The message ended and Sharmilla's researching work began. She contacted Thane Costa-Mendez.
“Thane, I've just received a D.A.D (Delivery After Death) message from an old guy - a senior doctor taken out by cancer. It sounds as though he has left us something that we should see - at the front-end of his dead mind. Can you call Jasmine, Paul and John so that we can perform a full exploration. We will try the main neurological vault first as periphery mindsight may add some confusion on this occasion. Address details have been appended as an attachment, so I am going to get Vincent Perry to organise the corpse collection this time.”
Thane had one key question for Sharmilla.
“Thirty years is a long cold - case Have you got any more details to go on?”
“No I'm not even sure if crime is an issue here. The guy quotes God and calls on us to do the right thing - whatever that may be. I hope that he has captured enough HV's (Heightened Visuals) to help us on this one. I guess that those answers will unravel when we get inside his brain. Let's go find our corpse Thane..”
Vincent Perry located the deceased at Stanford morgue Lower East Side. He had taken a print from the D.A.D for identification purposes. As he opened the storage ice chamber, he saw the frail old man - the correct match. He verified the likeness, signed the respective corpse clearance forms and then wheeled the dead doctor to a waiting MC-Project vehicle. The venue for this full brain exploration was an unobtrusive building within the Georgetown sector of DC.
An hour later Sharmilla and Thane led the others into the exploration room. The back wall was primed for digital conversion purposes and the corpse on the exploration table was wired electronically to back wall receiver points. Laser extraction masks were in evidence, as were tools to enable Neuro-surgery. Two display screens flanked the table on each side. The lighting then switched to the favoured cobalt blue that the project staff preferred.
Jasmine Silver started to wrap the skull of the dead doctor with gossamer thin strips of electronic padding. She coated each strip with a responsive fixing adhesive that bound each strip to the skin of the dead man's cranium. In a short time there were more adhesive strips than naked dead flesh. On a given signal John Galten was given the green light to digitally convert Jasmine's work and an ethereal glow emanated from the skull of the dead doctor. Sharmilla requested each exploration participant to put on a laser-extraction mask at that point.
As weak electrical charges were pumped into the dead subject, Jasmine started to knead the dead brain. This should make a urological response easier to initiate. Once Jasmine gave Sharmilla the completion affirmative, all eyes turned towards the biggest display screen to await the arrival of the heightened visuals.
After a brief pause, the screen crackled into life. Now we would find out what images the dead doctor's mind had stored.
The initial visual captured a hospital delivery room. It was empty at this stage, although the viewer could hear the footsteps of the doctor as he prepared the delivery apparatus.
A heavily pregnant woman was then guided into the room. She looked fraught with worry. A medical orderly gave her some name tags and then he fixed a bigger Marcia Levene sign above the delivery bed.
There were no anxious relatives, no doting husband and no other expectant mothers nearby. A
rather surreal quiet isolation hung over the scene. There was no panic and everything seemed to have a preordained quality attached to it. Levene changed that in an instant, with one guttural shout.
“MY WATERS HAVE BROKEN”
The proverbial mad rush then ensued and Levene was rushed to the delivery bed. The eyes of the dead doctor had captured the scene very well. A temporary calmness had returned to Marcia and this was a rather radiant quality in the context. Her next shout shattered this illusion.
“Fuck, fuck the pain-this is fucking killing me! Fucking do something doctors! Fucking help me!”
As some doctors held her down she thrashed her head from side to side. Her eyes were now bloodshot and her breath was being released in rasping grunts. She raised her frame higher on the bed as she had her first wave of severe contractions. She screamed as she entered this new pain threshold and she bit into the wearers of the red velvet robes who now seemed to be appearing on all sides achieving a dominance over the traditional white uniformed doctors. Levene was in far too much pain to ask who the new red-clad helpers actually were. As Levene's contractions intensified further she sunk her nails into the back of one of the red velvet helpers. Although Levene drew blood, he just smiled, eager for the impending arrivals of the satanic triplets. She became angered by his smile and spat blood at the man in red. Then her contractions reached a new zenith and Troth fought a frenzy in her womb to secure the passage of the First Born. His mother's blood ignited the fire in his dark satanic veins. No brother was going to take his place - he was the chosen one and he moved nearer to the vaginal gate.
“HEAD ENGAGED” yelled the chief doctor.
Levene looked upwards as agony conditioned her every movement. The head of the first born was prized out of her vagina and grey eyes scanned his immediate surroundings. Baby blue eyes were not invited on this occasion.
The child had a double tongue - one of normal size and a smaller forked one underneath. He had been born with nails and a penetrative stare that challenged the onlooker. No crying took place just the odd hiss as his coil was cut. The mother moved her hands to soothe the first born but the child resisted pulling away and surveying her from a rather eerie posture on his front. He examined his fingernails again and stared through his mother as if she wasn't there. Levene sobbed into her pillow and moved away from the creature that she had released. Then she recoiled in another bout of agony as the second son started to follow his brother's route out. This child wriggled for some hours near the womb entrance stalling delivery as he scented her blood. When the second son's head emerged another forked tongue briefly lapped at the mother's skin and then he was pulled out with angry tears announcing his presence. On seeing the second child Levene once again looked to the heavens. The second child like his brother was human for the most part but forked tongues, nails and grey eyes signified danger to Levene and she knew that their father Klue had a greater shaping in their destiny than she did.
After her terrible pain and the appearance of her first two sons, Marcia started to slip away The third child was still inside her, but she could push no more.
As her eyes approached final closure she whispered her last words.
“It's time Greg.”
So ended the life of Marcia Levene - to live and die in the MC-Project forever.
The doctors then rushed to free the weaker third child from the dead mother. As the doctors tugged at the half released child, the first born clambered over in an effort to release the last son. He was clumsy through his inexperience, but he managed to lay a hand on his brother nonetheless.
This child cried as he emerged and one could tell from the outset that he was more of the mother.
Sharmilla turned to her project colleagues.
“That was thirty years ago guys. We will track those sons over the last three decades. One thing is for certain though - there are three Lucifers on the run with a thirty year headstart!”
FIVE
December 2 2040 and a double-rainbow stretched across the Vermont skyline. This often signified good fortune, but on this particular date a black chapter for American history would be forthcoming. William Kyra's missile was now in readiness and his security cohort ringed the launch site in in their hundreds. One thirty year old man did get clearance to pass through the black-clad ranks though. He was Morgan Kyra the son of the Head of security. His angular features and cold blue eyes had the same piercing intensity as his father's eyes did and his purse lips remained sullen usually disallowing a smile or softer expression. On his back he carried a large haversack. For Morgan this day would represent a treasured equaliser, if he got his way and his father's approval. He walked through some fresh
puddles in his upmarket brogues, catching his reflection briefly in the rippled water. He got near to his father's security headquarters. Two seven-footers let him pass with simultaneous nods of approval. William Kyra then strode out to meet him flashing a brief smile like a rare commodity. Morgan was ushered inside and William Kyra spoke first.
“Good to see you Morgan. We've got a rather muted launch day because of our target, but always remember my son that on this day we cleansed Salt Lake City - not destroyed it.”
“I got you dad. When can I see that crazy white missile that you have been raving about?”
“Right now son - just follow me.”
With that line William Kyra led Morgan down through a cellar passage to the lift that was waiting for them. They dropped down four floors and were greeted by some more of the security cohort as they got out of the lift. Both men were flanked either side as they walked and then they dropped down four flights of stone steps with labyrinthine contours. Morgan said later that day that these steps had the claustrophobic feelings of a Piranesi catacomb. They continued onward after their temporary dark illusion. They were accompanied into another lift and here they descended down another five levels to eventually reach the base level. They were quite thankful to get out of the lift. The base level was a hollowed out cavern. This cavern was very high and extremely wide. Standing tall as a beautiful unbranded white centre-piece, stood the missile. Appearing rather svelte in it's uniqueness, the missile reached a height of just under twenty metres. The dark grey of the cavern rock and the virginal white of the missile made for an amazing contrast. Morgan couldn't contain his enthusiasm.
“Yo dad this is a dream! No squat ugly bombs like Fat Man or Little Boy! This is like a majestic rocket. Check out how it gleams and it's beautiful height. This is a missile-masterpiece! How is this baby going to get out of this cavern?”
Pleased by his son's enthusiasm, William Kyra went into descriptive raptures.
“She is canted to a 45 degree angle and then lifted toward the cavern ceiling via the hydraulic Stanga lifting cranes. The ceiling then partially opens and then this baby is activated and finally launched. Usually in this Vermont setting we test-fire outwards over the sea, but that has had to change in this real instance. The flight of the missile will be overland on this occasion until detonation, half a mile above Salt Lake City. This missile is a B90 three Megaton plutonium-based device and her journey time is estimated to take a shade over 2 hours. That's 2,333 lightning - quick miles and boy what a payload at the end. What's in the bag Morgan?”
“Black adhesive transfers Dad.”
“To what end?”
“Well you told me that you were in charge of this amazing white missile unmarked and unbranded. That got me thinking. Do you remember when I was a sophomore student at MIT there was a guy called Meade from Salt Lake City who kept plagiarizing my fucking work. He failed one too many units in the end and dropped out, but both of us were downgraded in year two because our tutors said that they did not know who copied who. The transfers are my revenge Dad - to appear on the fucking missile if that is alright with you?”
“Let me see them then.”
Morgan opened his bag and placed the black single sided adhesive transfers on the white table that they sat next to. In ornate ten inch letters the transfers spelled out...
...CATCH THIS MEADE.
Morgan then spoke again.
“I recovered my grading profile after that sophomore blip, but that would never have happened if it hadn't been for that cunt Meade. A missile shouldn't fly totally unmarked Dad. Let it carry my revenge please.”
“Granted Morgan. Put your transfers halfway up the missile. The Launch is timed for 16:01. We are going to watch it together - father and son.”
Morgan climbed up one of the Stanga cranes and placed the respective letters in a small line around part of the missile. The effect was neat and ordered.
At 15:59 everyone was in place to watch the two minute countdown. If the altered tracking-points had been put in correctly, the missile would initially fly seawards, but would then come back on itself to begin it's Salt Lake journey. The countdown ended and the roof parted to allow the white nose-cone of the missile to slowly push through. Then speed took over and the missile flew straight out of the cavern in a beautiful arc whilst settling on the course co-ordinates. It then turned as forecast and Morgan applauded as it flew directly over their heads. Death looked quite beautiful in this instance, very beguiling though as this was the most dangerous Nuke ever sent thus far.
On she flew a couple of miles above ground level. She could be seen by millions of Americans as she undertook this dark journey. She slowed down just over Wyoming to allow time to build both speed and height as she started to near the Utah detonation venue.
On the ground in Salt Lake City most people were largely oblivious to any further bad news. Society had largely seemed to have cut them off and the small improvement in the smallpox statistics had been hidden by the dominance of previous ill tidings. The citizens of Salt Lake City briefly looked skywards and then they looked no more.
SIX
William Kyra had carried out the nuking of Salt Lake City with a smile on his face. Only one person could have intervened and stopped Kyra's plans. Commander Scope was the said person. After a succession of quick-fire promotions, he now held the title ‘The Head of the Military’. Despite his senior rank he had chosen to leave Kyra's decision unaltered. In effect Scope had been Lake City's last hope. Scope's brother Troth had contaminated Salt Lake City in the first place and a nuclear detonation became a radical way of getting rid of the evidence. Scope was the most stable of the satanic triplets. He had more of his mother's genes than the other two brothers.
Troth was the twisted First Born son who led the others from afar. In many ways it was the second son that seemed to exhibit the most traits of madness. Sane was anything but his namesake and his depravity knew no boundaries. He had been right about the influx of the purple and black clad revelers (sic) and they swamped the region close to Allgood in their thousands.
Four distinct groups made up the Allgood Gathering' but three of these groups thrived on the dark motivating factors behind their formation.
‘Judas Silver Trail' were the exception. These traditional Seattle hippies lived for all of mankind and they celebrated free non-judgmental love. Their followers added orange to the abundance of black and purple.
The New - Age Doceitists (NAD) had their roots in biblical times and were in close proximity to Silver Trail. Unfortunately they did not share the virtues of the hippies, as they harboured a bad sentiment towards mankind seeing the flesh as inherently evil. They even encouraged their followers to carry out dark physical deeds so that the purity of the spirit could be fully realized. NAD were dangerous and were at the scum - end of this Gathering.
In a fir copse just east of the NAD position were 'Felo de Se' - a suicide cult comprising of members in their thirties. Their followers had black faces - (natural or painted) with dark purple dreadlocks. The name of this sect meant death by one's own hand. This group of people effectively lived to die. This was a tragic indictment concerning the state of society in 2040.
The final group in attendance were another fatalistic batch of young people who were collectively known as Our Beautiful Suicide (O.B.S) Like Felo de Se they had a burning desire to leave life, but they were younger, in their teens or twenties. Many of their members were quite unique in terms of beauty. They had a collective radiance about them and age had not had a chance to wear them down.
The two suicide groups had already seen an upward surge in numbers after the nuclear eradication of Salt Lake City. As the festive season approached, a disproportionate number of people wanted the new year to be their last year.
The Allgood Gathering had massive Online interest. Speculation was growing that with two suicide cults attending, the Jonestown Massacre (1978) cumulative total of deaths (909) may be overtaken. A rather sinister compe
tition was being set up on the net between Felo de Se and O.B.S over who would deliver the highest death-toll. Gallows humour abounded with bets being made and forecasts taken. The current form horse was Felo de Se but OBS had promised to run them close. Security cohorts poured scorn on these death estimates and said that no one would die on their watch. Somehow though, this was already a gathering force that was out of control.
The physical site boundaries of the Allgood Gathering were quite extensive. There were just two days to go until the start of the Gathering and a great range of security checks were being carried out. Some of Kyra's unit had been flown into Allgood as had most of the key players in the MC-Project. The latter had been meticulously researching the life progression of the triplets and the dossier of danger was starting to take shape. Sources stated that Sane planned to address the ranks of the Gathering as he often did. So far there were no indications that the other brothers would also appear.
As night drew in, moonlight flickered over the meadows of Allgood, casting sharp shadows yet blurring form and any firm definition. On the fringes of the site a young fair-haired couple held each other naked on the verdant dew-covered grass. They were both members of OBS, but right now death was the last thing on their minds. The lithe pair were about eighteen or nineteen and they rhythmically sank into each others bodies. She was damp from his touch and her wetness increased when he thrust his strong-veined phallus up her compact vagina. She muffled a sigh as he lifted her higher to engage in a standing copulation. She proceeded to wrap both her legs around him as he stood. She was hungry for his full length and she rocked on his hip region as he grabbed both her arse-cheeks to hold her in place. He easily rocked her slight frame, up and down on his pulsating cock and she extracted a really moist deep-fuck from him as a requited love token. After their mutual climax, his cock started to spit semen over her vulva and then both of them sank to the floor with their sex-sweat glistening in the moonlight. No one had said a word for some time as words can undo the chemistry of a measured fornication and in many ways a good fuck is often a silken silent-movie! The couple stood up once again, embracing each other with an alluring tenderness. Indeed they shared the intimacy of the first-born lovers.
Coils Of The Overkill Page 3
