Fallen Angels (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi) (The Unmaker Series Book 2)

by Casey Herzog

  “Okay, we start in three, two, one…Rolling!”

  Dante straightened awkwardly and looked away from the limb-mounted camera following him as the reporter began to talk, keeping his eyes on the passers-by.

  “The University today is at its peak,” Brant said with elegance, dominating the scene, “We have more teachers than ever, a campus that even the best pre-war centers of study would have envied, and a crop of students — young and more experienced — who behave like they should, like true students of the Universitas Terras. Beside me,” he said suddenly, causing Dante to grimace off-camera, “is a new student who has already impressed his professors and fellow students. His name is Dante Castello; some of you may already have heard of him.”

  ‘Say hello,’ the reporter mouthed.

  “Hi, I’m glad to be here,” Dante said awkwardly.

  “I’m happy you are, son, we’ll take good care of you. Now, as I was saying…”

  The report lasted for a good twenty more minutes before the Chancellor ended with a positive message.

  “…So stick around. We’re going to have a series of events soon for all students to take a part in, as we are a center of study that believes in plurality and participation, always. That is all. Farewell for now, members of the Universitas Terras community. Vitas, Scientia, Virtutem.”

  The cameraman lifted his finger in a thumbs-up sign, toggling a button on the scope attached to his eye — which Dante guessed was connected to the limb-camera — and Albridge nodded with relief.

  “Glad that was okay. We’ll be seeing you soon,” he told the news crew, and left them behind before they could answer. “I’m sorry about that Dante. It was good timing that you stepped out of the station — which I’ll ask you about in a second — I’ve been thinking about your unfortunate attack, and to me it’s unacceptable such a thing happened to you. I’m glad I could deliver a message to those who threaten your safety and well-being just now. The report will be played everywhere with a screen, so, practically everywhere in the Universitas.”

  Dante narrowed his eyes.

  “Excuse me, sir, but what message exactly? I simply smiled at the camera and said an awkward line.”

  Albridge laughed out loud.

  “How honest of you! You did well, my boy,” he said, patting the child’s head and causing some of his Chosen to chuckle quietly. “No, boy, it was much more than that. Think of it as an enemy would. Who looks like an easier target? A ten-year-old boy walking alone in the corridors of the First Term Building, or a student flanked by the Chosen and the Spiritual Chancellor himself, who also adds that he’ll be taken care of?”

  Dante’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought of it that way. True enough, Albridge had made such a promise during the filming. Interesting.

  “Very well, sir, you are correct. I hadn’t really analyzed the situation in such a manner. It would definitely be an intimidating prospect to attack me now after watching that report.”

  “Yes, exactly. Now, tell me why you’re here?”

  Dante fidgeted.

  “I came to visit Roberto, the boy who saved me. I haven’t checked up on him since the attack, and I want to know if he’s okay. After all, I’m still alive thanks to him.” The Healer smiled, hoping that Albridge didn’t have a problem with his quick escape from the First Term Building.

  The Chancellor’s face remained impassive, and he shot a glance at his Chosen. The men and women of the mysterious elite took a few steps away and Brant put an arm around Dante.

  “Dante…”

  The Healer froze, his blood going cold all over.

  “What?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Albridge said, closing his eyes with sadness, “Roberto Leon died last night of a sudden but massive organ failure. The poison was too much for him.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Soldier

  He had been mounted into the device as a stubborn, unwilling captive.

  He descended from it as a broken man.

  There were very few places in Sanchez’s body that the machine had left untouched. He bore burn scars that would never heal, inner wounds that would take very long to fade away. The creature in human flesh had not lied about the Chamber of Sensations; despite the fact the man known as Rogue had previously survived another kind of torture, and more or less knew what to expect, his screams had echoed around the corridors of the underground complex for hours.

  Now, he was pulled from the apparatus in a helpless heap, an Outsider in medical gear lifting him in its arms as a pair of evil green eyes watched.

  Cassiel.

  The clone, or whatever he was, had asked him question after question, pushing Sanchez to the brink with requests for unnecessary details of long-forgotten events concerning him and Callum. He had initially resisted, but it had turned out to be the worst decision he’d ever make. Wave after wave of pure agony had torn through his body, and he had almost bit his own tongue off at first.

  “Oh, right,” Cassiel had chuckled as he spotted the lines of blood running down his captive’s chin and neck, tapping a switch to the side of the machine, “The guard.” A tube made of foam had descended and fitted itself horizontally between his teeth.

  It didn’t matter — losing his tongue would be the least of Sanchez’s worries before the torture was over.

  His mind was fuzzy now, a thick mess of old memories and pain, terror spreading through him whenever he thought of the possibility of being put back into the chamber. It definitely does what it was designed to do. Sanchez knew the machine’s final purpose was not to cause pain or lasting damage, but to infuse great fear into the victim. A fear so pure that a person would do anything before returning to its grasp.

  They entered a room with alien equipment and a variety of medical instruments on metal tables. Another Outsider was already busy powering-up some of the equipment and sterilizing instruments. Sanchez sighed through his narcotic-induced stupor. Something awaited him, something terrible.

  Sanchez was lowered down onto a cold surface and he felt a thin object being placed against his arm, below the shoulder. A burning sensation made him flinch, although it was dulled by the pain he was feeling in other parts of his body. Soon, he sensed the effects of the anesthesia that had been administered into his bloodstream. It was a relieving feeling, a welcome release from the agony, and a distraction from the discomfort every breath had become. Despite himself and his situation, Sanchez smiled, and the Outsider tending to him paused curiously for a moment. It studied him with a sort of personal interest, as if the alien wished it had more time to work with him.

  “Find something funny, Rogue?” Cassiel’s malignant hiss of a voice asked from nearby.

  “I was just thinking,” he said with great effort, his mind slowly fading into black, “that I already fucked over the Coalition,” he said with a chuckle, “and you, the losers of the war against them…” he paused, his head rolling back. When it hit the metal, he woke up again and gave a final effort: “actually think you have a chance to control me…We’ll see how that goes.” He laughed softly, a laugh that grew for several instants, until he allowed his mind to fall under the effects of the anesthesia.

  His final — and only — comfort was that Cassiel had run out of things to say.

  Darkness fell over him, and the last thing Sanchez heard was a device starting to hum.

  In his drugged state of mind, he made a final promise, one which he hoped not to break:

  I will find you Callum, but I’m not going to do what these creatures want. I’m going to find you and we’re going to finish what we started.

  We’re going to kill all these fucking aliens; there won’t be a single one left.

  PART II – In Danger

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mourning

  The funeral was a discreet event, a gathering of a few students and a handful of professors. Albridge and the Chosen were present, their expressions solemn as they watched the boy’s coffin being lowered into the ground. O
nly three people had offered some words for the deceased young man: The Sphinx, who had seen his potential and assigned him as Dante’s protector, Albridge and Dante himself.

  A man in his late twenties wept as he watched the workers begin to throw dirt onto the grave. Dante had heard whispers indicate that the fellow was Roberto’s brother, another gifted individual. The Healer made a mental note to speak to him later and find out more about the boy who had died protecting him.

  There was a guilty anger running through Dante’s veins, a frustration that clouded his mind and filled him with murderous desires. Perhaps the enemy had failed in killing him, but Roberto’s death weighed heavier upon him than any other he’d had to face since Margaret herself. Even Johanna’s was different than this; she walked into danger willingly. Roberto never expected to face his death, surely? Dante glared in anger as he saw several Chosen turn from the ceremony and leave before it had even ended, some whispering into Brant’s ear before departing. We have to talk, old man, Dante thought angrily. There were things he would need to ask before letting the Chancellor return to his duties.

  Dante watched as Roberto’s brother grabbed a shovel from its resting place on an old oak and began to shovel dirt onto his brother’s grave with grief clear on his face. He threw the dirt down into the hole more vigorously than anyone else, simply wishing to end the horrible moment which was unfolding before his eyes.

  “Let me help you with that,” Dante said, his green eyes staring up at Roberto’s brother with an apologetic look. The man bit his lip and nodded, saying all he needed to say with the gesture. I forgive you, boy.

  The two of them worked together to fill the hole and finally, the University workers completed the job by setting the tombstone. It had been made hastily, but without fault, an inscribed headstone with a digital marker. A mix of the old and the new, Dante thought. The burial was ended, and the Healer noticed that the Sphinx seemed to be interested in chatting with him. Sorry sir, I have someone more urgent in my sights. He lifted a hand in a pausing gesture at the Psychology professor and moved on towards the Chancellor before the man could get too far away.

  “Sir? Chancellor Albridge,” Dante said with a commanding voice. He was not in the mood to be running after anybody, especially not the spiritual leader of the University, who probably could have prevented the death of young Roberto.

  “Yes, son? I’m sorry about your loss, I really am. I wish we could have done something more for him…”

  “There was, sir,” Dante said with anger, “Yet it wasn’t done.”

  Albridge frowned and gave the Healer a half-smile, “What do you mean? The boy’s death was sudden and unfortunate. He was fully stable and in recovery when it happened. It wasn’t a case of a wrong diagnosis or a miscalculation of the poison’s spread; he was fully under control when it happened, a violent burst of dormant substances going active. We’ve already done the necessary examinations and will release the results when they’re—”

  “Your examinations are useless now! He’s dead!”

  The entire field went silent, everyone turning to look at Dante as his face went red with anger and humiliation. He could feel himself shaking, but it wasn’t the moment to apologize or feel sorry for himself.

  “I can assure you they’re not useless,” Albridge responded, but something changed on his face. Almost an expression of badly-concealed fury. He’s the head of the University. I can understand this may have consequences, but I have to do this now, in public, and force him to give me answers.

  “Why wasn’t I called? I’m the most able Healer on the campus, possibly in the world. We had a chance to save him sir, I had a chance to save him!”

  Brant took a deep breath and put a hand on Dante’s shoulder. The grip was slightly more firm than necessary.

  “Dante, if you wish we may speak in private…but if you absolutely must bring this up like this, in a moment of solemn serenity and in front of the boy’s grave,” he added, clearly trying to create guilt within Dante, “I’ll tell you that we did consider bringing you in, but the idea of putting a life in your hands and risking the consequences that would follow if you couldn’t save him…It was too much. Now I’m not saying that we doubted in your gifts, Dante. We just didn’t want to break your spirit if the venom was too strong for your healing to save Roberto’s life. You’d already had enough to deal with after the attack.”

  The small group of onlookers seemed to nod and voice their approval, but Dante was unmoved. Nevertheless, he nodded and lowered his gaze. It wasn’t the time.

  “Very well, sir. It was a good call. Forgive my tone and the location of choice for the subject.”

  Brant took a second longer to remove his hand and nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” he chuckled softly, almost bitterly, “Grief can tear a man down. Remember: I’m here if you need me, son.”

  With a quick turn on his heels, the Chancellor walked away from the ceremony, and Dante was left to stare at his back. The Healer felt the gazes on him, and he couldn’t help but think it all through with doubts in his mind. Why risk his death? Why put my feelings before Roberto’s life? Are they even telling me the truth about what happened?

  Only then did a further thought worm its way into the forefront of his brain. It was a darker notion, one that Dante would not dare voice out loud if he could avoid it. It was a perhaps, though best described as a hopefully not.

  What if, Dante wondered, security slipped and somebody managed to get inside and finish Roberto off? What if Albridge and the rest are lying, and the poison came from a completely new attack?

  And if that’s so…what does that mean for me now?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Adaptation

  Of all of the Angels of the Apocalypse, the motorcycle gang that had terrorized the wastelands of Earth’s remains, it was Reiner who was having the most trouble adapting to his new life in prison.

  The man known as the Whisperer sat in a bitter silence, watching his fellow mercenaries lift weights and chat amiably. He envied their patience and their ability to adapt to this new challenge.

  Reiner hated the prison.

  It was hell for a free spirit like him, a series of walls upon walls upon walls…Constant surveillance, lack of choice or space. He felt his mind slipping day by day, and realized his enemies had found the perfect way to break him. Gone were the possibilities of riding a bike again — his bike was gone for sure, it couldn’t have survived the Coalition attack — gone were the thoughts of raiding settlements and capturing slaves for rich clients. There was no alcohol, and the food was on par with dog shit, not that he had tried dog shit before. Sometimes they were randomly pulled from their cells to work at a different part of the prison, but it was mostly mindless menial assignments, meaningless and unrewarding tasks that frustrated the blue-eyed man even further.

  “How can you fucking be chatting away like this?!” he shouted in disgust, causing his men to turn toward him in shock. Reiner spat on the ground and stood, leaving his men behind and walking straight to one of the yard’s fences. The outside world was beyond many layers of security, a place Reiner now knew he had taken for granted for too long. Once I’m out of here, I’m going to find a beautiful woman and make sweet love to her before eating the most delicious fucking meal I’ll ever eat. It was definitely an uplifting plan, but it depended on him breaking out of prison — it wasn’t like the Coalition was letting go of him anytime soon.

  “Get back from the fence!” somebody shouted from above, and Reiner lifted his hands off the chain-link. The alien sympathizer who had been thrown into the prison had a plan, it seemed, but Reiner wasn’t so sure how much it involved him and why he’d been approached by the patrol officer for an alliance. More importantly, how much of this plan involved Russell? Reiner wanted to escape the prison, but he knew their unfinished business was too important to let go of in exchange for a peaceful escape.

  I’ll tell you right now, he thought to himself, I’d rather jeopardize
our escape than collaborate with that bastard. It wasn’t like Russell would feel differently, either. After having him chained and cuffed in the back of our truck, he’ll take the first chance to kill me he gets, that’s for sure. Maybe I should have killed him like he suggested, but there was so much potential in him. Now, Russell was already starting to recruit prisoners to his side. It was a discreet initiative, but Reiner knew the man too well to miss what was happening behind the scenes. He’s getting powerful again. We’re going to need to escape this place before he takes over it just like he’s done everywhere else.

  Reiner thought of the world before the war and cursed, kicking the ground in frustration. What a different person he’d been before the aliens effectively killed Earth with their final attack. Sure, he knew he had had it pretty good since the world had been turned into a burned expanse of dead land and poisoned seas, but his new personality had been on a slippery slope of moral degradation for some time now. I’ve always been a bastard, but I keep getting pushed to commit more and more questionable acts. He had sold his services for years, but a decade ago he wouldn’t have thought of catching and selling people as slaves, humiliating innocents, and stealing people’s food and medicine supplies. What has this world turned me into? The worst part was that he was going to need something to keep his mind busy inside this prison, and it would probably entail more cruel acts. There wasn’t much that entertained his men like cruelty and pain. It worked out there, where it was every man for himself, but between these four walls — or fences — it would only mean unnecessary violence.