright?" He takes a knee in front of Ben, "You think I don't understand your predicament, but I do. A long time ago, a pack of monsters raided my home and killed my family. I watched the whole thing happen with my own two eyes. I was too young and too weak to do anything about it." Unbuttoning his shirt, he reveals a chest covered with enormous scars, "And to rub salt in the wound, their leader made me one of them." The wolves that turned him were of the foulest variety. Throbs of pain shot through his chest every day as a reminder of them.

"I understand your pain all too well, and the burning desire for retribution. There is a time and a place for everything. For now, your vengeance is going to have to wait. When we're satisfied that we've learned all we can from him, I'll see to it that you have the opportunity to avenge your loved ones."

Since taking revenge in the near future seemed impossible, Ben decides to accept the werewolf's offer, "I'm gonna hold you to that promise."

Jean reaches out a hand to his dejected colleague, "Now get off the floor, everybody is waiting for us. We have to figure out how we're going to respond to this attack."

"Fine."

They make their way down to the conference room where the rest of the team is already in mid meeting. Natsuko is speaking at the head of the table, "Taking into account what Mo learned from his discussion with Micheal, our next move is pretty clear..."

Jean cuts in and says sarcastically, "We move on Kagan, right?"

Natsuko's eyes flash red as her gaze rises to meet him, "Glad you two finally decided to grace us with your presence. In answer to your question, no. We need to get to Medina first. Not only is he producing juice for the mongrels, he's brainwashing bombers for Ra as well."

The scent of her frustration is palpable. His hands rise in prostration, "I apologize for being late. Medina sounds like a good place to start to me. Speaking of mongrels, how are our newest 'guests' enjoying their accommodations, Theodore?"

Since the mongrels arrived, Theo has been watching them intently. His facetious voice comes booming over the intercom, "Fucked if I know. So far, all they've done is bite each other and take turns hog slamming the furniture. I won't have any real usable data until they come down off the boatload of drugs they're on."

Jean is still not sold on the idea of allowing mongrels to live. Putting them down is a mercy, keeping them alive is an unnecessary risk, "What's the point of keeping them around at all? What are you hoping to learn from them?"

Stein jumps in to answer him, "We're hoping to find a way to rehabilitate them back into functioning people. Or maybe use their blood to develop some kind of chemical counter agent to the juice."

"You're wasting time, effort and resources on a lost cause."

Theo has little interest in Jean's opinions on anything. He doesn't need permission from the wolf to do his work, "Your objections to this project have already been noted and ignored, Colonel. Deal with it."

"I'm getting pretty sick of your attitude doctor."

The volume on the intercom shoots up fifty decibels while Theo retorts, "My attitude, furbag? You've done nothing but turn your fucking nose up at our tech from the very instant you walked on the door and I'm the one with the attitude? You arrogant son of a..."

Conversation once again deteriorating into a state of abject chaos, Mo tries to keep the peace, "Hang on a second, Theodore. You're both losing sight of something critical. For the first time in a long time, something went right today. We won. And we won because we worked together. As a unit, we can achieve great things none of us would be capable of alone. Let's not let petty insignificant squabbles poison the oneness we've achieved today."

Theo has developed a distinct distaste for Mo's holier than thou speeches and can't resist the urge to be smarmy, "Yeah, we're a regular fucking rainbow connection, Mo. Anybody else have the sudden urge to join hands and sing 'give peace a chance'?" Hands are thrown up in frustration, eyes are rolled and disapproving grunts ring out, but no one bothers to answer him, "Just me then? Oh, well."

Having remained silent for the entire meeting, an impatient Yvette asks a question, "So... where does all this leave me? Can I go now? I'm still waiting for the keys to my chalet on the moon." Stein pensively responds, "We were hoping we could convince you to stick around for a while longer. There's no denying the usefulness of your talents and your medical issues still aren't completely cleared up."

"I came to Seattle trying to escape the fighting. Now you want me to jump headfirst right into the middle of it?" Stein isn't about to let the girl leave just yet. There's still so much she has to learn about succubus physiology and behaviour.

"There aren't many places on Earth safer than here in the Core. At least stay here until you figure out exactly what you want to do." The more Yvette thinks about, it the better an idea it is to stick around. With the treatments Stein has her on, she feels better than she has in years. Not to mention that there must be all kinds of valuable items lying around that people won't notice are missing.

"K, I guess that'll be cool. For now. But no more of this treating me like a prisoner shit, k? I'm sick of being stuck in a box all day long." A reasonable request considering how much room there is within the core. The loss of staff caused by the war has left several dormitories entirely without occupants.

"You got it. Please, try not to en thrall any vital staff members."

Yvette moves to the seat next to Dr. Stein. With a sly smile on her face, she says, "Define vital doctor."

Ben circles casually around behind Jean, "Well, glad all of that got cleared up." He jumps up onto the werewolf's back and grabs onto the collar of his jacket.

Jean's eyes bug out as he yells at the top of his lungs, "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"I need a ride to the Omega. It's been a long night and I need to blow off a little steam. Know what I'm sayin'? So..." He taps a heel softly into Jean's thigh, "Giddy up."

"Get off of me."

"Come on, bro. You just carried the girl halfway cross' the city, no problem. All I'm askin' is to roll up to the club in style."

Jean's objections grow considerably louder, "Get off! Right now!"

"It'll take like two minutes. Don't leave me hangin', bro. If Theo ever builds me a rocket pack, I'll totally give you the first lift."

"Last warning."

He taps his heels one more time into the wolf's abdomen, "Giddy up?" Ben's body is hurled like a fastball through the nearest stone wall. Splintered pieces of his broken chassis jingle as they hit the floor.

A less than impressed Theo grumbles, "You know he's a two hundred million dollar prototype ,right? And the product of years of my research and hard work."

Jean has no remorse, he's wanted to smash the robot from the instant he laid eyes in it, "If that's true Theodore, then you should have no trouble repairing him. If funds are an issue, feel free to send me the bill."

The battered cyborg under the pile of rubble sniggers, "Damn, that guy is touchy. Was it something I said?"
CHAPTER 28

"Good evening, Jakoba. What do you have for me?" Angelista speaks in his standard bland British accent. The time has come for his weekly special projects status report and he waits with baited breath for Dr. Stein's update.

"Things are moving along nicely. All the necessary factors are in place, sir. Despite some initial discord, they appear to be settling in. Hopefully, things will continue to trend in our favour."

His face twists into a scowl, "Do not hope, Jakoba. Hope is the last bastion of the woefully unprepared. I am only concerned with observable results." A twinge of fear runs through her body. He looked disappointed and people who disappointed him usually vanished, including Jakoba's predecessor, Dr. Zhang.

"Of course. My apologies."

"No need to apologize. Please, continue with your report."

"We've managed to collect some very important data for the cybernetics program. Subject one forty seven has exceeded all expectations so far. The updated implants will be attached within a few weeks." A highly detailed record of Ben's recent activities appears on the view screen of Dr. Stein's office. Highlighted sections include his encounter with Torrig and his hesitation to kill the Brahman during the live fire testing phase.

"Yes. It has performed admirably. However, I have been quite disappointed in its continued bouts of unpredictability. It still seems to consider its self a person. This could present problems for the project's final phase." The cybernetic enhancement program was critical to Angelista's endgame. Any deviation from his prescribed schemata is unacceptable.

Stein nods assent, "Agreed." The screens switch over to an image of Mo surrounded by a collection of complex equations, "Our understanding of channel energy conduction has advanced leaps and bounds. I'm working on several apparatuses to both control and amplify the wavelength."

"Excellent news, Jakoba. Begin alpha testing these devices immediately." This was the answer she expected, though not what she was hoping for. If the devices were even slightly off in calibration, Mo could be seriously hurt and that was not an acceptable risk as far as she was concerned.

"The designs aren't polished yet. They could be dangerous to test sir."

The scowl on his face becomes even more pronounced and anger begins to colour his tone, "If you are worried about harming your favourite guinea pig then perform the tests using the other one." In the moment, she almost forgot about Micheal. The new arrival will make a suitable surrogate.

"Yes sir."

Angelista produces a small hard drive from his pocket and places it on the desk, "I have the designs here for the second generation of drones."

"Sir, I'd like more time to isolate the glitches with the first line before we move on. There have been a number of unprovoked attacks on civilians lately."

"I'm confident these new neural hubs will function appropriately. Feel free to decommission all the old models." It is best not to argue. He's right. He's always right. One needs only ask him and he'll tell you.

"Yes sir."

With all minor business attended to, Angelista asks about Dr. Stein's most important area of research, "And how is our little princess faring?"

"Fine sir. She's a sweet kid."

"Her personality is of no concern to me. Has she manifested yet?"

"No sir. She flat out refuses. In fact, she is becoming even more agitated of late. She keeps pining for the others."

"Then make her cooperate. We're on a schedule." There is less than a year left on his timetable, the child had to be prepared soon. Angelista's vision for Earth's future relies on it.

"The last time we tried to force her, 'it' intervened sir. I lost half my staff that day. We can't afford to disturb it again." It not only killed them, it utterly destroyed them. Three full days were required to scrub their splattered remains off of the walls and ceiling. 'It' warned Jakoba directly not to try anything like that again and she fully intends to listen. It frightens her even more than her employer.

"Has it made contact since then?"

"No sir, thankfully there has not been a peep. I believe that I can get through to the girl. I just need some more time to make her trust me."

"Fine. Have it your way-but I expect results."

"Yes sir."
