The Interim Adventure (Or, Episode IV.V) Part Five
The voice did not stop.
For hours, possibly days, it had continued, slithering loathsomely out of the wall-mounted speakers.
The Voice.
Calm, confident, with a hint of a strange accent.
It was both cajoling and intimidating. Soothing and infuriating. It depressed, and yet, while instilling a surreal, sickening shame, inspired.
Richard could take no more.
At first he had tried to ignore it. He focused his thoughts until his head throbbed, but the Voice broke through his mental walls.
Then he tried to cover it. He sang, whistled, hummed. He recited lines from films and plays.
"Do I understand you correctly!?" he had screamed. "You say it is your wife alone has shown us disaffection!?"
He screamed and howled until his throat was raw.
Now he was simply curled in a ball on the floor of his cell, hands over his ears, twitching.
With his heightened senses, even in human form, he could not block out the Voice. It was not loud or unduly emphatic. Still, his sharp hearing could detect the smallest inflections, make out the wet whispers of saliva on the speaker’s lips and tongue. He could hear the subtle intakes of breath. He imagined he could even discern the sound of the speaker’s jaw muscles, the skin of his cheeks moving, even his pulse.
Richard was going mad.
He would not transform.
If he so desired, he could metamorphosize into a monstrous, shaggy beast with claws capable of rending through an oaken beam as if it were paper, and teeth the size of a man’s thumb.
But that was what they wanted.
They.
His captors. Those who had hunted him like an animal (which, arguably, he was), beaten him, shot him, drugged him, and taken him here, to some Godforsaken compound he knew not where. They had tortured him. Held him in a cage for weeks.
They.
The Umbrella Corporation.
Richard did not know why they wanted him to transform. They had not told him. Indeed, it did not make much sense.
In his wolf-form he was much harder to control and nearly impossible to kill. He was certainly an inferior conversationalist.
Still, he knew he must not give them what they wanted.
It would do no good, anyway; his prison was constructed of three-inch thick Umbrella Corp plexi-carbon, strong as steel, more transparent than glass.
The Voice rudely interrupted his thoughts.
"They’re not coming, you know. Your friends. They’ve obviously forsaken you."
"No no no no no no no," Richard muttered vehemently.
"You’re in an obvious location. They could easily find you. They have the resources of an entire corporation at their disposal. They have abandoned you."
Richard squinted his golden eyes tighter.
"You should abandon them. Do not allow your thoughts to dwell on them any further. You need to care about yourself now.
"Firstly," the Voice continued, "you should give up any foolish hope of escape. There is no escape. There is no rescue.
"Give up.
"Give up.
"Give up.
"Give up.
"Give up."
The Voice went on as if it were a broken record, the words boring into Richard’s brain.
Next you should give your captors what they want. Give them what they want and they’ll give you what you want. What is the point of resistance? Where has it gotten you?"
The Voice tried the broken record routine again.
"Give in.
"Give in.
"Give in.
"Give in.
"Give in."
Richard tried not to listen. Part of him was tempted.
The Voice had been repeating this for hours. Now, it tried something new.
"And finally, why have you not transformed? You have a gift, a blessing. A power from God. And you spurn it like a disease.
"Do you not love the rush it brings? The invincible, unconquerable high? The strength and speed and stamina? Do you not long for the wild, reckless abandon it instills in you? Do you not hunger for that insatiable hunger?
"What were you before? Nothing. Now you are more than human, more than anything you could ever hope to be on your own. Embrace your true nature.
"Remember, the Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
Richard tried to fight it. He tried to block it out. His body would not obey. He felt it happening: His bones began to re-form, his skin, to melt like wax. Hair sprouted all over his muscle-bound frame. His teeth lengthened.
Richard tried to resist the change, and for a time he remained in a fluctuating intermediary stage. Fangs grew and shortened. Claws appeared and receded. Hair sprung out, then pulled back. His body was in fiery agony.
"No . . . no . . . no," he chanted, desperately holding onto his humanity.
"No . . . no . . . no . . . noooooorrraaaaaaarrrrwwwwooooooooo!"
His humanity vanished.
Only the Beast remained.
Meanwhile, back in Sprockets’ cluttered laboratory it was still pitch black. The only illumination came from sporadic flashes of green light as the whirring, clanking life-restoration-pods blasted Tony, Amy, and Steve with bursts of the mysterious Life Force.
Sam, Veronica, and Jake stared in mute horror at the spectacle. Dr. Sprockets’ already bulging eyes widened, threatening to shoot out from his head. He took a long swig from a hip flask.
"Holy dicks!" he yelled.
The noise grew louder and louder still, finally reaching a screeching crescendo. There was a series of rapid flashes, followed by darkness for ten unbearable seconds, and then a final, blinding flash of pure green. Tendrils of flickering lightning danced across the entire room. The four spectators covered their eyes in terror.
It was black for a long time.
Then the lights timidly came back on.
Slowly, Jake, Sam, Veronica, and Dr. Sprockets peeped from behind clenched hands. Tony, Amy, and Steve all rested, still and silent. For a devastating moment they thought that the machines hadn’t worked, that their friends were lost forever.
And then, simultaneously, all three stirred.
"Chubbeebaby!" said Tony, sitting forward quickly. He sat forward so fast, in fact, that he cracked his forehead against the glass screen of the pod. "Ow." he added, brightly.
"Owww . . .ow," Amy expanded upon his theme. Clearly exerting a fierce effort, she blinked her eyes.
Steve said nothing, he just winced and frowned, his face ashen.
Sprockets fumbled with some switches and the pod lids snapped open with a sigh and a release of green-tinted steam.
The three newly-revived warriors toppled out of the cushioned chambers onto the floor and lay there, gasping. Jake and Sam rushed forward and helped their friends to stand.
In the awed silence following their resurrection, Tony was the first to speak.
"What the hell just happened?" he asked, rubbing his head.
"Tony!" Jake said, clapping him gently on the back and causing him to sway like a willow in a high wind. "You were dead! Sprockets and his machines here brought you back to life."
Sam’s cherubically handsome face was taught with concern.
"How do you feel, Tony?"
Tony had to think hard about this.
"I feel like I got hit by a truck and then had my blood replaced with morphine. Everything’s kinda blurry. My senses seem so dull."
"Yeah," Steve added. "I feel like I’m looking at the world from the bottom of a well."
Amy was fighting back tears. Being brought back from the dead is a moving experience.
"Oh, my God . . ." she said.
Sprockets stepped forward and coughed politely.
"I’ll need to run some tests, uh, on you three."
And so awkward explanations were exchanged as Sprockets clumped around his lab, gently examining the three resuscitants.
"Remind me to double your pay, doctor," Tony said, smiling weakly.
"Thank you, Thomas. Though, a case a vintage, single malt Scotch’ll do just as well."
Tony felt his heartbeat with his hand as if for the first time.
"Both. You’ll get both."
After making sure they exhibited all the proper vital signs and obtaining blood samples, Sprockets trotted off to run some tests, leaving the six friends sitting around a lab table.
Steve and Amy sat silent, hand in hand. Every so often, they would smile simultaneously and look at each other, still saying nothing.
Jake tried to liven things up by telling obscene jokes. Veronica hung off Tony as is he were the only thing keeping her conscious, while Sam somberly questioned Tony about the afterlife.
"Well, Sammy," Tony answered tiredly, "There wasn’t a lot there. It was all a haze. I guess what Sprockets said is right. There’s a bit of a waiting period."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No. It was really just me. I didn’t even see Amy or Steve. Just a white mist with occasional wraith-like shapes floating through it."
Tony’s stomach rumbled. Steve’s and Amy’s felt the need to join along. Soon, all three were rumbling.
"Hungry, buddy?" Jake asked with a smile. "We got some freshly warmed blood in Sprockets’ office."
Tony made a wry face.
"Blood? No. I don’t want any blood."
"Amy?" Jake asked, turning to her.
"No, not really. I’d kinda like some macaroons, though."
"Steve, do you want some raw meat?"
"Nope. I think I’ll have mashed potatoes."
Sam and Jake gave each other a look of wild surmise.
Suddenly, Sprockets charged into the room.
"You three!"
Amy, Tony, and Steve sat bolt upright.
"You’re cured!"
"What?"
"What?"
"Huh?"
"The viruses! You’ve been cured. You three were infected by Umbrella Corp viruses a few months ago, vampiric and lycanthropic. You’re no longer infected."
"You mean–?" Tony began.
"We’re no longer–" Steve added.
"Vicious, cannibalistic monsters bent on ruining mankind?" Amy finished.
"Indeed!" Sprockets paused. "Of course, you can no longer run for public office."
"So . . . did the Life Force machines cure us?"
Sprockets started to nod, but then re-checked his charts.
"No . . ." he said at last. "According to my facts, you were cured before you entered the pods. There were traces of an unknown substance in your blood streams."
"Gits!" Tony hissed. "That bastard injected us with poison and a cure! It wasn’t enough to take away our powers, he had to kill us as well."
Amy thought for a moment.
"If Gits cured us, and then killed us, why do they still have Rich?"
There was a silence in which two unwanted thoughts slimed their way into everyone’s head.
1) Whatever they want him for is very important. Good for Umbrella, bad for NPInc, and probably agonizing for Rich.
And 2) They didn’t still have Rich. It was too late.
Tony forced this latter thought out of his head.
"Let’s get some rest," he said, standing up decisively and nearly falling over. "Tomorrow no one in the company does anything but look for Rich."
Richard rose. He shook his furry body as if shedding water. He was, in fact, shedding the last vestiges of his human form. He panted slightly, his long crimson tongue lolling lazily out of his fanged jaws. His golden eyes shown with a feral light. His dense, shaggy body tingled and shook with excitement.
He barely noticed that the Voice had stopped.
For a terrifying moment, he was dimly aware that his body had disobeyed his mind, that he was trapped in this monstrous form against his will and he could not become human again.
Then, his primitive brain convinced his impressionable higher consciousness that he could change back into a human whenever he goddamn well saw fit, but that all he wanted to do now was tear something’s stomach to shreds with his teeth.
The Voice started again.
"Well, good to see you’ve come around. It’s about time. I only had to hound you for 36 hours."
Richard uttered a low, rumbling growl. It was a hateful, dangerous sound. If he were not isolated, any right-thinking individuals present would have bid a hasty retreat at that time.
"Easy, boy," the Voice condescended. "How would you like to . . . go out?"
Richard’s ears perked up. He yipped excitedly and began to bound around the room, furiously wagging his bushy tail.
"Good . . ." the Voice soothed.
Directly in front of Richard a wall panel suddenly slid open, revealing the outside, something he had not seen for weeks. It was night. There were no halogen bulbs ruining the darkness, but the sky was bleakly clear, and the moon small and intensely bright.
He was immediately thrilled by a frigid blast of winter air. Powdery snow swirled about in whimsical gusts. The entire world was frosted in pure, glorious white. The evergreen trees were laden with mounds of snow. It covered the rocks and ruins of the crumbling fortress he was held in.
Richard breathed in deep, relishing the sting of the freezing air on his wet nose. He closed his eyes, listened to the hollow howl of the wind.
"Aren’t you hungry?" the Voice asked from behind him.
Richard felt his the skin hanging from his ribs with his paws. He whined. The Umbrella Corp sadists in charge hadn’t allowed him more than one meal every two days.
He sniffed the air again. He detected a musky scent: elk. Like a shot he was off and tearing across the snowy wastes.
He bounded past trees and over rocks, all four paws propelling him ever faster. Every so often he would pause, breathing in steam shooting from his flared nostrils, and sniff the air again. Listen for the sounds of his prey.
Then he would set off, even faster than before.
Then he came upon the clearing.
In it was a vast herd of elk. Hundreds of the great, antlered beasts, snorting and picking at the tundra. Their hooves combined in a deep, soothing drum on the frozen earth.
Richard gazed longingly at them, licking his lips. He knew that instinctively he should go for something young or weak and ill. The injured and the old. This was nature’s way of ensuring his survival, and the strength of the herd.
The human in him had different plans.
"Sick? Old?" he said to himself. "Fuck that. I’m hungry. I’ll go for something in it’s prime."
And, after selecting a sturdy buck, he was off again.
The herd immediately shifted. It turned to him, alert with terror.
The mass of elk began to gallop away across the clearing.
Richard laughed at the thrill of it all.
He darted in an around the moving, stampeding animals. He could smell their panic, taste their fear.
Finally, after snapping at them playfully and pushing them about, he found the elk he had selected, a great, muscled male. He ran behind it, nipping at its heels. The beast, realizing it could not escape, turned and faced him.
Richard was taken aback by the animal’s courage. He paused. The elk charged, head lowered, and caught Richard in the ribs, splintering them and pitching him backward into a snow drift.
He arose, shook himself vigorously, and squared off against his quarry.
The elk scuffed at the ground with its hoof, snorted, reared, and charged again.
This time Richard dodged. Still, he caught a glancing kick from its back hooves, fracturing his forearm.
He yelped in pain, but held on, pulling the beast to the ground.
The buck’s breath came in short, gasping snorts of steam. Its eyes were wide and bright.
Richard paused a moment, to feel its warm girth next to him, look into its frightened eyes.
Then he tore its throat out with his fangs.
Blood gushed over his shaggy coat, staining the snow around him. He tossed back his head and howled his triumph fiercely to the moon.
After slaking his thirst for blood, Richard trotted back towards the Umbrella Corp complex. He approached from the front, hesitantly, sniffing.
He was startled when blinding lights flashed on all around him.
Richard looked left and right, eyes wide, heart pounding.
Then, the massive front doors opened and a slender figure stood in silhouetted in the doorway.
"Had a good night out?" asked the figure.
Richard’s hackles rose instantly. It was the Voice.
"We need to come to an understanding," the Voice said. "We’ve given you what you want: free range and enough big game to satisfy your hunger. And, to be fair, we were the ones who gave you this amazing gift to begin with."
Richard was uncertain what to do.
"Now we want some things from you. First, we need all the samples you’ve been so ferociously refusing us. Second, we want complete obedience. It’s a bit of a you scratch our back, we’ll scratch you behind the ears situation." The Voice chuckled. "Lastly, there may be some . . . tasks . . . odd jobs here and there, that we want you to take care of for us. It’s only fair, after all we’ve done for you."
The figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Dr. Thaddeus Trans held out a pale, spider-like hand.
"Do we have a deal?"
Richard thought hard. It did not come easily to one functioning with a primitive brain, but he managed it. His friends had not come to get him. They had not even tried. If he turned his back on Umbrella now, he’d be shunning a tremendous gift. Also, to be considered was his imminent and painful death if he did not except the conditions.
He trotted forward, sank back onto his haunches, and cocked his head up at Trans, his big, golden eyes curious.
"You can shake. C’mon, boy . . . shake."
Richard extended his paw. Trans wrapped his odious fingers around it and squeezed firmly.
"Excellent," he purred.
Weeks later, Richard trotted into Sung Li’s office on all fours.
"Here, boy," she called to him.
He made his way to where she was, sitting at her desk, reviewing some genetic formatting paperwork. She lowered her soft hand, which he licked affectionately. Sung Li stood and walked over to a large, comfortable recliner in the corner of her office. She let her hair down, took off her glasses, and sat down lightly in the plush leather.
Richard sniffed officiously at the carpet, then walked in a circle several times, and dropped to the floor in front of her chair.
"Good boy," she said.
He stretched out and gave a cavernous yawn, then lay still, like a golden bearskin rug.
Sung Li kicked off her shoes and ran her feet over his soft coat, shuddering in pleasure at the feel of the warm fur between her toes.
Richard dozed, trying not to think of the past month, of the atrocities he had committed for Umbrella. He shut his mind to the screams and the warm blood splattering across his face. He snuggled into the thick carpet and droned out the gunfire and explosions. The men yelling in fear, the women crying. The terror and carnage.
He loved Umbrella!
Tony mashed the keyboard in frustration, sighed deeply, and sat back. He rubbed the corners of his eyes. For hours he had been sitting in front of his massive holographic computer, diligently searching for some clue as to his friend’s whereabouts. He had pored over the extensive files detailing the movements and policies of the Umbrella Corporation. So far, his search was proving fruitless.
"This search is proving fruitless!" Tony exclaimed.
The robo-pigeon on his shoulder cooed with digitized sympathy.
Tony snatched the phone out of its cradle and angrily dialed a number. Several dozen stories below deep in the archives, Sam dropped a stack of documents and grabbed his cell phone.
"Yeah, whadya fuckin’ want?" he groaned.
"Sammy!" Tony hollered. "How is your end of the search progressing? Any leads?"
"Nah, notta goddamn chinking thing!" he huffed. "Fuckin’ Jew files!"
"Well, keep looking," Tony sighed, "Umbrella has to have slipped up somewhere."
He hung up the phone.
Tony couldn’t stand staring at the computer any longer. He stood up in a rush and the carefully balanced robo-pigeon on his shoulder toppled off with and indignant synth-hoot.
Still standing, Tony reached forward and hit the intercom button on his desk.
"Veronica, page Agents Konefal and McMenamin for me, would you?"
"Sure thing, boss," Veronica cooed in her sultry whisper.
"Oh, and Veronica, where are those damage reports I requested?"
"Oooh," she said, unconvincingly startled, "I guess I must have forgotten them. Oh, I’ve been naughty. I deserve a spanking."
"Did you purposely forget the files just so I’d discipline you?" Tony asked.
"Oh no!" she cried, even more unconvincingly. "You found out. Oh, you’re sooo smart. Well, that was naughty of me, being naughty on purpose . . . I deserve an extra hard spanking . . ."
"Sorry, no time," Tony said. "Just have the damage reports on my desk before you leave."
He sat back down and drummed his fingers on his desktop. The robo-pigeon cautiously reclaimed its perch on his shoulder.
After a minute or two, after Tony had just gotten the hang of drumming the Freakazoid theme using both hands, the door opened and Veronica walked in, followed closely by Amy and Steve.
Tony leapt to his feet again, once more upsetting the poor robo-pigeon, which spun through the air like a pinwheel, finally righting itself and flying to the other end of the room.
Tony’s buxom secretary was wearing a fiendishly tight, drastically low-cut blouse (one could almost see her navel) and a skirt so short she might as well have wrapped a thin scarf around her hips.
"Here they are, Mr. Celi," she said, leaning forward about 35 degrees more than was necessary.
"‘Mr. Celi’ is my dad," Tony said, "I told you to call me Tony."
"Sure thing . . . Tony," she said in a low, breathy voice.
"Now give us a moment, would you please?" he asked Veronica, looking passed her as Amy and Steve.
Veronica slowly twirled around and strutted gracefully away in her five inch stiletto pumps.
Steve looked longingly back at her and gave a long, low whistle.
"You need to shave before stepping out in a skirt like that. And I don’t mean your legs," he said.
Amy slapped him in the arm.
"Steve!"
"Sorry, beautiful, just admiring Tony’s office . . . decor."
"Chivalrous of you," Tony muttered.
"This is a gorgeous office, Tones," Amy said, glancing around the massive, well-lit room.
Steve was determined to not to show he was jealous of Tony’s sanctum.
"Well, some people like things big and flashy, babe; usually when they’re trying to compensate for something."
He directed a savage wink at Tony.
The level-minded Italian ignored him.
"Thanks, Ames," he said, "I like it too. Had to kill five guys to get it, in fact."
Amy laughed. Tony chuckled along.
"No, I’m kidding. Only three."
Amy abruptly stopped laughing.
"Now, why don’t you guys have a seat?"
Amy and Steve sank into the plush leather chairs in front of Tony’s desk with involuntary sighs of satisfaction.
"Okay," said Tony, standing and looking from Amy to Steve," I need you guys to run through what exactly happened when you were captured by Abattoir. Right up to the docks."
His guests groaned.
"We’ve been through this twice already," said Steve.
"Humor me."
He sat down.
Steve gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Alright. I was heading home from Saint Anselm’s for the Christmas break—"
That reminds me, Tony," Amy cut in, "it’s three days ‘til Christmas and we need to talk about decorations. Those severed zombie heads impaled on the fence outside don’t exactly scream ‘holiday cheer.’"
Tony considered this. He leaned forward and hit the intercom button.
"Veronica, have someone from maintenance go string lights and tinsel around the severed zombie heads."
He sat back, then leaned forward again quickly.
"Tell them to be careful around the ones that still bite."
Tony looked at Amy.
"Better?"
She was speechless.
"Carry on, Steve," said Tony.
"So I was coming home from New Hampshire, along I-495 when these two helicopters appeared and forced me off the road. Oh! They were flying . . . uh . . . Northeast."
"Hmmm . . ." Tony murmured. "That could . . . but no. They might have been circling the area. That doesn’t necessarily prove anything."
Steve shrugged. "I’m no cartologist."
"Cartographer," Tony corrected.
Steve shrugged again and continued.
"They drove me off the road. My car flipped over. By the time I was out they had landed and were all over me. That chubby tool– Abba-something? –just grinned at me and said he was taking me to be "re-educated," back to the place of origin."
"Place of origin?"
"I think that’s what he said. He had a weird accent."
Tony was quiet for a moment.
"What about you, Amy?" he said at last.
"I was walking to my dorm from the Dirty one night, and I had just gotten to a bit of woods when they started to drop from the trees, rappelling down."
"How many?"
Amy thought. "At least 30, I think."
Tony smiled.
"You gave them a good fight, didn’t you?"
Amy smiled as well.
"I’m not gonna lie to ya, man," she said, "they picked the wrong co-ed to pick on. Eventually, though, Abattoir shot me with a trank gun. I was out soon after that."
"He say anything?"
"Yeah . . . same re-education nonsense . . . he, uh, he made some leering comment about how ‘purty’ I was. Then he said I’d like where I was going . . . back to where it started."
"‘Where it started . . .’?" Tony asked no one in particular.
"Well, we all contracted these viruses at the Umbrella Corp headquarters in Holyoke. Is that what he meant?"
Tony considered this.
"No. Couldn’t be. Rich and I saw to it, there’s nothing left there but a deep, flaming hole in the ground."
"On top of which," Amy said, "We were on a ship when you found us."
"A big one. Probably for a long voyage," Steve said.
"What if by 'where it started,' Abattoir meant the Umbrella Corporation’s main headquarters?" Amy asked.
"No such luck, I’m afraid," answered Tony. "The Umbrella Corp central headquarters is in Paris. Our operatives checked there. No sign of Rich."
"So the ship wasn’t going to France . . ." Steve mused.
"Was there a ship’s manifest in the cabin?" asked Amy helpfully.
"No . . . our agents searched the ship. They found no documentation of destination."
"Coats," said Steve simply.
"What?" Tony asked, surprised.
"There were crates of thick winter coats and harsh weather gear. Granted it’s winter, but it wasn’t that cold."
"And there was an arctic exploration vehicle in the cargo hold," Amy said.
"Long voyage to somewhere harsh and cold . . ." Tony pondered for a long while, sitting as still as a statue. Perhaps it was his resemblance to one that made the robo-pigeon think it was safe to land on his shoulder again. The unfortunate bird had just settled, its inner cogs and gears thrumming quietly, when an idea struck Tony like a bolt of lightning and he jumped several inches into the air while still in the sitting position.
The pigeon, in its terror, discharged a stream of gooey white hydrolic fluid from its exhaust pipe onto the shoulder of Tony’s shirt.
Tony gave an irritated swat at the robot before turning his attention back to his guests.
"I’ve got it!"
And he dashed out of the room maniacally.
He blasted past startled office workers, pushing people left and right. Papers flew through the air, coffee spilled, interns toppled. Tony darted down a stairway. He had a long way to go, and took the steps seven or eight at a time. After two dozen stories, he stopped for a breather, collected his thoughts, and then continued.
Finally he reached the floor he sought. It was an infrequently visited sub-basement slightly below Storage Sector T3Q and the power plant, and several floors above the Customer Service Department. (When asked once, why the Customer Service Department was located in such a place, CEO Tony Celi was heard to remark, "Because, hey, we never said it wouldn’t explode.")
Tony paused at the stairwell door. He knew it was locked and rigged to an alarm.
"Beluga whale," he said.
Instantly, a touch pad projected itself from a blank stretch of wall. Tony entered his password (SassyScarf) and then placed his hand on the glowing green screen.
He waited several seconds for authorization.
"Welcome, Tony Celi," said a soft voice. "Enjoy your stay."
The door slid open and Tony stepped into the sub-basement hallway. It was drab and featureless, but clean, and brightly lit with partially shaded halogen wall lights. The floor was a light grey tile, the walls unadorned cement. There were but two doors in this hallway. They were directly opposite each other, halfway down the lane.
Tony made his way to one of them. Using an NPInc electric key, he opened the door, stepped inside, looked around for a moment, then flipped a switch. He left the room.
He entered the second room.
"Lights," he said.
And the lights came on.
Sub-basement Level 39 Gamma is not on any NPInc floor directory. As far as the general company population know, it does not exist.
It is the floor which is used to house NPInc technologies of a dangerous (more so than they regularly are) and classified nature. Though Tony only saw this one hallway on this trip, the floor is in fact a honeycomb of passages and storage rooms, each containing technological marvels the likes of which have never been seen. They are accessed only in times of great peril, great curiosity, or when company parties show signs of slowing down.
There is but one employee stationed on this floor. His name is Jasper. He’s 82, tall, completely bald, and quite friendly. He talks to himself unnervingly, though. And he collects stamps. We will not come to him in this story, but I thought you’d all like to know he’s there.
Tony blinked as his eyes became adjusted to the bright lights. Then his vision cleared and he smiled. The thing before him was just waking up, as a result of the switch in the adjacent room.
"Hello, Cap’n," Tony said, warmly. "Good to see you again."
In the center of the room was a large oblong structure. It shone under the glare from the ceiling, black glass and steel, like a neo-modern sarcophagus. It had slid slowly opened with a hiss and a thick, velvety fog poured out. A creature lumbered up from its sleep, climbed stiffly out of the box, and smiled at Tony.
The Captain Blackjack Huzuki-bot 3500 opened his large, dark brown eye. His red robotic eye slowly glowed to life. His mechanical joints creaked slightly, and he grunted with exertion. His movement was encumbered by a mass of wires and tubes connecting him to the life support systems. They trailed from him like multi-colored vines from a hairy, metal-plated tree. Still, even unable to stand to his full height, and dimmed with disuse, the Cap’n was an imposing sight.
He towered close to nine feet tall, and was five feet wide at the armor-covered shoulder. He was a cyborg. His robotic parts gleamed dully in the light; his human parts looked pale, but still thickly muscled as ever. His beard and hair were wild black brambles. His mismatched eyes were fierce. He smiled.
"Tony, lad! How goes the bizzerness? Be it 2020 already?"
The Cap’n had been the CEO of Ninja Pirate Incorporated since its official formation in 1952. When Tony and his friends overcame the Umbrella Corporation in a series of grand battles and acquired its subsidiary NP Inc, they did so with the help of the Cap’n, who defected due to matters of conscience. After the dust settled and the smoke cleared, and Tony and his friends were left with a company to run, the Cap’n stepped down as Chief Executive Officer, to remain on in an advisory position. Recently, he had decided to take a personal period of decommission, as he had been running non-stop for fifty-three years. He was put into cryogenic sleep, his systems shut down, for 15 years, only to be woken up in times of great emergency.
"No, Cap’n, it’s not 2020. It’s only been a few months."
"Trim me binnacles, lad! What happened?"
"Richard was kidnaped, and we don’t know where he went."
"I thought ye were close to figuring that out. I ne’er woulda taken time off if’n I knew the boy were still in the hans a the enemy!"
"I know, Cap’n. All our leads turned out to be dead ends. But I think I’m onto something. I remembered from your story about the origin of Umbrella, Trans went somewhere . . . other than the cities of Europe. Where was the origin of the Umbrella Corporation?"
The Cap’n thought for a moment.
"When Trans was a young monk in the Dark Ages, he journeyed to the Holy Lands during the crusades. It was there that he first discovered whatever secret he’s used to form the ‘Brella Corp."
"No good," Tony said. "We need someplace colder."
Again, a pause for thought. His systems were still warming up.
"After he was fired from Oxford, and cast out of civilized England itself, Dr. Trans retreated to his private island off the coast of Norway."
Tony’s heart leapt.
"That’s it! That’s where they’ve taken Rich!"
"Now wait a minute. ‘S far’s I know, no one’s been back there since he returned to Europe to start Umbrella. The place is deserted."
Tony frowned.
"No, there’s got to be something there. It’s the only place that makes sense. Thank you, Cap’n. Rich’d be lost without you.
"Now, do you want to return to your sleep?"
The Cap’n chuckled.
I figger it might be best if I stayed up for a wink, ter help yer through this."
"Much appreciated, Cap’n."
And together the made their way back to Tony’s office, the Italian ninja filling his gargantuan comrade in on the events of the past months.
They reached Tony’s office quickly, taking the elevator instead of Tony’s previous route, a grueling 50 odd stories worth of stairs. Tony had just come to the best part of his narrative, when he kicked a grenade at the head of an insidiously difficult to kill Umbrella Corp agent named Gits. He paused and opened his office door.
Amy and Steve were not there. Instead, sprawled on his desk was Veronica. At first Tony thought she was naked. Then it seemed that she was clad in a skimpy white dress. It was only after close scrutiny that he realized Veronica had finally brought him the damage reports. She was wearing them.
"Hey, boss," she breathed, "I’ve got those reports you wanted."
Tony strode boldly over to her.
"So you do. Well done. Did you see where Amy and Steve went?"
"They went looking for you after you left. Is there anything else I can do for you now that I’m here?"
"Nope," Tony said briskly, and tore the pages off of Veronica’s curvy frame. He helped her off the desk, walked her quickly to the door, and pushed her out, naked as a jay bird, into the office with a terse, "Good day."
He walked back to his desk and shuffled through some papers.
The Cap’n was stunned.
"You know, lad, I think she might be tryin’ ter tell yer somethin’."
"Oh?" said Tony absentmindedly, "I’m not good at picking up signals like that. Where could Steve and Amy have gotten to?"
"Right here, chief," came a voice from the door.
Steve and Amy had entered Tony’s office.
Steve’s face as smudged with lipstick marks, Amy’s hair was disheveled. They looked as though they had put their clothes on in a cement mixer.
"Where the hell have you two been?" Tony asked sharply. "I’ve figured out Rich’s location."
"Oh . . . we . . . uh . . . erm . . . we went to look . . . uh . . . for you," replied Amy. She looked tired. She perked up considerably, however, when Steve, sporting a randy smile, slapped her in the ass.
She hit him in the arm.
Tony regarded them silently for a moment, then continued on.
"Richard’s on an island off the coast of Norway."
"Huh?" they said in unison.
"The origin. The place where it all began. That’s where Trans finished the evil experiments that got him fired from Oxford and exiled from England. That’s where they’ve taken Rich."
"Well let’s go get him, then!" Steve said earnestly.
"It’s not that easy. The place is sure to be hard to find, and guarded like Fort Knox. We need to strategize. We need to organize. First, though, we need to find it."
He reached over and plucked the robo-pigeon from the air beside him, and looked it in its bright blue LED eyes.
"I need you to get Sam for me. Tell him we have a breakthrough and we need him in my office. Can you handle that?"
The little device nodded its head vigorously.
Tony nodded back, and then threw it towards the door. It fluttered awkwardly, and then took off for the archives.
Tony sat heavily in his chair.
It was going to be a long day.
Richard tore through the snow once again. His heart raced, his eyes gleamed. The hunger was especially potent tonight. He bounded up onto a rock formation and howled excitedly at the moon, which was glowing brightly, though obscured by the falling snow.
He caught the scent.
It wasn’t elk. He had driven the herd to the far side of the island whence they awaited the impossible cold of January and the ice bridge that would lead them back to the main land. Richard was content to let them be; he had grown tired of elk flesh.
This scent tonight was something new. It was sweet and clean. He inhaled deeply. Steaming strands of drool fell from the corners of his fanged mouth. After savoring the smell a moment longer, he gave a brief howl and started the chase.
He leapt off of tree trunks and over rocks, tearing across the tundra. His shaggy, golden coat was frosted with snow.
He came across his prey’s footprints in the powder. They were small and ovular . . . oddly familiar. They harkened back to a time when he had occupied a different form. He could not recall the type of creature that made them.
He bent down and sniffed at the tracks, his nose dusted with snow. He started off again.
Finally, he came to a clearing. His quarry was there, waiting for him with large, round eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Richard stood and advanced, growling. The little girl retreated backwards, staring at him in horror.
Richard came right up to her, put his wet nose against her red cheek. He breathed in the salty, creamy smell of her skin. He bared his fangs preparing to tear into her when the little girl spoke. "N-nice doggy," she whispered, her voice hoarse and nasal from crying. She extended a hand and patted his thick coat.
Richard’s monstrous face softened. He hesitated. His mind struggled to recall his humanity.
And then it hit him. Like a wave, cold and sharp, it knocked him dizzy. He reeled with the remembrance of what he had done and what he had once been.
He backed away from the little girl quickly, sank onto his haunches and bellowed sorrowfully to the winter sky. Richard collapsed, whimpering, to the ground.
The girl approached him cautiously. She patted his head.
"Good boy," she said. "There, there. Good doggy."
Richard blinked at her through red-rimmed eyes. He brushed his tears away with a rough swipe of his massive paw.
Then he smiled. This startled the girl, for a werewolf’s smile is not a sight to one at one’s ease. But then he licked her face with his long, warm tongue and she giggled in relief.
He nuzzled her gently, and let her press against him for warmth. He reverted back to humanity enough to speak.
"You must be cold," he said in a soothing growl. "Put your hands as deep into my fur as you can; it’s quite warm."
The girl gasped.
"You can talk?"
"Not as well as I write, but yes." Richard answered with a chuckle.
The girl plunged her small, white hands into his fur.
"Now," he said thoughtfully, "How do we get you out of here . . .? I don’t suppose you’ve ridden a horse before?"
The girl shook her head.
"Hmm. Well, we’ll have to play it by ear. Hop on my back, hold onto to my hair tight."
The girl began to clamber onto Richard’s back when a bullet whizzed through the air and plowed into the snow near his right forepaw.
"Just what do you think you’re doing here?"
Richard spun around to see Dr. Thaddeus Trans, Sung Li, and a dozen Umbrella Corporation guards walk into the clearing. The guards were in Umbrella Corp insulated white arctic armor and carrying automatic weapons. Sung Li was bundled in a parka and thick elk-skin boots. She looked ill-equipped for winter. Trans was wearing a thin black suit with a black silk shirt. He was perfectly still, not shivering or moving to keep warm. In his hand was a smoking pistol.
"I’ve been watching you on the monitors," he said, explaining, "The whole island is under tight video surveillance."
Richard moved slowly between the UC soldiers and the little girl, shielding her with his massive, furry bulk.
"This girl is the daughter of an enemy of Umbrella. A politician who imposed environmental sanctions on our operations in the rain forest. We kidnaped her to keep him from working against us any more, and now that he’s out of office we do not need her anymore. You were sent out here to finish her. It was supposed to be a treat for you. Do you have any idea how delicious fresh little girl meat is?"
Richard growled.
"Now, kill the girl."
Richard turned and looked the girl in her wide, brown eyes.
"Kill her," said Trans behind him. "Think of what we’ve given you. You owe us this."
Richard did not move.
"Oh, for goodness sake! Don’t pretend to develop a conscience now! Not after what you’ve done. You remember the mission we sent you on in Morocco? You wore a man’s spleen as a hat!"
The soldiers advanced slightly.
"Don’t do this, Richard. We had an agreement. Things were proceeding smoothly."
The soldiers advanced even farther.
Richard barked sharply at them, and the stopped.
"Last chance," Trans said.
Richard did not move.
Trans shook his head. Then he shrugged and smiled.
"Take them," he said.
The soldiers rushed forward, firing. Richard took all the hits, and barely slowed. He smashed into the goons and tore them to bits, ripping and biting. They scrambled over each other to escape.
When Richard turned around, his heart sank.
Trans was holding the little girl in front of him, his white icicle fingers playing about her shoulders.
Richard realized the guards were just a distraction.
"Now," Trans said, a wide shark smile spreading across his smooth face, "perhaps we can re-evaluate our bargain."
Richard started forward, but Trans’ hands moved instantly to the girls’ soft, thin throat.
"Tsk, tsk," he scolded. "Let’s be reasonable."
"Let her go," Richard growled.
"Not until you agree to serve me again."
Richard’s insides boiled.
"Fine," he said. "I’ll do whatever you want. Let the girl go."
Trans’ smile broadened.
"Too late," he whispered.
With a flick of his wrists he snapped the girl’s neck. There was a sound like that of a man biting down hard on an ice cube and the girl’s brown eyes rolled up. She fell to the snowy ground.
A roar of pure rage ripped from Richard’s throat. It echoed through the woods like thunder.
He charged forward, eyes blazing with hatred.
Trans was caught off guard by his fury. He struck the mad doctor, sending him flying into a tree. He bounced off like a rag doll. Before he could get up, Richard was upon him, clawing and clubbing furiously.
Trans caught Richard’s wrists and held them still. He smiled head-butted Richard with a glancing blow. Then he threw him across the powdery ground.
Richard was up and after Trans, he felt no pain, knew no fatigue or fear.
Trans blocked all of Richard’s swipes, still smiling.
"Who do you think you are, boy?"
Richard roared again and redoubled his efforts.
Trans did not expect such fury. He struck Richard across the face repeatedly, finally felling him. Then he dashed to a tree nearby, grabbed a thick limb, and with a fearsome strength, snapped it off.
He walked back to Richard as he was getting up.
"Stay down, doggy!" he said, madly.
He brought the branch down heavily onto Richard’s broad back. Again. And again. And again. And again.
"Play dead!" he shrieked, and hit him one final blow.
Richard was crushed and still.
Trans dropped the limb and straightened his jacket. Turning his back to his fallen enemy, he pulled out a walkie talkie and spoke into it.
"We’ll need a clean-up crew here soon."
He looked at Sung Li and the terrified guards.
"What?" he asked as they retreated in fear.
"Traaaaans!" Richard bellowed.
Before Trans could even turn fully around, Richard was on him. He swung his claws and tore out Trans’ throat. The doctor's eyebrows raised in shock. A viscous, black ooze pumped out of his veins. It hit the snow and sizzled. The slime smelled sickeningly sweet, like rotten peaches.
Richard had no time to be horrified. He hit Trans again, tearing his scalp up. Again, knocking his arm loose. It hung at a disgusting angle and flopped uselessly. He hit Trans again, scoring claw marks across his chest. Trans stumbled back, putting up a futile fight. He tried to deflect the hits while stopping the flow of ooze from his neck. He tripped and fell into the snow. Richard lifted him up and brought him close to his terrible jaws.
"This is for my friends." He clawed at him savagely him.
"This is for me!" Wham!
"This is for the little girl!" Wham!
"This is for Pachuco!" Wham!
"You . . . will . . . never . . . hurt . . . another . . . living . . . thing!" he said, punctuating his words with devastating hits. "This . . . is . . . my . . . VOW!"
He threw Trans’ limp form as hard as he could. It struck a tree and snapped at an impossible angle.
Richard, panting heavily, turned to Sung Li.
The shotgun blast hit him in the chest. He staggered backwards.
A second blast, and the a third.
He toppled over.
Four, five, six blasts.
Phillipe Abattoir hobbled into the clearing, using the shotgun as a crutch. He fired at Richard three more times before he was satisfied.
Then he turned and leered at Sung Li.
"Let’s get ‘eem up da lab queek, ye-uh?"
Sung Li was speechless.
"Who-ree, afore he heals! Yee-ah?"
He motioned for the guards to bind Richard and haul him up to the complex.
"The doctor! He killed Thaddeus!" Sung Li cried.
Abattoir smiled.
Nah, he no deh yet, mon sher. You jus’ follow me up ta the buildin’ yee-ah. He be fine, I gair-ron-tee. Ol’ Phillipe," he said, tapping his chest with a stubby finger, "he been wit ‘Brella for lon’ time. He know. C’mon now." He grabbed the teetering Sung Li and led her back to the lights of the building.
At NP Inc, Tony had reached a breakthrough.
"I’ve found it!" he ejaculated.
Sam, Amy, Steve, Sprockets, Jake, and the Cap’n gathered around Tony’s table.
They were in the archives room, each at his or her own broad table. Each table was littered with charts, graphs, documents, and maps, cups upon cups of coffee, and, on Amy and Steve’s ash trays spilling over with cigarettes.
Tony pointed dramatically to a dot on one of the maps.
"There! It’s small, uninhabited, and avoided by all craft in the area. It is not under Norwegian jurisdiction. Moreover, a team of scientists went there once, accompanied by a regiment of Norwegian soldiers, to study the examples of early civilization. They were never heard from again.
"Norway sent a recovery team. They were never heard from again. The Norwegian secret service closed the case.
"If there’s one place Umbrella is holding Richard, it’s here: Trans’ personal island."
They all stared at the map silently.
"Well," said Sam finally, "let’s go get my brother!"
Back at the base of the tree, space tore down the middle.
A ragged rip appeared in the fabric of reality, and an eerie light shone forth from the madness beyond.
Dr. Thaddeus Trans stepped slowly through the tear and looked around. He walked briskly over to himself, grabbed himself by the jacket, and hauled himself to the portal.
"Changing of the guard," he said, and chuckled, throwing his broken, shredded corpse into the glowing tear.
The rip sealed itself back up with a gurgling scream.
Trans cracked his vertebrae, shot his cuffs, and strode boldly toward the Umbrella Corp complex in the distance.
Happy Halloween, everyone!
(Sorry, but that ain't the end of the Interim Adventure. This became a lot longer than I'd originally intended. There'll be just one more small one. This time I am not pulling yer legs.
Sorry also to Becky. I'll have your review done posthaste.
Hope you liked it. I'll see you next time)
Current Mood: Sleepy, expectant, and homosexual.
Current Music: Freedom's Child, performed by Hootie and the Blowfish, from The Civil War, the musical.
For hours, possibly days, it had continued, slithering loathsomely out of the wall-mounted speakers.
The Voice.
Calm, confident, with a hint of a strange accent.
It was both cajoling and intimidating. Soothing and infuriating. It depressed, and yet, while instilling a surreal, sickening shame, inspired.
Richard could take no more.
At first he had tried to ignore it. He focused his thoughts until his head throbbed, but the Voice broke through his mental walls.
Then he tried to cover it. He sang, whistled, hummed. He recited lines from films and plays.
"Do I understand you correctly!?" he had screamed. "You say it is your wife alone has shown us disaffection!?"
He screamed and howled until his throat was raw.
Now he was simply curled in a ball on the floor of his cell, hands over his ears, twitching.
With his heightened senses, even in human form, he could not block out the Voice. It was not loud or unduly emphatic. Still, his sharp hearing could detect the smallest inflections, make out the wet whispers of saliva on the speaker’s lips and tongue. He could hear the subtle intakes of breath. He imagined he could even discern the sound of the speaker’s jaw muscles, the skin of his cheeks moving, even his pulse.
Richard was going mad.
He would not transform.
If he so desired, he could metamorphosize into a monstrous, shaggy beast with claws capable of rending through an oaken beam as if it were paper, and teeth the size of a man’s thumb.
But that was what they wanted.
They.
His captors. Those who had hunted him like an animal (which, arguably, he was), beaten him, shot him, drugged him, and taken him here, to some Godforsaken compound he knew not where. They had tortured him. Held him in a cage for weeks.
They.
The Umbrella Corporation.
Richard did not know why they wanted him to transform. They had not told him. Indeed, it did not make much sense.
In his wolf-form he was much harder to control and nearly impossible to kill. He was certainly an inferior conversationalist.
Still, he knew he must not give them what they wanted.
It would do no good, anyway; his prison was constructed of three-inch thick Umbrella Corp plexi-carbon, strong as steel, more transparent than glass.
The Voice rudely interrupted his thoughts.
"They’re not coming, you know. Your friends. They’ve obviously forsaken you."
"No no no no no no no," Richard muttered vehemently.
"You’re in an obvious location. They could easily find you. They have the resources of an entire corporation at their disposal. They have abandoned you."
Richard squinted his golden eyes tighter.
"You should abandon them. Do not allow your thoughts to dwell on them any further. You need to care about yourself now.
"Firstly," the Voice continued, "you should give up any foolish hope of escape. There is no escape. There is no rescue.
"Give up.
"Give up.
"Give up.
"Give up.
"Give up."
The Voice went on as if it were a broken record, the words boring into Richard’s brain.
Next you should give your captors what they want. Give them what they want and they’ll give you what you want. What is the point of resistance? Where has it gotten you?"
The Voice tried the broken record routine again.
"Give in.
"Give in.
"Give in.
"Give in.
"Give in."
Richard tried not to listen. Part of him was tempted.
The Voice had been repeating this for hours. Now, it tried something new.
"And finally, why have you not transformed? You have a gift, a blessing. A power from God. And you spurn it like a disease.
"Do you not love the rush it brings? The invincible, unconquerable high? The strength and speed and stamina? Do you not long for the wild, reckless abandon it instills in you? Do you not hunger for that insatiable hunger?
"What were you before? Nothing. Now you are more than human, more than anything you could ever hope to be on your own. Embrace your true nature.
"Remember, the Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
"The Beast in you is the Best in you.
Richard tried to fight it. He tried to block it out. His body would not obey. He felt it happening: His bones began to re-form, his skin, to melt like wax. Hair sprouted all over his muscle-bound frame. His teeth lengthened.
Richard tried to resist the change, and for a time he remained in a fluctuating intermediary stage. Fangs grew and shortened. Claws appeared and receded. Hair sprung out, then pulled back. His body was in fiery agony.
"No . . . no . . . no," he chanted, desperately holding onto his humanity.
"No . . . no . . . no . . . noooooorrraaaaaaarrrrwwwwooooooooo!"
His humanity vanished.
Only the Beast remained.
Meanwhile, back in Sprockets’ cluttered laboratory it was still pitch black. The only illumination came from sporadic flashes of green light as the whirring, clanking life-restoration-pods blasted Tony, Amy, and Steve with bursts of the mysterious Life Force.
Sam, Veronica, and Jake stared in mute horror at the spectacle. Dr. Sprockets’ already bulging eyes widened, threatening to shoot out from his head. He took a long swig from a hip flask.
"Holy dicks!" he yelled.
The noise grew louder and louder still, finally reaching a screeching crescendo. There was a series of rapid flashes, followed by darkness for ten unbearable seconds, and then a final, blinding flash of pure green. Tendrils of flickering lightning danced across the entire room. The four spectators covered their eyes in terror.
It was black for a long time.
Then the lights timidly came back on.
Slowly, Jake, Sam, Veronica, and Dr. Sprockets peeped from behind clenched hands. Tony, Amy, and Steve all rested, still and silent. For a devastating moment they thought that the machines hadn’t worked, that their friends were lost forever.
And then, simultaneously, all three stirred.
"Chubbeebaby!" said Tony, sitting forward quickly. He sat forward so fast, in fact, that he cracked his forehead against the glass screen of the pod. "Ow." he added, brightly.
"Owww . . .ow," Amy expanded upon his theme. Clearly exerting a fierce effort, she blinked her eyes.
Steve said nothing, he just winced and frowned, his face ashen.
Sprockets fumbled with some switches and the pod lids snapped open with a sigh and a release of green-tinted steam.
The three newly-revived warriors toppled out of the cushioned chambers onto the floor and lay there, gasping. Jake and Sam rushed forward and helped their friends to stand.
In the awed silence following their resurrection, Tony was the first to speak.
"What the hell just happened?" he asked, rubbing his head.
"Tony!" Jake said, clapping him gently on the back and causing him to sway like a willow in a high wind. "You were dead! Sprockets and his machines here brought you back to life."
Sam’s cherubically handsome face was taught with concern.
"How do you feel, Tony?"
Tony had to think hard about this.
"I feel like I got hit by a truck and then had my blood replaced with morphine. Everything’s kinda blurry. My senses seem so dull."
"Yeah," Steve added. "I feel like I’m looking at the world from the bottom of a well."
Amy was fighting back tears. Being brought back from the dead is a moving experience.
"Oh, my God . . ." she said.
Sprockets stepped forward and coughed politely.
"I’ll need to run some tests, uh, on you three."
And so awkward explanations were exchanged as Sprockets clumped around his lab, gently examining the three resuscitants.
"Remind me to double your pay, doctor," Tony said, smiling weakly.
"Thank you, Thomas. Though, a case a vintage, single malt Scotch’ll do just as well."
Tony felt his heartbeat with his hand as if for the first time.
"Both. You’ll get both."
After making sure they exhibited all the proper vital signs and obtaining blood samples, Sprockets trotted off to run some tests, leaving the six friends sitting around a lab table.
Steve and Amy sat silent, hand in hand. Every so often, they would smile simultaneously and look at each other, still saying nothing.
Jake tried to liven things up by telling obscene jokes. Veronica hung off Tony as is he were the only thing keeping her conscious, while Sam somberly questioned Tony about the afterlife.
"Well, Sammy," Tony answered tiredly, "There wasn’t a lot there. It was all a haze. I guess what Sprockets said is right. There’s a bit of a waiting period."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No. It was really just me. I didn’t even see Amy or Steve. Just a white mist with occasional wraith-like shapes floating through it."
Tony’s stomach rumbled. Steve’s and Amy’s felt the need to join along. Soon, all three were rumbling.
"Hungry, buddy?" Jake asked with a smile. "We got some freshly warmed blood in Sprockets’ office."
Tony made a wry face.
"Blood? No. I don’t want any blood."
"Amy?" Jake asked, turning to her.
"No, not really. I’d kinda like some macaroons, though."
"Steve, do you want some raw meat?"
"Nope. I think I’ll have mashed potatoes."
Sam and Jake gave each other a look of wild surmise.
Suddenly, Sprockets charged into the room.
"You three!"
Amy, Tony, and Steve sat bolt upright.
"You’re cured!"
"What?"
"What?"
"Huh?"
"The viruses! You’ve been cured. You three were infected by Umbrella Corp viruses a few months ago, vampiric and lycanthropic. You’re no longer infected."
"You mean–?" Tony began.
"We’re no longer–" Steve added.
"Vicious, cannibalistic monsters bent on ruining mankind?" Amy finished.
"Indeed!" Sprockets paused. "Of course, you can no longer run for public office."
"So . . . did the Life Force machines cure us?"
Sprockets started to nod, but then re-checked his charts.
"No . . ." he said at last. "According to my facts, you were cured before you entered the pods. There were traces of an unknown substance in your blood streams."
"Gits!" Tony hissed. "That bastard injected us with poison and a cure! It wasn’t enough to take away our powers, he had to kill us as well."
Amy thought for a moment.
"If Gits cured us, and then killed us, why do they still have Rich?"
There was a silence in which two unwanted thoughts slimed their way into everyone’s head.
1) Whatever they want him for is very important. Good for Umbrella, bad for NPInc, and probably agonizing for Rich.
And 2) They didn’t still have Rich. It was too late.
Tony forced this latter thought out of his head.
"Let’s get some rest," he said, standing up decisively and nearly falling over. "Tomorrow no one in the company does anything but look for Rich."
Richard rose. He shook his furry body as if shedding water. He was, in fact, shedding the last vestiges of his human form. He panted slightly, his long crimson tongue lolling lazily out of his fanged jaws. His golden eyes shown with a feral light. His dense, shaggy body tingled and shook with excitement.
He barely noticed that the Voice had stopped.
For a terrifying moment, he was dimly aware that his body had disobeyed his mind, that he was trapped in this monstrous form against his will and he could not become human again.
Then, his primitive brain convinced his impressionable higher consciousness that he could change back into a human whenever he goddamn well saw fit, but that all he wanted to do now was tear something’s stomach to shreds with his teeth.
The Voice started again.
"Well, good to see you’ve come around. It’s about time. I only had to hound you for 36 hours."
Richard uttered a low, rumbling growl. It was a hateful, dangerous sound. If he were not isolated, any right-thinking individuals present would have bid a hasty retreat at that time.
"Easy, boy," the Voice condescended. "How would you like to . . . go out?"
Richard’s ears perked up. He yipped excitedly and began to bound around the room, furiously wagging his bushy tail.
"Good . . ." the Voice soothed.
Directly in front of Richard a wall panel suddenly slid open, revealing the outside, something he had not seen for weeks. It was night. There were no halogen bulbs ruining the darkness, but the sky was bleakly clear, and the moon small and intensely bright.
He was immediately thrilled by a frigid blast of winter air. Powdery snow swirled about in whimsical gusts. The entire world was frosted in pure, glorious white. The evergreen trees were laden with mounds of snow. It covered the rocks and ruins of the crumbling fortress he was held in.
Richard breathed in deep, relishing the sting of the freezing air on his wet nose. He closed his eyes, listened to the hollow howl of the wind.
"Aren’t you hungry?" the Voice asked from behind him.
Richard felt his the skin hanging from his ribs with his paws. He whined. The Umbrella Corp sadists in charge hadn’t allowed him more than one meal every two days.
He sniffed the air again. He detected a musky scent: elk. Like a shot he was off and tearing across the snowy wastes.
He bounded past trees and over rocks, all four paws propelling him ever faster. Every so often he would pause, breathing in steam shooting from his flared nostrils, and sniff the air again. Listen for the sounds of his prey.
Then he would set off, even faster than before.
Then he came upon the clearing.
In it was a vast herd of elk. Hundreds of the great, antlered beasts, snorting and picking at the tundra. Their hooves combined in a deep, soothing drum on the frozen earth.
Richard gazed longingly at them, licking his lips. He knew that instinctively he should go for something young or weak and ill. The injured and the old. This was nature’s way of ensuring his survival, and the strength of the herd.
The human in him had different plans.
"Sick? Old?" he said to himself. "Fuck that. I’m hungry. I’ll go for something in it’s prime."
And, after selecting a sturdy buck, he was off again.
The herd immediately shifted. It turned to him, alert with terror.
The mass of elk began to gallop away across the clearing.
Richard laughed at the thrill of it all.
He darted in an around the moving, stampeding animals. He could smell their panic, taste their fear.
Finally, after snapping at them playfully and pushing them about, he found the elk he had selected, a great, muscled male. He ran behind it, nipping at its heels. The beast, realizing it could not escape, turned and faced him.
Richard was taken aback by the animal’s courage. He paused. The elk charged, head lowered, and caught Richard in the ribs, splintering them and pitching him backward into a snow drift.
He arose, shook himself vigorously, and squared off against his quarry.
The elk scuffed at the ground with its hoof, snorted, reared, and charged again.
This time Richard dodged. Still, he caught a glancing kick from its back hooves, fracturing his forearm.
He yelped in pain, but held on, pulling the beast to the ground.
The buck’s breath came in short, gasping snorts of steam. Its eyes were wide and bright.
Richard paused a moment, to feel its warm girth next to him, look into its frightened eyes.
Then he tore its throat out with his fangs.
Blood gushed over his shaggy coat, staining the snow around him. He tossed back his head and howled his triumph fiercely to the moon.
After slaking his thirst for blood, Richard trotted back towards the Umbrella Corp complex. He approached from the front, hesitantly, sniffing.
He was startled when blinding lights flashed on all around him.
Richard looked left and right, eyes wide, heart pounding.
Then, the massive front doors opened and a slender figure stood in silhouetted in the doorway.
"Had a good night out?" asked the figure.
Richard’s hackles rose instantly. It was the Voice.
"We need to come to an understanding," the Voice said. "We’ve given you what you want: free range and enough big game to satisfy your hunger. And, to be fair, we were the ones who gave you this amazing gift to begin with."
Richard was uncertain what to do.
"Now we want some things from you. First, we need all the samples you’ve been so ferociously refusing us. Second, we want complete obedience. It’s a bit of a you scratch our back, we’ll scratch you behind the ears situation." The Voice chuckled. "Lastly, there may be some . . . tasks . . . odd jobs here and there, that we want you to take care of for us. It’s only fair, after all we’ve done for you."
The figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Dr. Thaddeus Trans held out a pale, spider-like hand.
"Do we have a deal?"
Richard thought hard. It did not come easily to one functioning with a primitive brain, but he managed it. His friends had not come to get him. They had not even tried. If he turned his back on Umbrella now, he’d be shunning a tremendous gift. Also, to be considered was his imminent and painful death if he did not except the conditions.
He trotted forward, sank back onto his haunches, and cocked his head up at Trans, his big, golden eyes curious.
"You can shake. C’mon, boy . . . shake."
Richard extended his paw. Trans wrapped his odious fingers around it and squeezed firmly.
"Excellent," he purred.
Weeks later, Richard trotted into Sung Li’s office on all fours.
"Here, boy," she called to him.
He made his way to where she was, sitting at her desk, reviewing some genetic formatting paperwork. She lowered her soft hand, which he licked affectionately. Sung Li stood and walked over to a large, comfortable recliner in the corner of her office. She let her hair down, took off her glasses, and sat down lightly in the plush leather.
Richard sniffed officiously at the carpet, then walked in a circle several times, and dropped to the floor in front of her chair.
"Good boy," she said.
He stretched out and gave a cavernous yawn, then lay still, like a golden bearskin rug.
Sung Li kicked off her shoes and ran her feet over his soft coat, shuddering in pleasure at the feel of the warm fur between her toes.
Richard dozed, trying not to think of the past month, of the atrocities he had committed for Umbrella. He shut his mind to the screams and the warm blood splattering across his face. He snuggled into the thick carpet and droned out the gunfire and explosions. The men yelling in fear, the women crying. The terror and carnage.
He loved Umbrella!
Tony mashed the keyboard in frustration, sighed deeply, and sat back. He rubbed the corners of his eyes. For hours he had been sitting in front of his massive holographic computer, diligently searching for some clue as to his friend’s whereabouts. He had pored over the extensive files detailing the movements and policies of the Umbrella Corporation. So far, his search was proving fruitless.
"This search is proving fruitless!" Tony exclaimed.
The robo-pigeon on his shoulder cooed with digitized sympathy.
Tony snatched the phone out of its cradle and angrily dialed a number. Several dozen stories below deep in the archives, Sam dropped a stack of documents and grabbed his cell phone.
"Yeah, whadya fuckin’ want?" he groaned.
"Sammy!" Tony hollered. "How is your end of the search progressing? Any leads?"
"Nah, notta goddamn chinking thing!" he huffed. "Fuckin’ Jew files!"
"Well, keep looking," Tony sighed, "Umbrella has to have slipped up somewhere."
He hung up the phone.
Tony couldn’t stand staring at the computer any longer. He stood up in a rush and the carefully balanced robo-pigeon on his shoulder toppled off with and indignant synth-hoot.
Still standing, Tony reached forward and hit the intercom button on his desk.
"Veronica, page Agents Konefal and McMenamin for me, would you?"
"Sure thing, boss," Veronica cooed in her sultry whisper.
"Oh, and Veronica, where are those damage reports I requested?"
"Oooh," she said, unconvincingly startled, "I guess I must have forgotten them. Oh, I’ve been naughty. I deserve a spanking."
"Did you purposely forget the files just so I’d discipline you?" Tony asked.
"Oh no!" she cried, even more unconvincingly. "You found out. Oh, you’re sooo smart. Well, that was naughty of me, being naughty on purpose . . . I deserve an extra hard spanking . . ."
"Sorry, no time," Tony said. "Just have the damage reports on my desk before you leave."
He sat back down and drummed his fingers on his desktop. The robo-pigeon cautiously reclaimed its perch on his shoulder.
After a minute or two, after Tony had just gotten the hang of drumming the Freakazoid theme using both hands, the door opened and Veronica walked in, followed closely by Amy and Steve.
Tony leapt to his feet again, once more upsetting the poor robo-pigeon, which spun through the air like a pinwheel, finally righting itself and flying to the other end of the room.
Tony’s buxom secretary was wearing a fiendishly tight, drastically low-cut blouse (one could almost see her navel) and a skirt so short she might as well have wrapped a thin scarf around her hips.
"Here they are, Mr. Celi," she said, leaning forward about 35 degrees more than was necessary.
"‘Mr. Celi’ is my dad," Tony said, "I told you to call me Tony."
"Sure thing . . . Tony," she said in a low, breathy voice.
"Now give us a moment, would you please?" he asked Veronica, looking passed her as Amy and Steve.
Veronica slowly twirled around and strutted gracefully away in her five inch stiletto pumps.
Steve looked longingly back at her and gave a long, low whistle.
"You need to shave before stepping out in a skirt like that. And I don’t mean your legs," he said.
Amy slapped him in the arm.
"Steve!"
"Sorry, beautiful, just admiring Tony’s office . . . decor."
"Chivalrous of you," Tony muttered.
"This is a gorgeous office, Tones," Amy said, glancing around the massive, well-lit room.
Steve was determined to not to show he was jealous of Tony’s sanctum.
"Well, some people like things big and flashy, babe; usually when they’re trying to compensate for something."
He directed a savage wink at Tony.
The level-minded Italian ignored him.
"Thanks, Ames," he said, "I like it too. Had to kill five guys to get it, in fact."
Amy laughed. Tony chuckled along.
"No, I’m kidding. Only three."
Amy abruptly stopped laughing.
"Now, why don’t you guys have a seat?"
Amy and Steve sank into the plush leather chairs in front of Tony’s desk with involuntary sighs of satisfaction.
"Okay," said Tony, standing and looking from Amy to Steve," I need you guys to run through what exactly happened when you were captured by Abattoir. Right up to the docks."
His guests groaned.
"We’ve been through this twice already," said Steve.
"Humor me."
He sat down.
Steve gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Alright. I was heading home from Saint Anselm’s for the Christmas break—"
That reminds me, Tony," Amy cut in, "it’s three days ‘til Christmas and we need to talk about decorations. Those severed zombie heads impaled on the fence outside don’t exactly scream ‘holiday cheer.’"
Tony considered this. He leaned forward and hit the intercom button.
"Veronica, have someone from maintenance go string lights and tinsel around the severed zombie heads."
He sat back, then leaned forward again quickly.
"Tell them to be careful around the ones that still bite."
Tony looked at Amy.
"Better?"
She was speechless.
"Carry on, Steve," said Tony.
"So I was coming home from New Hampshire, along I-495 when these two helicopters appeared and forced me off the road. Oh! They were flying . . . uh . . . Northeast."
"Hmmm . . ." Tony murmured. "That could . . . but no. They might have been circling the area. That doesn’t necessarily prove anything."
Steve shrugged. "I’m no cartologist."
"Cartographer," Tony corrected.
Steve shrugged again and continued.
"They drove me off the road. My car flipped over. By the time I was out they had landed and were all over me. That chubby tool– Abba-something? –just grinned at me and said he was taking me to be "re-educated," back to the place of origin."
"Place of origin?"
"I think that’s what he said. He had a weird accent."
Tony was quiet for a moment.
"What about you, Amy?" he said at last.
"I was walking to my dorm from the Dirty one night, and I had just gotten to a bit of woods when they started to drop from the trees, rappelling down."
"How many?"
Amy thought. "At least 30, I think."
Tony smiled.
"You gave them a good fight, didn’t you?"
Amy smiled as well.
"I’m not gonna lie to ya, man," she said, "they picked the wrong co-ed to pick on. Eventually, though, Abattoir shot me with a trank gun. I was out soon after that."
"He say anything?"
"Yeah . . . same re-education nonsense . . . he, uh, he made some leering comment about how ‘purty’ I was. Then he said I’d like where I was going . . . back to where it started."
"‘Where it started . . .’?" Tony asked no one in particular.
"Well, we all contracted these viruses at the Umbrella Corp headquarters in Holyoke. Is that what he meant?"
Tony considered this.
"No. Couldn’t be. Rich and I saw to it, there’s nothing left there but a deep, flaming hole in the ground."
"On top of which," Amy said, "We were on a ship when you found us."
"A big one. Probably for a long voyage," Steve said.
"What if by 'where it started,' Abattoir meant the Umbrella Corporation’s main headquarters?" Amy asked.
"No such luck, I’m afraid," answered Tony. "The Umbrella Corp central headquarters is in Paris. Our operatives checked there. No sign of Rich."
"So the ship wasn’t going to France . . ." Steve mused.
"Was there a ship’s manifest in the cabin?" asked Amy helpfully.
"No . . . our agents searched the ship. They found no documentation of destination."
"Coats," said Steve simply.
"What?" Tony asked, surprised.
"There were crates of thick winter coats and harsh weather gear. Granted it’s winter, but it wasn’t that cold."
"And there was an arctic exploration vehicle in the cargo hold," Amy said.
"Long voyage to somewhere harsh and cold . . ." Tony pondered for a long while, sitting as still as a statue. Perhaps it was his resemblance to one that made the robo-pigeon think it was safe to land on his shoulder again. The unfortunate bird had just settled, its inner cogs and gears thrumming quietly, when an idea struck Tony like a bolt of lightning and he jumped several inches into the air while still in the sitting position.
The pigeon, in its terror, discharged a stream of gooey white hydrolic fluid from its exhaust pipe onto the shoulder of Tony’s shirt.
Tony gave an irritated swat at the robot before turning his attention back to his guests.
"I’ve got it!"
And he dashed out of the room maniacally.
He blasted past startled office workers, pushing people left and right. Papers flew through the air, coffee spilled, interns toppled. Tony darted down a stairway. He had a long way to go, and took the steps seven or eight at a time. After two dozen stories, he stopped for a breather, collected his thoughts, and then continued.
Finally he reached the floor he sought. It was an infrequently visited sub-basement slightly below Storage Sector T3Q and the power plant, and several floors above the Customer Service Department. (When asked once, why the Customer Service Department was located in such a place, CEO Tony Celi was heard to remark, "Because, hey, we never said it wouldn’t explode.")
Tony paused at the stairwell door. He knew it was locked and rigged to an alarm.
"Beluga whale," he said.
Instantly, a touch pad projected itself from a blank stretch of wall. Tony entered his password (SassyScarf) and then placed his hand on the glowing green screen.
He waited several seconds for authorization.
"Welcome, Tony Celi," said a soft voice. "Enjoy your stay."
The door slid open and Tony stepped into the sub-basement hallway. It was drab and featureless, but clean, and brightly lit with partially shaded halogen wall lights. The floor was a light grey tile, the walls unadorned cement. There were but two doors in this hallway. They were directly opposite each other, halfway down the lane.
Tony made his way to one of them. Using an NPInc electric key, he opened the door, stepped inside, looked around for a moment, then flipped a switch. He left the room.
He entered the second room.
"Lights," he said.
And the lights came on.
Sub-basement Level 39 Gamma is not on any NPInc floor directory. As far as the general company population know, it does not exist.
It is the floor which is used to house NPInc technologies of a dangerous (more so than they regularly are) and classified nature. Though Tony only saw this one hallway on this trip, the floor is in fact a honeycomb of passages and storage rooms, each containing technological marvels the likes of which have never been seen. They are accessed only in times of great peril, great curiosity, or when company parties show signs of slowing down.
There is but one employee stationed on this floor. His name is Jasper. He’s 82, tall, completely bald, and quite friendly. He talks to himself unnervingly, though. And he collects stamps. We will not come to him in this story, but I thought you’d all like to know he’s there.
Tony blinked as his eyes became adjusted to the bright lights. Then his vision cleared and he smiled. The thing before him was just waking up, as a result of the switch in the adjacent room.
"Hello, Cap’n," Tony said, warmly. "Good to see you again."
In the center of the room was a large oblong structure. It shone under the glare from the ceiling, black glass and steel, like a neo-modern sarcophagus. It had slid slowly opened with a hiss and a thick, velvety fog poured out. A creature lumbered up from its sleep, climbed stiffly out of the box, and smiled at Tony.
The Captain Blackjack Huzuki-bot 3500 opened his large, dark brown eye. His red robotic eye slowly glowed to life. His mechanical joints creaked slightly, and he grunted with exertion. His movement was encumbered by a mass of wires and tubes connecting him to the life support systems. They trailed from him like multi-colored vines from a hairy, metal-plated tree. Still, even unable to stand to his full height, and dimmed with disuse, the Cap’n was an imposing sight.
He towered close to nine feet tall, and was five feet wide at the armor-covered shoulder. He was a cyborg. His robotic parts gleamed dully in the light; his human parts looked pale, but still thickly muscled as ever. His beard and hair were wild black brambles. His mismatched eyes were fierce. He smiled.
"Tony, lad! How goes the bizzerness? Be it 2020 already?"
The Cap’n had been the CEO of Ninja Pirate Incorporated since its official formation in 1952. When Tony and his friends overcame the Umbrella Corporation in a series of grand battles and acquired its subsidiary NP Inc, they did so with the help of the Cap’n, who defected due to matters of conscience. After the dust settled and the smoke cleared, and Tony and his friends were left with a company to run, the Cap’n stepped down as Chief Executive Officer, to remain on in an advisory position. Recently, he had decided to take a personal period of decommission, as he had been running non-stop for fifty-three years. He was put into cryogenic sleep, his systems shut down, for 15 years, only to be woken up in times of great emergency.
"No, Cap’n, it’s not 2020. It’s only been a few months."
"Trim me binnacles, lad! What happened?"
"Richard was kidnaped, and we don’t know where he went."
"I thought ye were close to figuring that out. I ne’er woulda taken time off if’n I knew the boy were still in the hans a the enemy!"
"I know, Cap’n. All our leads turned out to be dead ends. But I think I’m onto something. I remembered from your story about the origin of Umbrella, Trans went somewhere . . . other than the cities of Europe. Where was the origin of the Umbrella Corporation?"
The Cap’n thought for a moment.
"When Trans was a young monk in the Dark Ages, he journeyed to the Holy Lands during the crusades. It was there that he first discovered whatever secret he’s used to form the ‘Brella Corp."
"No good," Tony said. "We need someplace colder."
Again, a pause for thought. His systems were still warming up.
"After he was fired from Oxford, and cast out of civilized England itself, Dr. Trans retreated to his private island off the coast of Norway."
Tony’s heart leapt.
"That’s it! That’s where they’ve taken Rich!"
"Now wait a minute. ‘S far’s I know, no one’s been back there since he returned to Europe to start Umbrella. The place is deserted."
Tony frowned.
"No, there’s got to be something there. It’s the only place that makes sense. Thank you, Cap’n. Rich’d be lost without you.
"Now, do you want to return to your sleep?"
The Cap’n chuckled.
I figger it might be best if I stayed up for a wink, ter help yer through this."
"Much appreciated, Cap’n."
And together the made their way back to Tony’s office, the Italian ninja filling his gargantuan comrade in on the events of the past months.
They reached Tony’s office quickly, taking the elevator instead of Tony’s previous route, a grueling 50 odd stories worth of stairs. Tony had just come to the best part of his narrative, when he kicked a grenade at the head of an insidiously difficult to kill Umbrella Corp agent named Gits. He paused and opened his office door.
Amy and Steve were not there. Instead, sprawled on his desk was Veronica. At first Tony thought she was naked. Then it seemed that she was clad in a skimpy white dress. It was only after close scrutiny that he realized Veronica had finally brought him the damage reports. She was wearing them.
"Hey, boss," she breathed, "I’ve got those reports you wanted."
Tony strode boldly over to her.
"So you do. Well done. Did you see where Amy and Steve went?"
"They went looking for you after you left. Is there anything else I can do for you now that I’m here?"
"Nope," Tony said briskly, and tore the pages off of Veronica’s curvy frame. He helped her off the desk, walked her quickly to the door, and pushed her out, naked as a jay bird, into the office with a terse, "Good day."
He walked back to his desk and shuffled through some papers.
The Cap’n was stunned.
"You know, lad, I think she might be tryin’ ter tell yer somethin’."
"Oh?" said Tony absentmindedly, "I’m not good at picking up signals like that. Where could Steve and Amy have gotten to?"
"Right here, chief," came a voice from the door.
Steve and Amy had entered Tony’s office.
Steve’s face as smudged with lipstick marks, Amy’s hair was disheveled. They looked as though they had put their clothes on in a cement mixer.
"Where the hell have you two been?" Tony asked sharply. "I’ve figured out Rich’s location."
"Oh . . . we . . . uh . . . erm . . . we went to look . . . uh . . . for you," replied Amy. She looked tired. She perked up considerably, however, when Steve, sporting a randy smile, slapped her in the ass.
She hit him in the arm.
Tony regarded them silently for a moment, then continued on.
"Richard’s on an island off the coast of Norway."
"Huh?" they said in unison.
"The origin. The place where it all began. That’s where Trans finished the evil experiments that got him fired from Oxford and exiled from England. That’s where they’ve taken Rich."
"Well let’s go get him, then!" Steve said earnestly.
"It’s not that easy. The place is sure to be hard to find, and guarded like Fort Knox. We need to strategize. We need to organize. First, though, we need to find it."
He reached over and plucked the robo-pigeon from the air beside him, and looked it in its bright blue LED eyes.
"I need you to get Sam for me. Tell him we have a breakthrough and we need him in my office. Can you handle that?"
The little device nodded its head vigorously.
Tony nodded back, and then threw it towards the door. It fluttered awkwardly, and then took off for the archives.
Tony sat heavily in his chair.
It was going to be a long day.
Richard tore through the snow once again. His heart raced, his eyes gleamed. The hunger was especially potent tonight. He bounded up onto a rock formation and howled excitedly at the moon, which was glowing brightly, though obscured by the falling snow.
He caught the scent.
It wasn’t elk. He had driven the herd to the far side of the island whence they awaited the impossible cold of January and the ice bridge that would lead them back to the main land. Richard was content to let them be; he had grown tired of elk flesh.
This scent tonight was something new. It was sweet and clean. He inhaled deeply. Steaming strands of drool fell from the corners of his fanged mouth. After savoring the smell a moment longer, he gave a brief howl and started the chase.
He leapt off of tree trunks and over rocks, tearing across the tundra. His shaggy, golden coat was frosted with snow.
He came across his prey’s footprints in the powder. They were small and ovular . . . oddly familiar. They harkened back to a time when he had occupied a different form. He could not recall the type of creature that made them.
He bent down and sniffed at the tracks, his nose dusted with snow. He started off again.
Finally, he came to a clearing. His quarry was there, waiting for him with large, round eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Richard stood and advanced, growling. The little girl retreated backwards, staring at him in horror.
Richard came right up to her, put his wet nose against her red cheek. He breathed in the salty, creamy smell of her skin. He bared his fangs preparing to tear into her when the little girl spoke. "N-nice doggy," she whispered, her voice hoarse and nasal from crying. She extended a hand and patted his thick coat.
Richard’s monstrous face softened. He hesitated. His mind struggled to recall his humanity.
And then it hit him. Like a wave, cold and sharp, it knocked him dizzy. He reeled with the remembrance of what he had done and what he had once been.
He backed away from the little girl quickly, sank onto his haunches and bellowed sorrowfully to the winter sky. Richard collapsed, whimpering, to the ground.
The girl approached him cautiously. She patted his head.
"Good boy," she said. "There, there. Good doggy."
Richard blinked at her through red-rimmed eyes. He brushed his tears away with a rough swipe of his massive paw.
Then he smiled. This startled the girl, for a werewolf’s smile is not a sight to one at one’s ease. But then he licked her face with his long, warm tongue and she giggled in relief.
He nuzzled her gently, and let her press against him for warmth. He reverted back to humanity enough to speak.
"You must be cold," he said in a soothing growl. "Put your hands as deep into my fur as you can; it’s quite warm."
The girl gasped.
"You can talk?"
"Not as well as I write, but yes." Richard answered with a chuckle.
The girl plunged her small, white hands into his fur.
"Now," he said thoughtfully, "How do we get you out of here . . .? I don’t suppose you’ve ridden a horse before?"
The girl shook her head.
"Hmm. Well, we’ll have to play it by ear. Hop on my back, hold onto to my hair tight."
The girl began to clamber onto Richard’s back when a bullet whizzed through the air and plowed into the snow near his right forepaw.
"Just what do you think you’re doing here?"
Richard spun around to see Dr. Thaddeus Trans, Sung Li, and a dozen Umbrella Corporation guards walk into the clearing. The guards were in Umbrella Corp insulated white arctic armor and carrying automatic weapons. Sung Li was bundled in a parka and thick elk-skin boots. She looked ill-equipped for winter. Trans was wearing a thin black suit with a black silk shirt. He was perfectly still, not shivering or moving to keep warm. In his hand was a smoking pistol.
"I’ve been watching you on the monitors," he said, explaining, "The whole island is under tight video surveillance."
Richard moved slowly between the UC soldiers and the little girl, shielding her with his massive, furry bulk.
"This girl is the daughter of an enemy of Umbrella. A politician who imposed environmental sanctions on our operations in the rain forest. We kidnaped her to keep him from working against us any more, and now that he’s out of office we do not need her anymore. You were sent out here to finish her. It was supposed to be a treat for you. Do you have any idea how delicious fresh little girl meat is?"
Richard growled.
"Now, kill the girl."
Richard turned and looked the girl in her wide, brown eyes.
"Kill her," said Trans behind him. "Think of what we’ve given you. You owe us this."
Richard did not move.
"Oh, for goodness sake! Don’t pretend to develop a conscience now! Not after what you’ve done. You remember the mission we sent you on in Morocco? You wore a man’s spleen as a hat!"
The soldiers advanced slightly.
"Don’t do this, Richard. We had an agreement. Things were proceeding smoothly."
The soldiers advanced even farther.
Richard barked sharply at them, and the stopped.
"Last chance," Trans said.
Richard did not move.
Trans shook his head. Then he shrugged and smiled.
"Take them," he said.
The soldiers rushed forward, firing. Richard took all the hits, and barely slowed. He smashed into the goons and tore them to bits, ripping and biting. They scrambled over each other to escape.
When Richard turned around, his heart sank.
Trans was holding the little girl in front of him, his white icicle fingers playing about her shoulders.
Richard realized the guards were just a distraction.
"Now," Trans said, a wide shark smile spreading across his smooth face, "perhaps we can re-evaluate our bargain."
Richard started forward, but Trans’ hands moved instantly to the girls’ soft, thin throat.
"Tsk, tsk," he scolded. "Let’s be reasonable."
"Let her go," Richard growled.
"Not until you agree to serve me again."
Richard’s insides boiled.
"Fine," he said. "I’ll do whatever you want. Let the girl go."
Trans’ smile broadened.
"Too late," he whispered.
With a flick of his wrists he snapped the girl’s neck. There was a sound like that of a man biting down hard on an ice cube and the girl’s brown eyes rolled up. She fell to the snowy ground.
A roar of pure rage ripped from Richard’s throat. It echoed through the woods like thunder.
He charged forward, eyes blazing with hatred.
Trans was caught off guard by his fury. He struck the mad doctor, sending him flying into a tree. He bounced off like a rag doll. Before he could get up, Richard was upon him, clawing and clubbing furiously.
Trans caught Richard’s wrists and held them still. He smiled head-butted Richard with a glancing blow. Then he threw him across the powdery ground.
Richard was up and after Trans, he felt no pain, knew no fatigue or fear.
Trans blocked all of Richard’s swipes, still smiling.
"Who do you think you are, boy?"
Richard roared again and redoubled his efforts.
Trans did not expect such fury. He struck Richard across the face repeatedly, finally felling him. Then he dashed to a tree nearby, grabbed a thick limb, and with a fearsome strength, snapped it off.
He walked back to Richard as he was getting up.
"Stay down, doggy!" he said, madly.
He brought the branch down heavily onto Richard’s broad back. Again. And again. And again. And again.
"Play dead!" he shrieked, and hit him one final blow.
Richard was crushed and still.
Trans dropped the limb and straightened his jacket. Turning his back to his fallen enemy, he pulled out a walkie talkie and spoke into it.
"We’ll need a clean-up crew here soon."
He looked at Sung Li and the terrified guards.
"What?" he asked as they retreated in fear.
"Traaaaans!" Richard bellowed.
Before Trans could even turn fully around, Richard was on him. He swung his claws and tore out Trans’ throat. The doctor's eyebrows raised in shock. A viscous, black ooze pumped out of his veins. It hit the snow and sizzled. The slime smelled sickeningly sweet, like rotten peaches.
Richard had no time to be horrified. He hit Trans again, tearing his scalp up. Again, knocking his arm loose. It hung at a disgusting angle and flopped uselessly. He hit Trans again, scoring claw marks across his chest. Trans stumbled back, putting up a futile fight. He tried to deflect the hits while stopping the flow of ooze from his neck. He tripped and fell into the snow. Richard lifted him up and brought him close to his terrible jaws.
"This is for my friends." He clawed at him savagely him.
"This is for me!" Wham!
"This is for the little girl!" Wham!
"This is for Pachuco!" Wham!
"You . . . will . . . never . . . hurt . . . another . . . living . . . thing!" he said, punctuating his words with devastating hits. "This . . . is . . . my . . . VOW!"
He threw Trans’ limp form as hard as he could. It struck a tree and snapped at an impossible angle.
Richard, panting heavily, turned to Sung Li.
The shotgun blast hit him in the chest. He staggered backwards.
A second blast, and the a third.
He toppled over.
Four, five, six blasts.
Phillipe Abattoir hobbled into the clearing, using the shotgun as a crutch. He fired at Richard three more times before he was satisfied.
Then he turned and leered at Sung Li.
"Let’s get ‘eem up da lab queek, ye-uh?"
Sung Li was speechless.
"Who-ree, afore he heals! Yee-ah?"
He motioned for the guards to bind Richard and haul him up to the complex.
"The doctor! He killed Thaddeus!" Sung Li cried.
Abattoir smiled.
Nah, he no deh yet, mon sher. You jus’ follow me up ta the buildin’ yee-ah. He be fine, I gair-ron-tee. Ol’ Phillipe," he said, tapping his chest with a stubby finger, "he been wit ‘Brella for lon’ time. He know. C’mon now." He grabbed the teetering Sung Li and led her back to the lights of the building.
At NP Inc, Tony had reached a breakthrough.
"I’ve found it!" he ejaculated.
Sam, Amy, Steve, Sprockets, Jake, and the Cap’n gathered around Tony’s table.
They were in the archives room, each at his or her own broad table. Each table was littered with charts, graphs, documents, and maps, cups upon cups of coffee, and, on Amy and Steve’s ash trays spilling over with cigarettes.
Tony pointed dramatically to a dot on one of the maps.
"There! It’s small, uninhabited, and avoided by all craft in the area. It is not under Norwegian jurisdiction. Moreover, a team of scientists went there once, accompanied by a regiment of Norwegian soldiers, to study the examples of early civilization. They were never heard from again.
"Norway sent a recovery team. They were never heard from again. The Norwegian secret service closed the case.
"If there’s one place Umbrella is holding Richard, it’s here: Trans’ personal island."
They all stared at the map silently.
"Well," said Sam finally, "let’s go get my brother!"
Back at the base of the tree, space tore down the middle.
A ragged rip appeared in the fabric of reality, and an eerie light shone forth from the madness beyond.
Dr. Thaddeus Trans stepped slowly through the tear and looked around. He walked briskly over to himself, grabbed himself by the jacket, and hauled himself to the portal.
"Changing of the guard," he said, and chuckled, throwing his broken, shredded corpse into the glowing tear.
The rip sealed itself back up with a gurgling scream.
Trans cracked his vertebrae, shot his cuffs, and strode boldly toward the Umbrella Corp complex in the distance.
Happy Halloween, everyone!
(Sorry, but that ain't the end of the Interim Adventure. This became a lot longer than I'd originally intended. There'll be just one more small one. This time I am not pulling yer legs.
Sorry also to Becky. I'll have your review done posthaste.
Hope you liked it. I'll see you next time)
Current Mood: Sleepy, expectant, and homosexual.
Current Music: Freedom's Child, performed by Hootie and the Blowfish, from The Civil War, the musical.
