Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  The soldier continued to stare. "Take off your visor. Let me see your eyes."

  "Back off," Mitch said. "You already know who he is."

  The soldier gave a cold shake of his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that, son." His gaze returned to John. "Take off your visor, kid."

  John slowly did just that, surprised by the way his hands shook, terrified of what would happen if the soldier saw something he didn't like. He could all too easily imagine the soldiers raising their carbines and lighting John up like a bloody Christmas tree, before kicking his dying corpse off the copter to hurtle down to oblivion.

  And he could hear the screams below.

  Somehow, though he knew he was far too high up, he heard the screams of panicked people everywhere.

  It was uncanny. And terrifying.

  After endless moments, the soldier gave a slow nod. "He's clean."

  John swallowed, feeling more alarmed than ever, wondering if they were wrong, if Harveson had doomed him after all. Maybe it was only a matter of time before symptoms showed and those M4 carbines the soldiers held would be put to good use.

  He felt Mitch's hand gripping his shoulder. "We're almost there, John."

  Accessing Mother Hub. Host fully acclimatized.

  John jerked his head in surprise, meeting Emily's gaze.

  "John, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing," he said, refusing to think too deeply about the strange words echoing inside his head, relieved beyond words when his father's installation caught his eye. Well-fortified, on the other side of a ring of steep hills covered with second-growth forests perfectly camouflaging the secrets beyond, the reinforced walls were all but invisible to the nearby town. Not that anyone save a few thrill-seeking teens like his classmates would bother camping or partying on the outskirts of federal property.

  "Wait, you guys, this is federal land. Won’t we be shot down? Not even news choppers are allowed up here." Lucy flushed at her own words. "Damn, that was stupid. This is a government chopper." Almond eyes wide with awe and terror met John’s own. "Just how connected is your dad?"

  "You’ll find out soon enough, Lucy. Let's just get down in one piece, okay?"

  Emily’s nervous hand slipped into his own, squeezing so hard he had to suppress a wince.

  "It's going to be okay, Emily," he said, looking into her eyes, trying to coax a smile. "We're going to make it."

  His stomach lurched when a sudden explosion rocked the helicopter and their slow descent plunged into a death spiral.

  The helicopter became a nightmare of screams and terror, the world flipping over and over, several soldiers flung free of the helicopter as the trees below raced up to meet them. The captain's panicked shouts and Emily's terrified screams were the last things John heard before his world exploded in pain and everything went black.

  2

  Left tibia fractured. Right femur fractured. Right Clavicle fractured. Multiple ribs shattered. Punctured right lung imperiling subject. Cerebral hemorrhage imperiling subject. Hepatic lacerations imperiling subject.

  Initiating emergency protocols. Symbiote now synergizing with Host.

  Host has been stabilized.

  "John, can you hear me? John!"

  Lost in darkness, the words seemed faint and impossibly distant. His universe had become an endless sea of pain. Waves of agony crashed against him, and all he could do was scream silently in his mind as his body writhed and twisted; flotsam caught in a merciless storm determined to pummel him without mercy, to shred him out of existence.

  "John! You have to focus. You don't have much time.”

  Despite his agony, John could sense the tension in Mitch’s voice. As much as he hated disappointing his friend, the pain was beyond excruciating. He just wanted it to end. He sensed oblivion hovering nearby like a soft blanket he was eager to embrace.

  “Damn it, Dad, we're losing him!"

  "You forget yourself, Mitch. He's your charge, see to his care."

  "He's been critically wounded."

  "Because you fools broke protocol."

  "Yes, Father. I regret that. But if he won't fight for control, these last four years were for nothing!"

  "Then I suggest you encourage him to focus."

  Even lost as he was in a sea of dizzying agony, he recognized those voices. That had been Mitch. And his father's voice. Sounding so damn cold. So impersonal.

  His father was a busy man who had little time for him, but John knew that was just his way. All it took was a single hard-earned smile to elevate his whole week, feeling such fierce pride in his father's approval. It was half the reason for him even bothering with classes he hated. But hearing him now, acting as if John meant nothing to him? That wasn't anything like the father he knew and loved.

  What the hell had happened? His memory was fuzzy, disjointed. Like it used to be. Was he sick? In a car accident? Damn it, after four great years, did that implant finally fail on him?

  That's when he felt agony beyond anything he had ever imagined, muscles tearing, bones cracking, every organ seeming to twist and writhe independently of one another.

  "John! You have to focus!"

  "Mitch, I think I was in an accident. What the hell's happening to me?"

  "Thank Phoebe, you're still there. Some fragment of you, anyway."

  "Phoebe? Who the hell is Phoebe?"

  "Don't worry about it, John. All you have to do is focus on opening your eyes. Opening your eyes and reclaiming yourself.”

  "Open my eyes? Oh God, Mitch, the pain! It won't stop!"

  "Easy, John," the voice of his friend soothed. "Remember all the times we would spar in my dad's dojo? Think of it like that. Muay Thai, kickboxing, grappling, what's the common thread in all of them?"

  "Please, Mitch, the pain..."

  "Focus, damn it, I'm trying to save your sorry ass!"

  John shivered even in his nightmare, so furious his friend suddenly sounded.

  "Balance. Focus. Discipline. Repetition." John forced himself to think out loud, for lack of a better way to describe this odd mental communication. He sure as hell wasn’t speaking aloud.

  And neither was his friend.

  "Correct," Mitch said, or thought at him. "Now what's our number one rule?"

  John would have chuckled if he wasn't writhing in agony. "No pain no gain, dickhead. And God knows I'm in pain now!"

  It was almost a relief to hear Mitch's laughter in his mind. Finally acting like the best friend he knew and loved. "That's right, clueless wonder. Now get your shit together and focus! And you'd best not be afraid of a little pain." A thoughtful pause as John writhed in agony. "I know it’s tough to recall things clearly right now, but you need to try. Do you remember how fascinated you used to be with the game Endless Online?"

  John frowned, having no idea what Mitch was talking about. Then it suddenly hit him, his mind blazing with countless afternoons researching all the rumors around that game, recalling the flood of Readit posts written by players who swore that the game was like nothing else on the market, nothing else in the world. What had really struck a cord with him were the posts claiming that changes made to your template in the game could, if you had the right perks, carry over to the real world as well.

  But everyone knew that was hype, right?

  His brain was suddenly flooded with countless details regarding the politics and geography of those made-up planets, that digital universe he had spent countless nights poring over the details of, so eager to jack into the game, but knowing he didn’t dare. Which was almost as awful as the pain he felt, because he was somehow simultaneously certain he had never even heard of that game until Mitch had mentioned it just now.

  Which made absolutely no sense, but left a terrible itch in his mind.

  "All the twisted hype around it, before everything went crazy? Oh God, Mitch, the pain! I can’t take the—"

  "Stop it!" A roar. A command, drowning out all thought in John's mind.

  The force of his friend's will alo
ne shocked John into stupefied silence. Incomprehensibly, his pain also muted to tolerable levels.

  "Much better. Anyway, do you remember the time you were thinking about seeing if you could black-cat your way into the game?"

  "Yeah, all too well.” Wait, what does that even mean? Then he blinked in the darkness of his own mind as images of sleek chrome colored headsets looking like the most streamlined of bicycle helmets flooded his inner eye, suddenly understanding the blueprints of highly sophisticated neuro-interface gear he knew he had never seen or even heard of before. But wait. That made no sense either. He recalled his father showing him the specs of a black cat helm just the other day.

  Neuro-download complete.

  John spoke as much to ease the madness roiling inside his mind as to answer Mitch's question, suddenly recalling scenes from just a few months back. "First there was all that hype about bleeding-edge graphics, then the rumors around school about how some kids were getting boosted in real life from level-ups they earned in game. Bioresonance feedback, right? The only catch is, more than half of the handful that can actually log on end up stroking out in a matter of months. But the potential, Mitch! God, imagine being able to reforge your very being like that. Go from being an average JV basketball player to shooting hoops with the pros! Somehow, my dad found out what I was planning, and he was so damned furious he threatened to have me committed. Said combining that with my implant would 100% guarantee my death.”

  John smirked, imagining Mitch’s rueful grin. “I’d been meaning to ask how the hell he found out, but I just knew it would fuck up our friendship. I'd either end up hating you or resenting you for saving my life. Which was stupid of me, now that I really am dying. So, thanks for saving my life back then. I should have said that months ago."

  Mitch laughed at that. "Showing consideration and restraint. Maybe there's hope for you yet. And yes, I did spill the beans. Using one of those helms to jack into the game with your implant would have been ugly, John. Beyond ugly."

  "That's assuming I could even log on. Only what, 1 in a 100 people can even access that game? So why are we bringing it up now?"

  "Because the 'game' that would have killed you a year ago just might be our salvation today."

  John choked back the scream as the pain ratcheted up another notch. "Oh God, anything, Mitch. Anything! Just please help me stop the pain!"

  "You're going to have to fight for it, John. The thing is, right now you have to hold it together. We're not going to worry about helms. We have another way to make sure you can properly triangulate your own growth."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  It was the strangest thing, sensing but not seeing Mitch shaking his head sadly.

  "I'm sorry it has to be this way, John. You may not believe it, but despite your origins, Father and I have grown quite fond of you. You're a card we hoped we'd never have to play.”

  John shivered as howling laughter echoed inside his skull, so outrageous was the lie he was being told. Which made no sense. When had his best friend ever lied to him?

  "What the hell are you talking about? What does your father have to do with me? He hardly even knows me."

  "Do you want to know what the alarms we heard yesterday were really about?"

  "Wait, that was yesterday?"

  A suddenly sarcastic chuckle. “No, John. That shit happened years ago. We just spawned a fresh copy of you from our clone vats.”

  John’s heart raced in sudden panic. “Wait, are you serious?”

  Mitch howled with laughter. “You’re so damn gullible. Alright, enough bullshit. Let me ask you this. What's your favorite movie genre? The type of film you'd watch all hours of the night?"

  John paused, confused and overwhelmed, forcing himself to think through his pain, his heart jolting with sudden understanding. "Wait. Shit. You mean end-times flicks? Zombie apocalypses, plagues running rampant through the world's population?"

  "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

  John was filled with sudden sickening dread. "I thought... what happened with Mr. Harveson... it's all so twisted up in my mind. Did that really happen? Did you really shoot our ex-coach? Wasn't that all just some dream?"

  "Yes, John. It was real. All of it. What happened that day had to be done. What do you think was really going on in Europe? Thousands of people going mad with fear and panic, they said. Yet I know you saw their soulless eyes. Their looks of desperate hunger."

  John did his best not to think about the live streams of panicked, terrified people screaming and running he had seen on Emily’s smartphone. And he had caught sight of other things gazing back with eyes that had seemed to glow in the camera light, before the feeds had been cut off.

  There had been rumors. A flu strain that drove people mad, they called it. Even though the doctors on television assured everyone that it was seen in only the most extreme cases.

  But then again, if powerful people wanted to pull their families to safety before worldwide panic ensued, that's exactly what would be said.

  "Oh God, are you serious? Fucking serious? The whole world..."

  "No, John. It isn't quite that bad."

  He was hit by a flood of relief so great it soothed even the pain still tormenting him. Just how badly had he been hurt in that accident?

  "Level with me, Mitch. What's going on?"

  "This plague is unique in that it is sentient, self-sufficient, and is as much a hive-mind as an infection."

  Despite his pain, John felt a cold chill with those words. "Mitch, what the fuck are you talking about?"

  His friend sighed. "The goal was a weapon so advanced, so sophisticated, that no enemy could possibly counter it before it had devastated whatever target was selected. Yet, controls were also needed. Lynchpins that would allow one to limit the severity of an outbreak, so long as one knew what to look for. What precisely to target."

  John swallowed, both awed and horrified by Mitch's words. "Buddy, for God's sake, please tell me what the fuck you're talking about?"

  "Queens, John. The hordes of revenants flooding the streets of Europe are controlled by Plague Queens. They release spores. Countless spores flooding the air, infecting everyone it touches. Mutating their flesh and warping their minds. Forcing them into states either frenzied or catatonic. And much to our surprise, the Queens can control their slaves as easily as I could will my hand to crush your helpless throat.”

  Even lost in dizzying blackness, distant throbbing agony and who knew how much morphine, John was sick with dread. "Oh fuck, what's to prevent these Queens from taking over the world?"

  "Easy. Here on Earth, with our ability to so easily surpass the limitations set forth in Killian's Seven Sacred Laws, we're tracking them through spy satellites, aircraft, and millions of video cameras, equipped with more heat-sensing hardware and software than you'd think possible. The Queens burn hot, John. And of course, we've injected markers into every one we deliberately forged, before rebels struck our European facilities and they escaped. Though we can’t do anything for the hundreds of thousands of Terrans already infected, at least they won’t spread the infection, so long as no fresh spore-generating Plague Queens spawn among them. And with the judicious use of atomics, our victory and Earth's survival are all but assured."

  “Wait, what? Hold on a second! The way you're talking, that night all our monitors were taken over by that anonymous prank showcasing that massive dude in a perfectly tailored suit gazing at the world with his crimson eyes…" People of Earth. Welcome to the Dominion. "Shit, Mitch, all this talk of rebels and Terrans, you're feeding into that guy's crazy prank that Earth's a subjugate planet!"

  He could sense Mitch’s cold gaze upon his inert form. “It is,” he said. “Not that most people will be able to tell the difference between our Overlord’s benevolent guidance and rapacious mega-corporations that have ruled Earth in all but name for decades.”

  John was rendered speechless, even in his mind. According to what Mitch was saying,
the Dominion and Caesar's declaration of global conquest hadn't been the publicity stunt everyone told themselves it was. The new draconian laws were made by no human government, and Endless Online, the neuro-enhancing game, was, in fact, a portal to another world, as all the conspiracy sites suggested. Sites that had never been shut down, which made no sense if the rumors had any truth to them. Only other players took it seriously, almost like LARPers, save for the fact that bio-feedback enhancers were obviously having some effect. Even their school had found itself with all-star athletes who claimed they could level up.

  John frowned at those last thoughts, images of smiling jocks bringing their school a string of victories looking nothing like the kids he remembered going to school with. Until a dizzying moment passed, and he suddenly remembered them perfectly. More than ever, John regretted never having had the courage to go up to one of the students rumored to be players, those kids who could cut whatever classes they felt like without repercussion, and asking them point blank if the rumors were true.

  Now, the reality was proving to be far more horrifying than what even the darkest conspiracy sites had suggested.

  The Dominion was real, and they were using Earth as ground zero for testing horrific zombie plagues that could kill them all.

  His best friend's soothing voice washed over him once more. "But first comes duty, brother, always. And despite your base origins, you were forged for the most noble, most righteous of purposes."

  "What the hell are you talking about, Mitch?"

  Mitch sighed. "So many plots within plots have been shaping your world behind the scenes for decades. Long before Caesar ever gave his melodramatic speech, finding such pleasure in frightening the primitives of this world. You, dear brother, were designed as a trump card to counter some very dark research embraced by those determined to give our race an edge no opposing empire could hope to counter. Father's department was given the responsibility of assuring that we at least had safeguards for what was being designed. All of this was highly unorthodox, and forbidden by every treaty the Dominion has ever forged."