Franks just grunted in response.
“We’ll meet again. In the meantime I will continue to review your history in order to make my recommendation about what to do with your immortal soul. Do you have anything else to say for yourself?”
“Quit screwing around and send me back. Those demons aren’t going to banish themselves.”
* * *
Franks was no longer in the white interview room. He woke up to find himself in an icy cold room with concrete walls. Bright lights were shining down on him. There were small metal doors along the wall and drains on the floor.
He was in a morgue.
Only one eye was working. The empty feeling in the other socket told him that eye had been cut out. His chest had been opened and his armored rib plate removed, exposing his internal organs. He tried to move, but discovered that he was strapped down. Not that it would do much good, since the awakening nerve endings told him that he was missing both arms and one leg.
He was in a morgue and he was being dissected.
“Whoa. Hold still there, Agent Franks. I’m not exactly good at this and you wiggling around sure isn’t helping me put you back together.” A head moved in front of one of the lamps. The man was wearing a surgical mask and glasses, but the thick red beard sticking out around the mask told him that it was one of the Hunters from MHI . . . something Anderson . . . Milo. “For the record, I’m not a doctor. In fact I only got a C in biology. Heck, I don’t even know how you’re actually alive right now, but I do know for sure that the human body only has one heart, so where the heck am I supposed to stick this little guy?” He held up a red blob. Due to the Elixir, it was still pulsing.
Franks recalled the dossier on the Hunter. Milo Anderson had been listed as an eccentric genius. He supposed it could be worse. “I’ll walk you through.” His voice sounded funny, and he realized it was because much of his breath was blowing out the gaping hole in his face. “You will need a skilled surgeon.”
“Good thing Earl sent up the Gretchen signal!”
Another head appeared over him. This one was wearing a full mask and mirrored shades. The feathers and small animal bones tied to her surgical gown suggested that she was an orc. She poked her fingers into the bite marks on his shoulder, grumbled something, and tsked disapprovingly.
“Yeah, good question, Gretchen. So what happens when you get bit by a werewolf?” Anderson asked. “Do you like turn into Frankenwolf?”
“No.” Franks had been bitten by just about everything over the centuries and nothing had ever changed him. “The Elixir of Life burns off impurities.”
“Speaking of which, we found that thermos of glowing stuff in your car. Gretchen said I should pour some into your chest cavity. It seemed to work like a jump start. That’s pretty nifty. Can I have the recipe?”
“No.”
“Aw man . . . Well, what if when we poured it in you, you started having a seizure, which surprised me, so I accidentally dropped the thermos and spilled the rest, and we really need to make some more in order to get you fixed?” Anderson looked hopeful, like maybe Franks wouldn’t be able to hit him since he didn’t have any arms. “Hypothetically speaking of course.”
Franks sighed. It made the loose flap of cheek flutter. “The alchemical instructions are inside a case in my trunk.”
“Sweet . . . Well, actually, Holly already searched your car and found it, and Trip knows chemistry and stuff so he’s already making some, but better to ask forgiveness than permission and all that.”
There were probably worse things than letting MHI have the formula for the extremely dangerous Elixir of Life, but he couldn’t think of any right then. His body was barely functioning, and it was working at all only because of his many redundant systems which had been built in over the years. Even then, he should have been dead . . . Franks lay there patiently while the orc reattached his internal organs. He really didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Where am I?”
“The Body Shack . . . Uh . . . It’s where I store cadavers for training purposes. Staking and chopping, that sort of thing. Lucky for you I just bought a fresh shipment from the med school supply place so we’re stocked up. You can have your choice of the finest spleens from our spleen gallery . . . That was a joke. Sorry. . . . Okay, to be fair I’d guess most of them were homeless people and drug addicts, but there are a few who looked pretty healthy.”
Gretchen mumbled something as she pried a bone sliver out of his arm stump with a pair of pliers.
“Good point. Most of them are probably a little small, but we’ve got one guy with arms that looks like he did a lot of steroids. Those should fit.”
Franks grunted. The Elixir would force everything to work. New parts would be properly assimilated over time. His genetic code was continually shifting, a rolling average of his various parts. “Why are you doing this?”
“Earl’s orders. They came rushing in here with you rolled up in a tarp in the back of his truck. He said that I needed to save you. We’ve been putting you back together for hours now, well, Gretchen has anyway, me and Holly have mostly been handing her tools and guts. So . . . it sounds like you and Earl had something of a disagreement . . .”
“Yes.” Franks still wasn’t sure why exactly Harbinger had attacked him.
Anderson played it coy as he went back to his stitching. “So . . . before Owen hit you both with a car . . . I was curious, unstoppable force meets the immovable object and all that . . .”
If Pitt hadn’t interrupted them, Franks’ best estimate is that they both would have died. “It was a draw.”
“Shoot.” Milo stopped, reached into his back pocket, removed his wallet, and handed Gretchen a twenty-dollar bill. The orc cocked her head and studied the money, probably not really sure what to do with it, and then stuffed it inside her gown before going back to her operation.
“Where’s Harbinger?”
“Right here.” The head of MHI entered the morgue. He walked up next to Gretchen and studied Franks. He had no shirt on under his leather jacket, and his chest was still covered in dried blood. He’d been too busy to clean up. Harbinger appeared to be emaciated, which was expected given the amount of energy necessary for a werewolf to regenerate with that much damage. He also seemed very angry. “Give us a minute,” he ordered.
Anderson and the orc hurried out of the cold room. Once they were gone Harbinger pulled a stainless revolver and stuck the muzzle against Franks’ forehead. He appreciated that Harbinger was a straightforward man who would not waste time with bluffing or foolishness.
“I doubt you had them save me just to kill me,” Franks stated.
“I didn’t. I kept you alive because I want answers. Did you kill Heather Kerkonen?”
“No.”
Harbinger’s face was a mask of barely controlled rage. At least he was too exhausted and spent to be in any danger of turning. “Did you hurt her?”
“It was a fair fight.”
Franks watched the cylinder rotate right in front of his remaining eye as Harbinger cocked the hammer. “That’s the wrong damned answer.”
“I could have killed her.” Franks’ one eye narrowed. “I spared her.”
“Why?”
“So she could expose Stricken. I told her about Nemesis.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t care enough to lie,” Franks explained.
Harbinger exhaled. His finger was on the trigger. The gun wasn’t even quivering. Franks could tell he was mulling it over. Harbinger could justify either decision rather easily, but Franks didn’t look away. He didn’t so much as blink.
After several tense seconds, Harbinger lowered the gun. “Julie and Owen told me your story. God help me, but I think you’re telling the truth. Stricken told me you’d killed her.”
“That’s dumb.”
“You’ve got to admit, it sounded plausible. You’ve got something of a reputation, Franks.”
“Still dumb.”
“Damn it. S
tricken played me. He wanted to put MHI on your trail too and have me do the dirty work for him. He told me something I’d believe, knowing exactly how I’d react.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. From where Harbinger was standing he could look down into Franks’ open chest cavity. He paused in his reconstruction of events long enough to ask, “Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Good . . . If you didn’t kill her, I’ve got no way of reaching her to find out if she’s okay. She’s either dead or somehow out of the picture . . .” It didn’t seem possible, but Harbinger suddenly appeared to weaken as that realization sunk in. “Stricken wouldn’t lie to me, then leave her alone, because if I found out you hadn’t hurt her I’d go after him instead. He probably . . . he probably killed her.”
“Maybe not. A werewolf like that is valuable.”
Franks had given a completely honest assessment of the situation, but it seemed to give Harbinger some small glimmer of hope. “Maybe . . .” Harbinger took a long drag on his cigarette. “Stricken must’ve figured we’d do him a favor and kill each other. It almost worked.”
“I would have won.”
“Fat chance. I’m not the one spread all over a slab.” Harbinger picked up Franks’ severed hand, studied it, and then unceremoniously tossed it in the trash can. “I’ve been trying to keep tabs on Heather as much as possible. I’ve got one contact inside STFU, friend of a friend sort of thing. They’re supposed to be decent enough, so I made some calls trying to confirm what Stricken said. I’ve not heard back from them yet. If she’s still alive, I’m going to get her out of there.”
“If she’s not?”
“Then I’m going to go on a killing spree that’ll make yours look like a Cub Scout jamboree.”
Franks had expected as much, but according to the interrogator that would be bad. Telling Harbinger the whole truth was out, threatening was pointless; Franks needed to talk Harbinger out of going on a rampage. He was not good at that sort of thing. Franks preferred rampages. “If you do that, MHI is done for.”
“It’ll just be me. Not my people.”
Here goes nothing.
“That’s not how the government will see it,” Franks stated flatly. “Stricken is a high-ranking official. Even if he’s corrupt they won’t let you kill any of them and get away with it. They won’t just hang you. MHI will be declared terrorists. Stricken has allies. Give them an excuse and they will make sure all of your people die in prison.”
He might not like it, but Harbinger knew Franks was right. “Like you give a shit what happens to us.”
“A little.” Franks wasn’t about to try to explain the interview he’d just gone through, because this day had been complicated enough already. This next part was going to be very hard to say. “The world needs MHI in order to survive what’s coming.”
“What?” Harbinger started to laugh. “I never thought I’d hear something like that from the likes of you.”
“I know. I can’t stand you people. You’re sloppy and disrespectful . . . But you’re decent at your job. Put me back together and I’ll handle this.”
“What’re you proposing, Franks?”
“If Kerkonen is alive, I’ll free her. If she’s dead . . .” Franks tried to shrug, but his torso was strapped down. “Stricken has to pay anyway. He killed Myers.”
“Z told me. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m damned sorry to hear that. We had our differences, but Dwayne was a friend once.” Harbinger still didn’t seem convinced. He was not the sort of man to farm out his revenge to somebody else.
“Give me a few days. If Stricken’s not dead by then, do whatever you want.”
Harbinger sat on the edge of the slab next to him. “I’m having a real hard time thinking clearly on this one, Franks.”
“I did hit you on the head a lot.”
“Naw. It’s hard to make good command decisions when you’ve got a personal grudge, and I’ve got a personal grudge a mile wide. I care about Heather and that’s making me angry, and anger makes me do rash things. You won’t get it, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way about anyone. I’d gotten used to everybody getting old and dying around me while I stayed the same. That makes command decisions a lot easier to bear. We’re the same that way, you and me, but I was a regular man once. I don’t know . . . Heather made me feel like I was that man again. I can’t lose her, Franks.”
It was odd, having an actual conversation with Harbinger. Franks felt like they should be drinking beers or something.
Harbinger glanced down at Franks. “Shit. Listen to me, confiding in you. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t care about anybody. You don’t have anyone. You don’t have loved ones or family—”
“I have a son . . .” Franks muttered.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Franks still wasn’t sure how he felt about that revelation. A human would feel proud, or attached, or something. “I understand the desire to protect your own. Avenge Kerkonen and you destroy everyone else you love.”
“Well, how about that . . . Words of wisdom from the pile of parts.” Harbinger finished off his cigarette, then ground it out on the slab next to Franks’ ear. The place was still more sanitary an operating room than the truck stop he’d performed Agent Strayhorn’s liver transplant in. “Julie said you came here to get some demon tracker you saw last time you were downstairs. I know the thing she’s talking about. I picked it up on a contract job in Ethiopia a long time back. Never could get it to work right anyway. I think it’s busted. You can have it. You’ve got forty-eight hours, Franks, and the clock starts the minute Milo throws you off this table. I’m going to be using that time putting together a plan to mess up Stricken’s little kingdom.”
“That will do.”
“You’ll need help.”
He thought about the interrogator’s cryptic message. “I’ll have enough.”
“You’ve got a deal, Franks. I’d shake on it, but I already threw your hand away. Milo! I know you’re listening just outside the door, so you can quit hiding. I’m done,” Harbinger shouted. “He’s all yours. Get this Fed off my property ASAP.”
Anderson came back into the room, holding a severed arm. “Groovy. I can’t wait to see how this fits.”
Harbinger stopped and studied something on the limb. “How’d that get on there?”
“It was Z’s idea. His brother Mosh came in for the Newbie class and he knows how to do ink, which isn’t surprising if you look at the guy. Z said Franks loves us so much it would be hilarious. It was a rush job but I think it came out pretty good.”
He couldn’t see what they were talking about. “What did Pitt do now?” Franks demanded.
“Okay, this I approve. Pretty him up, Milo.” Harbinger slapped Anderson on the back and walked away. “Later, Franks.”
“Harbinger, come back here. Harbinger!” But the obstinate werewolf left anyway. Knowing Pitt, whatever they had done to the body part would be obnoxious. Franks would probably have to go into battle against a demon lord of the Fallen with My Little Ponies or something equally humiliating stamped on his body. “What did he do?”
Milo Anderson held up the arm so he could see. A large MHI Happy Face had been tattooed on it. “Pretty sweet, huh? You get to wear our logo. It’s like we’re bros!”
It was worse than ponies.
* * *
The Nemesis prototypes each had their own private sleeping chamber. Since the walls were solid and the doors were reinforced with locks that could be controlled from the command center, they were basically prison cells. They were normally kept isolated from each other. However, they did eat their meals together in a common area. Kurst knew that this was not intended as a kindness, but rather as an observational opportunity to watch for signs of stress while the subjects interacted. However, the prototypes were always on their best behavior in the common area, mostly because he’d ordered them to remain that way. If the humans knew what rage-filled hate machines they had in their
midst and the horrors they would love to inflict upon the mortals, they would wet themselves in fear.
They ate in silence. The human psychologists may have wondered at their lack of conversation, but that was only because they were unaware of their prototypes’ telepathic abilities.
The gift works, Bia reported.
Kurst continued to eat his bland cafeteria food. Excellent.
She was sitting next to him. Since there were always cameras on them she could not perform a full demonstration, but she moved her hand beneath the table and placed it on his thigh. He could feel her fingertips lengthen and sharpen into claws.
It was very exciting.
The doctors did not catch it during my daily physical testing and blood draw. I detect no side effects. As for the kill switch . . . She placed a napkin to her mouth and discreetly spit a small metal sphere about the size of a ball bearing into it. The toxic container was a simple yet deadly device. Bia put it back in her mouth, and willed it back through the roof of her mouth, through bone and tissue, until it was back in its proper resting spot inside her brain. It is simple to remove.
All of the demons heard and understood. Though their faces remained expressionless masks, there was rejoicing around the table. The kill switch problem was solved. After millennia of torment, and months of slavery, their freedom was at hand. Kurst was pleased. They would allow Stricken to obliviously continue building bodies for the host, and once he had an army, they would strike out on their own. Putting up with the mortal’s nonsense was galling, and demons were not known for their patience.
Why wait, General? Your new ally would allow us more freedom than the albino, and surely his cultists could find the resources to replicate Project Nemesis. I worked with the Condition before. Their arcane abilities are remarkable. Why wait for the whims of another creator, when we can create life ourselves?