Crypto-Punk

by George Traikovich

  “But that’s what I don’t understand,” she said. “Why on earth would you expose your top secret project in front of a live studio audience?”

  “That little melodrama on the island wasn’t intended for any audience on earth,” Frost said.

  “What?”

  Moving her to one side, he tapped a pedal on one of the flagstones with his shoe. A false panel in the floor slid backward, and a pedestal rose from the center of the dais.

  He pressed a button on the pedestal and the massive stone wall behind her rolled back into a recessed cavity.

  “I was an astronaut, remember?” he said. “There are things headed our way we’re just not ready for, but Enzyme Seven will help even the odds.”

  She peered into the cavernous chamber beyond the wall, unsure of what to make of what she saw. Rows and rows of glass and metal pods populated the chamber, stretching back as far as she could see.

  “There must be thousands,” she muttered. “Wait. Is that Dr. Camaro in there?”

  The doctor, clad in his familiar white smock, shuffled between pods, checking the equipment as required. He smiled and waved to her.

  “You haven’t asked me what’s behind the curtain yet,” Frost said. “Don’t you want to know?”

  She looked at the red velvet curtain covering the antechamber opposite them and then back at him.

  He didn’t wait for an answer and drew the curtain back. “Ta-da!”

  A thick-framed woman draped in frayed but elegant clothes sat gagged and bound, her pupils shrinking to dots when hit by the light.

  Miss Croy put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “You didn’t tell me you still lived with your mom.”

  “She’s not my mom,” Frost said. “She’s our new partner.”

  Lazy-Eye Susan shook her head back and forth, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Why her?” Miss Croy asked.

  Frost’s stoic expression turned pensive. “Because she knows more about Enzyme Seven than anybody else alive.”

  She looked Susan up and down, trying to decide if there was more to her than met the eye. “What makes her so smart?”

  Frost checked Susan’s bindings to make sure they were nice and tight. “She knew Grimsby. She learned at the master’s side.”

  “Wait…How do you know all this?” Miss Croy asked.

  “Not all of the Transylvania Brigade soldiers mutated. Instead, they passed Enzyme Seven on to their descendants. Back then, Bixby was an asylum devoted to studying their offspring.”

  “I remember hearing about that when I was growing up,” Miss Croy said. “The asylum part, anyway. Is that where she worked?”

  “No, but that’s where we met,” Frost said, “She helped me escape back when my last name was still Torrance.”

  Miss Croy’s jaw dropped. “Wait…what?”

  The empty gallery lit up around her, beams of light jumping from station to station, searching for just the right frequency. News footage of Jamphibian’s downtown rampage played in a continuous loop, making a kind of Crypto highlight reel.

  “When I saw the news, I knew someone had figured out how to get past Enzyme Seven’s time limits,” Frost explained. “I thought Harley’s DNA was the best match for Enzyme Seven, but I was wrong.”

  The light in the cavernous chamber came on behind them, and the details of his plan became evident. An embryo floated inside each pod, growing in fits and spurts with each passing second, their resemblance to Jamphibian evident even at this stage of their development.

  One by one, they opened their eyes and stared out at an unprepared world.

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