Arrival By Wrath Part 22

Her veins erupted again, but it didn't affect her tirade in the least. She continued undisturbed, "Men and women grow angry, and it never matters why. In the end, they long for that which they cannot have and project their anger inward when they fail to grasp it. It drives them to eat, to lethargy, or to be self-destructive in any other form you could possibly imagine. I've seen it for decades, the same heartless flaws dressed up in different clothes and technologies as the years pa.s.s, as if it truly hides the ever present rage. It is everywhere, even inside of you now."

"You're definitely not human." Preston shuddered, feeling a growing sickness boil up inside of him. "No human being could go through with what you're doing."

"Of course they could. Have you forgotten about my sins?" Wrath was growing more pa.s.sionate in her responses, the forcefulness in her voice becoming more p.r.o.nounced. Not unlike the Bloodstrife addicts who committed crimes on the street, she was becoming unpredictable. "Then again," she stated, growing suddenly listless, "only something as twisted as humanity could breed something like me in the first place."

"Why don't you just kill me?" Preston asked, past the point of caring. In truth, he noticed he could no longer move. While moments earlier, the detective had perceived that he could still shoot her if the situation warranted, the conversation had lasted too long, and all three of them knew it. Whatever Wrath had done was working. Preston went over his conversations with McGovern, guessing that Wrath may have had control of Particle N disburs.e.m.e.nt in the air. That was why she was able to affect him in such a confined s.p.a.ce. It didn't matter; he was at her mercy at last.

"I'm not going to kill you. That would be pointless," her words echoed, but not because she screamed. Preston had lost all focus and was beginning to feel detached, fighting a more omnipresent fatigue. He looked to Argosi, who appeared unaffected through the haze.

"If you let me live, I'll just bring more police down here. I'll chase you across the earth if I need to." Shaking his head, he regained his wits, but only momentarily. "Besides, why would you tell me all of this if you were going to let me walk away?"

"My dear Preston," Wrath said casually, "I'm telling you because you need to know. After all, I need a new Envy."

Chapter 19.

An exquisite pain coursed through Jack's arm. Although having lessened somewhat in the few minutes since being shot, the detective knew the worst was yet to come. His former enemy, l.u.s.t, was preparing to fish the bullet from the wound. She had managed to find, with little difficulty, some filthy makeshift medical tools in the factory bas.e.m.e.nt. With hesitation, she had recently doused some of them in alcohol produced from a flask which she'd brought down with her.

Jack clenched his teeth, biting down hard as she began. She was meticulous in her precision, but without anesthetic, she may as well have been using a fork she found on the ground rather than the filthy pair of tongs she had settled upon.

"This will get infected if you don't wrap this up soon and get to a hospital," she said, still focused on the task at hand. "You can actually see the dirt on these things. Frankly, it's disgusting."

A few more seconds pa.s.sed as she maneuvered the slug around inside Jack's arm. Alexandra continued to offer him distracting words, trying to engage him in conversation and distance his mind from the constant pain as she spoke of the weather or the investigation. Finally feeling the metal cartridge positioned between the tongs, l.u.s.t pulled, but lost her grip. Jack wailed in pain, as if a fresh new piece of himself had been torn out from the inside. He threw l.u.s.t an angry glance and a mild curse, which she ignored. Without missing a beat, she continued. The detective screamed as she finally withdrew the bullet from his body, covered in blood and soot.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it," he cursed again, his wits finally returning to him as sweat poured down his face. Jack looked away as he saw a fresh torrent of blood begin flowing out of the wound. Searching for a makeshift tourniquet, l.u.s.t shrugged and casually ripped off a piece of her dress. The fabric tore away over her midsection, revealing her well-toned stomach. She quickly began to bandage his arm with the piece of cloth.

"There we go," she said. "That's better now." Without warning she tightened the shirt, sending a new wave of pain through his arm. Jack flinched in agony, but the pain lessened almost immediately. The bleeding appeared to be contained.

"Why are you two helping us?" Jack asked after a few seconds had pa.s.sed in which he caught his breath. He rested his head back against the room temperature industrial machinery. "You know there will still be a lot of questions for you to answer after this."

l.u.s.t appeared shaken by the statement, but the expression pa.s.sed within moments. Instead, she looked toward the now closed freezer door, trying to discern the conversation most likely taking place inside. Hearing nothing, she probably resigned herself to the fact that the door was soundproof, rather than that Wrath had killed both of them already.

"I have my reasons," she replied. l.u.s.t continued to inspect Jack's wound. Seeing that she'd done all she could, she took a seat beside him on the floor.

Absently, she tried to brush off the blood which had stained her hands, but without water, only succeeded in rubbing it in deeper.

"That's not good enough," Jack said coldly. "What is it that Wrath has done to make you turn on him?"

"Oh, just the usual," she said, never taking her eyes off the door. In a rare instance of sincere emotion, her voice became fragile, no longer holding the overt s.e.xuality she usually presented. "He grew tired of me. I'm not really of much use to the cause, if you know what I mean. All the others had a purpose."

"Then why join them in the first place?" Jack asked, still breathing heavily as he clutched his arm.

"What can I say?" she replied, half lost in contemplative thought. "I love Benton. If I knew the code to the door, I'd rush in there right now. But from the look of it, I think we'll have to stay outside until the confrontation is over."

"Then it's time to call for backup," Jack insisted. "I need you to help me upstairs where we can get a signal."

"No," she said. "If your friends come, then you'll take Greed away. "We have to wait until this is finished."

"We don't-" Jack said, being cut off. She was on him instantly, already trying to tear off what remained of her clothes. "Stop!" he commanded as she kissed him forcefully, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

"Please, Detective," she said, pulling her lips away. Her words were once again totally distant, but overflowing with l.u.s.t. "Let me be of use to you." Her hands found their way down to his belt, unbuckling it with ease as he struggled against her advances.

"No way!" he yelled with increasingly shallow breath.

With his arm erupting in fresh pain, Jack managed to get his feet in line with her stomach, kicking her off him. l.u.s.t bellowed in pain after the strike. She came to rest a few feet away, struggling to breathe. The wind had been knocked out of her, but the detective could tell it wouldn't delay her for long.

To Jack, she appeared normal, unlike the others. Despite the presence of a now fully visible l.u.s.t tattoo in wavy letters on her midsection, it didn't look as if she would be sprouting muscles or controlling him with invisible threads. Topless, and making no attempt to cover herself, she shot a defiant glance at him as she drew her blood-stained hand across her stomach. Already it was red with the force of his kick.

"What if they're already dead?" she asked grimly. Her demeanor was now bordering on moderate, but visible anger. "Then, it would be just the two of us. I think I could make you mine, in time."

"No, you couldn't," he said righteously. "I have a family."

She approached him, her chest heaving, possibly in ecstasy. The few shards of her dress that covered her lower half were barely hanging on, ready to drop to the ground. Somehow, it remained around her waist, clinging precariously.

"That's close enough," he ordered. The detective inched along the ground, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his Ruger clumsily as she approached. Jack held his gun up meekly with his functioning arm, pointed directly at her. He shook his head, both as an answer and a warning.

"A family," l.u.s.t commented. "I see what he meant." Her heartless and hungry stare was beginning to make Jack grow increasingly uncomfortable, even with his gun aimed.

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked cautiously.

"A family," she reiterated distantly, looking back at the door. "You feel a lot of pride for them, don't you?"

"I . . ." Preston tried to yell, realizing that he was short of breath. The words came out muddled and disjointed, a statement that highlighted the surprise in his voice. ". . . Would never join you."

"In the end, my dear Preston." Wrath paused, moving back toward the large containers of catalyzed blood. "You won't have a choice. While all the others joined me willingly, the truth is you'll only need to succ.u.mb to a few regular injections to be converted. It's biology pure and simple-it always has been. Those who have fully turned are reliant on the blood to live. That's an excellent way to ensure loyalty, don't you agree?" Wrath shot a glance at Argosi, who offered no response in return. However, Preston noted a small glance of rigid determination in his face.

She reached carefully behind one of the containers on the table, bringing out an empty syringe. It was ma.s.sive, the kind someone might use to inject a farm animal or an elephant.

In silence, Wrath examined the needle, holding it up to the bright white light above. Although not housed in sterile packaging, the syringe appeared unused and clean. Quietly, she dipped the end into the open container and pulled the plunger upward, filling the plastic cylinder with the vile black liquid. Her veins pulsated again as she did so, forcing her hands to shake so violently that she had to halt her actions until they subsided.

There was a splash and a ripple in the vat before she resumed loading the needle.

"That's why I'll never do it," Preston said, breaking the silence and allowing the steady fury which had been growing inside him to lash out. "If that twitch of yours wasn't enough, you've poisoned this city and killed any number of people, above all, Shannon. You may use different tools and strive toward more ridiculous goals, but your methods are the same. You prey on the weak. You're no different than the other sc.u.m I've run across in my life, Wrath." His voice ebbed at the mention of Shannon's name, beginning to feel even weaker as he did so. The floodgates were trying to open again. Of all the times to fall prey to his emotions, now was the worst possible moment.

"Shannon Morrissey, yes," Wrath hissed at him with a modest smile. "She really did have a heart, didn't she?" she said, shrugging off the rest of his accusations. The monster appeared in contemplative thought as Preston watched the image of Elisabeth continue to pull the plunger upward on the large needle, filling it with the blood pooled in the container.

"She was the youngest of us," Argosi interjected with a stable, albeit shallow voice. Preston almost flinched at the sound of his speech. In the last few overly tense minutes, the detective had almost forgotten he was there at all. "She had only been injected a little over four months ago, right before we first released Bloodstrife. We realized at the last minute that we could use someone in a major hospital."

"Right," Preston snapped. "Someone you could use," he shot back, directing it toward Wrath. Argosi remained silent, just as he'd been during most of the conversation. He was nothing, neither friend nor foe in the hidden room. The man was a lost soul in the lowest level of h.e.l.l. Besides, the Detective said, he's just waiting to see who wins.

"Nevertheless," Wrath continued, "you will be the new Envy. Someone within the police department will be of great benefit when we begin to spread beyond Chicago. You will secure us safe pa.s.sage out of the city when it's time to depart. I'm sure your fellow officers would like nothing more than to tour this facility. Sadly, they'll find their suspects are nowhere to be found when they arrive."

"Just try to inject me with that s.h.i.t," Preston said through clenched teeth. With his outburst, his head cleared momentarily. Instantly, he pulled out his Beretta and aimed it. Wrath didn't seem surprised in the least.

He'd managed to shake off the feeling of lightheadedness that had been plaguing him for the last several minutes. It was as if the noose around his neck had suddenly broken. Not wanting to lose the sensation, he remained focused only on her, ready to fire.

The syringe was now completely filled with the catalyzed blood. His daughter's image held it with her small hands delicately, as if it were a tiny, fragile animal. Then, she tightened her fist around it, trying to subdue what appeared to be a silent, building rage.

Her vacant eyes flared. The irises grew a dark red, the color of aging roses or congealed blood.

"You could shoot me now," Wrath commented, her voice growing deeper, more masculine, "but then you'd never stop the final stage." Her grip visibly lessened on the needle as she spoke. Taking a few steps away from the containers, she moved slightly closer to the detective, but decided to keep her distance.

"What final stage? What have you done?" Preston asked, in no mood for surprises. His gun still aimed at her head, he tried to push the resemblance to Elisabeth out of his mind, knowing that he would need to be able to take a clean shot.

"You see, we're much closer than you think." Wrath began to smile as her body was again consumed by spasms. Her veins erupted, bathing her whole body in pain. She began to scream at the edge of her last word upon finishing her sentence. Without missing a beat, she continued, as if nothing had happened at all. "The concentration of wrath in the atmosphere has almost reached the necessary threshold to fulfill my objective. Soon, my dear Preston, I will no longer be alone. An entire lifetime of work and torturous delay is finally about to reach its culmination."

Wrath had allowed traces of excitement to slip out when she spoke. Her eyes were wide, but remained utterly vacant. Now, apparently realizing how eager she had become, Wrath took a step backward as she calmed herself before continuing. "With the police closing in on our presence, we're running out of time. However, at the current pace, it may take weeks for the street addicts to generate enough of your so-called Particle N to reach the required level in the atmosphere. Therefore. . ." She paused on the edge of the word. Preston, who had barely taken his eyes off the syringe in her hand, saw her grip tighten again. "I've emptied this factory of every last remaining drop of Bloodstrife, save for what sits on the table, of course. Four trucks have been sent out into Chicago, all of them driven by addicts under my control. They're heading toward various areas of the city to distribute the drug for free in alleys and clubs and on street corners.

"One of them is headed for your precious Shannon's hospital to release the patients and supply them with what they desire most. Those who refuse will be forcibly injected. The events of today alone will guarantee the culmination of this Chicago experiment. Then, my new partner and I will spread this plague to the next city and the next. After all, my dear Preston, we'll have more mouths to feed."

For the first time, Wrath's twisted expression appeared genuinely happy. She was beaming like a patient child who had finally been rewarded with a present. Elisabeth never wore such a disturbing look while she had lived.

"I'll stop them," Preston said, virtually in shock. "I'll stop them all."

"Why do you persist in this futility?" Wrath asked. Then after a long pause, she said, "Ah, yes, you still harbor a small bond with your surrogate family, that of your partner, Jack Paige, am I correct?"

Preston turned back, remembering that the large door had closed behind them. Jack was still out in the main bas.e.m.e.nt, being tended to or tortured by l.u.s.t. He couldn't hear their conversation, and consequently, they wouldn't be able to hear him.

"What are you going to do to Jack's family?" Preston asked, feeling all the blood drain from his face.

"I've sent the smallest shipment directly to their address. While the junkies are busy looting the truck, the driver will make his way to their apartment and introduce them to, shall we say, my way of life. Since they live in a more upscale neighborhood, the family will be forcibly injected first, then the driver will inject anyone who pa.s.ses by on the street. Needless to say, my dear Detective, if you're to be one of my children, we can't have anything tethering you down."

Preston pulled back the hammer on his Beretta. His finger began to press firmly on the trigger, nudging it ever so slightly, attempting to hold back with all his power. He wanted nothing more than to keep his promise to Jack, but knew that even if he managed to stop himself, the Detective wouldn't. He had every intention of pulling the trigger. Do it! the Detective shouted, even now.

"Greed," Wrath commanded with haste.

Before Preston could react to her command, Argosi had pounced on him, knocking the gun from his hand. He'd moved unbelievably fast, just like the addicts in the alley. Preston had hardly seen the attack coming, barely managing to bring his arm up to protect his face before he was struck.

"I'm sorry, Detective. I can't control it." Greed's voice was calm and measured. Argosi was still conscious, but his face was contorted with pain. He was trying to resist the black blood in his body and the complete control that Wrath had over him. Even now, his face was beginning to resemble Wrath's.

Small black veins had begun creeping from the corners of his eyes. Whereas Wrath's leapt out in an instant, Greed's were flowing beneath the skin, moving slowly enough to present an image of tense, debilitating pain, not unlike what Preston had witnessed on Gluttony's forehead, a writhing tattoo, moving as if alive. None had been lying, Greed, l.u.s.t, and Sloth; it was clear that Wrath could have done them all in on a whim, at any time she chose. It was all because of the catalyzed blood in their veins. They were addicted in the worst possible way, worse even than the everyday Bloodstrife addicts on the street.

They needed the drug to live.

"Snap out of it!" Preston ordered, trying to punch Greed in the face. He swung hard and missed as Argosi moved with terrible speed. Greed effortlessly caught the detective's arm and subdued him.

He was too strong for his frame, impossibly so. Preston sat on the ground, staring into Argosi's face, more consumed by small black veins with each pa.s.sing second.

His arms bound, Preston saw the Beretta now lay a few feet away, out of reach. It was the focal point of the room, the color of metal contrasted against the glaring white void. As he tried to formulate a plan of escape, the detective caught movement in his peripheral vision. Turning his head to the right, he saw Wrath begin her approach, holding the syringe freely in one hand. The large needle pointed upward ominously. Her thumb was positioned carefully on the bottom of the plunger like some demented surgeon as she moved closer. Argosi was breathing heavily as he held Preston, unable to break free of his own captor.

Out of options and hoping that he would still be numb from his encounter with Sloth, Preston quickly brought his head forward, bashing it against Argosi's in an act of desperation. Preston felt little pain as he brought his head back after the blow, only a mild disorientation. In that moment, Greed groaned in both pain and surprise. His grip loosened, barely releasing a few fingers from around Preston's wrist, but it was enough.

Preston screamed and seized the moment of weakness. Wrenching one of his arms free, Preston brought it back, this time successfully landing a blow against Argosi's cheek.

Until that moment, Preston hadn't felt any of the pain from the fight. Even the wounds on his face from Shannon had barely imprinted in his mind. But the CEO's face felt as if it were chiseled from stone. His fist crashed upon it like an ocean wave upon the rocks.

Preston howled in agony as he brought back his fragile fist. After the initial shock, his entire hand pulsated in red and white pain. He could tell instantly that it wasn't broken, his fingers coming back to life in small spasms. The detective knew it would put him at another serious disadvantage.

Greed still held his other arm firmly, seemingly unaffected by the blow.

Without a moment to lose and the Beretta still lying beyond the length of his arm, Preston managed to reach into his pocket with his barely functioning hand and remove the object he'd brought with him. Without hesitation or warning, he smashed The Twist into Argosi's face. The cheap gla.s.s shattered instantly on impact, sending the stale water and ooze across the same cheek which had almost broken his fist moments earlier. Small shards of gla.s.s exploded from the break, cutting Greed's face as they flew outward. Traces of black blood mixed with scarlet red began to seep out from under Greed's hands as he brought them up to cradle his wounds. The CEO staggered backward, screaming in debilitating pain.

Wrath had continued to move closer. She was only a few steps away. They locked eyes for a moment, her irises seeming once again to bleed with pure rage.

Preston took advantage of the confusion, darting across the floor to grab his gun while Wrath could do nothing more than watch. She virtually ignored the cries of her wounded slave, instead choosing to rush toward Preston. She lunged for him with the needle as the detective drew within inches of the Beretta.

Wrath stopped in her tracks as Preston slid across the ground and grabbed his gun using his uninjured left hand.

They stood there without speaking for a few moments, his heavy heartbeat the only noise. Argosi grew quiet, but still covered his face as he took aimless, stumbling blind steps behind her. His hands were covered in a mixture of red and black, but it was apparent that most of the veins on his face had receded.

Wrath's body contorted in pain, but the spasms only lasted for a fraction of a second. Slowly, her irises returned to their normal size amid the sound of shallow breathing. She barely seemed to be affected, as if she had finally learned to control her rage.

Her expression was sad; Elisabeth's expression was sad. It was too much for him to take.

"You still don't understand the question," she said, defeated.

"This is the only answer I have left," he replied, holding back his emotion. It was the Detective who spoke in his place.

Wrath rushed him again, the needle aiming for his chest. Preston fired. He watched the image of the broken Elisabeth shatter around the wound as if made of gla.s.s. What replaced her was the true vision. The mask was gone. Preston saw Wrath as he was meant to be seen.

The bullet struck the monster in the head, sending the small child-sized creature backward from the force of the blow.

A wave of black ooze had escaped from the wound, spraying it across the once immaculate white floor as the body came to rest with a sickening thud.

A larger puddle began pooling at the base of its head, bringing back memories of Gluttony's final contorted pose.

Preston slowly approached the corpse with light, cautious footsteps. His gun was drawn, held steady with both hands. Wrath, as he saw it now, was an altogether different being, sprawled before him in deafening silence. Standing, he would have estimated the person at the same height he had pictured Elisabeth if she had lived to age seven. The facial features were compressed and malformed, like the creature been thrown together in a rush.

Preston a.s.sumed that if what Wrath had told him about his origin was true, it may not be far from the truth.

The being's entire body was covered in a coat of loose black ooze, runnier and lighter in color than the catalyzed blood. He looked to the chair Wrath had been sitting in when he had arrived, seeing that it was coated in the same substance, something he hadn't been able to see before the illusion broke. Small tracks of it were all over the floor, sullying the void entirely.

Even the room itself had been a lie.

Only the faintest glint of open, dead eyes stuck out through folds in its face. The iris was a pale white, the rest of the eye a vacant black. No more red remained. All of its limbs, while present, barely had any definition, merely formed bones coated in slack skin.

Although nude, it was barely discernible as male, lying lifeless on the floor. Preston took a few cautious steps back, realizing that he was staring directly into the cold, dead eyes of pure anger made manifest in front of him.

Of all that had changed after the veil of the illusion was lifted, it was those same vacant eyes that remained. He'd been staring into them blankly the entire time.

The detective heard more footsteps. Preston turned his gun on Argosi immediately after hearing the man approach.

"Don't worry Detective," Argosi responded, not bothering to hold up his blood-stained hands. His face no longer held the marked veins, but The Twist had definitely left an impression. Large gashes and cuts disfigured his face, but even now they appeared to be slowly closing. The blood flow had already stopped. "I'm free of this wretched curse, more or less," he offered, rolling his eyes as he lifted his shirt. The Greed tattoo was still present, beginning to pulse. "I have no real experience with this type of thing, but from what I understand, you'll want to take a few steps back." Argosi dropped his shirt and gestured toward Wrath.