The soldiers who had been unmoving seconds before were at Creed’s side, guns drawn.
“Oh, come now, Mr. Young. There’s no need for the theatrics. You could be the father of a new generation of metahumans, and my Meg, the mother. It’s exciting, don’t you think?” He smiled happily at the torment he created in the metasoldier before him.
“Now you understand why I had to back up and tell you the whole story. Oh, well, I’ve left some parts out, but I’m sure we can fill you in en route.”
Creed was shaking with fury. His fists clenched into white rocks at his sides. Blue veins bulged in his neck and his skin twitched involuntarily. He was a caged lion who only wanted to shred his captor with claws itching for vengeful blood.
The director laced his fingers together and leaned back in his leather seat, smiling.
“Oh, dear. We really don’t have much more time to discuss matters, Mr. Young. Your flight leaves in,” he glanced at his Rolex and shook his head, “two hours.” The Director motioned to the soldiers. “Please help our Mr. Young locate his seat, gentlemen.”
Meaty hands grabbed Creed and shoved him back into his chair. They stayed on his shoulders, guns pointed at his head.
“Your assignment, Mr. Young, hasn’t changed. You and Gavil will lead the team to kill the thief, Dr. Margo Winter, and return the stolen assets to me. One of whom, I might remind you, will be the mother of your children.”
Creed’s head was spinning. He almost wished one of the assholes with the gun would just shoot, and put him out of his misery.
“And if I refuse?” he spat, boring a hole through the bloody eyes of the Director.
The Director shrugged. “If you choose to disobey orders again, I will personally see to the creation of as many of these thoroughbred metahuman embryos as possible—your children—and further my research by dissecting each and every one at different stages of their development.
“If, on the other hand, you obey orders, I will have no need to toy with the creation of embryos and will enjoy the task of recreating the original serum using the blood of the stolen assets—essentially unlocking the key to their enhanced skills.” The evil scientist nearly giggled. “You see, Mr. Young. It’s win, win for me either way!”
He made a sick, tisking sound with his bloody tongue. “If you want to protect Meg, bring her to me. I’m really more interested in the youngest of the three, Evan. He was given the most advanced form of the serum. His blood will have the best DNA crop to harvest, but the other two, Meg and Alik, they need to come home. I have great plans for all of them.”
The room was silent as Dr. Williams let the weight of his words hang like noxious gas in the air.
“I know you’ll do the right thing, Mr. Young,” Dr. Williams nodded reassuringly, as though a grandfather offering some precious piece of wisdom he was sure would eventually be received with the awe it deserved.
“Gentlemen, please escort Mr. Young to his quarters. You have one hour, Mr. Young. Choose wisely.”
The metas flanking Creed yanked him to his feet and started pushing him toward the door to exit, “Oh, feel free to take the photograph with you, Mr. Young. Maybe it will help add some clarity to your thoughts.”
With shaking hands, Creed reached out and grabbed the picture of his dark-eyed dream girl—his mind oscillating from terror to rage at what was happening to him.
The barrel of a gun in the back of his neck prompted him to move his unsure legs. He stared at the picture of the girl called Meg the entire walk back to his room. His eyes traced the curve of her jaw and the line of her dainty nose even as the door to his room slammed shut behind him. He imagined burying his face in the long, dark mane and inhaling the scent of strawberries as the deadbolt engaged with a solid thwack. He walked to his military issue metal bed and sat heavily, eyes never leaving the photograph.
She was real.
She is a metahuman and if what Sloan told me was true, I chose her and fought against Williams. Now Williams wanted to punish me.
Chapter 27 The Mind of A Madman
The door closed behind a tormented Creed Young, escorted by the heavily armed metasoldiers.
Gavil Young stared blankly at the place he last saw his brother and for the first time in his life, he felt something akin to pity for him. Gavil was accustomed to treating his brother like shit, but this was different. That demented plan Williams just laid out was seriously messed up.
“Dr. Williams, if I may ask a question,” Chaunders spoke and tentatively waited for a response from his Director before proceeding.
Williams nodded graciously.
“Sir, why even bother with Creed Young for this assignment? It is a task of great importance. Perhaps it would be better handled by another?” Chaunders stared not at the grotesque face of his boss, but at a spot over his right shoulder, as had become his habit so he wouldn’t find himself affected by the man’s horrid appearance.