Worldkiller, p.1
Worldkiller, page 1
part #7 of Variant Series
Worldkiller
Variant, Book Seven
T. C. Edge
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2020 T. C. Edge
All right reserved.
First edition: April 2020
Cover Design by Laercio Messias
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
Books in the Variant Series:
Variant (Book One)
Initiate (Book Two)
Survivor (Book Three)
Pathfinder (Book Four)
Legend (Book Five)
Prodigy (Book Six)
Worldkiller (Book Seven)
To Kate,
For listening to all my crazy ideas.
And having a few of your own.
This one’s for you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by T. C. Edge
1
Wake up, little Variant, came a whispered voice in my nightmares. Wake up. You're home.
I felt myself slowly returning to consciousness, eyes flickering, a glaring white light creeping through the cracks. My body swayed from side to side, hauled along over a hard, metal shoulder. Around me, I perceived the sound of scuttling feet.
I sensed a wide, open space. Machines. Movement. I opened my eyes further, as blurred images came into view. Figures rushed along, half a dozen of them. Dark shapes, draped in cloaks. I was inside, but the walls were too far away to see. The sounds of production hummed.
A warehouse. A factory.
I heard clanking, as the troop began climbing a set of metal steps, moving to a gallery above. A door knocked and opened a moment later. I was hauled inside a private space - an office - leaving the other shapes behind.
Blurred voices began to clear to my ears.
"I have her, sssssir," came a familiar, hissing whisper. "I have brought her to you, as you commanded."
I heard a chair scrape along the floor, footsteps approach, calm and measured. A figure appeared, stepping into view before me. A hand reached up gently, a single finger delicately lifting my chin. I blinked weakly, trying to clear my vision.
A man. Clean-shaven. Neat brown hair. A tailored suit clinging to his frame.
"Wonderful," he said quietly, his accent elegant and finely polished. He regarded me for a moment, my breathing a little shallow, eyes still flickering and struggling to stay open. "She seems a little...groggy, Mantis."
"Yes, ssssir. We knocked her out to bring her here."
I felt one of my arms lifted, the man's touch gentle, as I continued to hang limply over the Bug's shoulder. "What happened here? She's bleeding."
"I...had to restrain her," Mantis whispered.
"I said explicitly that she was not to be harmed." The man's voice firmed, growing louder. I sensed him turning from me, eyes tiled upwards, looking at Mantis's haunting, looming visage.
The creature dipped his head submissively. "I'm sorry, Mr Vance. She's very dangerous. I...had no choice."
"Yes...dangerous," whispered the man.
Vance, my muddled mind thought. Henry Vance...
I felt his finger lift to my chin again, clinging gently with his thumb. He regarded me for a long, silent moment, whispering as he did so.
"I want her wounds fixed up," he said, more softly. "She needs rest after her long journey." He drew his hand away, looking at his watch. "It's late. Take her to the workers' quarters here and find her a private room. Give her something to make sure she sleeps."
"Of course, ssssir."
Another short pause followed, as Henry looked at me again, a vague smile on his lips. "Well done, Mantis," he said. "Truly, well done."
His eyes stayed on me for a moment longer, chin dipping into a slow, satisfied nod. And then, turning, he stepped away.
I felt movement again, as the Bug carrying me stepped out of the room, rejoining the others gathered there. Mantis followed a moment later, leading the troop down the steps, through the large factory, all the way to the rear. My eyes continued to take in vague, blurred images, snapshots of men and machines at work. I felt a growing sickness in my gut at the hurried motion, the swaying of my limbs as I hung over the Bug's shoulder, pressing hard against my gut.
My vision blackened once more, closing it around the edges. I blinked hard, trying to stay awake, trying to take in as much as I could. I caught sight of the rear, large doors leading into another section. We stepped through and into a network of halls and corridors, passing door after door. We eventually stopped, and stepped inside a room. I felt myself pulled from the Bug's shoulder, tossed onto a bed. The motion had my guts emptying, vomit coughing up my throat and out of my mouth.
"You hit her too hard earlier, Roach," I heard Mantis say. "You know how important her brain is. You'd better hope she only has a mild concussion."
"I...I only did what you ordered..." came the retort of the Bug named Roach.
I heard a sudden whipping sound, as a figure went crashing into the side wall.
"Don't talk back to me," growled Mantis. "Never talk back to me."
A short silence followed, as my heaving began to ease, vomit dribbling down my lips as I lay there on the bed, eyes barely open. I took a few laboured breaths, still struggling to stay conscious. A shadow loomed ahead of me, leaning down.
"It'll all be OK, little Variant," hissed the voice of Mantis softly. His horrific face cleared, just a little, to my eyes. I felt a dull sense of terror grip at me as I saw his twisted, unnatural features. "You're safe now. You're home."
He drew back, thin lips parting into an unsettling grin, and I felt a sharp prick in my arm. I vaguely caught sight of a needle being withdrawn by another figure.
And only moments later, the darkness, once more, closed in.
2
I woke with a dull ache in the back of my head, the light in the room dim. I blinked heavily, my muscles weak and tender. Thoughts of the previous night filtered hazily through my mind. Thoughts of capture. Thoughts of dread.
With a light groan I managed to sit up on the bed, my legs swinging to the floor. I wore simple, white clothes, trousers and a T-shirt, socks and plimsoles of the same colour covering my feet. I looked to my wrists and found that both had been bandaged.
The cuts, I thought, remembering the horror of the previous night. The cuts caused by Mantis's razor-sharp grip.
I reached weakly to my head, my hair untied and hanging loose. My fingers crept towards the back of my skull. A small portion of my scalp had been shaved, covered in an adhesive, healing strip.
They must have hit me hard, I thought dully. I...I hardly remember anything since.
I turned my eyes around the room. It was a simple space. A bed. A desk. A little cupboard for storing clothes and personal items. I stood and stumbled over towards it, opening the drawers, hands shaking as I did so. I found nothing inside but sterile air.
My stealth suit and gear had, unsurprisingly, been taken elsewhere.
I let out a breath, and stepped to the door, reaching to turn the handle. It didn't budge. I lifted my fist, closing it tight, and began hitting feebly on the metal surface. It hardly made a noise, the thudding impact swallowed up by the small, dead space.
"Let...let me out," I croaked, my voice weak. I hit again, a little harder, trying to muster some energy. I couldn't. I had no power in my fist, no speed or velocity in my arm.
They've drugged you, Paige, I told myself. It's obvious. Banging on the door isn't going to do any good.
I drew away from the door, turning again to search the room. The walls were bare, no further furniture beyond the bed, desk, and storage space. One of he walls looked damaged, slightly cracked and caved in.
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. It was lit up, glowing gently, illuminating the room with a pale yellow light. It was dim enough, right now, to be comfortable to my eyes, though seemed to be growing steadily brighter.
Designed to wake up the workers, I thought, as I began to piece together what happened the previous night. I'd been brought
Henry Vance.
The name caused a cluster of dark, despairing thoughts to speed through my head. They came weakly, however, the dull throbbing in my head softening their impact, helping me remain calm and not fall into a panic.
I stumbled back to the bed and sat down, taking a few heavy breaths, trying to clear my thoughts.
VanceCorp. This must be the VanceCorp headquarters. Their main production plant, somewhere in Northbank. I turned to the door again, my mind un-fuzzing just a little. What are they making out there? I wondered. Do they design Reapers? Weapons? Do they develop new tech?
The factory had been busy the previous night, I recalled, even at the late hour I arrived. What were they building that required such round-the-clock work?
War preparations, Paige, came a voice in answer, sage, calm, the voice of my logical self. They are preparing for war.
I nodded wearily, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted to the floor, head hanging a little forward. Above me, the light was continuing to brighten, the glare growing more uncomfortable for my sensitive, aching eyes. Through the building now, the gentle, incessant hum of an alarm began to spread. It started quietly, seeming distant, before gradually growing louder and nearer. Within fifteen seconds, it was blaring into my room, coming from a speaker in the ceiling above.
I reached up and held my hands to my ears, closing my eyes tight. It lasted no more than ten seconds before gradually easing once more, the brightening of the light also tapering off. I slowly re-opened my eyes, unclasping my hands from my ears. I blinked and turned to the door...
Where a figure stood, watching me.
I took a sharp intake of air, my vision quickly clearing from the fright.
The figure was that of a man, dressed in a dark, tailored suit, his hair neat and brown. He had a clean-shaved face, youthful complexion despite his years. He must have been about my father's age, but didn't look it. He had clear eyes, coloured a light blue, with a suggestion of gold sprinkled around their edges. His lips held an easy, open expression, his posture not threatening, but inviting.
I stared at the figure of Henry Vance, and felt a heavy pulse begin to beat in my chest. This was the man responsible for creating the virus. This was the figure behind it all.
I clenched my fists and stood up, as sharply as I could, turning toward him. Behind him, the door was closed. He'd entered without me knowing. And no one was there to protect him.
I took a quick, threatening pace towards him, narrowing my eyes, preparing to pounce.
He didn't move.
He merely stood there, arms hanging relaxedly to his sides, observing me with interest.
"Sorry about the wake-up call, Paige," he said, his voice clean and clear, pleasant on the ear. "We like to keep our productivity rates high around here." He smiled. "We can't have our workers sleeping in now, can we?"
I stopped in place, several metres away, trying to read him. He had a disarming manner that, I supposed, was quite intentional. His eyes, topped with sleek, trim eyebrows, turned to the bed.
"Did you sleep all right, child? I've been told these beds are comfortable, but of course, everyone has their preference. Some like harder mattresses, others soft. Some prefer blankets, others duvets. It isn't so easy to please everyone." He peered at me, the tone of his voice changing just slightly. "Wouldn't you say?"
My lips felt glued together, mouth dry. He observed me for a moment, before his eyes moved off, vaguely working around the room.
"Not much character in here, is there?" he said, frowning mildly as he regarded the place. "I suppose you're thinking that every room here is the same. Well, that isn't the case. The workers have every right to decorate as they see fit." He looked back at me, pausing momentarily. "If you were to stay here, for example, and work for us, I'm sure you'd brighten the place up a bit..."
"I'd never work for you," I bit, my lips peeling open, tongue spitting the words out.
An amused smile bloomed on his face. "Ah, so you do speak, then," he said. "I was wondering for a moment if I was speaking with a mute."
He took a short step forward. He wasn't especially tall, but was broad enough and a fair amount larger than me. Without my speed and resulting strength, I'd have little chance of taking such a man down. I was in no position to fight right now, and he knew that all too well.
"I know how these things go, you know," he said, a little more directly. "You will stand there, all sullen, looking like you want to kill me, and burst out with the occasional, threatening remark. I'll do most of the talking, and will start to feel like I'm merely engaging in a monologue." He smiled. "I have no problem with that in principle, but in this case, I think a more robust conversation will serve us both well." He bobbed his shoulders lightly. "So, how about it, Paige? Shall we just forgo this unnecessary ritual and get down to business?"
He smiled again, and a bit - a tiny bit - of my anger and tension eased away. He seemed to know it, his eyes moving once more around the room, stopping where the wall was a little damaged.
"Oh my, what happened here?" he continued on briskly, tutting and shaking his head. "I daresay this was down to Mantis and his thuggish companions."
I nodded lightly. "Mantis threw one of them against the wall last night," I said quietly.
"Oh? Now why would he do that?"
"For hitting me too hard," I said. I reached gently to the back of my head, feeling for the healing strip there.
"I am sorry for that, child," Henry said, frowning concernedly. "I had asked that you be brought to me unharmed, but I suppose that was always going to be difficult." His eyes turned to my wrists. "How do you feel? I've been informed you're all patched up and will suffer no scarring. The cuts were relatively shallow. I know the bandages look bad, but they're just a precaution. The gashes are minor, don't worry."
"Scratches don't worry me," I said.
He nodded, slowly, and smiled. "No, of course not," he said. "You've been through enough, now, to be untroubled by such trivial wounds."
I regarded him, my thoughts continuing to clear, wondering how to proceed. Did he know who else had returned to the city with me? Did he know where they were? Did he know about the other troop, led by Ares, hopefully now settling in at the bunker base, midway between the city and Dover?
I turned my eyes down and away, quickly considering such questions. My priority, right now, was to shield the others. Mantis had laid a trap for me outside my mother's apartment, but beyond that, I had no reason to believe that they knew anything more. They knew there had been trouble at the northern border. They knew that fifteen Reapers and a large host of custodians had been slaughtered and burned. And they knew, now, that I was back, and that I certainly hadn't done all that on my own.
What else do they know? I wondered. And what are they willing to do to get more information from me?
I shuddered lightly at the thought. We'd been assured by Professor Kellig once that Northbank had no telepath under their control, so I didn't have to worry so much about my mind being read, and all of my secrets stolen. But, there were other methods of extracting information that they could use, those that would be a great deal worse than having a telepath digging around in my head.
Images of torture chambers and terrifying interrogation techniques filled my mind. I gritted my teeth and braced against them, tying to stay relaxed as I turned my eyes back to Henry Vance.
