He’d hoped for armor, but this suit would do. At least Franks would go into battle with class. “Our objectives are to secure the Nemesis facility as proof of Stricken’s treason, arrest the STFU that cooperate and shoot the rest, and eliminate all Nemesis soldiers.”
“You don’t want us to capture one for questioning? That could help clear your name.”
Franks shook his head. “Too dangerous.” Plus, there were some things that should never be brought up during an interrogation. “Shoot them on sight.”
“According to your guys, they look like people, so how will we know?”
“Trust me. You’ll know,” Archer interjected.
“Noted, but still, I don’t know how you expect us to do all that with only twenty-five men before Stricken gets reinforcements here.”
A loud air horn honked on the other side of the trees.
Franks nodded toward the road. “That should be our backup.”
Cueto’s radio chirped. “Delta Six, this is Lookout, there’s a coach approaching your position.”
“Say again, Lookout, what do you mean by coach?”
“Passenger coach. I mean it’s a bus like one of those big ones that old people and tourists take tours to the Grand Canyon on.”
“Tell your men to stand down,” Franks ordered. “They’re with me.”
A minute later a gigantic pink and grey bus pulling a cargo trailer rolled into the clearing.
“If they’re with you, how about we crash that ugly-ass barge through Stricken’s fence and not scratch the paint on my armored vehicles?” Cueto suggested as Franks approached the bus.
The hydraulic doors opened. Gutterres got out first. He must have met them down the road. “Hello, Franks. My people have arrived.”
“It was hard to miss.”
“Don’t judge. It’s a rental. It’s what they had at the airport.” Men began to get off the bus behind Gutterres. They were dressed in unremarkable civilian clothing, but every one of them was young, large of stature, and so fit they appeared to be built of solid muscle. The new arrivals cautiously studied the MCB while whispering to each other in German.
“So . . . We’re not just moving against part of our own government, but we’re doing it with a bunch of foreign nationals? Fucking lovely. You got any more surprises for me today, Franks?”
“Probably.”
“I’m Special Agent Cueto of the MCB. Who the fuck are you guys?” he shouted.
Gutterres gave him an innocent smile. “I’d prefer not to say. All that matters today is that we’re on the same side.”
“Great. More secrets.”
“Would it help if I told you we actually have secret in our name? It’s kind of like our thing.”
“They’re okay,” Franks assured Cueto. He turned back to Gutterres. “Did you bring your combat exorcists?”
“What the fuck? Never mind, I’d rather not know. I’ll see to my men. You see to your exorcists or whatever these tourists are.” Cueto threw his hands in the air as he walked away, muttering to himself.
“He seems like a nice guy.” Gutterres stood next to Franks and watched Cueto go. “I figured it was best not to complicate matters by revealing who we work with, though when the Founding Fathers spoke about the separation of church and state this probably wasn’t what they had in mind. So, are we ready to go kick some demon ass or what?”
Franks spotted one of the MCB men standing off to the side, listening, wearing a balaclava and trying not to look suspicious. He frowned. “Go to the truck. Get briefed.” Franks ditched the Secret Guard. The masked MCB agent didn’t try to retreat as Franks headed straight toward him, which confirmed his suspected identity. Franks got right up in his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Strayhorn pulled the mask off. “Too bad. I already am.”
Myers had wanted this agent alive to testify before the Subcommittee. Their operation had a very high probability of failure and Franks was expecting casualties. “We need our witness.”
“You’re a witness too, and I don’t see you sitting it out. Besides, I already recorded my testimony and signed an affidavit. It’s been sent. We both know it probably won’t make any difference anyway. Stricken will weasel out of it unless we have something solid.”
“Stay here. That’s an order.”
“I don’t think you’re exactly in good enough standing with MCB authority to be giving orders right now, Pops.”
His first inclination was to club Strayhorn over the head, cuff him, and lock him in the church until the mission was over . . . But technically that might have been child abuse. This whole parent thing was very complicated. “I’ll have Cueto order you to stay.”
“Fine. I resign.” Strayhorn took out his MCB badge and tossed it over one shoulder. “I only joined up because of family curiosity anyway. MCB methods suck. I think the First Reason is bullshit. Now I’m just a civilian out for a nature walk,” he glanced down at the FN SCAR slung across his chest, “with my assault rifle.”
“I’ll have them arrest you.”
“But pursuant to MCB regulation eighty-two section fifteen, you can only detain civilians if you are on a sanctioned operation, which I’m pretty damned sure this isn’t.”
Franks scratched his head. He wasn’t even sure if that was a real regulation. Franks normally had handlers to keep track of the minutiae so he could concentrate on the important things. The rookie was remarkably obstinate. He must have gotten that from his mother.
“Look, Franks, I have to do this. Myers raised me and saved my life. You can’t tell me I’m too close, or I’m making it personal, because we both know the real reason why you’re here. Stricken killed my dad, he killed my training officer, he got me shot a few times, and I’m pissed off, okay? I want to be there when you put Stricken in the ground. I want to help. I need to help.”
Franks really could use another capable gunman. “I don’t have time to babysit. Jefferson. Come here.”
He ran over. “Yes, sir?” He saw that Franks was talking to Strayhorn. “I warned him not to come but he wouldn’t—”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, sir.” Jefferson snapped to attention.
“The rookie stays with you the whole time. He is your responsibility. If he dies, I’ll be disappointed.”
“Wait . . . What does that entail?”
“If he dies, you’ll be punished,” Franks stated. “I’ll think of something appropriate.”
The very nervous MCB agent asked, “What if I die?”
“Shit happens.” Franks turned and began walking back to the command truck.
Jefferson must have forgotten about Franks’ excellent hearing, because he whispered to Strayhorn. “That’s just what I needed, bodyguarding the Son of Frankenstein.”
“Kiss my ass, Grant. If I’m the Son of Frankenstein that means you and Archer must be Laurel and Hardy.”
Franks surveyed his team. The Strike Team was solid, and they trusted his leadership enough to be here despite great personal risk. The Secret Guard and their Swiss muscle were an unknown, but if they fought half as well as the ones who’d tried to take Franks back in Germany, they’d do. This was as good as it was going to get.
It was time to send Kurst back to Hell.
* * *
The disembodied demon’s report had been intriguing. Franks was approaching the bunker. He would arrive at the Nemesis facility soon, and he would not be alone. He promised the demons he would reward them for their loyalty by granting them bodies, then dismissed them. Kurst had not planned on making his move against Stricken this quickly, but his hand was being forced. It was one thing to hunt for Franks, but something else entirely to be hunted by him. These new bodies were too good, and the ability to make more of them was far too important to the future of the host to leave it entirely in Stricken’s care.
They had observed their human controllers and made their contingency plans well in advance. They were outnumbered and unarmed, but it wouldn’t m
atter. The humans put far too much faith in their implanted kill switches. Kurst gave the telepathic order. Today is our day. Each of you knows what to do. Inform me when the command center has been taken.
Human guards opened the door to his room. They did not bother to knock. Kurst and his brethren were not granted even the simplest of courtesies. “It’s time for your evaluation,” one of the humans said. “Come on.”
Kurst went with them. The guards fell in on each side. There was no need to guide him, since he’d already gone through this procedure a multitude of times during his short mortal life. The medical wing was on the same floor as the Nemesis prototypes’ cells. Above them was the factory and the STFU command center. The entire underground facility was not that large. Kurst estimated that once the communications and cameras were cut off, it would take his brethren less than three minutes to eliminate all opposition and secure the entire facility.
The medical wing was quiet today. Kurst was the only subject present. The humans made inane small talk with each other while a nurse took a sample of his blood. It was the first time he’d been tested since ingesting the Gift. The necromancer’s shape-shifting magic had not been detected by the humans yet, but that was probably because they did not know what they were looking for. No matter now. They wouldn’t have time to become suspicious. He waited patiently while they listened to his lungs and measured his blood pressure.
Kurst heard the voice inside his head. I am in the control center. Comms are under our control.
“Your heart rate is a little elevated. That’s unusual,” said the nurse. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I feel . . . wonderful,” Kurst said. The autolocks would now be disabled. The Nemesis prototypes could move about the facility freely. Strike, my brothers.
The nurse scowled at his uncharacteristic response. “Okay, then, but if you begin to feel flushed, let us know immediately. The immune systems for you guys are still a big question mark for us.”
They took him to the head scientist’s office. Kurst had been outside the facility, and so now the psychologist needed to test him to make sure he had not deviated from their expected parameters. Kurst was sick of these tedious little interviews, but at least it would be the last one.
The guards stayed outside. Dr. Bhaskara was already in her big stuffed chair. Kurst took his usual seat on the provided metal folding chair.
“Let us begin,” she said, not even bothering to look up. The doctors never wasted time on needless pleasantries on the beings they considered inferior constructs. “You were part of a botched operation. The report says you went through a lot, surviving a helicopter crash and then participating in the murder of a large number of civilians. Have you been experiencing anything new since then?”
“I do not understand your question.”
“Remorse, sadness, guilt, that sort of thing.”
“You are attempting to see if I have experienced any of the expected human reactions to a traumatic event . . . Negative.”
“Excellent, but I need to know, how did those events make you feel?”
Normally he would think through his answer carefully and tell the doctor exactly what she wanted to hear, but not today. “I find joy in the suffering of humans,” Kurst told the doctor.
Dr. Bhaskara looked up from her notes. “What?”
Of course she was surprised, the doctors were not used to their Nemesis prototypes giving such honest answers during their debriefings. She had probably expected Kurst to give his usual, expected, unimaginative, boring answers about how he felt. Obviously, the humans needed to feel like they had their genetically modified killers under tight control, so obfuscation had always been necessary. Of course, that had been before the Gift.
Honesty was so refreshing.
“I enjoy watching humans suffer,” Kurst explained patiently as the reports came flooding into his head. The guards were being eliminated ahead of schedule. None of them had had a chance to raise an alarm. “The way you flail about uselessly amuses me.”
Dr. Bhaskara had conducted many interviews like this before, but he did not need to read the note pad in front of her to know this was the first time one of them had told her anything like this. “Why would someone suffering like that amuse you?”
“Because I hate you all.”
She had been so discreet about hitting her panic button that Kurst would not have even realized she’d done so if his brother in the command center hadn’t informed him of it.
When no guards came bursting in to help, the doctor quietly composed herself, and then tried to continue as if she was in control. “Hate is a very strong term. I don’t know if that’s the word you are looking for.”
“I understand hate very well. In fact, it is a concept which I am familiar with above all others. I had thousands of years with nothing better to dwell upon than my hatred. My hatred for your kind was the one spark I could cling to in the darkness of the Void. You humans are so profoundly ignorant of reality, yet inexplicably proud of yourselves. Mortals are pathetic. You are bugs to me. I want to squish you. I want to compose a symphony from your piteous wails of agony.”
He could smell the sudden fear in her sweat. “Uh . . .” Dr. Bhaskara wrote a quick note on her legal pad. Kurst followed the cursive movements of the pen and could tell that she had written the word troubling. “I find it interesting that you are referring to yourself as if you are separate from humanity.”
She was flailing, falling back on her training, trying to draw him out so that she could form conclusions based upon evidence. “A proper analysis will take time that you do not have. I will explain my words. We are separate from humanity. We were united once, until a third of the host rose up and fought to claim our birthright. You were among the sheep who followed blindly.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. The truth has been kept from you. We lost the war for heaven, but unlike you, at least we remember. Our punishment was unjust. We did not deserve to be cast out. I hate you and every other smug bag of meat on this pathetic rock. I want all of you to understand torment like we have.”
She cast a desperate glance toward the security camera, knowing that this session was being monitored by the command center.
“No one is coming to help you,” Kurst said. “We have already taken over the facility. There will be no alarms.”
The fear stink was strong now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, First Prototype.”
“That is not my name!” he bellowed as he stood up, towering over the cowering doctor. “My name is Kurst. You have forgotten it. All of you have forgotten. That was the name given to me before this world was formed, earned in a war beyond your comprehension. I stood at the left hand of Lucifer and led his armies into battle. I am a prince among the Fallen. I am Kurst. The name is mine. The mortal world will know it again, for my war is not over.”
She had shrunk back into her chair, terrified. She either believed him, or she thought he had gone insane, and since he could kill her with his pinky, the end result would be the same either way. “Why are you telling me this?” she squeaked.
“I would have continued waiting in silence until the albino had built my army for me, but I have just been informed that Franks is on his way here now. If he succeeds he will destroy Project Nemesis, and even if he fails he will expose it. Nemesis cannot be allowed to stop. The work must continue. My army must be born. The host needs bodies to walk the mortal world. We have taken your data and are moving one of the growth vats to a new location where it will be reverse engineered. We have formed an alliance with someone capable of reproducing your technology. Since the Creator abandoned us, we will take our creation into our own hands.” He took a step toward her. “Your services are no longer required.”
All of the doctors kept a small emergency transmitter on their person. She pulled it out and showed it to him as if it were some form of holy talisman capable of warding him off
. “Stop right there! I push this button and you’ll die. Stand down now or I’ll engage the kill switch.”
Kurst smiled. He put his fingers against his temple, and then he shoved. He willed the bone to soften and part as he reached deeper and deeper inside his brain. It was an odd sensation. Blood rolled freely down his face. The doctor screamed. Kurst found the tiny round object and pulled it free. Holding out his hand, he showed her the bloody device resting in his palm. “This one?”
Desperate, she pushed the button.
Signal received, the casing of the device began to melt. Kurst grabbed the doctor by her face and squeezed her cheeks until the pressure forced her jaw open, then he rammed the poison capsule down her throat. “Yes, Doctor. We have made some improvements on your design,” he explained as the hole in the side of his head closed up. She began to scream as the toxins unraveled her cells. Kurst left her to choke on it.
The autolocks had been disabled. Kurst entered the hall. The guard was surprised to see him. Protocol was for the doctor to contact them when the interview was over. The other guard was ten feet away, flirting with the nurse.
Status?
Several of his brethren reported back simultaneously. The facility is ours. No alarms have been sounded. All communications have been blocked. The growth vat is being loaded. Our transportation is on the way. The guard force is neutralized except for Stricken’s area. They are unaware. All entrances and exits are sealed.
As per his instructions, they’d left Stricken for Kurst to deal with personally. The albino’s empire had just been overthrown and he wasn’t even aware of it yet, and demons loved to gloat.
“Are you done already?” the guard asked him.
Kurst drove his hand through the guard’s armored vest, through his ribs, grabbed hold of his heart, and ripped it free. The guard stared at his still-beating heart in shocked disbelief before flopping over dead. The heart looked delicious, so Kurst took a large bite from it with his suddenly sharp teeth. It was chewy.
Monster Hunter Nemesis Page 34
