CHAPTER 22
Deliberations between Dr. Stein and the preternatural representatives go on for hours. Weapons are traded, troops are shuffled around and an endless discussion begins on which of their monstrous enemies needs to be dealt with first. Natsuko is hell bent on focusing all of their combined forces to topple Kagan's operations in Europe and Jean's trademark tunnel vision regarding Ahmu is still in full effect. The debate has escalated from diplomatic discourse to something more resembling a bar room brawl. A conference table placed in the room has just been smashed against the wall. Jean and Natsuko's previously made deal to be polite has disintegrated. Long ignored hatreds are once again bubbling to the surface. Jean snarls at her across the room, “This is so like your arrogant ilk. You assume that killing one man will end an entire war. There are so many more factors at play here than just Kagan.”
Contempt for the wolf's lack of reasoning skills consumes Natsuko. Once again, he is allowing his dismorphic emotions to cloud better judgement, “It's an old and simple adage wolf. Cut off the head and the body dies. It's as easy as that. It's a much better plan than throwing ourselves blindly at an endless supply of mongrels.” If they kill Kagan, Jean is certain that another vampire will simply rise up to take control of his territory. Perhaps even Natsuko herself. All vampires were slaves to their ambitions. Bashina had taught him that lesson years ago.
“They would not be endless if we could cut off their supply chain. Separate them from their juice.”
Mo has been quiet up until this point. The endless circular bickering has worn him out. He knows from personal experience that there was something far more important than personal vendettas, “Those are both ordinary military incursion scenarios that can be delayed and dealt with later. Ra could let loose with thermonuclear grade devastation at any moment. We should be focusing on him.”
Before anyone can make a counter point to his assertion, Theo bursts through the door with his cyborg creation in tow. All eyes shift to them and for the first time in hours, there is silence. Theo dives right into the lively debate, “You’re all wrong. The first target should be simple. We need to focus on Esteban Medina.”
Natsuko is relieved to have a neutral party present at the table. Perhaps he can shed some necessary light on events. She sits back in her chair and looks at Theo, “Why is that Dr. Wise ass?”
“Simple. There is of course, the issue of the juice as the Colonel previous alluded to. Second, if we could manage to recruit some incubi and succubi to our side we could use them to pacify various other species, not the least of which are the channels. You saw how easily the knockout gas put Mo down. Succubi can produce effects similar to that naturally. Furthermore, their military is by far the weakest, and if we send in contingents of drones with their olfactory senses removed then tractatori pheromone abilities would be essentially a moot point.”
Ben expected to be the guest of honour at this meeting. His grand entrance had amounted to little more than a sideways glance from everyone. The last thing he would ever allow people to do is ignore him. He does his best to disrupt the conversation, “Ahem.”
Theo sighs slightly and walks up next to his creation. With all the fanfare of a pro wrestling announcer, Theo introduces the cyborg, “I was getting to you man. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my friend and yours, Ben Guitierrez AKA subject one forty seven.”
Ben sashays up to Jean and extends his right arm into a fist at chest level, “Wassup' big poppa. Glad to be on the team. Pound that shit.” Jean does not reciprocate. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at the peculiar metal man. Studying Ben’s exoskeleton up and down methodically, the Colonel lets out a snort and turns away without a word. A little offended but no worse for wear, Ben plays it off with a joke, “What, no bump? Lassie here is as cold as ice. I thought I was supposed to be the fuckin' robot.”
Mo can already tell the newcomer is not someone he wants around. That pattern of speech. Those mannerisms. He's known a hundred men just like him, and they get innocent people killed. If growing up in Detroit taught him anything, it was don’t trust gang members, “Oh, he's so wonderfully ghetto. Nothing better than a man who seeks out to perpetuate a zeitgeist that holds back an entire race through tacit endorsement of gang violence and the suppression of true cultural identity. If this is your so called ‘perfect test subject’ Theodore, your entire project is doomed to be a hideous failure.”
Ben senses the indignation in his voice and can’t help but push his buttons a little bit, “Hold up with all them fifty dolla' words bro. Save that funny talk for the sciency types like T here. Benny ain't havin it.”
The jibe only serves to further agitate Mo. Random arcs of lighting bounce around inside his enclosure, “What's the issue homeboy? You never met a brother who could enunciate before?” Ben appears lost in thought for a moment. He scratches the top of his head and strokes away at his chin. It seems several times as though he's about to speak but nothing comes out.
After a minute of quiet internal deliberation, he blurts, “Uh... nope, can’t say that I have. Wait! Is that why you're in a cage, bro? Did they like splice you with 'Uncle Tom' genes and grow you in a lab or somethin'? You're like, some kind of petri dish negro right?”
Stein stops the argument before it escalates an further, “I hate to interrupt this charming free exchange of ideas, but I've just received a report of some suspicious activity topside. Some of our drones are missing from their posts and we can't reach them through conventional means. Do we have any volunteers to look into it?”
Theo sees a golden opportunity to prove the worth of his pet project. Any excuse to find out how well his first successful subject can perform in a real world situation, “You ready for a field test big guy?”
Ben is more than ready. His entire body begins vibrating with excitement at the prospect of getting out of the base for a while. The nightmare he just woke up from has put violence at the forefront of his mind. His weapons are fully loaded and he's primed to tear into some hostiles. Any old hostiles would do. At this point, he'd blow up a bus full of nuns to let off steam.
“About fuckin' time T! So who's with me?”
Exasperated with the pointless discussion taking place, Jean decides to volunteer. A chance to get away from Natsuko and do something constructive suits him fine, “I will participate. I'm interested to see how this... thing performs in combat.”
Stein hands him a radio, “Good luck you two. You'll be in constant radio contact with Theo if you run into any trouble.” Corralled into an elevator by another group of pushy drones, they are shot straight up to the surface.
Their destination it is deserted. The guard post appears to be completely undisturbed. Guns are left sitting idle on a table in the corner and none of them show sign of having recently been fired. Not a single piece of furniture is the slightest bit out of place. Ben and Jean toss the entire room looking for clues and come up with nothing.
“No blood, no bodies. No signs of a struggle. It looks like they just put their guns down and walked away. I was told these drones don't do anything without being ordered to.” The werewolf begins sniffing around the room and catches wind of a hauntingly familiar odour. Something that takes him back to his experiences defending the vampire stronghold in Okinawa, “I smell something. Distinctive. It's definitely a succubus.” He takes another deep inhale, “Just one, fairly young and potent too. She must have enthralled the drones and led them this way.”
Following Jean's nose, they walk the city streets. The citizens of Seattle have been busy rebuilding in the aftermath of the seven day war. Makeshift tenements and businesses have been cobbled together to create a rudimentary civilian district. Amongst the harshest of eventualities mankind has managed to persevere. Every building they stop to investigate is just as empty as the guard post. All they manage to find within them is the saturated scent of the tractatori.
The succubi has been collecting every human in the area for some reason. Paranoid thoughts assail Jean's mind. Tractatori have a well documented reputation for human trafficking. They may be too late to stop the thralls from being shipped around the world for use as slaves. He quickens his pace; the source of the smell is drawing closer.
On the horizon, a sequence of multicoloured flashing lights flicker intermittently in the sky. The sounds of upbeat drum and bass music thump throughout the area. Dozens of half empty liquor bottles have been left lying in the street. Ben starts bobbing his head to the beat, “Sounds like one hell of a party is goin' on up there.”
Jean eyes him quizzically. The cyborg's jovial mannerisms are a very bad sign. Spores in the air could already have done their work. If he fell victim to the thrall, Jean wasn't sure he could jolt him out of it. He didn't know if the strength of his alpha influence transferred over to domineering cyborgs. He grabs Ben by the shoulders and gives it his best shot, “Stay focused, one forty seven. These things thrive on weak willed people with no self control.”
Not a single word registers. Body now bobbing and weaving with the music, Ben dances down the road towards the succubus. Humming a few bars under his breath, he says“Man something smells fuckin' good bro. Like way too good. Jamaican weed mixed with Blue Agave tequila and fresh young pussy.”
Jean comes to recognize he can't get through to the mechanical man and contacts Theo over the comms for assistance, “Doctor Haniawa, something is wrong with one forty seven. He has become affected by a succubus. Can you shut him down or counteract the effects of the pheromones?” Theo frantically tries to assume manual control, but to no avail. Every key command he enters yields zero results. Repeated attempts to make contact with Ben meet with dead air. Brain scan feedback indicates a massive flood of dopamine and the hypothalamus is in a state of hyper activation.
“Uh... no. The pleasure centres of his brain are on total overload and it’s fucking up his software. I've got no control of his systems right now. He's flying solo. Hold on. Why aren’t you affected?”
Disgusted, Jean yells back at him, “Because I’m immune to this type of spore. Do any of the technologies you people use function the way they're supposed to doctor? Send me some back up now. And make sure they're wearing hazmat suits with breathing apparatuses. What this succubus excretes is beyond potent.”
Natsuko grabs her swords and a re-breather. She rushes for the elevator, “I’m en route, Colonel. Do not engage the tractatori before I arrive.”
Jean follows closely behind Ben as he stumbles his way towards the source of his joyous stupor. They begin passing by groups of revellers swilling alcohol and fornicating in the middle of the road. She is definitely close by. The source of the lights and music is just at the end of the block. A re purposed pre-war night club with a huge sign on the front bearing the Greek symbol 'Omega'. Ben kicks open the doors to reveal a high energy rave in full swing.
The dance floor is overflowing with all the missing civilians. Young and old writhe against one another in a hyperactive frenzy. Lasers of a myriad colours fly around the room and clouds of smoke form a stinging haze in the air. The music pumping from stacks of speakers is ear splitting. Shock waves of sound rattle the internal organs of all in attendance. The crowd of dancing thralls is loving every second of it. To Jean's heightened senses, it is a bombardment of searing agony. Then they see her.
On an elevated stage at the head of the room, a series of spotlights are all trained on a single woman. Blond, tall and buxom she gyrates in succession with the throngs of people drooling in a circle around her. Some tug and grab at the fishnet stockings on her arms and legs as she twirls about between them. Skin tight tank top and matching skirt both bear the words 'rock star' in the appropriate places. A number of flowers are tied into the rainbow coloured extensions in her hair. All Ben can do is snigger and point, “God damn bro! Check that bitch out.”
A cursory sniff is all Jean needs to confirm what the stoned robot has already pointed out, “That's definitely the target.” The succubi calls for the attention of the crowd and every eye in the house becomes glued to her. She begins dancing in a specific pattern. Ben goes right along with her. Every person in the room except Jean is popping and locking in perfect unison with the manipulative bombshell.
She orders the crowd, “Just everybody on the left.” Half the room freezes and the rest go on mimicking her movements. She laughs hysterically and picks up a bottle of wine, slugging it back in a single gulp. Wiping her chin of excess, she chirps, “Now everybody on the right.” The humans do as they're told and continue their obedient mimicry. This time, instead of a bottle, she grabs a hold of the nearest available person. A huge spiked tongue comes snaking out of her mouth. Four feet long and covered in tiny razor sharp barbs, it coils and snaps like a whip in front of her. She stuffs the spiky anaconda into the woman's open mouth and up into her brain. The succubus greedily drains out every drop of her cerebrospinal fluid with the fleshy straw.
Witnesses cheer and clap at the public feeding. The drained woman's husk is dropped to the grime covered floor and the satiated succubus flies into a giggle fit. She mumbles unintelligible nonsense while swaying back and forth completely separated from reality. Righting herself for just an instant, she bellows at the crowd, “All together now!” The audience resumes its raucous partying, taking no notice of the dead body lying on the floor of the stage.
Ben walks towards the succubus, “She sure does know how to move that ass, doesn't she? I think I'll get in on this action.” When she lays eyes on him, the DJ is ordered to cut the sound off. The room goes quiet and everybody in attendance stops on a dime. Twirling her hair in her finger tips, she studies the new arrivals intently. All listen intently to what the sweaty vixen has to say.
“Look at this everybody, new friends. Pretty cute ones too. Is that one a robot? Fucking sweet deals. I've never had a robot before. Welcome to the party boys.”
She licks her fingers and blows them both a sticky, wet kiss. Trails of mist sail across the room into their faces. On contact with the swirling vapour, Ben twitches in ecstasy. Every fibre of his being compels him to run to the succubi's side. He yells to Jean, “What are you waitin' for, bro? Join the party.”
There is no possible way that's going to happen. Even bathed in pheromones from stem to stern, Jean feels nothing but contempt for the girl. No matter how hard she tries to push, there is no way to sway his emotions. The part of a person that she preys upon no longer exists for him. It would be a cold day in hell before he so much as cracked a smile.
Lunatic binging such as this is why he's always been disgusted by tractatori. The power to own the hearts and minds of others on a whim. The desire to do nothing but hedonistically waste time. To some, they were a pleasant diversion. To Jean, they were a frustrating nuisance. In the back of his mind, he hopes that the girl would put up a fight, so there would be ample excuse to kill her. He stomps forward hurling bystanders out of the way. Summoning his most authoritative voice, the infuriated wolf commands her, “Stop what you're doing and release these people immediately.” He barks over the comms, “Doctor, have you figured out what to do with the cyborg yet?”
Jean jumps onto the stage and grabs a hold of the succubi's arm. Theo answers in an exasperated tone, “There's nothing I can do with him Colonel, he's completely enthralled.”
The frightened woman thrashes about in an attempt to break free of Jean's grasp. Yet another mess of spores is spat into his face, “Let me go ass hole!” It does nothing to change her lot. The wolf is far beyond the limits of her meagre control. He tightens his grip on her wrist and lets out a low, rumbling growl.
“Enough of this nonsense. You can't win.”
The girl panics. She only has one last card to play before she’d have to give in to the furred hulk in front of her. She calls out to her thralls, “Hey, everybody. This guy is trying to kill our buzz. Are we gonna take that from him?” A thousand angry stares fixate on Jean. He ignores them. The whole lot could be cleared out with one hand tied behind his back. However, the fully loaded cannons Ben has pointed at his temple from three feet away are a major concern.
“Oh, shit!” Is all Jean can blurt out before he dives for cover. He narrowly avoids gouts of flame and a river of hot lead as he bounds from table to table around the club. Dozens of the enthralled civilians become caught in the crossfire while they swing drunkenly at his passing. It is an unavoidable consequence of the situation. If he tried to help them, Ben would shred him like paper. Charging full speed into a wall, Jean breaks out of the building and back into the city streets.
Ben pursues, firing wildly from both barrels. A cadre of civilians and drones follow them, arming themselves with broken bottles and the few rifles security forces left on the ground outside the club. The cyborg and his fellow thralls are led on a wild chase through the bombed out streets of Seattle. Recently refurbished buildings are again reduced to rubble as the entranced pursue their single minded directive to 'eradicate the buzz kill'.
Taking a wrong turn into a secluded alley, Jean is pinned down in a dead end. Ben and a pair of armed drones hem him in and take aim. As they're about to pull the trigger and finish the job, a greyish blur drops from the sky above. In a blinding flurry, the drones are dissected into piles of bloody chunks. Natsuko stands face to face with Ben, her twin katana intertwined with his glistening hull blades. She turns her head away from the stalemate and orders Jean, “I can't hold him off forever Fido. Go get the god damn succubus!”
He leaps over the duel and rushes back towards the club, slamming through any resistance like a runaway freight train. Inside the club, the succubus has already restarted the party and is back centre stage, dancing up a storm. The entire room is cleared in a single jump and he lands right on top of her. Claws knuckle deep in her chest, he gives her one last chance at survival, “Last warning. Release these people or I will pull you in half. You have three seconds to comply.”
For a brief moment, she glares at him furiously, but ultimately gives in, “Oh, all right. Fuck. I was just trying to have a little fun for fuck's sake. Just cause' the apocalypse happened nobody wants to enjoy themselves anymore.” She pushes out a strong exhale, and a cloud of brownish mist spreads throughout the club. Another breath and the antigen wafts out into the city, “You satisfied, tough guy? That'll take care of everything. You can take your disgusting fingers the fuck out of my chest now, k? Jesus Christ, you're filthy. I can't believe this shit. Seattle was supposed to be a fun town.”
Napalm burns and bullet holes in his back ache like mad. The instinct to rip off her head and eat her insides is intense, but the possibility of extracting information from her cannot be ignored. A single head butt puts her out and he drags her out of the bar feet first. He says over the comms, “Tractatori is captured. The affected civilians and drones should be back in complete control of their mental faculties shortly. We're going to need an air tight cell to house the succubus where she'll have no physical contact with anyone. Understood?”
Dr. Stein gets back to him. She sounds giddy as a school girl, “There’s already a holding cell prepped and waiting for her Colonel. We’ve been hoping to acquire a tractatori specimen for some time. We will begin her interrogation as soon as you get her back to The Core. Well done, well done indeed.”