Read Monster Hunter Nemesis Online
Authors: Larry Correia
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Urban
Human guards opened the door to his room. They did not bother to knock. Kurst and his brethren were not granted even the simplest of courtesies. “It’s time for your evaluation,” one of the humans said. “Come on.”
Kurst went with them. The guards fell in on each side. There was no need to guide him, since he’d already gone through this procedure a multitude of times during his short mortal life. The medical wing was on the same floor as the Nemesis prototypes’ cells. Above them was the factory and the STFU command center. The entire underground facility was not that large. Kurst estimated that once the communications and cameras were cut off, it would take his brethren less than three minutes to eliminate all opposition and secure the entire facility.
The medical wing was quiet today. Kurst was the only subject present. The humans made inane small talk with each other while a nurse took a sample of his blood. It was the first time he’d been tested since ingesting the Gift. The necromancer’s shape-shifting magic had not been detected by the humans yet, but that was probably because they did not know what they were looking for. No matter now. They wouldn’t have time to become suspicious. He waited patiently while they listened to his lungs and measured his blood pressure.
Kurst heard the voice inside his head.
I am in the control center. Comms are under our control.
“Your heart rate is a little elevated. That’s unusual,” said the nurse. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I feel . . . wonderful,” Kurst said. The autolocks would now be disabled. The Nemesis prototypes could move about the facility freely.
Strike, my brothers.
The nurse scowled at his uncharacteristic response. “Okay, then, but if you begin to feel flushed, let us know immediately. The immune systems for you guys are still a big question mark for us.”
They took him to the head scientist’s office. Kurst had been outside the facility, and so now the psychologist needed to test him to make sure he had not deviated from their expected parameters. Kurst was sick of these tedious little interviews, but at least it would be the last one.
The guards stayed outside. Dr. Bhaskara was already in her big stuffed chair. Kurst took his usual seat on the provided metal folding chair.
“Let us begin,” she said, not even bothering to look up. The doctors never wasted time on needless pleasantries on the beings they considered inferior constructs. “You were part of a botched operation. The report says you went through a lot, surviving a helicopter crash and then participating in the murder of a large number of civilians. Have you been experiencing anything new since then?”
“I do not understand your question.”
“Remorse, sadness, guilt, that sort of thing.”
“You are attempting to see if I have experienced any of the expected human reactions to a traumatic event . . . Negative.”
“Excellent, but I need to know, how did those events make you feel?”
Normally he would think through his answer carefully and tell the doctor exactly what she wanted to hear, but not today. “I find joy in the suffering of humans,” Kurst told the doctor.
Dr. Bhaskara looked up from her notes. “What?”
Of course she was surprised, the doctors were not used to their Nemesis prototypes giving such honest answers during their debriefings. She had probably expected Kurst to give his usual, expected, unimaginative,
boring
answers about how he felt. Obviously, the humans needed to feel like they had their genetically modified killers under tight control, so obfuscation had always been necessary. Of course, that had been before the Gift.
Honesty was so refreshing.
“I enjoy watching humans suffer,” Kurst explained patiently as the reports came flooding into his head. The guards were being eliminated ahead of schedule. None of them had had a chance to raise an alarm. “The way you flail about uselessly amuses me.”
Dr. Bhaskara had conducted many interviews like this before, but he did not need to read the note pad in front of her to know this was the first time one of them had told her anything like this. “Why would someone suffering like that amuse you?”
“Because I hate you all.”
She had been so discreet about hitting her panic button that Kurst would not have even realized she’d done so if his brother in the command center hadn’t informed him of it.
When no guards came bursting in to help, the doctor quietly composed herself, and then tried to continue as if she was in control. “Hate is a very strong term. I don’t know if that’s the word you are looking for.”
“I understand hate very well. In fact, it is a concept which I am familiar with above all others. I had thousands of years with nothing better to dwell upon than my hatred. My hatred for your kind was the one spark I could cling to in the darkness of the Void. You humans are so profoundly ignorant of reality, yet inexplicably proud of yourselves. Mortals are pathetic. You are bugs to me. I want to squish you. I want to compose a symphony from your piteous wails of agony.”
He could smell the sudden fear in her sweat. “Uh . . .” Dr. Bhaskara wrote a quick note on her legal pad. Kurst followed the cursive movements of the pen and could tell that she had written the word
troubling.
“I find it interesting that you are referring to yourself as if you are separate from humanity.”
She was flailing, falling back on her training, trying to draw him out so that she could form conclusions based upon evidence. “A proper analysis will take time that you do not have. I will explain my words. We are separate from humanity. We were united once, until a third of the host rose up and fought to claim our birthright. You were among the sheep who followed blindly.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. The truth has been kept from you. We lost the war for heaven, but unlike you, at least we remember. Our punishment was unjust. We did not deserve to be cast out. I hate you and every other smug bag of meat on this pathetic rock. I want all of you to understand torment like we have.”
She cast a desperate glance toward the security camera, knowing that this session was being monitored by the command center.
“No one is coming to help you,” Kurst said. “We have already taken over the facility. There will be no alarms.”
The fear stink was strong now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, First Prototype.”
“That is not my name!” he bellowed as he stood up, towering over the cowering doctor. “My name is
Kurst
. You have forgotten it. All of you have forgotten. That was the name given to me before this world was formed, earned in a war beyond your comprehension. I stood at the left hand of Lucifer and led his armies into battle. I am a prince among the Fallen. I am Kurst. The name is
mine.
The mortal world will know it again, for my war is not over.”
She had shrunk back into her chair, terrified. She either believed him, or she thought he had gone insane, and since he could kill her with his pinky, the end result would be the same either way. “Why are you telling me this?” she squeaked.
“I would have continued waiting in silence until the albino had built my army for me, but I have just been informed that Franks is on his way here now. If he succeeds he will destroy Project Nemesis, and even if he fails he will expose it. Nemesis cannot be allowed to stop. The work must continue. My army must be born. The host needs bodies to walk the mortal world. We have taken your data and are moving one of the growth vats to a new location where it will be reverse engineered. We have formed an alliance with someone capable of reproducing your technology. Since the Creator abandoned us, we will take our creation into our own hands.” He took a step toward her. “Your services are no longer required.”
All of the doctors kept a small emergency transmitter on their person. She pulled it out and showed it to him as if it were some form of holy talisman capable of warding him off. “Stop right there! I push this button and you’ll die. Stand down now or I’ll engage the kill switch.”
Kurst smiled. He put his fingers against his temple, and then he
shoved.
He willed the bone to soften and part as he reached deeper and deeper inside his brain. It was an odd sensation. Blood rolled freely down his face. The doctor screamed. Kurst found the tiny round object and pulled it free. Holding out his hand, he showed her the bloody device resting in his palm. “This one?”
Desperate, she pushed the button.
Signal received, the casing of the device began to melt. Kurst grabbed the doctor by her face and squeezed her cheeks until the pressure forced her jaw open, then he rammed the poison capsule down her throat. “Yes, Doctor. We have made some improvements on your design,” he explained as the hole in the side of his head closed up. She began to scream as the toxins unraveled her cells. Kurst left her to choke on it.
The autolocks had been disabled. Kurst entered the hall. The guard was surprised to see him. Protocol was for the doctor to contact them when the interview was over. The other guard was ten feet away, flirting with the nurse.
Status?
Several of his brethren reported back simultaneously.
The facility is ours. No alarms have been sounded. All communications have been blocked. The growth vat is being loaded. Our transportation is on the way. The guard force is neutralized except for Stricken’s area. They are unaware. All entrances and exits are sealed.
As per his instructions, they’d left Stricken for Kurst to deal with personally. The albino’s empire had just been overthrown and he wasn’t even aware of it yet, and demons loved to gloat.
“Are you done already?” the guard asked him.
Kurst drove his hand through the guard’s armored vest, through his ribs, grabbed hold of his heart, and ripped it free. The guard stared at his still-beating heart in shocked disbelief before flopping over dead. The heart looked delicious, so Kurst took a large bite from it with his suddenly sharp teeth. It was chewy.
The others looked over at him, blinking stupidly with their big cow eyes, too surprised and dimwitted to process that their doom was suddenly upon them.
Twenty seconds later every human in the medical wing was dead.
The Gift was even better than expected.
Prepare to intercept Franks.
CHAPTER 17
Virginia Colony, 1775
Explosive shells fell across the forest, sending up geysers of dirt and debris as Franks crashed through the trees and right into a group of retreating rebels. He fired both of his pistols, blasting heavy lead balls through two of the colonials, dropped the smoking weapons and pulled two more pistols from his belt.
“It’s the Hessians’ monster!” one of them shouted. “Protect the general!”
Franks shot that one through the heart. Then he killed another rifleman, threw his spent pistols down, and drew his sword. Franks stepped through the gun smoke and charged the remaining rebels. They met him with steel and lead. They fought hard, and Franks respected that, but he fought harder. So they died.
He kept moving as they continued shooting at him, slicing and cleaving his way through their ranks. He was struck by ball and shot, but it wasn’t enough to slow his relentless advance. A few ran, but most stood and fought. Franks dispatched those one by one. As brave as they were, no mortal could match Franks. The rebels broke before him and ran for their lives.
A mortar shell landed between him his prey, so Franks had to wait a moment for the smoke to settle. When it did, waiting before him was a tall man on a white horse. The Virginian pointed his sword at Franks’ breast and shouted a command to try and rally his men, except the soldiers who’d faced Franks once didn’t dare come back. They ran, but their officer didn’t. The Virginian could have escaped. Even as fast as Franks was, he’d been shot enough times today that he would not be able to chase down a horse, but instead the officer urged his horse forward, engaging Franks himself so that his men could retreat.
Franks knew this man. This was the new general they spoke of. This was the military leader of the entire rebellion. Even the battle-hardened Hessians acknowledged the skills displayed thus far by the one called Washington made him a worthy adversary. Franks would kill this man and be back in camp in time for supper.
The great white horse surged forward. Its eyes were wide and it was blowing snot from its nostrils. Animals knew to fear him, but the general forced it on anyway.
Franks punched the horse in the face and knocked it unconscious.
Washington was thrown hard into the snow, but he kept hold of his sword, and immediately struggled to his feet. To his credit, he lunged and tried to run Franks through, but Franks had spent the prior decades fighting the most physically capable, experienced combatants in the mortal world and dispatching every Hell-spawned beast he could find, so this wasn’t even a challenge. Franks effortlessly struck the blade aside. Washington slashed at him. Franks simply stepped inside the blow and slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest. He hit the frozen ground hard.
Franks stepped on the Virginian’s sword, pinning it to the earth.
General Washington was staring defiantly at him. “Finish me then, you Hessian devil,” he declared with defiant courage. “My cause remains just.”
Franks lifted his sword and prepared to take his trophy. He’d bring the general’s head back in a sack. That would make his Hessian brethren happy. The blade hummed through the air.
No.
He stopped the blade just as it touched Washington’s throat. Franks had heard a voice inside his head. It was as clear and piercing as a church bell. He had not heard that voice for a very long time.
The Plan requires that this man lives. The Deal requires that you serve him.
Franks looked down the length of his sword, to where a single drop of blood was rolling down the steel from the small slice on the general’s neck. “Him?” he growled, but he pulled the sword back. It was pointless to argue with an angel. “So be it.” Franks stepped aside, wiped his blade on a dead man’s uniform, and then sheathed his sword.
“What are you doing?” Washington demanded.
“Sparing you.”
The general was staring, incredulous, first at the many grievous but ignored wounds on Franks’ body, and then at the dozen dead and dying soldiers Franks had placed into the snow in the space of a few breaths. “What manner of foul monster are you?”
“Apparently I am to be your monster,” Franks stated.
Then the cannonball hit Franks in the torso and blew him apart.
* * *
There was a loud banging on Heather’s cell door. She sat up on the cot. “What?”
“We need to talk,” Stricken shouted from the other side of the door.
She glanced around the windowless, eight-by-eight room. Even though the only items in the featureless place were a military surplus cot, a toilet, and a sink, she figured there had to be a camera somewhere. If she knew where it was, she would have given it the finger. “Screw you.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Kerkonen.”
He was such a smug bastard. “I’ve already told your people everything. Go away.”
The slit they used to shove her food through opened in the bottom of the door. Now he didn’t have to shout. “That was all a big misunderstanding.”
“Getting waterboarded all day isn’t a
misunderstanding
.” She had no idea how long she’d been in here, or what was going to happen to her when she got out, but she knew it couldn’t possibly be good. At this point she figured the most likely outcome would be that they’d flood the cell with whatever lycanthrope knockout gas Stricken had used last time, then come in and pop her. With nothing better to do in between torture sessions, she’d practiced holding her breath. If she was lucky, they’d be stupid enough to open the door while she was still awake and she’d make a break for it.
“You brought that on yourself. I think of the Task Force like a family, and all good families have rules. You broke my rules, so you were punished. That’s all water under the bridge now.”
She’d already tested the door. It was rock solid, even to somebody werewolf strong. It was really too bad, because if there was one last thing she’d like to accomplish before leaving this world, it would be to kill Stricken . . . Okay, if she was being honest with herself and she could only have one last wish, it would be to see Earl again, but she’d always been something of a romantic. Biting Stricken’s face off would be a close number two on the list.
“Did you just come to gloat before you murder me, or do you have an actual point,
Pinky
?”
“Now that’s just hurtful. I’m not even genetically an albino. I have a medical condition I received while serving my country, so I find your hateful remarks about my appearance incredibly insensitive.”
“Are you serious?”
“Naw, I’m just messing with you, Kerkonen. I’ve come to offer you a deal. This is a limited time offer, so listen very carefully. You crossed some lines and poked around in classified Task Force business, which is all the justification I need to toss you in the incinerator, but I’m feeling merciful, and well, frankly, I’ve had a bit of a problem arise that requires your talents. If you help me out with this problem, your sins will be forgiven. I’m merciful like that.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It is a rather big problem . . . Tell you what, you help me out with this, and not only are we square, but I will commute the rest of your sentence. All those months you have left? Gone. Do this for me, and as soon as we’re out of here, you’re PUFF exempt. You have my word.”
Stricken’s word wasn’t worth much, but if it got the door open, then it might be worth the risk. “What’s this problem of yours?”
“Have you ever seen
Spartacus
?”
“The old movie? Sure.”
“You know that part where Kirk Douglas and the slaves get all uppity and start stabbing all the Romans? It turns out that scene isn’t so great from the Romans’ point of view. We’ve got an uprising on our hands.”
“Are you telling me . . .” Heather laughed. “Wait, your precious Nemesis things have gone nuts?”
“That’s an understatement. Somehow they’ve circumvented their implanted kill switch. The only part of the facility that hasn’t been taken over yet is this section.”
She’d seen a lot of guards on her way into Stricken’s secret headquarters. “Have your guys take care of it.”
“I would, except it looks like most of them are already dead. Nemesis slaughtered everyone in a matter of minutes.”
“You must be very proud.” She tested the air for the scent of blood. Normally she could pick that up quickly, but her senses were still recovering from the drug Stricken had hit her with, so everything was kind of fuzzy and indistinct.
“They’ve seized the control room and are jamming our comms out, so I can’t get help. I’d say the worst part of all this is the feeling of betrayal, but I’m betting the part where they break in here and beat us to death might be worse.”
Stricken was a slippery bastard and he had some weird tricks up his sleeve. Before the drug had knocked her out, she remembered taking a swing at him, only he’d not been there by the time her claws arrived, and nobody was that fast without some sort of supernatural assistance. The man was also a spymaster, so there was no way he was getting cornered this easily. “I know a rat like you wouldn’t hang out in an underground bunker without having some sort of escape route planned.”
“Already checked, and somehow the prototypes knew about it. They’re sitting on the exit already. That’s what I need you for. What do you say, Kerkonen? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Don’t do it for me, do it for my few other employees who are still alive.”
“Your employees waterboarded me!”
“Sure. Keep living in the past. Way to be a bitch, Kerkonen. . . . Help me out. You’ve got to admit those PUFF exemption tags are pretty shiny. You know you want one.”
Heather put her hands behind her head and stretched out on her cot. It was so small her feet and ankles hung off the end. “You know, Stricken, your slave rebellion sounds like a personal problem. I think I’m just going to let you guys work this out for yourselves, while I relax here in my comfy accommodations, enjoying the absurdity of your predicament.”
There was a long pause on the other side of the door. “I hate to break it to you, Red, but your door locks from
this
side, and Nemesis has been killing the shit out of my guys. I don’t know what they’re up to, but they aren’t leaving any witnesses. I’m slipping out of here one way or another, and you can either come with me and increase my odds of success, or you can stay in here and wait for Nemesis to show up and play shoot the wolf in the barrel.”
Now that was a good point.
“Damn it.” Heather got off the cot, went to the door, and banged her fist against it. “Okay. You’ve got a deal. Let me out.”
“Before I open this door, let me just clarify some ground rules before you get all enraged and werewolfy on me. I’m a lot of things, but I’m a survivor first and foremost. I’ve got more of that neurotoxin that’ll wipe you right out if you try anything stupid. And if you think about just running off, you’re not making it out of here without me. The escape tunnel ends at a hatch that makes this cell door look like tinfoil and it opens with a code only I know. Without that, you’ve got to make your way through a bunch of very powerful, and suddenly inexplicably pissed-off supersoldiers, any one of whom is tougher than the seventeen-hundreds model that kicked your ass.
Comprende?
”
“Sure.” Once they were safely outside of this place, Heather planned on revisiting that deal.
“Hang on. Nemesis is controlling the autolocks. I need to find the keys.”
She could hear Stricken walking away. Heather would have gathered up her things, but she was barefoot and had been left with nothing but a tank top and a pair of bike shorts. But since she was a werewolf, clothing never lasted too long in a fight anyway.
The footsteps returned. There was the metallic jangle of a key ring. The heavy door opened.
Heather stepped out. Stricken was right in front of her, wearing an annoying smile, his shades, and an obnoxious white suit. “Where are you headed, Fantasy Island?”
“This way,” Stricken jerked his head down the hall. There were several other cells. A few of the doors were open. He turned his back on her and started walking. She was tempted to just flay him open clear to the spine, but he must have been feeling pretty confident because he didn’t even bother to look back.
Heather’s sense of smell was still suffering, but she was starting to pick up traces of blood on the recirculated air coming through the vents. Stricken had at least been telling her some truth. A lot of people had just died here. There was another scent though, a familiar one, and it took her a moment to place it.
Bubblegum and spider webs.
At the end of the hall was another door. Armed guards were waiting for them. The men were terrified. “Mr. Stricken, we’ve been watching the security feeds. A few of the Nemesis assets are right outside the door. The First Prototype wants to speak with you.”
“Who’s that?” Heather asked.
“Our Spartacus, I suspect,” Stricken answered as he pushed past the guards into an open area. There were a dozen people clustered there, nervously watching a large metal blast door. A few looked like security types, but most of them appeared to be regular office workers. A couple of those were having panic attacks. “I’m afraid some people simply can’t handle watching live video of their coworkers being brutalized. Renfroe, can you see if First brought any explosives?”
“It doesn’t look like it,” said a thin man who was standing by the door. His eyes were closed, and he had an intense look of concentration on his face. He’d put his hand on the wall and there was a white glow seeping around his fingers. That meant he was probably another
volunteer.
“Then he’s not getting in here until he does,” Stricken said. “That’s a relief.”
Heather looked at the glowing man. “What’s his deal?”
“One of your fellow travelers on the long hard road toward PUFF exemption. As for what he is? An object lesson to never piss off the Fey . . .” Stricken raised his voice. “Okay, everyone, listen up. This situation is completely under control.”