Monster Hunter Nemesis (19 page)

CHAPTER 8

I had never had a body before. I’d never had a mind made of flesh. The world I knew was no more. I perceived through new, confusing senses, while my old senses were instantly severed. Most of my memories were burned away in an instant. Nothing made sense.

I woke up in pain. I had never felt pain before. Now I was inside a body with a million severed nerve endings. I was made of bits and pieces from fifty different bodies and I could feel every single cut. Dippel was brilliant, but his tools were crude. Man’s overall knowledge of anatomy was pathetic.

Basically, the body was a mess. There is a vast gulf between perfection and near perfection, and that gulf is filled with agony. I would have expired immediately if it had not been for two things: the Elixir forcing my body to live, and my stubborn refusal to let go.

Though I’d forgotten much in that instant, I could still remember Hell and I would never go back willingly.

The first thing I ever saw through eyes was my earthly creator, Herr Dippel. The first thing I ever heard with ears was his triumphant shout. He had done it. It was alive.

Father thought that he’d unlocked the mystery of creation. Instead he had shown the Fallen how to destroy it.

* * *

Kurst stood in the shower and let the water remove the dried blood and iodine from his scars. The doctors had stitched the wounds closed on Kurst’s physical body after he’d returned from fighting Franks. It was remarkable how fast the wounds had healed. The other bodies he had tried to inhabit had been far inferior to this one, but that did not mean he forgave Franks for depriving him of those. Quite the contrary, the mortal sensations of pain and pleasure he’d experienced in his brief mortal existence drove home just how much he had missed over the last three hundred years. It made him glad that he’d not killed Franks yet, because when they met again, he’d take the opportunity to prolong Franks’ suffering.

He left the shower still admiring his new scars. Every piece of glass had cut an exciting new path through his insides. Each hardened strip of tissue told a bit of story. Being hurt was
fascinating.
He stopped in front of the mirror and wiped the steam away with his hand.

There was a face in the mirror. It did not belong to him.

They were always watched. The cameras were well hidden, but the prototypes had learned where all of the cameras were located. They were far smarter than the doctors realized. Kurst moved his body so that he was blocking the camera’s view.

The face in the mirror belonged to a red, twisted, sharp-toothed beast. “Greetings to you, Great Prince and General of the Host Kurst. We are pleased that you have found a way here to Earth.”

This demon was known to Kurst. They had been of nearly equal status, though Kurst was unaware that he’d found another way out of Hell.
What do you want?
Kurst thought.

“I have come to parley on behalf of my new master.”

Whom do you serve?

The water droplets on the mirror began to move. They disregarded gravity, moving in different directions, cutting a path through the remaining steam until they had created an intricate symbol. It represented something older even than they were. It was a force that had already been ancient in the time before the Plan. When the World Maker had organized matter from chaos, it had already been there, dwelling in the darkest places. Kurst knew the name, but it would not be spoken out of respect.

I was not aware he had awoken from his slumber.

“Recently a human rose amongst the humans. His battle against the Old Ones reverberated across time and awoke my master. Since then he was been steering events in preparation of his return. It was his machinations that allowed for the creation of the body that you now wear.”

Do not claim credit for that which is not yours. This body was created by humans.

“He has been gently guiding your master, the human known as Stricken. He believes he is defending your world, but in his attempt to stop my master, he has merely been playing into our hands. He is glad that it was one as great as you who deigned to dwell within this body.”

It might be true. It might be a lie. Kurst gave a nod of acknowledgement.

“The end has begun. Ownership of this world will be decided soon. The factions are gathering their forces. He would offer you a place in his host.”

I would lead this army.

“Of course. There is no greater general. Champions have been chosen for the final battle.” The demon looked at the new red scars on Kurst’s abdomen. “You have already fought one of them.”

A faction has chosen Franks as their champion . . . I will make them regret this decision.

“Will you join us?”

I will think about it.

Kurst wiped away the remaining steam, obliterated the ancient symbol, and walked away.

* * *

His official title was Special Advisor, but his business cards left off exactly who it was that he advised. The Congressional Subcommittee on Unearthly Forces had been around for a very long time, though outside of a couple select agencies, very few people in the government had ever heard of them. Benjamin Franklin had referred to them as
learned men
, meaning part of the handful in charge who needed to face the nasty truths. Their job was to formulate the government’s overall policy concerning all matters supernatural. The MCB was their shield. STFU was their sword.

Swords and shields were useless without a brain. Stricken figured that was his job.

As was fitting for the men and women who had to make the hardest of decisions, most of the Subcommittee were physically present for the briefing. The President would be joining them via teleconference from his bunker. The minute that the Secret Service had learned that Franks was still in town and that he was proclaiming that The Contract had been violated, they had rushed the President to safety. A few high ranking members of the Secret Service had worked with Franks in the past. They knew what Franks was capable of, so there had been no discussion on the matter.

Stricken rather enjoyed the idea of the President being carried off the golf course by nervous gunmen who understood just how dangerous Franks was when he put his mind to something. It would help drive the point home, to make it
visceral
. He’d long felt that the President saw the supernatural threats arrayed against them in an academically abstract fashion, as opposed to the blood and guts, world-ending, mind-shattering horror of the reality. It was a good thing to let the President feel like he had some skin in the game.

The secret cabal had been having a heated debate for the last few minutes. It was all about damage control and what national secrets Franks might be able to sell . . .
Like Franks cared about money
. Stricken had sat the argument out. They were idiots. They didn’t get the big picture. Dwayne Myers had been a fixture in these meetings. Though he and Stricken came to very different conclusions about how to deal with the threats, at least Myers had a clue . . . which was exactly why Stricken had made sure he’d been replaced.

“He’ll be joining us in one minute,” said one of the . . . hell . . . Stricken wasn’t sure what to call them. Secretaries? Scribes? Minor teat-sucking hangers-on? He wasn’t sure. The debate died off. Everyone knew who the pencil pusher was talking about.
Mr. The Buck Stops Here Unless I Can Blame It On Somebody Else.
They turned the lights up a bit. Stricken made sure his tie was straight.

The conference room was relatively dark, not because of any sort of attempt at nefarious secrecy, because it wasn’t like the members of the Subcommittee didn’t all know each other already—they all went to the same cocktail parties—but rather because the congressional liaison to the MCB had been using a projector for his Power Point presentation about the makeup of the manhunt’s resources. They were in the middle of a national fucking catastrophe but of course some government functionary had taken the time to make a fucking slideshow about their response . . .
You people are like a bad stereotype . . .
The presentation had been helpful though. He’d learned that the MCB investigation had turned up some inconsistencies, mostly because Franks had managed to shoot his Japanese Spider Demon, which had then squirted forensic evidence everywhere. But that hardly cleared Franks, and most of the Subcommittee interpreted that to mean Franks had brought in some unknown form of help.

The TV on the wall was a live shot of a desk. It wasn’t the normal fancy desk, so Stricken hoped the President was enjoying his bunker. It might not have all the comforts of home, but if it could survive World War III it was probably Franks proof . . . Well, at least Franks
resistant.
The last whispered conversations died off as the President took a seat. He was wearing a golf shirt and a Nike hat. “Is this thing on?”

“We’re here, Mr. President,” said one of the congressmen.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. The President was scanning his own monitor. “Alexander, give it to me straight.”

That’s right, bitches. He asked me first.
Stricken stood up. “One hour ago Franks was sighted at the hospital where MCB Director Stark is recovering. Franks disabled several guards and staff, left an ultimatum with Stark, and then tried to escape through the subway. He was intercepted by one of my teams. In the ensuing fight, several of my men were killed or injured. There were minor injuries to some civilian bystanders—”

“Nothing we can’t cover up,” assured the new MCB rep temporarily standing in for Stark.

Stricken gave him a death glare. Nobody here gave a shit about their easy job. The MCB rep shut up. “Franks was last seen in the tunnels. The search is continuing.”

“He escaped?” The President was incredulous. “How is that possible?”

“My team intercepted him in a matter of minutes, but the MCB response was too slow.” Stricken tossed his rivals under the bus without missing a beat. The MCB rep was too surprised to form a response in time, but that was to be expected. Stark was a weak leader, so it wasn’t like he was going to appoint a backup liaison to the Subcommittee who could potentially overshadow him. Stricken pushed forward. “Sadly, my Task Force didn’t have assets capable of taking him down in time. Franks is mentally degrading, just like I have long predicted, but physically he is nearly indestructible, and his mind, though increasingly delusional, retains its animal cunning. If I had the resources I’d requested before already in place, then we would have stood a chance . . .”

“This again?” the President asked.

“Forgive me, sir, but sometimes it takes a monster to defeat a monster.”

“You had monsters.”

“We have nothing else like Franks.”
But we could, and you know it.
“We utilize some specially controlled supernatural assets, but Franks is in a class by himself. If I had more advanced assets in place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The President was frowning. “So we’ve got a problem with a Frankenstein, but you want to build a bunch of new ones to get rid of the old one.”

“We will destroy him, but more importantly we must replace him in our strategic arsenal.” It was hard to keep his face neutral. He was glad that he had a medical excuse for wearing his shades even in the dim light, because he doubted he would be able to keep the contempt from his eyes. “These assets would have built-in kill switches should they ever need to be eliminated, a feature which is sadly lacking on the old model.”

“If you’re talking about activating Project Nemesis, that’s off the table—” declared a congresswoman.

“Why? Because of Benjamin Franklin’s Contract?” Stricken asked as he removed a Post-it from his breast pocket. “This was the message Franks left with Director Stark. I’ve sent a copy of it to each of you.” He could have just read it out loud, but he knew that it would have more gravity if they read it themselves. He couldn’t do Franks’ delivery justice. One of the secretary-functionary-scribes took the hint, brought up the file, and a blown-up picture of the note appeared on the projector. Franks’ tiny square handwriting filled the pink square.

Mr. President. The Contract has been violated. Stricken has copied my design. He has created new versions of me. This is not allowed. They were the ones that attacked the MCB. If you will eliminate these creations and punish Stricken, I will surrender. Failure to act will be seen as collusion on your part. As per The Contract, collusion in this matter is punishable by death. I will kill anyone who aids Stricken. Until The Contract is redeemed, my obligations to the US government are null and void. These are my terms.

—Franks

The President got a really funny look on his face when he got to the punishable by death part, almost like it hurt his feelings. The man got death threats daily, but he rarely got one from somebody actually capable of pulling it off.

The conference room was very quiet. Stricken could not have engineered it better himself.
I’m glad you’re such a predictably threatening asshole, Franks.

“He’s accusing you of attacking the MCB?”

“Yes, and apparently doing it with assets that don’t exist yet. I was unaware we had a time machine, Mr. President.” There were a few nervous chuckles. “Franks is delusional. My experts believe that his mental faculties have been deteriorating for years. I personally feel that his entering another dimension and the resulting destruction of the Dread Overlord may have exacerbated the situation.” He brought that particular incident up in front of the Subcommittee for two reasons: Franks had taken it upon himself to invade another universe against orders, and he’d blown up an alien god in the process. If he could pull that off, what was capping the President in comparison?

“There’s nothing to his allegations?” asked a congresswoman.

“Of course not. You’ve seen my reports, so you know that Project Nemesis exists only on paper. I was ordered to keep The Contract sacrosanct, and I’ve done so. He’s fixated on me as his enemy, and fabricated this nonsense as his justification because I’ve been outspoken against his continued employment. If it would please the Subcommittee, you can tour any Task Force facility at your convenience and I can turn over all of our records for audit. I am an open book.”