The Brimstone Betrayal

by Terence West

  Peterson dug into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a needle. He grinned as he tossed it to me.

  I stared at the amber-colored liquid inside while holding it in my broken, bandaged hand. Motioning with her pistol, she pointed down at Toby. “Inject the Werewolf, or I kill the Goblin.” She slipped several fingers around Karl's throat.

  "What is this?” I asked, although I already had a pretty good idea.

  "TS-1138. Let's call it insurance,” my copy replied.

  I understood. Known simply by its catalogue designation, TS-1138 had been developed by the Syndicate as a sedative, but had the side effect of inhibiting a Werewolf's transformation. Because of this, Seekers pioneered the use of it when hunting Werewolves. Its effects weren't permanent, but one dose could cause a Werewolf to revert to human form long enough to be captured and processed. I had used it on several missions and knew the effects well. It was indeed a powerful drug.

  I looked back to my copy. Her finger was firmly around the trigger. I knew it wouldn't kill me, but it would certainly give her, or Peterson, a chance to. Kneeling next to Toby, I gently placed my hand on his head. Scratching behind his ear, he looked at me with sad, yellow eyes. “Sorry, T,” I whispered. “No choice."

  I think he understood.

  Holding a patch of hair aside, I exposed his pink flesh beneath. I had no idea if he had ever experienced the effects of TS-1138 before. He wasn't in for a treat. Slipping the syringe between my first two fingers, I held my thumb gently on the plunger. Looking up one more time at my sneering copy, I returned my attention to Toby and plunged the needle into his flesh. He let out a soft whine as I injected the amber-colored drug.

  Toby growled and arched his back. I have been told that the drug feels like fire raging just beneath their skin. His body shivered and started to convulse. Falling forward onto the concrete, he pulled his knees up to his chest and whimpered loudly. He started to scratch at his hair. I watched him pull away several chunks of gray and white fur as the scratching turned aggressively into digging. Snapping onto his back, his torso contorted wildly as his Werewolf physiology was forced back to human. I heard bones cracking and resetting as a giant tear ripped down the front of his body exposing his human chest. His grunts and growls quickly became more human sounding as his muzzle flattened to his face. Tears of pain streaked down his cheeks as he stared at me. Pulling more and more of the hair away, I watched his human body appear beneath as if the Werewolf was merely a shell around him. As the last of the hair fell away, Toby lay naked and shivering on the cold concrete floor.

  My copy motioned toward him with her weapon. “Pick him up and put him in holding."

  Peterson moved toward Toby to follow the order. “With pleasure."

  "Don't touch him!” I roared and knocked Peterson aside. Sliding my arm around Toby's chest, I pulled him up to me. “I'll take him."

  Quickly regaining his footing, Peterson lifted his weapon again and stared at me with yellow eyes. “Do it again, Vampire,” he sneered. “I dare you."

  "Okay.” The Rose copy sighed in frustration. “Fine. Whatever. Can we just cut the macho crap and get this show on the road?"

  Helping Toby to his feet, I slid his arm over my shoulders and wrapped mine around his chest. I was more than capable of carrying him, but I wanted him to walk under his own power in a show of contempt to our captors. We would bend, but we would not break. Two of the Trolls took the lead, while the other three walked behind us with their weapons at the ready. They started us away from the scene of our battle and down the corridor toward a row of wooden doors that looked like they used to be offices.

  The Sprite, who had been overseeing everything from a safe distance, finally swooped down and perched on my bad shoulder. Most of the tracking substance Toby had sprayed it with was gone, but a large patch still lingered on its back between its wings. “So,” the Sprite chirped, its voice even higher than Karl's, “I totally screwed you."

  I ignored the bug, which was difficult since he was right next to my ear.

  "I led you right into a trap,” the Sprite admitted with pride. “Your stupid little tracking idea kind of backfired, didn't it?"

  He was gloating, waiting for me to admit he had beaten us. He wouldn't get the satisfaction.

  "That's what you get, Seeker,” it said, poking me in the neck with its Pixie Stick, “for putting me in the friggin’ blender!” The Sprite's wings clacked as it lifted off.

  Before it could get very high, I snatched it with one quick motion. Holding the angry Sprite in my hand, I waited to see if any of the Trolls or my doppelganger had seen the move. Satisfied, I lifted it to my face. “This isn't over.” My voice was a harsh whisper. “I will find you again, and when I do, I'm going to put you in the blender for real.” I squeezed the little monster until he started gasping for breath. “Do you understand?"

  Coughing, the Sprite nodded.

  "Good.” I smiled, showing it my fangs. Whipping it to the side, I watched it hit the side of the machine and flitter to the ground. I could hear a tiny moan as we walked away.

  "Stop,” my copy commanded as we neared the doors. “Put the Vampire and Werewolf in separate rooms."

  A Troll moved in and grabbed Toby from my arms. I spun around angrily and started for him but four AK-47s and a P90 in my face stopped me cold. There wasn't anything I could do. I watched the Troll maneuver Toby toward the second door and disappear inside. I turned my attention back to my copy.

  She was holding Karl up and studying him. “What do you think Goblins taste like?"

  I felt my eyes glaze over black. I didn't care anymore. She could try and stop me, but I was going to kill her right here and right now. Knocking one of the Trolls out of the way, I snatched the second one's rifle and knocked him down before he had a chance to react. Using the butt to hit the third Troll in the head right between his eyes, I flipped it over in my hand and leveled it at my doppelganger.

  My copy smiled. “I don't think so.” She pressed her pistol to Karl's head. “One shot, and there's Goblin brains everywhere.” She waited for a moment. “I said stand down."

  I looked from the doppelganger to Karl then back again. Pressing my finger firmly against the trigger, I was ready to shoot. Karl would understand. This was a war! There were always casualties. I gritted my teeth as Karl's voice rang in my head. I remembered him commenting about raising a family ... he had a family. I felt my eyes revert as the anger subsided.

  "Damn.” I couldn't take that from Karl the way it had been taken from me. Not even if the fate of the world depended on it. Clicking the safety, I grabbed the AK's stock and handed it back to the Troll I had taken it from.

  As soon as the weapon was gone, Peterson stepped in and delivered a vicious blow to the back of my head with the butt of his rifle. I crumbled to my knees as stars sparkled before my eyes.

  "Good girl,” the doppelganger praised as if I were a pet doing tricks on command. “Now, we aren't going to have any more unpleasantness, are we?"

  I shook my head in defeat.

  "Very good.” Her words dripped with satisfaction. “Captain Peterson,” she commanded, “take Ms. Webb inside and make sure she's comfortable."

  Peterson smiled at their order. I'm sure that “comfortable” was code for “beat her until she's nearly dead."

  Crap.

  Watching Toby disappear into the next door, I was dragged inside.

  Chapter 28

  A ray of sunlight sliced across the wall to the left of me. This room, which I think used to be an office, had a large window in the back wall. As the morning sun rose, the light would become more direct. If something didn't give soon, I would be a whole lot crispier.

  I assumed this room had been used for this very purpose before. It was empty save for a chair solidly bolted into the concrete floor. Constructed of steel, every joint was double and triple welded to ensure I wouldn't be able to break it apart. My arms were slipped uncomfortably through two wide slats in the back and
double handcuffed to the bracing bars between the legs. A thick iron chain wrapped tightly around my ankles with padlocks placed securely through it. I felt that at any moment, Harry Houdini would walk into the room, assess my bindings, and then shrug helplessly. Even he wouldn't be able to get out of this.

  I could still hear the machine chugging outside. Apparently their Seeker Replacement Program was planned on a grander scale than any of us realized. But there was one question that still didn't have an answer, and it chewed on me relentlessly: why? I simply couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer that fit the facts. Someone, or someones, had gone through a lot of trouble to set this warehouse up, experiment and learn how to copy Inhumans, create a viable method to do so, and then start replacing Syndicate operatives.

  And now they had a copy of me.

  A Rose pod person ... the thought sent shivers down my spine. It was only the context of my experiences that made me who I am now, and without that, I would be little more than a raging monster. I hadn't seen her since the Trolls apprehended me. She could be out there right now and there was nothing I could do about it. I could only hope she would make a mistake like the Elena copy did. And Maynard knew me well enough to see it.

  The click of the door startled me. As it swung open, I watched Peterson and another black-suited human push a cart with a devilish-looking device on it inside. Behind them a figure swept in wearing a thick black robe that completely shadowed its face. Its movements were so silky and smooth that it appeared to be hovering. The robed figure moved behind me with no sound and disappeared from my field of vision.

  The human with Peterson, dressed in a black suit, crisp white dress shirt, and smoky sunglasses, scooted the cart next to me. As he went about preparing it, flipping dials, attaching cables, and checking settings, Peterson stood before me grinning. Roughly rectangular, the device was the same shade of bronze as the machine outside. Thick, gaunt, black symbols were carved down the exterior that resembled a type of early cuneiform. Swinging an arm away from the device, I watched them snap on what looked like a tiny drill bit along with two other tubelike instruments.

  Staring the triad of implements, I swallowed hard and looked up at the Trolls. “Can we talk about this?"

  With a satisfied grunt, the man in black activated the device and stepped back. The device began to flicker with tiny lights, while a deep, powerful rumble emanated somewhere within, rolled off, and vibrated my chair.

  "Don't worry,” Peterson soothed as he slammed the door shut, “this will hurt—a lot."

  "That's very comforting.” I frowned.

  Peterson and the man in black took guard positions on either side of the closed door. They kept their eyes focused directly on me, as if ready for a show.

  The cloaked being swept forward and placed both of his hands on the device. Gray, slender, and hairless, with long, black fingernails, they seemed almost more dangerous than the device. Looking up into the being's face, an intense wave of fear welled up somewhere deep in my brain and began to quickly cascade down my body. As I stared at the featureless head, I couldn't tear my gaze away from the black, almond-shaped eyes. They were like a doll's eyes, glossy, and seemingly lifeless.

  Dear Lord, Karl was right.

  I watched what I was certain was an alien smoothly operating the controls on the device. Looking just like the beings in the tubes in the warehouse, I knew this must also be a Maryut. I could certainly understand where the “wax people” reference came from. “So,” I breathed, “mutilate any cattle lately?” I was talking out of sheer terror.

  The Maryut said nothing, but continued to work.

  I set my jaw. “You're gong to probe me, aren't you?"

  I wasn't sure, but I think the Maryut smiled at me.

  Lifting a silver, oval-shaped object from the table, the Maryut moved around in front of me and grabbed my jaw with a strength that surprised me. I tried to struggle, but its spindly fingers felt like steel clamps on my head. Forcefully opening my mouth, it then placed the silver oval on my lips. As the cold metal touched my flesh I smelled a quick stab of ozone then several lightning strikes of pain in my upper and lower jaws. Two more strikes hit my tongue, then something slick slithered down my throat. The urge to gag gripped my body like a fist, but I couldn't. Feeling an involuntary tear run down my cheek, I found I couldn't close my mouth, nor could I speak. The Maryut bobbed its head like a bird as it watched me. Emotionlessly ignoring my searing pain, it moved back to the device.

  Sliding a clear tube from the rear of the device, it snapped a silver tip on it and moved toward me. Pushing my head forward, there was a pinch at the base of my skull then the sound or air being forced out of the tube. Suddenly the pain receptors in my head lit up like a Christmas tree. It felt as if my flesh were on fire. Glancing to the right, I could see my blood being sucked down the tube into the device. Darkness began to encroach on the corners of my vision.

  I heard Peterson snicker in delight.

  Moving back to the device, the Maryut monitored it for a moment, and apparently pleased, moved on to phase two. Swinging the arm with the triad of instruments around to my head, the Maryut pressed a button on the back of the arm. Two cylindrical instruments next to the drill bit snapped open and their shells fell away. A robotic arm, with three-fingered claws, very similar to the ones on the machine outside, undulated and snapped angrily. The second instrument looked like a thick, silver needle almost the same diameter as the drill bit. The arm extended and grabbed the side of my face. As its claws dug into my flesh, a red targeting laser activated just below the bit.

  The world around me was growing darker and darker. But I had to fight. I would fight ... it couldn't end this way.

  Aligning the laser with my temple, I could hear a motor kick on. The drill bit began to spin slowly at first, but quickly picked up speed. The arm flexed and pulled the bit closer and closer to my flesh. I wanted to cry out, I wanted to scream, but the only sound was the whirring motor. I felt the bit hit my temple and dig into my flesh. Pain—indescribable pain—coursed through my head as I heard the crunch of bone and squishy slurp of brain matter. Blood spurted wildly as it continued deeper into my head. I struggled to stay conscious.

  At that same moment the door was blown open, smashing against the human standing guard behind it. Three figures, clad completely from head to foot in black military garb, with the exception of a solid red stripe that ran down their facemasks and terminated just above their Kevlar chest armor, stormed into the room with their weapons at the ready. Armed what looked like slightly modified P90s, the commandoes mowed down the other human and turned their attention to Peterson and the Maryut.

  Without hesitation, the Maryut defended itself. Springing over the device and me, it tore into the first commando with a ferocity I had only witnessed in raging Werewolves. Using its black fingernails like weapons, the Maryut shredded the commando. Shrieking from its tiny mouth, I could hear several more of the beings answering the call somewhere outside the room.

  The remaining commandos leveled their weapons and brought the Maryut down in a hail of bullets. It fell to the ground convulsing, its body melting beneath a thick, fluorescent green slime that oozed out of the bullet holes.

  Peterson backed away from the melee and lifted his P90. Spinning around me, he pressed the barrel into my head. “Move and I shoot,” he threatened.

  The two commandos paused, but not for long.

  I heard a click on their weapons before each pulled the trigger. The muzzles flashed and a single bullet from each hit Peterson. With a grunt, his head snapped back and he tumbled to the concrete floor. Charging around me, one of the commandos clicked his weapon back to automatic and squeezed off three quick bursts into the copy. Peterson was dead.

  The other commando moved to the device and somehow deactivated it. As the thrum of the machine faded, I felt the suction behind my eyes ease and finally stop. As the commando pulled the tubes and needles from me, my head fell forward limply. As he kicked the
machine into the corner with his booted foot, the commando fired, destroying it.

  The first commando moved back around and knelt down in front of me. With his black-gloved hand, he lifted my chin and looked at my face. “Christ,” he muttered.

  "What?” the remaining commando asked as he circled around to the open door. Pressing his shoulder against the doorframe, he leveled his P90 and watched for reinforcements.

  "Look at what this damned thing did to her,” the commando in front of me replied. “It's holding her mouth open and tongue in place with thin spikes."

  That would explain the serious pain I was in.

  "And something's running down her throat,” the commando added on further inspection. “Savages,” he muttered angrily. “Hold on,” he addressed me, “this is going to suck."

  He ran his finger around the edge of the silver oval on my mouth. I heard a small click and a sudden release from the pain. As the commando pulled the oval free, I felt him removing the tube from my throat. Pain surged up my throat as he pulled more and more of the yellowish tube free. It seemed to continue endlessly. Finally, feeling the end catch at the back of my throat, the commando pulled it free and tossed it away. My head fell forward again as I retched. I felt the darkness drawing me in further and further as I stared at the red mess I had just created on my shirt, pants, and the floor in front of me.

  Pulling a pair of bolt cutters from a bag strapped to his back, the commando set about freeing me as his partner fired into the warehouse. “We have company,” he advised as he pulled the trigger again.

  "Shit,” the commando replied. He started to work faster.

  "Toby,” I breathed, “and Karl."

  The commando didn't reply.

  "My friends,” I stammered wearily, “help them. Please..."

  As the cuffs were cut, my body fell forward and spilled out of the chair. I hit the concrete with a smack sending reverberations of pain down my entire body. Swinging around the chair, the commando dropped down and scooped me into his arms. He slung me over his shoulder with ease; I hung limp, unable to complain.