Adam Swift & The Different

Hi All!

Please enjoy a sneak peak at my upcoming horror novel.

Adam Swift & The Different

By 

Art Gulley Jr.

Chapter 1

Night slowly descended over Downtown Detroit. The traffic on Woodward Avenue thickened with an influx of cars filled with rabid baseball fans headed to Comerica Park for the Tiger’s season opener against the Yankees.

The sidewalks were already jammed with laughing chatting pedestrians eager to take their place in the lines streaming out from the stadium's main entrance.

Tickets were readily surrendered to the waiting gate keepers under the watchful eyes of the two, twenty-foot tall concrete tigers adorning the entryway, while park security conducted their routine searches of all incoming patrons. There were a few disgruntled murmurs over the guards' thoroughness, but the majority of those waiting took it in stride. A safe stadium was a happy stadium, and everyone was looking forward to what promised to be an exciting game.

Leaning casually against one of the numerous light posts lining the avenue, a tall burly man with dark eyes and oily black hair observed the crowd with a growing sense of excitement.

Trevor Jackson had no great love for baseball or any other sport, but was still looking forward to tonight’s game. Such events always brought out the multitudes, and that meant a greater selection of potential…playmates for him to choose from.

As a rule Jackson avoided the larger groups, or the individuals who didn't let game day fervor dim their awareness of their surroundings. He craved the twits on the opposite end of the attention curve, with a particular fondness for the Cell-heads; rushing here and there with their fancy smart-phones mashed against their ears, completely oblivious to the dangers of the world around them.

One such woman was headed his way, her gaudily cased I-phone glued to the side of her stylishly coiffed head, her tanned face suffused with anger.

“No, I wasn't able to pick them up,” her shrill voice carried on the wind as she stomped down Woodward, heading away from the stadium. “There’re so many people down here for tonight’s game that I couldn't even get near the booth!”

Her angry rant was music to Jackson’s ears. The faint whiff of her floral-scented perfume produced a surge of lustful adrenalin in his quivering body as his eyes fixated on the alluring sway of her designer-jean encased hips.

A small part of his lust-enthralled mind advocated caution given his current felony status, but that notion was quickly discarded. Opportunity was knocking on the door, and he intended to answer it.

He let the distance between them lengthen by several feet then casually sauntered after her; unaware of the shimmering haze clinging to the top of the light post he'd just abandoned.

*

Sera watched the big man with barely restrained mirth. She had shadowed this one for several weeks, watching from the outer periphery as he diligently sought victims to sate his vile lusts.

The so-called law enforcement agencies of three states had failed to curb this animal's appetite, but his luck was about to run out.

She smirked at his clumsy attempts at stealth as he stalked his latest victim. The fool fancied himself a predator. She would soon teach the lumbering oaf the true meaning of the word.

  Detaching her ethereal body from the light post, Sera quietly joined in the pursuit.

*

Jackson's target continued down Woodward, the cell phone still glued to her ear as she turned onto a sparsely lit side street. The parking garage where she had stowed her car was located at the street's other end. So intent was she on her conversation, she gave scant notice to the area's encroaching shadows; one of which drew steadily closer.

 Jackson’s pulse quickened, his hands trembling with anticipation. Another surge of adrenalin propelled his long legs onward, and the gap between him and his prey closed rapidly.

The woman’s steps took her past the driveway of one of the block’s many shops. Its windows, like those of its neighbors, were darkened, and Jackson decided to make his move. With a sudden pounce, he grabbed the woman about her waist, and pulled her into the tight enclosure.

Jarred by the considerable force of the impact, the woman finally relinquished her hold on the phone. She tried bringing to bear the self-defense moves her brother had once shown her but met with no success; regret for not having practiced the techniques more diligently now a mocking song in her mind.

Jackson’s meaty hand covered his victim's mouth preventing her from screaming as he dragged her deeper into the driveway where he brutally pushed her against one of the large, foul-smelling dumpsters at the shop’s rear entrance, the violent motion forcing the remaining air from her body.

“Now just relax, babe,” Jackson panted as he roughly pulled at her jeans with his free hand. “Oh yeah,” he taunted, sliding calloused fingers over the silken material of her undergarments. He stopped when his probing digits came up against the slight protrusion of a pantyliner. "Uh-oh; it looks like the front door's closed. Guess we'll have to go through the back.''

The woman's muffled cries pushed against the hand covering her mouth as she doubled her efforts to get free, but it was no use.  Jackson's grip was too strong.

“Ah,'' the fiend sighed as he slid his hand around to her rear, roughly forcing a thick finger between her clinched buttocks. A shudder went through his victim's body as the calloused tip of his finger probed her anus. "Hmm, nice and tight; you and me are gonna have a good…Hey!” Jackson's lewd whisper turned into a startled cry as powerful fingers suddenly tightened around his throat and snatched him away from his quarry.

The frightened woman quickly pulled up her pants and scrambled off, stopping just long enough to retrieve her fallen phone; a shaky “Thank you” to her shadowy savior tumbling from her lips as she disappeared from the alley.

“It looks like your friend left,” a hoarse voice grated against Jackson's ear, a blast of scalding breath washing over the nape of his neck. “But don’t worry; you and I are going to have a good time!”

Terrified, Jackson frantically tried to pry his assailant's fingers loose. It was like trying to free himself from a vice. He did manage to twist his head around enough to catch a glimpse of his captor.

Two glowing red eyes met his gaze.

"Jesus!" Jackson cringed as he studied his tormentor.

Thick black hair partially obscured the…thing’s face. What was visible appeared to be porcelain white and smooth, one side covered with intricate tattoos. The pale, bare arm that held him rippled with muscles as did the rest of the scantily clad body. Modest breast and the subtle curve of the hips identified his attacker as female, though she was unlike any woman Jackson had ever come across. “What the hell kind of monster are you?”

Thin black lips parted in a wicked smile revealing a mouth full of jagged crimson teeth. “My name is Sera, and I’m not a monster.”

"Then what the hell are you?"

 The glow about Sera's eyes intensified.  “I’m...Different!"

 A languid fog overcame Jackson's mind, removing the fear that was saturating his synapses.

"That's better," Sera purred, shoving his now pliant form against the same dumpster. Fingers sporting long black talons began exploring Jackson's body, pausing at his groin to give his penis a gentle squeeze through the rough denim. "Aren't' you a big boy."

 A dazed and drooling Jackson could only moan as Sera's skillful fingers deftly freed his hardening member from his pants, illiciting a sigh of pleasure from his quivering lips as her warm palm made contact with his bare flesh.

 Sera released a scornful snort as she caressed his growing erection. "And you were going to use this on that poor girl? Shame on you!" Her whispered words tickled Jackson's ears as she leaned against him, the feel of her erect nipples pressing into his back further increasing his drunken lust. She gave his thickening penis a gentle squeeze. "I doubt if it would've even fit inside of her, but I think I know a place where it will."

She flicked her serpentine tongue against Jackson's ear, pulling another husky moan from him while her grip tightened on his manhood. The crimson glow of her eyes intensified as she flexed her hand, and began a rhythmic pumping.

Sera increased the tempo of her strokes, pressing Jackson's head harder against the dumpster as she felt his scrotum starting to swell with his impending release. Seconds later, Jackson heaved a massive sigh as she brought him to climax, his seed spilling onto her stroking hand.

Sera waited until the tremors of his orgasm subsided then slid her sticky fingers to the base of his flaccid cock, took firm hold of it and his scrotum then ripped them from his body.

Jackson's blood-curdling screams echoed through the night for several seconds then all was quiet in the dark driveway, save for the crack of bones followed by an ominous sucking. 

Chapter 2

"Got another hack-job for you Wen," the burly tech called as he wheeled a gurney laden with a sealed black body-bag through the polished steel doors of Henry Ford Hospital's morgue.

Dr. Wendy Parsons, head of Ford's Pathology Department, and one of the top Forensic Pathologists in the state of Michigan, turned her attention away from the open file on her cluttered desk to give the newcomer her full attention. "Same as the others, Tan?" she asked as her assistant, Tanakido Matsahuri, maneuvered the gurney into position under one of the lab's fluorescent examining lamps.

"It looks like it, only this time our perp decided to have a little fun." He locked the gurney in place then carefully unzipped the bag and pulled it open. The smell of feces and decaying flesh lingered briefly in the air before being sucked up through the lab's powerful vents.

"Jesus," Wendy gasped fighting the urge to re-aqauint her mouth with the tuna sandwich she'd had for lunch as she gazed upon the eviscerated remains of what had once been a human being.

Every limb, including the victim's fingers and toes, had been snapped in such a way that the jagged edges of the bones were clearly visible. The skull and rib-cage equally mangled. Even more disturbing was the state of the man's genitalia: His penis and scrotum were gone; the condition of the remaining tissue indicating that they had been savagely torn away.

"My God!" Wendy cried, an icy shiver running through her petite frame as she turned stunned eyes to Tan.

"It gets worse," Tan remarked, a grim look on his face. "Brace yourself." He took hold of the body and leveraged it onto its side, giving Wendy a startling glimpse of the corpse's backside, specifically the deceased's shorn genitals shoved obscenely between his buttocks.

This time Wendy didn't resist her stomach's rebellion, and she emptied its contents into the small trash can Tan promptly thrust at her after releasing his hold of the body.

"Sorry, Tan," Wendy offered when she was done, popping one of the mints she carried in her lab coat, for just such an occasion, into her mouth. "You would think that after twelve years of this stuff I'd be used to it by now."

"Death is something you never get used to, Doc." Tan's expression clouded over as he thought back to the horrific things he'd seen as a Marine medic while serving multiple tours in Iraq; the memories of which still gave him nightmares. The moment of introspection passed, and his brown, almond-shaped eyes resumed their normal mischievous glint. "If it makes you feel any better, I left my lunch at the crime scene."

Tan's quip drew a tender smile from Wendy who appreciated his attempt to preserve her pride. She was fully aware of his military background, and was certain the mess on the table didn't compare to the horrors her stolid assistant had experienced while overseas. "Thanks, Tan. Knowing that this craziness can rattle a Jar-head like you makes me feel like less of a wimp."

Tan chuckled at her statement then turned serious. "So what do you think's going on, Doc?" He nodded at the body. "This is the fifth freak show we've had to dissect this month."

Wendy gave the corpse a speculative look. "You're guess is as good as mine. Here." She tossed him a pair of latex gloves. "Let's run the gauntlet on this guy and see if he's the latest victim of Detroit's newest psycho."

That's it for now!

I hope to have full novel released by summer.

Thanks for reading and please feel free to leave any comments, critiques, or suggestions!

Peace:-)

Endurance

ENDURANCE

by

Art Gulley Jr.

Ask me not the reasons why these fears encroach upon the time

Allotted me to stand secure midst the storms my thoughts procure.

Adrift upon depression's lake, my doubtful oars can not escape

The current's ebb from mental shores; where lurk the sins I have incurred.

While from my deeds I try to hide, the hand of conscience starts to rise.

The slaps of realization dealt? There is no running from myself!

My fear subdued I drift no more; resolved to stand upon these shores,

And wage the war of intuition, bound no more by indecision.

With strategies engraved upon my soul's blade, I've struck and drawn

First blood. No easy task, it's true, but my convictions will carry through.

Though days ahead lay filled with strife, sweet victory I’ll keep in sight.

The prize to win? Tranquility: The cure for life's insanity.

And when below six feet I’m thrown to fertilize the future's growth,

My heart and mind will rest assured: Though scarred in battle my soul endured!

A Hyperactive Sample

Hi, all!

Please enjoy the first chapter of my epic, Scifi adventure:

Hyperactive

CHAPTER 1

Lieutenant Tavian Stone, Troubleshooter for the Troit Region’s Law Enforcement Directorate adjusted his night scope for maximum clarity, letting his gaze sweep across the Swan Technical Development Center. From his vantage point atop a neighboring warehouse, Tavi had an unimpeded view of the five-story building’s fenced-in perimeter as well as the city of Downside’s sprawling Industrial District, or Indis as it was more commonly referred to.

Supposedly Swan-Tech was a cutting-edge designer and manufacturer of digital and holographic imaging equipment but several months of investigation into the Earth-based company’s financial infrastructure by Tavi’s unit had uncovered the Center’s connection to the criminal Sovereign, Tizian Sterva and its illegal production of Hype.

If all went well, today’s operation would garner them enough evidence to take Swan-Tech out of the Hype equation for good and deal Sterva’s Sovereignty a debilitating blow.

Tavi flinched reflexively as the remaining members of his team, Jhakiel Newirt and Roama Diaz slipped quietly into flanking positions beside him.

What’s it look like, Lieutenant? Jhakiel’s question echoed softly in Tavi’s mind as he settled his tall, lanky frame into a squatting position behind one of the roof’s numerous air condensers.

I’ve got four marks at the east gate, two at the north, and three covering the west, Tavi replied, his attention still focused on the Center. I’ll have to change positions to check the south.

South side’s the river, love, Roama’s observation floated through the mental rapport the telepathic Jhakiel had long ago forged between their three minds. Why bother?

Tavi’s lips curved into a grim smile. Better safe than vaped.

Roama released a wave of contempt. Vaped by whom? She called out as Tavi stealthily crept to other side of the roof. Those rent-a-thugs at the door couldn’t take out the trash, let alone us.

Tavi had already come to the same conclusion but sill gave the Center’s riverside entrance a cursory scan. The seasoned officer knew that looks could often be very deceiving. Roama herself was proof of that. Unlike Tavi’s tall, heavily muscled physique, her petite frame and elfin features gave no indication of the Parahuman strength and agility contained within her delicate limbs; a misconception that had served her well in the field.

The docks are clear, and there are no patrol boats in sight, Tavi announced when he returned. Of course a visual lack of a security presence doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t one.

Then why waste your time guessing? Roama shrugged. Let Jhak do a mental recon of the place so we’ll know for sure what we’re up against.

Been there, done that, said Jhakiel, his deep set eyes glowing softly in the evening’s darkness.

And? Tavi prompted.

I got nothing. There were no residual thoughts; no mental impressions. With the exception of those idiots, Jhakiel’s head jerked in the direction of the Swan-Tech guards. The whole place is one big blank.

Isn’t that a good thing? Roama asked.

Jhakiel’s uncertainty fluttered through the rapport. It depends. The complex may be deserted, which works in our favor, or it could be packed with people who are somehow being shielded against telepathic probes.

They could be running the place with ‘bots, too, Tavi suggested.

Jhakiel considered the possibility. Maybe...but I doubt it. A robot’s logic center produces a rudimentary intelligence that I can sense. Here I’m not getting anything.

Try pushing a little harder, said Roama but Tavi quickly negated her suggestion.

To risky. If the place is shielded, there could be a psi-trap or two set up as a secondary line of defense. I don’t want Jhak frying his brain trying to find out.

Definitely not a good thing, the telepath stoutly agreed. So what’s our course of action, Tavi? Forage ahead blindly, or reschedule this little data-gathering sortie until we’re better equipped?

Well it’s obvious which course you want us to plot. Roama’s mental tone was laced with disgust. I can’t believe you, Jhak. We’ve been eclipsing Swan-Tech’s every move for months, collecting every scrap of damaging data we can. And right when all of our work’s about to pay off, you want to cancel the landing just because the oxygen’s a little thinner than we anticipated.

Jhakiel’s irritation flowed through the rapport. I didn’t say we should pull out, Ro, but given the circumstances and our lack of data on this place, the telepath stressed.  I don’t think the three of us should tackle it without first calling for backup.

We’re Troubleshooters, Jhak, Roama cried. We usually are the backup!

Just because we’re Troubleshooters doesn’t mean we can’t use an occasional assist!      

C’mon, Jhak, Tavi said, trying hard not to let show his frustration for the telepath’s customary paranoia. This investigation is a Covert Op. You know the procedural antimatter we’ll have to go through to get support from the Tactical units; especially with us being Troubleshooters.

 Not to mention keeping all of that administrative maneuvering away from the ever prying eyes of the Watchdogs, added Roama.

Jhakiel listened to his partners’ impassioned arguments, but remained firm in his position forcing Tavi to quell yet another flood of frustration. Look, Jhak, I’m not trying to discredit your instincts or throttle back on the danger; and if it were any other Sovereign I wouldn’t hesitate to play it your way. But this is Tizian we’re dealing with, he exclaimed, a note of urgency creeping into his mental voice.

I know, Jhakiel replied with equal fervor. And that’s what worries me. He thrives on the type of misdirection and subterfuge this place suggests.

And because of that we’re supposed to pop the canopy and jetpack to safety? Roama’s acid comment seared their minds.

Blast it, Ro, that’s not what I meant, and you bloody well know it!  I’m not trying to cancel the shuttle’s flight but I do think we should slow the countdown a bit until we can get a better assessment of what we’re dealing with.

Roama leveled hard eyes on the telepath’s angular face whose normally sanguine features where drawn into a pensive frown. You know what’s at stake here, she said, her tone calmer. And why Tavi is pushing this. Her voice became accusatory. You also know if positions were reversed we would back you without hesitation.

The link was silent for a moment then Jhakiel projected the mental equivalent of a snort. Unfortunately I can’t argue that point, he said, thinking of the countless times Tavi had defended him against his detractors, the most notable being his domineering parents who felt that a career in law enforcement was hardly a suitable use for their son’s acute telepathic abilities. He shifted his gaze to Tavi. Is she always this manipulative?

A slight gleam lit the Lieutenant’s amber colored eyes. You have no idea, he said, smiling at the kiss Roama blew in his direction.

Jhakiel’s glowing eyes flared brighter with exasperation. The telepath had never begrudged Tavi and Roama’s romantic relationship but sometimes the couple’s attunement to one another made him feel like a secondary thruster; especially in situations such as these. Plot the course, Lieutenant. I won’t deviate.

Thanks, Jhak, said Tavi. As commanding officer, he could’ve ordered the telepath into action, but the bond of trust between the three were such that he rarely pulled rank.

The Lieutenant quickly outlined his strategy, and the team went into action. Jhakiel used his telepathy to mask their presence from the guards, and the three officers walked unimpeded through Swan-Tech’s eastern, utility entrance. The sounds of industry echoed loudly through the dimly lit corridor, and the trio quickened their pace; coming to a halt at the entrance to the manufacturing floor where they quietly assumed surveillance positions amongst a row of parked cargo drones.

Maybe we should’ve listened to Jhak, Roama remarked dryly as she and her partners got their first look at what was surely the largest Hype production lab on Earth, and quite possibly the Northern Systems.

Hundreds of chemical reprocessors, the machines used to combine Hypes Key components were situated throughout the huge chamber, while a number of technicians swarmed about the area; gathering, separating, and packaging the processed Hype into crates. The crates were then vacuum sealed to preserve the drug’s potency, and stacked on pallets to be loaded into the backs of the numerous hover trucks idling silently in the cargo lifts ringing the outer wall; all under the watchful eyes of a squad of heavily armed, Hyperkills; the Sovereign Nation’s brutal enforcers.

Looks like they’re packing this operation up, Roama called her partners’ attention to a group of techs rapidly dismantling several of the huge reprocessors.

Blasted Watchdogs, Tavi cursed the increasing number of Nation spies within the Directorate. Tizian must’ve gotten wind of our course, and decided to cut his losses. Put in a call to Jaffrey, Ro. See if he can get a couple of choppers and a sea unit over here before it’s too late. Also have him contact Downside’s Port Authority.

Roama’s eyebrows arched in question. Port Authority?

Yeah, Tavi said, pointing to the hovertrucks idling patiently in the cargo lifts. Those lifts lead to the docks which mean everything’s going out of here by ship. If we can find out which company Swan-Tech uses, we may be able to intercept whatever’s in route to pick this lot up.

Roama nodded understanding then punched in the transmit codes on her wristcom.

Looks like you were right, Jhak, Tavi said with a grimace for his earlier criticism of his partner’s caution. Eventually I’m going to have to start trusting your instincts.

The telepath made no response and Tavi turned questioning eyes on him. Something wrong, bud?

I’m not sure, Jhakiel said, his growing apprehension settling heavily into the Lieutenant’s mind. Something’s not right, here. Even if this place is shielded, at this range I should be able to pick up something; especially considering the size of that mob.

Tavi’s jaw tightened in apprehension. And you’re not?

No. These people have no discernable thought patterns...It’s almost as if...”Oh, bloody hell!” Jhakiel screamed, abandoning the privacy of the rapport.

“What’s wrong?” Tavi demanded.

“None of this is real,” Jhakiel hissed, gesturing frantically toward the bustling scene before them. “It’s a bloody hologram!”

Tavi and Roama stared hard at the Telepath then slowly as if in a daze turned disbelieving eyes on the bustling scene before them. 

“Are you sure?” Tavi finally managed to grate out.

“Very,” a new voice answered, its familiar tone producing instant reactions in the Troubleshooters.

“Tizian!” Tavi hissed as he dropped instinctively into a combat stance, his eyes ranging across the chamber and surrounding concourses trying to ascertain the Sovereign’s location. “Where are you? What’s going on here?”

“In answer to your first question,” the Sovereign’s disembodied voice rang out again. “I’m right here.”

The busy scene in the warehouse shimmered once then disappeared, replaced by the Sovereign’s smiling image. “As to your second question,” Tizian continued affably, “That should be obvious. The three of you did such a good job of covering your investigative tracks that the warning of your little sojourn into the Indis was late in coming. Fortunately I kept this operation simple which made it easier to break everything down. As you all saw by the recording.”

Tavi’s jaw tightened painfully. “Recording?”

“That’s right,” Tizian continued, smiling at the murderous looks on the faces of his adversaries. “This lab was shut down hours ago. I toyed with the idea of letting you find an empty chamber, but couldn’t resist messing with your sensibilities by giving you what you want then snatching it away!”

“You sick, bastard!” Jhakiel ground out after stomping his booted foot against the warehouse’s plascrete floor.

“Jhak, Jhak, don’t be so hostile,” Tizian laughed again. “You three should know better than to try and match orbits with me. Despite your extremely dedicated efforts, Swan-Tech’s operations will continue as usual; under a different corporate name, of course,” he added with a mocking wink.

“You may have squirmed your way free today,” Tavi growled, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “But eventually your luck’s going to run out. And when that happens…we’ll be there!”

The Sovereign’s smile deepened, prompting an angry Tavi to snatch his laser pistol from its holster, aiming it steadily at the massive holojecter sitting in the center of the chamber. Realizing what the Lieutenant was about to do, Tizian’s smug features contorted into a look of distress.

“Tavi, don’t,” he cried out, but his warning came too late.

With unerring accuracy, a shaft of white-hot plasma leapt from Tavi’s gun, hitting the holojector dead center. Tizian’s image disappeared amidst a brilliant display of ionized debris, his final words reverberating throughout the chamber. “It’s tied into the main grid! Get outta there, n-o-o-w-w-w…..!”

The Sovereign’s voice was replaced by an ominous crackle as the power grid responded to the surge Tavi’s shot produced. The three officers quickly bolted back through the corridor, trying to make it to the entrance before the grid went critical.

They never had a chance.

The Center erupted around them in a rush of flame and debris as the grid self-destructed. Tavi, making ample use of his Parahuman agility, managed to roll with the blast, coming to a stop several meters away from the burning entrance. He quickly scanned the area, spotting Jhakiel’s prone figure not far from his own position. The telepath’s body was contorted in a way that told Tavi his friend’s back was surely broken, but he was still alive!

Tavi’s eyes continued to scour the area but there was no sign of Roama.

He quickly made his way back to the demolished Center, ignoring the fact that her mental presence was no longer in his mind, and that Jhakiel’s was fading rapidly.

“Roama!” Tavi yelled, as he treaded through the collapsing corridor. There was no response to his entreaty, but he kept moving, oblivious to the blisters forming on his exposed hands and arms at the slightest touch of the dangerously hot, debris. “C’mon, girl, don’t do this to me!” he screamed at the smoldering rubble. “Don’t do this…!”

Tavi’s eyes caught the flash of something metallic directly ahead of him. He clawed his way in that direction, and felt his stomach heave. It was Roama’s sapphire ring.

The ring he’d placed on her finger the night he’d proposed.

The ring she cherished as her most valuable possession…now gleaming dully against her charred finger.

Tavi began to tremble as grief threatened to overwhelm him. He sternly regained his composure with a violent shake of his head. Jhakiel still needed help.

He numbly made his way back to the telepath, dropping to his knees beside him.

“I’m sorry, Jhak,” he said, and a steady stream of tears began flowing down his cheeks as the sight of his friends battered form threatened to once again open the gates holding back his anguish. “I’m so, sorry!”

Jhakiel’s eyes remained closed, but a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. The telepath touched his friend’s mind one last time…then died.

The sound of rapidly approaching sirens penetrated the haze of grief and shock surrounding Tavi. Their backup had arrived, but it was too late. Tizian had escaped, and both his best friend and the woman he loved were…gone! The despair in Tavi’s heart was quickly joined by a cold, unreasoning fury as he tried to shift the blame to Tizian, or the Watchdogs, or the universe, or…anybody but it was no use. In the deepest corners of his mind, Tavi knew that the only one responsible was himself.

This time he did nothing to hold back his sorrow or the ragged cry torn from his lips.

*

Standing atop the Aeromech Construction Firm, some three blocks from the explosion, Tizian Sterva quietly observed the distant carnage. The Sovereign’s keen eyesight easily discerned Tavi’s broad figure amongst the numerous, Directorate personnel milling about the area and a gentle sigh escaped his lips.

“Most unfortunate, Micael,” he said to the muscular, golden-skinned woman emerging from Aeromech’s rooftop entryway.

Micael came to a halt beside the Sovereign, her hazel eyes following his gaze to the blazing remains of the Swan-Tech Development Center. “What; the death of Tavi’s partners, or the destruction of the Center?”

The barest hint of a smile appeared on Tizian’s lips, “The death of his partners, of course,” he told the indifferent Hyperkill. “That wasn’t my intention when I engineered this little charade.”

Micael laid a comforting hand atop Tizian’s broad shoulder. “Yours was not the hand that fired the shot.”

“No, but I did provide the opportunity. I only wanted to humiliate Tavian. Not destroy him.”

Micael’s hand traveled to the Sovereign’s face, and she gently turned his head so their eyes met. “Things don’t always work out the way we plan, Zian. Yes, the loss of Tavi’s friends is regrettable but it was an accident. Besides which they chose to put themselves in harms way when they joined the Directorate. Trying to assume responsibility for the consequences of their choice is not practical. Nor is it profitable,” she added, and Tizian released an amused snort.

“However,” the Hyperkill continued, her eyes dancing with mischief. “If you feel the need to atone for this, or any of your other numerous misdeeds, go ahead and surrender.” She waved her hand toward the forensic hovervan and Directorate Command Units settling to the ground behind the two, massive fire drones that were dousing the flaming warehouse with foam. “You can accept whatever punishment the Regional Magistrates give you as your penance.”

Tizian released another snort of amusement at the ludicrous suggestion. “That won’t be necessary, Huntress,” he said, giving the Hyperkill’s golden lips a gentle kiss. “Plotting that course is never practical.”

Tizian’s gaze once again sought out Tavi who was now being consoled by several of his Directorate colleagues. The Sovereign watched as the meds loaded the bodies of Tavi’s partners into the hovervan, and a knot of apprehension formed in his stomach. He knew that some type of atonement for this tragedy would be necessary. But as to what form said attrition would take, he had no clue.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Please feel free to post a comment.

The story continues in:

Hyperactive: First Steps

&

Hyperactive(The Complete Trilogy)

Both available on the "Literary Escapes" page of this blog.

A taste of The Creation

Hi all. Please enjoy a free sample of my latest Scifi/Fantasy novel:

 The Creation: Emergence

The Creation: Emergence

by

Art Gulley Jr.

The Starting Time

In the Beginning, the Almighty brought forth three intertwining dimensional Realms, known collectively as The Creation.

The first Realm He named Celestia, for it was home to all Celestial beings and the Creation’s ruling tier, the Hierarchy. The second Realm He named Mortalia, wherein dwelled all Mortal creatures brought forth during the Starting Time. The third Realm He christened Sublimia, for it was a dismal plane composed of sublime energy that served as bridge and buffer between the Real and the Ephemeral.

The Realms were governed by a system of rules called the Divine Tenets. These Tenets were enforced by a select group of Celestials within the Hierarchy known as the Divine Watch. Though charged with the care of all beings inhabiting the Realms, the majority of The Watch’s efforts were directed toward the guidance of the Humans populating the Motalian planet, Earth, favored above all other Mortal races by The Almighty.

As Humanity matured so did their penchant for moral and spiritual disobedience. Many sought to supplant the Tenets with their own self-serving doctrines and decrees.

To combat these periodic Deviations, The Watch would initiate specific Protocols to return Humanity to the path of the righteous. During these times of Spiritual Reclamation, Members of the Watch would often call upon Mortals to carry out specific Tasks within Mortalia in support of the Divine Effort.

For the most part those selected, willingly served. But occasionally a Mortal would resist the call. When this happened, Members of The Watch would be forced to use alternative measures to ensure cooperation.

An excerpt from The Journals of the Archangel Michael

Chapter 1

The first bullet hit with the force of a sledgehammer, smashing bones and cartilage to bits as it tore its way through her shoulder. The second bullet impacted against her chest, fracturing the breastbone. Curiously enough there was no pain. Only a dull ache and an overwhelming fatigue sweeping through her body as her life’s blood seeped from the wounds.

“Why are you doing this?”

The answer to her anguished cry was the flash of the gun’s muzzle and a resounding thunder as the third bullet found its mark through her carotid artery…

Nina Delcielo woke with a start, her silken gown drenched with sweat, her breath tumbling from her mouth in ragged gasps. She blinked several times, trying to discern her surroundings then exhaled in relief when the bedroom's familiar furnishings filled sleep blurred eyes.

Nina pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, hoping to relieve some of its knotted tension. She tried once again to make sense of the bizarre scene that had plagued her sleep for the past week.

The dream’s setting remained unchanged: A hospital reception area, its classic architecture and graphic posters identifying it as Henry Ford’s main campus in Detroit, Michigan; the large, digital clock hanging behind the service desk marking the time at twelve-twenty p.m.

Several staff members were huddled in terror by the vending machines, while Nina’s dream self tried to reason with the haggard Caucasian male dressed in tan fatigues waving around a large gun. The reasons behind his rampage remained unknown for his voice was consistently drowned out by the gun’s thunderous rapport, though tonight was the first time she actually saw herself being shot.

A spiritual person might take the dream as some sort of omen. Such notions had never played much of a part in Nina’s life, despite the best efforts of a parochial minded mother. A more logical assumption would be that the nightmares were a by-product of stress, brought about by her latest business venture; the transformation of one of Downtown Detroit’s numerous abandoned buildings into a Youth Recreational Center.

An innate understanding of the stock market, coupled with several lucrative investments had netted the young woman a considerable fortune, and allowed her an early exit from the corporate sector. Unlike so many of her wealthy contemporaries, Nina was a firm believer in the concept of “giving back to the community”. A good portion of her wealth funded various philanthropic efforts in and around the Metro Detroit area.

The alarm clock released its six a.m. chime. Nina promptly hit the off switch, shielding her eyes from the digital display’s green glow which seemed unusually bright. She gave her body a brief stretch then hopped out of bed to prepare her self for what promised to be another busy day.

An hour later, she was giving her appearance a final check in the free-standing mirror positioned by the apartment's front door. Nina felt that her new black linen pant-suit tastefully accentuated her tall, athletic figure; striking the perfect balance of authority and sensuality.

Nina had never considered herself a raving beauty. Prominent cheekbones set in an oval face, coupled with a slightly offset nose and wide lips, were far off the mark of what she considered “pretty” features. Though she had to admit the hazel color of her eyes, a gift from the father she had never met, combined with her mocha skin, a product of her Latino heritage, did give her face an exotic quality that most men found appealing. There was certainly no shortage of potential suitors jockeying for position. It was just a shame that quantity didn’t always signify quality when it came to finding a good man.

“Alright, girl, enough preening,” she chided her self after giving her backside a final glimpse. “Let’s go bully some contractors.”

Nina left her apartment and made her way to the elevator, frowning at the pungent smell of the cleaning chemicals that assailed her nose. The Jeffersonian Apartments located on Detroit’s East Jefferson Avenue was considered one of the city’s historical landmarks. The building’s maintenance staff was committed to keeping the aging high-rise in pristine order but today they seemed to have gone a bit overboard.

The elevator arrived and she hopped aboard, grateful that she didn’t have to share the ride with Misses Watson, her elderly neighbor from the floor above who felt it her duty to attach the single Nina to one of the numerous bachelors that lived in the building.

The elevator came to a gentle stop on the first floor and the doors slid open, bringing Nina face to face with the match-maker herself, accompanied as always by her Chihuahua, Angel.

“Good morning, Misses Watson, Angel.” Not wanting the woman to engage her in a lengthy discussion, Nina put a note of urgency into her voice as she quickly stepped forward into the Jeffersonian’s elegantly furnished lobby.

“Hello, Nina dear. You’re off to an early start.”

“Yes, well you know what they say about the early bird and the worms.”

Misses Watson's smile was so wide that her eyes turned into narrow slits on her lined face. “Indeed I do! In fact I was just having a similar conversation with that handsome young man who lives in apartment 12 C; Jeremy’s his name. You really should meet him, dear. He’s a doctor you know, and he was telling me…”

“I’m sorry Misses Watson, but I really must be going,” Nina interrupted, giving the other’s bowed shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps you and I can finish this conversation over tea one morning.”

“Oh that would be great, dear.” The elderly woman gave Nina's hand a squeeze then stepped into the waiting elevator. “Just let me know when. You know I’m always available.”

The elevator doors slid shut and Nina exhaled sharply. "Indeed I do."

“I see old Madame Cupid’s trying to hook you up again, Miss D,” Carl, the stocky, gray-haired security guard chuckled as Nina made her way past the lobby’s front desk. His stocky body was framed by the row of monitors showing various views of the apartment’s four entrances, and adjoining lot. “That woman needs to seriously get a life.”

“Be nice, Carl. We have to respect our senior citizens.”

Carl made a rude noise with his lips. “Hell I’m a senior too, but that don’t give me the right to butt into everybody’s private life the way she does.”

Nina chuckled. “Yeah, she can be overbearing at times. I think it’s because she’s lonely. The old girl's been by herself since her husband died, and could probably use a little company." Nina gave Carl a saucy wink. "Some male company, if you catch my drift.”

Carl balked at the idea. “I’m not that dedicated to my job!”

Nina laughed at the look of dismay on his weathered face. “I don’t know Carl; a handsome, debonair fellow like your self? A little romance might bring the old bird new life.”

Carl released a disgusted snort. “I’d rather cozy up to Angel.”

Nina burst out laughing. “And on that note I’d better get going. I’ll see you later Carl.” She waved as she made her way toward the lobby’s rear entrance.

“Take care, Miss D,” Carl hollered back then sighed. Man, if I were thirty years younger. His eyes followed her out the door then picked up her image on the monitor overlooking the back parking lot where he watched her get into her custom, black Jeep Grand Cherokee and drive off the lot.

*

Nina merged onto the Lodge freeway, weaving in and out of the morning traffic with the precision of a NASCAR driver. She reached her first destination, Traci’s Cookie Emporium at the same time as the shop’s vivacious owner. Nina had quickly learned that fresh pastries tended to motivate construction workers, and Traci's was a local favorite.

The two ladies chatted amiably while Traci prepared the order, and Nina found herself in good spirits when she pulled into the Center's parking lot fifteen minutes later.

Her contractor's daily list of problems was shorter than she'd expected, Nina was able to get the majority of the issues resolved by one p.m. Rather than go home and cook she decided to stop by Tony's Pizza and Sandwich Shop for a quick bite. It was there that her day took a turn for the worse.

She had just stepped through the shop's leaded-glass doors when the nightmarish vision flashed before her eyes. Its searing clarity caused her to cry out in alarm, and she staggered against the door jamb. Luckily, the Shop's owner was standing by the front counter.

Moving with a speed and grace that belied his considerable bulk, he snaked an arm around Nina's waist to steady her.

“You okay, Nina?”

The shaken woman blinked hard several times, trying to clear the image from her mind. “Yeah, Tony, I’m alright. That trick ankle of mine gave out and it caught me off guard,” she lied, not wanting to alarm Tony or the numerous patrons scattered about the dining area.

Tony’s wide lips curved into a smile. “Yeah that happens a lot with my shoulder.” He flexed his muscular right arm for emphasis as he led her to the table closest to the counter. “Here, have a seat and give the thing a rest while I get you a bowl of Maria’s Minestrone soup. That way we can talk over some lunch.”

Nina’s spirits lifted instantly. Minestrone was her favorite, and Tony’s wife Maria made the best.

The Scavelli’s were good people, and the food at the Sandwich shop was top notch. Nina made it a point to stop by whenever she could but not just for the cuisine. She had met the winsome couple during a luncheon celebrating the reopening of Detroit’s famed Fox Theatre after a lengthy renovation. The Sandwich Shop had catered the event, and Nina spent the majority of her time there chatting with the shop’s jovial owners. The three had shared a close bond ever since. That same year their support had also sustained Nina following the tragic death of her mother in an auto accident.

Tony returned to the table with two steaming bowls and a small basket of warm French bread and Nina's mouth watered. “You must've read my mind.”

Tony flashed a toothy grin. "What, you think I don't know your appetite? Oatmeal before nine, soup and bread before two, and the Shop's Deep Dish Delight any day after six."

Nina burst out laughing. “You've got me pegged to a tee!” She reached for the bread basket and noticed the peculiar way Tony was looking at her. “Is something wrong?”

A slight frown furrowed Tony's wide brow. “You seem a bit on edge today; any particular reason?”

Nina’s reply was cut off by the sudden expletive uttered by one of the patrons sitting at the counter, his outburst drawing everyone’s attention to the shop's television. A special news report was being broadcast about a shooting incident that had just taken place at Henry Ford Hospital.

A recently discharged employee had attacked the hospital’s central reception area. Details were sketchy but so far there were two confirmed deaths: one of the residents and the gunman.

Nina’s spoon fell from her fingers, its contents spilling, but the horrified woman barely noticed the mess or Tony’s concerned plea. Her eyes were riveted to the television as the gunman’s picture appeared on the screen. It was the same gunman from her dream.

Chapter 2

The sun’s rays glistened brightly over the vast, Mourning Ocean, one of the planet Nirvana’s principal bodies of water. On the southern tip of the Cairn Peninsula, where the ocean split into the Trinity Rivers, lay the island city of Heaven; its intricate web of crystal spires and marble structures rising majestically into the sky.

A mile or so off the island’s coast a school of dolphins broke through the water’s surface. Their raucous voices called out an invitation to the winged male hovering in the air above. The man seemed oblivious to the heavy droplets of water produced by the dolphin’s antics that were rolling down his bare muscular chest, soaking into the loose silken trousers tied innocuously around his chiseled waist with a length of braided cord; it’s flaxen color matching that of his closely cropped hair.

The dolphins squealed again, and the playful racket brought a smile to the Archangel Michael’s angular face. Nirvana’s dolphins were notorious gossips, and he enjoyed listening to the wondrous adventures they sometimes shared with their aquatic cousins throughout the Realms.

Today however the Archangel declined their offer for there was a far more pressing matter on his mind.

A sudden change in the air pressure drew his attention upward where the Archangel Gabriel was gliding steadily toward him, the wind created by the mighty down strokes of his elegant wings churning up the water in a way that added even more excitement to the dolphin’s game.

Michael smiled at the dolphins' whistled greetings to the newcomer. They were one of the few species in the Creation that did not find Gabriel’s malevolent demeanor disconcerting.

“Good morning, brother,” Gabriel’s deep voice rang out as he came to a deft stop in the air besides Michael. “Your chatty friends appear to be in good spirits today.”

“They always are.” Michael's tenor was a sharp contrast to Gabriel’s baritone. “I see you’ve been busy.” Michael nodded toward the brass trumpet hanging from the braided cord about Gabriel’s waist. Unlike Michael’s, his lariat was black, it’s texture and shine echoing that of the Archangel’s hair trimmed in the militaristic style often copied by Mortal soldiers. The braid’s ebony hue made the trumpet’s crimson glow, an indication that a significant amount of Mortal blood had recently been spilled, all the more apparent.

The pronounced muscles of Gabriel's broad back and shoulders rippled as he fanned his wings outward to their full length so they could catch the ocean’s spray. “Indeed I have. The Almighty decreed that a series of catastrophic events be visited upon Earth. I fear his patience for his erring children wanes further each day.”

Michael's lips turned downward. “I'm afraid you're right, brother.”

Gabriel retracted his wings to a position suitable for hovering. “Stand you ready to implement your proposed Reclamation?”

A regretful sigh escaped Michael’s lips. “The Prophet’s Emergence is already underway, and Omen has been dispatched to assign the Task of Protection to one of the Celemors.”

Gabriel leveled stern eyes on his brother. “You knew this day was coming, Michael. In fact, was it not you who convinced the Almighty to afford the Mortals this final chance to reclaim their Divine status?”

“Yes it was, but I still held on to the hope that His frustration would them would lessen, thus negating the need for such measures.”

Gabriel released a disgusted snort, his ebony eyes flashing with vexation. “Hope is a word I no longer equate with the Mortal condition. The Races throughout the Realm have once again grown fractured and vile, none more so than the upstarts Humans of Earth. Their connection to the Almighty has become tenuous at best.”

“Not all of them have strayed from Father’s bosom,” Michael noted with conviction. “And it is those righteous souls I wish to spare from the harsh mandates of the Tenets.”

“Harsh?” Gabriel jumped on the word, his left eyebrow arching upward. “Is that criticism of Father’s law I hear in your voice, Michael, Keeper of Benevolence?”

Michael’s wings rustled slightly, his hazel eyes flashing with aggravation. He had never liked the nickname ascribed to him by the members of the Hierarchy. “You know that I would never criticize our Creator, Gabriel, Bringer of Death. But the new limits He’s imposed upon our involvement in this process make me doubt its success.”

“The addition of said limits will ensure its success,” Gabriel countered. “The mindset of Humanity has changed considerably since the Starting Time. Their beliefs are no longer easily captured through Divine works.”

Michael smiled at his brother’s disdainful remarks. “Humankind has evolved.”

Gabriel frowned. “Yes, into a gaggle of cynical liberalists. They’re minds are so preoccupied with games of mental intrigue and physical gratification that they’ve all but lost their Divine distinction amongst the Realms which is why their salvation must be earned. Only by tempering their souls in the fires of hardship can they prove themselves worthy of the Vanguard position they were meant to assume over the other races of Mortalia.”

“You’ve always frowned on their evolutionary advances.”

Gabriel pinned Michael with an uncompromising look. “And you’ve not frowned enough. Your affection for the Mortals, though laudable, is often misplaced and rarely is it reciprocated.”

Michael considered the point for a moment then a slight smile crept its way onto his face. “Perhaps.” He shifted his gaze away from Gabriel’s disapproving scowl to focus on the lone dolphin rapidly approaching the school still splashing in the waters below them from Trinity’s inlet. “But it’s a fault I’m willing to accept. Protecting them is my job.”

A predatory gleam appeared in Gabriel's eyes as he too focused on the newcomer now happily frolicking with its fellows. “Indeed it is, just as disciplining them is mine.”

Michael sighed. "Of this I am well aware."

Gabriel, taking note of the other's dejection, placed a comforting hand on Michael's broad shoulder. "Fear not, brother: The seed you planted on Earth has long since taken root. The time has finally come for it to bear fruit!"

End of Sample

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