by T. C. Edge
The city wasn’t huge, not by the standards of the place he’d been created. LA was an endless network of concrete canyons; sprawling and grand in its architectural arrogance. New York, though Mikel had never really been, was a staggering metropolis too. More compact, but similarly lofty in vertical scale. Then there were others, many others in fact, that put this place to shame. Cincinnati had never been a particularly large city, but was certainly big enough to provide plenty of places to hide.
Mikel wasn’t, however, hiding. At least, that wasn’t how he saw it. He was relaxing only, taking a break, enjoying the soundtrack of war in the distance. It was to him a symphony, mellifluous and smooth to his ears. The booms of bombs and laughter of gunfire was something he enjoyed. They signified chaos and death, wild elements of the world that Mikel so identified with. Brutal, yet beautiful too. If humans did anything well, he thought, it was war.
He drew a breath, sweet nanites in the air. Their scent didn’t rip at his guts any longer, make him so manic, so ravenous and wild. No, Mikel had had a taste now, a feeding sufficient to quell his hunger. A foolish Panther, slipping away from his unit during a break, had fallen into his trap. Mikel only needed moments to suck, to drain such a man of his blood. He lay in wait, and took the man like a trapdoor spider, feeding and dematerialising before his allies took note.
It was so joyous, so wonderfully pure, to perform the very intention of ones creation. Though Mikel felt a profound distaste for those who’d made him, he couldn’t deny the programming they’d set within him. Those engineered instincts of his made a day like this a delight. Feeding, hiding, stalking. Relaxing in this crumbling old building with the concert of war to sweeten the air.
It was a good day, Mikel thought. A good day to call his last…in this form at least.
He stood from his perch - an old torn up sofa by the rotten wall of this decrepit living room - and crept towards the window. The sunlight was still steaming in through the cracked and dirty glass, though largely blotted now by an incoming sweep of cloud. The dust and smoke kicked up by the warring factions in the distance didn’t help much either, causing a general film of dust and grit to hover about in the air.
Mike sniffed, long and deep, searching ahead. His ears pricked up, listening for movement, for the sound of footfall, of creeping feet. He heard nothing to cause concern, nor did he see any soldiers nearby. The general scent of nanites remained, though still weak and far away.
He smiled and withdrew once more, moving back to the sofa and sitting down. He could do with another Panther or two before venturing off and awaiting further word from Martha Mitchell. She’d been helpful so far, calling not long ago to find out where Mikel was, and whether he’d satisfied his urges quite yet. It seemed she was quite intent in following through with her promise to him, her earnestness overcoming Mikel’s natural skepticism.
Still, there seemed no rush for him to leave quite yet. These sorts of places were heaven to him, so packed to the brim with luscious sounds and smells, so filled with possible prey.
He’d already stalked through a large part of the eastern extremity of the city, getting his bearings, working out just where the Panthers were. There were more than he’d thought, several dozen at least, split between their separate units. One such unit had even begun hunting him down, stirred into action after he’d feasted on their brother. They’d had no success, of course. Most Panthers were children to Mikel, no match for him at all. He could appear and disappear at will in a place like this.
Now, he’d chosen this nice quiet spot to watch from afar, relishing in the fear that was likely working through the Panther ranks. He wondered if they’d know it was him, specifically. Any rogue nano-vamp, coming to a place like this, would quickly cause a stir amid the nano-enhanced. That would make them nervous, and nerves suited him fine. It often caused erratic behaviours that he could take advantage of.
He yawned, shutting his eyes, letting the song of war send him off into daydreams and soothing reveries. Those were of blood, of fear, of death. A man like Mikel didn’t dream as others did. What someone might call a nightmare, he’d consider a sweet fantasy. Here, in a city torn apart by death, a microcosm of this forsaken continent, was where Mikel was just about happiest.
That, strangely, was of some concern to him. Yes, his hunger often grew torturous, an affliction of pain and suffering, of endless desire. It was a hunger he wanted to escape forever at times, but one that also gave him such pleasure when satisfied. Right now, at this particular moment, a sense of bliss had overcome him. He’d fed, enough to quell his suffering temporarily, though wanted more to fully fill the void. When that happened, he’d be in a state of true contentment and satisfaction. In such a state, would he desire change? Would he really want to take another form?
He, like all his kind, existed along a spectrum. At one end, intense hunger. At the other, complete and total satisfaction. A nano-vamp was always somewhere along that sliding scale, ever fearing the decline towards that desperate thirst, but always anticipating the next feeding and the wondrous euphoria it brought. As much as he hated that aching craving and need, he so adored the hunt, the kill, and the slaking and sense of relief that followed.
Losing this form of his would be losing both sides; the hunger, and the joy, the acute pain, and the intense pleasure. He imagined that no one but a nano-vamp truly understood that. They never hit the same lows, nor did they rise to the same highs. Only addicts could understand, perhaps, to some degree or another. Those reliant on alcohol, or drugs, or other forms of vice. They knew, perhaps, how Mikel’s existence might feel. Yet though their addictions could be handled and treated, Mikel’s could not. He was destined to this life until the time of his death. Unless, of course, he took action to change it.
And change it he must, he knew.
This was his plan since he’d learned of Professor Phantom’s research, and the wonderful potential it held. And oh, goodness, what potential that was. The joys to come, Mikel was sure, would rival that of a good feeding. He could become something truly special, and that was all the motivation he needed.
He stood once more, and drifted back to the window. A bout of louder fighting had begun to chatter in the city’s central districts. He gazed through the broken glass, idly scanning, and saw a billowing cloud of smoke pour up from the earth as a building crumbled, some way off.
He smiled at the sight. Death did that to him. Humans would ogle a newborn baby, and be unable to stop from grinning. They’d cherish the new life, the innocent life, yet to be corrupted by this world they’d built. But not Mikel. No, he looked at death as they did at life. An end to a pitiful existence, to one of suffering. It was freedom, he saw it, from the constraints of this dreadful place. Death was something to celebrate, not mourn. It was birth, he thought, that should be cause for grieving.
Yes, death was his life. Time now, perhaps, to indulge a little more.
He moved towards the door, hanging loose on rusted hinges, and began moving out into the hall. Down the corridor he went, and towards another door giving access to the street. He stopped, performing his usual routine - checking for soldiers, drones, any armoured vehicles that might be coming this way - and then moved into the dull light.
Above, the sky was now gathering with a blockage of grey cloud, dark enough to suggest rain was near. It suited him well. The sun wasn’t his ally as darkness was, the murk and gloom complementing his methods of hunting and hiding, of remaining unseen. This growing swamp of cloud was agreeable, useful. It would make the hunt that little bit easier.
He sniffed at the air again, his powerful nasal senses allowing him to siphon quickly through the various odours in the air. Naturally, nanites were particularly powerful, scented a fair way off. He drew in the sweetness of those circling through the Panthers’ blood, and turned his eyes to the source.
Close, he thought. Closer than before. And…curious.
The smell was coming from north of his position, right in the direction o
f the NDSA military’s main staging area. They’d set up temporary camp in the central eastern suburbs, their commanders running the battle from there. Mikel hadn’t gotten too close to the place, of course, but from the nearest vantage he could manage, he discerned a fairly busy war camp. There were plenty of mobile barracks, armoured vehicles, and soldiers milling about. It seemed that Cincinnati was an important strategic location in this ongoing war, most likely due to geographical position that anything else. What drove these men, Mikel didn’t rightly care. He just followed the smell of war, like a shark sniffing a shoal of fish.
The war camp remained some way off from his current position, too far away for him to confirm just where the nearest Panther unit was. Most likely, they’d be gathered within the camp, which would make hunting them impossible. In that case, he’d have to make a choice - either seek out another unit, one currently engaged in conflict somewhere closer to the city centre, or merely forget his desire to feed and leave. The latter would usually be unthinkable, but not today. Today, he’d fed, so was feeling satisfied enough. But more than that, he had rather more important things to consider.
He continued on, creeping through the shadows, using his superior speed as he went. His senses were heightened in an environment like this, eyes, ears and particularly nose working at full capacity. With each dart forward, he’d swiftly scan ahead, searching for movement. His ears would filter through the distant rumble of war, and seek sounds within a certain proximity. They could spot footfall, even the lightest, within a particular range. Voices, too, were simple for him to discern, anything but the quietest of whispers easy enough to pick up and identify.
Yet it was his sense of smell that was most effective. With each breath, he’d draw in all available scents, his brain quick to discard those that were of no importance. Right now, attuned as he was, he followed the trail of nanites in the air, the odour growing more powerful as he advanced. He slinked closer to the war camp, the central command centre still over a kilometre away, drawn by the Panthers who, he began to confirm, must be taking refuge there for now.
He stopped.
There was something else in the air now. Something different. He crept into the darkness of a tight side-street between buildings, hunkering down into the shadows. With his black suit hiding him, he closed up like a bat, and stayed completely still, drawing in a stream of air into his lungs.
Yes, there was something…special out there.
A smile grew, one of a sudden and unexpected anticipation. He drew several more breaths, determining the direction, the distance, of this delightful new smell.
It was coming from the south, approaching from the far edges of the city. There would be no Panthers out there. They weren’t utilised in patrol, elite soldiers as they were. And yet, the nanites he could smell were those of the Panther Force. But they weren’t alone. No, they were joined by others.
A Spectre, he thought. A Southern Queen…
Oh, and something special indeed. The Phantom was here.
He unfurled his limbs, standing once more. He turned, looking down through the gloomy alleyway, at the glow of muted light at its end. Above him, the clouds were still gathering, as if drawn here just for him. A light rumble sounded over in the north. Oh, that wasn’t an explosion, he knew. That was thunder.
They’ve come, he thought. Hunt and his team have come. But…how did they find me?
The last thought was idle, not much of a concern. Hunt had his ways, his intelligence. No doubt he’d come across some chatter about Mikel’s presence here. Killing a Panther was always likely to cause a pulse of alarm. And Hunt, Mikel knew, kept his finger on that pulse.
He smiled again, fangs extending. A few drips of rain began to fall from above, dancing on his shoulders, tapping lightly on his slick of black hair. He drew in another long gulp of air, confirming what he already knew.
They’d come for him again. The fools had given him another chance.
A last supper, Mikel thought with a sinister grin.
His final meal would be his finest.
77
“Goddamn rain,” muttered Chloe, her black combat suit beginning to drip wet. She looked up into the grey skies, the clouds darker further to the north, yet spreading to their position south. She shook her head. Rain was the last thing they needed.
Beside her, Ragan stopped, and the others followed.
“What’s the problem?” asked Tanner. “It’s only light.”
“Gonna get heavier,” remarked Chloe, nodding towards the clouds ahead. Tanner didn’t seem overly concerned. “It’ll make visibility worse,” she explained, though she didn’t feel it needed explaining.
“Good,” said Tanner. “Make us harder to spot if there are any patrols in the area.”
“And it’ll make Mikel harder to spot too,” said Chloe. “Remus isn’t overly fond of the rain. He works better without it.”
“We’ll make do,” came Ragan’s voice, turning back momentarily, before looking north. The distant drums of war were beating from the collection of larger buildings ahead, the smoke thicker there, and the flashes of gunfire continuous. “Mikel was last spotted not far from here, closer to the main war camp. We’ll head in that direction.”
Before they continued on, Chloe briefly shut her eyes, something she’d been doing for the last half hour as they moved through the southeastern suburbs of the city. The group knew to wait as she did so, her perception switching from her own to Remus’, hovering up twenty metres above them and scanning the world ahead.
The change in vantage, from ground level, to the drone’s bird’s-eye view, took a moment to configure. She took in the shape of the streets ahead, the buildings here generally quite low, suburban dwellings never stretching beyond their two-storey limits. It wasn’t exactly the best place for hiding, the homes semi-detached, mostly granted small front gardens and larger ones at the rear.
It was probably one of the richer parts of the city, and hadn’t yet seen much fighting - that was all towards the north, the city proper - though was clearly abandoned. The occasional peppering of bullets in outer walls or street sights spoke of the looming trouble ahead, however, and not all buildings were entirely unharmed. Many, in fact, looked in a state of decay to suggest they’d been uninhabited for some time. The same was true of most large urban settlements that covered the vast swathes of land at the centre of the continent.
Some, like this, were fought over for their geographic importance, considered useful staging areas for further advancements. Or, as far as Chloe could tell, perhaps it was all just bragging rights, a means of drawing out an opposing army in order to further weaken them. Certainly, with the WSA in recent ascendancy, that looked to be the case here. They’d been pushing their frontiers, ever trying to take possession of lands closer to New York and the NDSA border. This conflict smacked of LA asserting their dominance, forcing the NDSA military into a battle of attrition. One, really, that didn’t suit them.
Chloe commanded Remus to look further ahead, the drone drifting on a little bit. Several hundred metres away, the suburbs morphed into something more ‘inner city’ in configuration - taller, tighter blocks of apartments and tenements, areas that looked rather more affected by the conflict still a fair distance away to the north.
To the northeast, the war camp was just about visible in the gathering mist. It was sprawling, and looked more permanent than temporary. Chloe knew little of how a war was run, but there appeared to be lines of barracks and sturdily constructed soldier accommodation. That suggested to her that this battle had been going on for a while, and was set to continue for some time too. She’d come across war zones like this before, but never chose to enter or get this close. It was an odd sensation to be sneaking into one, rather than running the other way.
“Chloe…”
It was Ragan’s voice, whispering into her ear. She opened up her eyes, blinked, and found him right there next to her.
“Anything?” he asked.
; She looked into his eyes, and could just about make out the shine of his contact lenses. His scanner didn’t have quite the range or capacity as Remus did. When it came to larger scale surveillance, Remus was the man.
“No patrols or anything,” she said. “The war camp’s still a long way off.”
“And Mikel?”
“Nothing.”
“Right, let’s continue on then. I want to get out of suburbia as soon as possible.”
With Ragan in the lead, the group continued, a huddle of figures keeping close to cover at all times. They moved from house to house, hurdling the occasional partition fence or small wall that was still standing between gardens, operating in a cover formation as they went. All were armed with rifles, and sidearms, both capable of switching quickly to non-lethals with the flick of a finger.
That was important, Ragan had re-iterated before they set off from the falcon a short time ago, the jet set down towards the southern reaches of the city, carefully concealed by its cloaking function and the additional security of an old underpass. He’d told them - well, he’d told Tanner, specifically - that Mikel needed to be taken alive. He was their bargaining chip, the CID’s most wanted. Kill him, and it would make Ragan’s job of securing their support, and trust, a lot harder.
Chloe mused on that as they went, still remaining unsure of this plan. She’d sensed a growing desperation in Ragan to do whatever it took to make amends, to try to make up for his part in all of this. He was struggling, she knew, with the betrayals - not only his, but that of Martha, and of the Crimson Corps too. He seemed intent on regaining the support of the CID in dealing with this burgeoning threat in Chicago, but had he really thought this through?
After all, Mikel wasn’t likely to just give the CID answers freely. Perhaps they had methods of interrogation that would work on the vamp, means of extracting the information they wanted. But that information - confirming that Martha Mitchell was behind all of this, and thus the MSA were now in possession of the data - came with its own risks.
